No More Learning

_Arth. _ Doubt me not.

_Merl. _ Yet, in prevention
Of what may come, I'll leave my Philidel
To watch thy steps, and with him leave my wand;
The touch of which no earthy fiend can bear,
In whate'er shape transformed, but must lay down
His borrowed figure, and confess the devil.
Once more farewell, and prosper. [_Exit_ MERLIN.

_Arth. _ [_walking. _] No danger yet; I see no walls of fire,
No city of the fiends, with forms obscene,
To grin from far on flaming battlements.
This is indeed the grove I should destroy;
But where's the horror? sure the prophet erred. --
Hark! music, and the warbling notes of birds! [_Soft Music. _
Hell entertains me, like some welcome guest. --
More wonders yet! yet all delightful too:
A silver current to forbid my passage,
And yet, to invite me, stands a golden bridge:
Perhaps a trap for my unwary feet,
To sink and whelm me underneath the waves.
With fire or water let him wage his war,
Or all the elements at once, I'll on.

[_As he is going to the Bridge, two Syrens arise from the water.
They shew themselves to the waist, and sing:_

1 Syren. _O pass not on, but stay,
And waste the joyous day
With us in gentle play:
Unbend to love, unbend thee:
O lay thy sword aside,
And other arms provide;
For other wars attend thee,
And sweeter to be tried. _

Chor. _For other wars_, &c.

Both sing. _Two daughters of this aged stream are we;
And both our sea-green locks have comb'd for thee:
Come bathe with us an hour or two,
Come naked in, for we are so;
What danger from a naked foe?
Come bathe with us, come bathe and share
What pleasures in the floods appear.
We'll beat the waters till they bound,
And circle, round, around, around,
And circle round, around. _

_Arth. _ A lazy pleasure trickles through my veins;
Here could I stay, and well be cozened here.
But honour calls;--is honour in such haste?
Can it not bait at such a pleasing inn?
No; for, the more I look, the more I long. --
Farewell, ye fair illusions! I must leave ye,
While I have power to say, that I must leave ye.
Farewell! with half my soul I stagger off,--
How dear this flying victory has cost,
When, if I stay to struggle, I am lost.

_As he is going forward, Nymphs and Sylvans come out from behind
the Trees. A Bass and two Trebles sing the following Song to a
Minuet. _

Dance with a Song, all with Branches in their Hands.

Song. _How happy the lover,
How easy his chain,
How pleasing his pain,
How sweet to discover
He sighs not in vain.
For love every creature
Is formed by his nature;
No joys are above
The pleasures of love. _

The Dance continues, with the same measure played alone.


II.

_In vain are our graces,
In vain are your eyes,
If love you despise;
When age furrows faces,
'Tis time to be wise.
Then use the short blessing,
That flies in possessing:
No joys are above
The pleasures of love. _

_Arth. _ And what are the fantastic fairy joys,
To love like mine? false joys, false welcomes all.
Be gone, ye Sylvan trippers of the green;
Fly after night, and overtake the moon.
[_Here the Dancers, Singers, and Syrens vanish. _
This goodly tree seems queen of all the grove.
The ringlets round her trunk declare her guilty
Of many midnight-sabbaths revelled here.
Her will I first attempt.

[ARTHUR _strikes at the Tree, and cuts it; Blood spouts out of it;
a groan follows, then a shriek_.

Good heavens, what monstrous prodigies are these!
Blood follows from my blow; the wounded rind
Spouts on my sword, and sanguine dies the plain.
[_He strikes again: The Voice of_ EMMELINE _from behind_.

Em. [_from behind. _] Forbear, if thou hast pity, ah, forbear!
These groans proceed not from a senseless plant;
No spouts of blood run welling from a tree.

_Arth. _ Speak what thou art; I charge thee, speak thy being,
Thou, that hast made my curdled blood run back,
My heart heave up, my hair to rise in bristles,
And scarcely left a voice to ask thy name!
[EMMEL. _breaks out of the Tree, shewing her Arm bloody_.

_Em. _ Whom thou hast hurt, unkind and cruel, see;
Look on this blood; 'tis fatal still to me,
To bear thy wounds; my heart has felt them first.

_Arth. _ 'Tis she; amazement roots me to the ground!

_Em. _ By cruel charms dragged from my peaceful bower,
Fierce Osmond closed me in this bleeding bark,
And bid me stand exposed to the bleak winds,
And winter storms, and heaven's inclemency,
Bound to the fate of this hell-haunted grove;
So that whatever sword, or sounding axe,
Shall violate this plant, must pierce my flesh,
And, when that falls, I die.

_Arth. _ If this be true,
O never, never-to-be-ended charm,
At least by me! --yet all may be illusion.
Break up, ye thickening fogs, and filmy mists,
All that belie my sight, and cheat my sense!
For reason still pronounces, 'tis not she,
And, thus resolved,--
[_Lifts up his sword, as going to strike. _

_Em. _ Do, strike, barbarian, strike;
And strew my mangled limbs, with every stroke.
Wound me, and doubly kill me, with unkindness,
That by thy hand I fell.

_Arth. _ What shall I do, ye powers?

_Em. _ Lay down thy vengeful sword; 'tis fatal here:
What need of arms, where no defence is made?
A love-sick virgin, panting with desire,
No conscious eye to intrude on our delights:
For this thou hast the Syrens' songs despised;
For this, thy faithful passion I reward.
Haste then, to take me longing to thy arms.

_Arth. _ O love! O Merlin! whom should I believe?

_Em. _ Believe thyself, thy youth, thy love, and me;
They, only they, who please themselves, are wise.
Disarm thy hand, that mine may meet it bare.

_Arth. _ By thy leave, reason, here I throw thee off,
Thou load of life. If thou wert made for souls,
Then souls should have been made without their bodies.
If falling for the first created fair
Was Adam's fault,--great grandsire, I forgive thee;
Eden was lost, as all thy sons would lose it.
[_Going towards_ EMM.
_and pulling off his Gauntlet_.

_Enter_ PHILIDEL _running_.

_Phil. _ Hold, poor deluded mortal, hold thy hand,
Which, if thou giv'st, is plighted to a fiend.
For proof, behold the virtue of this wand;
The infernal paint shall vanish from her face,
And hell shall stand revealed.

_Strikes_ EMMELINE _with a Wand, who straight descends_: PHILIDEL
_runs to the Descent, and pulls up_ GRIMBALD _and binds him_.

Now see to whose embraces thou wert falling!
Behold the maiden modesty of Grimbald!
The grossest, earthiest, ugliest fiend in hell.

_Arth. _ Horror seizes me,
To think what headlong ruin I have tempted.

_Phil. _ Haste to thy work; a noble stroke or two
Ends all the charms, and disenchants the grove.
I'll hold thy mistress bound.

_Arth. _ Then here's for earnest.

[_Strikes twice or thrice, and the Tree falls, or sinks: A Peal of
Thunder immediately follows, with dreadful Howlings. _

'Tis finished, and the dusk, that yet remains,
Is but the native horror of the wood.
But I must lose no time; the pass is free;
The unroosted fiends have quitted this abode.
On yon proud towers, before this day be done,
My glittering banners shall be waved against the setting sun.
[_Exit_ ARTHUR.

_Phil. _ Come on, my surly slave; come stalk along,
And stamp a madman's pace, and drag thy chain.

_Grim. _ I'll champ and foam upon it, till the blue venom
Work upward to thy hands, and loose their hold.

_Phil. _ Know'st thou this powerful wand? 'tis lifted up;
A second stroke would send thee to the centre,
Benumbed and dead, as far as souls can die.

_Grim. _ I would thou would'st, to rid me of my sense:
I shall be whooped through hell, at my return
Inglorious from the mischief I designed.

_Phil. _ And therefore, since thou loath'st etherial light,
The morning sun shall beat on thy black brows;
The breath thou draw'st shall be of upper air,
Hostile to thee, and to thy earthy make;
So light, so thin, that thou shalt starve for want
Of thy gross food, till gasping thou shalt lie,
And blow it back all sooty to the sky.
[_Exit_ PHILIDEL, _dragging_ GRIMBALD _after him_.




ACT V. SCENE I.


_Enter_ OSMOND, _as affrighted_.

_Osm. _ Grimbald made prisoner, and my grove destroyed!
Now what can save me----Hark, the drums and trumpets!
[_Drums and Trumpets within. _
Arthur is marching onward to the fort.
I have but one recourse, and that's to Oswald;--
But will he fight for me, whom I have injured?
No, not for me, but for himself he must.
I'll urge him with the last necessity;
Better give up my mistress than my life.
His force is much unequal to his rival;--
True; but I'll help him with my utmost art,
And try to unravel fate. [_Exit. _

_Enter_ ARTHUR, CONON, AURELIUS, ALBANACT, _and Soldiers_.

_Con. _ Now there remains but this one labour more;
And, if we have the hearts of true-born Britons,
The forcing of the castle crowns the day.

_Aur. _ The works are weak, the garrison but thin,
Dispirited with frequent overthrows,
Already wavering on their ill-manned walls.

_Alb. _ They shift their places oft, and sculk from war;
Sure signs of pale despair, and easy rout:
It shews they place their confidence in magic,
And, when their devils fail, their hearts are dead.

_Arth. _ Then, where you see them clustering most in motion,
And staggering in their ranks, there press them home;
For that's a coward heap. --How's this, a sally?

_Enter_ OSWALD, GUILLAMAR, _and Soldiers on the other side_.

Beyond my hopes, to meet them on the square.

_Osw. _ Brave Britons, hold; and thou, their famous chief,
[_Advancing. _
Attend what Saxon Oswald will propose.
He owns your victory; but whether owing
To valour, or to fortune, that he doubts.
If Arthur dares ascribe it to the first,
And, singled from a crowd, will tempt a conquest,
This Oswald offers; let our troops retire,
And hand to hand let us decide our strife:
This if refused, bear witness, earth and heaven,
Thou steal'st a crown and mistress undeserved.

_Arth. _ I'll not usurp thy title of a robber,
Nor will upbraid thee, that before I proffered
This single combat, which thou didst avoid;
So glad I am, on any terms to meet thee,
And not discourage thy repenting shame.
As once Æneas, my famed ancestor,
Betwixt the Trojan and Rutilian bands,
Fought for a crown, and bright Lavinia's bed,
So will I meet thee, hand to hand opposed:
My auguring mind assures the same success. --
[_To his Men. _] Hence, out of view; If I am slain, or yield,
Renounce me, Britons, for a recreant knight;
And let the Saxon peacefully enjoy
His former footing on our famous isle.
To ratify these terms, I swear----

_Osw. _ You need not;
Your honour is of force, without your oath.
I only add, that, if I fall, or yield,
Yours be the crown, and Emmeline.

_Arth_. That's two crowns.
No more; we keep the looking heavens and sun
Too long in expectation of our arms.
[_Both Armies go off the Stage. _

[_They fight with Spunges in their Hands, dipt in blood: after
some equal passes and closing, they appear both wounded_; ARTHUR
_stumbles among the Trees_, OSWALD _falls over him; they both
rise_; ARTHUR _wounds him again, then_ OSWALD _retreats. Enter_
OSMOND, _from among the Trees, and with his Wand strikes_ ARTHUR'S
_Sword out of his Hand, and exit_. OSWALD _pursues_ ARTHUR. MERLIN
_enters, and gives_ ARTHUR _his Sword, and exit; they close, and_
ARTHUR, _in the Fall, disarms_ OSWALD. [22]

_Arth_. Confess thyself o'ercome, and ask thy life.

_Osw_. 'Tis not worth asking, when 'tis in thy power.

_Arth_. Then take it as my gift.

_Osw_. A wretched gift,
With loss of empire, liberty, and love.

[_A concert of Trumpets within, proclaiming_ ARTHUR'S _Victory;
while they sound_, ARTHUR _and_ OSWALD _seem to confer_.

'Tis too much bounty to a vanquished foe;
Yet not enough to make me fortunate.

_Arth_. Thy life, thy liberty, thy honour safe,
Lead back thy Saxons to their ancient Elbe:
I would restore thee fruitful Kent, the gift
Of Vortigern for Hengist's ill-bought aid,
But that my Britons brook no foreign power,
To lord it in a land, sacred to freedom,
And of its rights tenacious to the last.

_Osw. _ Nor more than thou hast offered would I take;
I would refuse all Britain, held in homage;
And own no other masters but the gods.

_Enter, on one side_, MERLIN, EMMELINE, _and_ MATILDA. CONON,
AURELIUS, ALBANACT, _with British Soldiers, bearing King_ ARTHUR'S
_Standard displayed. On the other side_, GUILLAMAR, _and_ OSMOND,
_with Saxon Soldiers, dragging their Colours on the Ground_.

[ARTH. _going to_ EMM. _and embracing her_.
_Arth. _ At length, at length, I have thee in my arms;
Though our malevolent stars have struggled hard,
And held us long asunder.

_Em.
_ We are so fitted for each other's hearts,
That heaven had erred, in making of a third,
To get betwixt, and intercept our loves.

_Osw. _ Were there but this, this only sight to see,
The price of Britain should not buy my stay.

_Mer. _ Take hence that monster of ingratitude:
Him, who betrayed his master, bear him hence;
And in that loathsome dungeon plunge him deep,
Where he plunged noble Oswald.

_Osm. _ That indeed is fittest for me;
For there I shall be near my kindred friends,
And spare my Grimbald's pains to bear me to them.
[_Is carried off. _

_Mer. _ [_To_ ARTH. ] For this day's palm, and for thy former acts,
Thy Britain freed, and foreign force expelled,
Thou, Arthur, hast acquired a future fame,
And, of three Christian worthies, art the first:[23]
And now, at once to treat thy sight and soul,
Behold what rolling ages shall produce:
The wealth, the loves, the glories of our isle,
Which yet, like golden ore, unripe in beds,
Expect the warm indulgency of heaven
To call them forth to light. --
[_To_ OSM. ] Nor thou, brave Saxon prince, disdain our triumphs;
Britons and Saxons shall be once one people;
One common tongue, one common faith shall bind
Our jarring bands, in a perpetual peace.

[MERLIN _waves his Wand: the_ SCENE _changes, and discovers the
British Ocean in a Storm_. ÆOLUS _in a Cloud above: Four Winds
hanging, &c. _

ÆOLUS singing.

_Ye blustering brethren of the skies,
Whose breath has ruffled all the watry plain,
Retire, and let Britannia rise,
In triumph o'er the main.
Serene and calm, and void of fear,
The Queen of Islands must appear:
Serene and calm, as when the spring
The new-created world began,
And birds on boughs did softly sing
Their peaceful homage paid to man;
While Eurus did his blasts forbear,
In favour of the tender year. _
_Retreat, rude winds, retreat
To hollow rocks, your stormy seat;
There swell your lungs, and vainly, vainly threat. _

ÆOLUS ascends, and the four Winds fly off. The SCENE opens, and
discovers a calm Sea, to the end of the House. An Island arises,
to a soft Tune; BRITANNIA, seated in the Island, with Fishermen
at her Feet, &c. The Tune changes, the Fishermen come ashore, and
dance a while; after which, PAN and a NEREID come on the Stage,
and sing.

PAN and NEREID sing.

_Round thy coasts, fair nymph of Britain,
For thy guard our waters flow:
Proteus all his herds admitting,
On thy greens to graze below.
Foreign lands thy fishes tasting,
Learn from thee luxurious fasting. _

Song of three parts.

_For folded flocks, on fruitful plains,
The shepherd's and the farmer's gains,
Fair Britain all the world outvies;
And Pan, as in Arcadia, reigns,
Where pleasure mixt with profit lies. _

_Though Jason's fleece was famed of old,
The British wool is growing gold;
No mines can more of wealth supply;
It keeps the peasant from the cold,
And takes for kings the Tyrian dye. _

[The last Stanza sung over again betwixt PAN and the Nereid. After
which, the former dance is varied, and goes on.

Enter COMUS, with three Peasants, who sing the following Song in Parts.

Com. _Your hay it is mow'd, and your corn is reaped;
Your barns will be full, and your hovels heaped;
Come, my boys, come;
Come, my boys, come;
And merrily roar out harvest home;
Harvest home,
Harvest home;
And merrily roar out harvest home. _

Chor. _Come, my boys, come, &c. _

1 Man. _We ha' cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again.
For why should a blockhead ha' one in ten?
One in ten,
One in ten;
For why should a blockhead ha' one in ten? _

2 Man. _For prating so long like a book-learned sot,
Till pudding and dumpling burn to pot, Burn to pot,
Burn to pot;
Till pudding and dumpling burn to pot. _

Chor. _Burn to pot, &c. _

3 Man. _We'll toss off our ale till we cannot stand,
And hoigh for the honour of old England:
Old England,
Old England;
And hoigh for the honour of old England. _

Chor. _Old England, &c. _
[The Dance varied into a round Country-dance.

_Enter_ VENUS.

Venus. _Fairest isle, all isles excelling,
Seat of pleasures and of loves;
Venus here will chuse her dwelling,
And forsake her Cyprian groves. _

_Cupid from his favourite nation
Care and envy will remove;
Jealousy, that poisons passion,
And despair, that dies for love. _

_Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining,
Sighs, that blow the fire of love;
Soft repulses, kind disdaining,
Shall be all the pains you prove. _

_Every swain shall pay his duty,
Grateful every nymph shall prove;
And as these excel in beauty,
Those shall be renowned for love. _


SONG BY MR HOWE.

She. _You say, 'Tis love creates the pain,
Of which so sadly you complain;
And yet would fain engage my heart
In that uneasy cruel part;
But how, alas! think you, that I
Can bear the wound of which you die? _

He. _'Tis not my passion makes my care,
But your indifference gives despair;
The lusty sun begets no spring,
Till gentle showers assistance bring;
So love, that scorches and destroys,
Till kindness aids, can cause no joys. _

She. _Love has a thousand ways to please,
But more to rob us of our ease;
For wakeful nights, and careful days,
Some hours of pleasure he repays;
But absence soon, or jealous fears,
O'erflow the joys with flood of tears. _

He. _By vain and senseless forms betrayed,
Harmless love's the offender made;
While we no other pains endure,
Than those, that we ourselves procure;
But one soft moment makes amends
For all the torment that attends. _

Chorus of both.

_Let us love, let us love, and to happiness haste.
Age and wisdom come too fast;
Youth for loving was designed. _

He alone. _I'll be constant, you'll be kind. _

She alone. _You'll be constant, I'll be kind. _

Both. _Heaven can give no greater blessing
Than faithful love, and kind possessing. _

[After the Dialogue, a Warlike Concert: The SCENE opens above, and
discovers the Order of the Garter.

_Enter_ HONOUR, _attended by Heroes_.

_Merl. _ These, who last entered, are our valiant Britons,
Who shall by sea and land repel our foes.
Now, look above, and in heaven's high abyss,
Behold what fame attends those future heroes.
Honour, who leads them to that steepy height,
In her immortal song shall tell the rest.

HONOUR _sings_.

_St George, the patron of our isle,
A soldier, and a saint,
On that auspicious order smile,
Which love and arms will plant. _

_Our natives not alone appear
To court this martial prize;
But foreign kings, adopted here,
Their crowns at home despise. _

_Our sovereign high, in awful state,
His honours shall bestow;
And see his sceptered subjects wait
On his commands below. _
[A full Chorus of the whole Song: After
which, the grand Dance.

_Arth. _ [_To_ MERL. ] Wisely you have, whate'er will please, revealed:
What would displease, as wisely have concealed:
Triumphs of war and peace, at full ye show,
But swiftly turn the pages of our woe.
Rest we contented with our present state;
'Tis anxious to enquire of future fate. [24]
That race of heroes is enough alone,
For all unseen disasters to atone.
Let us make haste betimes to reap our share,
And not resign them all the praise of war;
But set the example, and their souls inflame,
To copy out their great forefathers' name. [_Exeunt omnes. _





EPILOGUE

SPOKEN BY MRS BRACEGIRDLE.


I've had to-day a dozen billet-doux
From fops, and wits, and cits, and Bow-street beaux;[25]
Some from Whitehall, but from the Temple more;
A Covent-Garden porter brought me four.
I have not yet read all: But, without feigning,
We maids can make shrewd guesses at your meaning.
What if, to shew your styles, I read them here? }
Methinks I hear one cry, "O Lord, forbear! }
No, madam, no; by heaven, that's too severe. " }
Well then, be safe----
But swear henceforwards to renounce all writing, }
And take this solemn oath of my inditing,-- }
As you love ease, and hate campaigns and fighting. }
Yet, faith, 'tis just to make some few examples:
What if I shew'd you one or two for samples?
Here's one desires my ladyship to meet
[_Pulls out one. _
At the kind couch above in Bridges-Street.
Oh sharping knave! that would have--you know what,
For a poor sneaking treat of chocolate.
Now, in the name of luck, I'll break this open,
[_Pulls out another. _
Because I dreamt last night I had a token;
The superscription is exceeding pretty,
--"To the desire of all the town and city. "
Now, gallants, you must know, this precious fop
Is foreman of a haberdasher's shop:
One who devoutly cheats; demure in carriage;
And courts me to the holy bands of marriage;
But, with a civil innuendo too,
My overplus of love shall be for you.
"Madam, I swear your looks are so divine,
[_Reads. _
When I set up, your face shall be my sign;
Though times are hard--to show how I adore you,
Here's my whole heart, and half-a-guinea for you.
But, have a care of beaux! they're false, my honey;
And, which is worse, have not a rag of money. "
See how maliciously the rogue would wrong ye!
But I know better things of some among ye.
My wisest way will be to keep the stage,
And trust to the good-nature of the age:
And he, that likes the music and the play,
Shall be my favourite gallant to-day.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 19: In imitation of the blind man, who said, that "red
resembled the sound of a trumpet. "]

[Footnote 20: One virtue ascribed by Odinn to the Runick characters
was, to blunt the weapons of an enemy. ]

[Footnote 21: In this Ode is contained all the use which our poet
made of his knowledge of the Saxon manners, gleaned from Bede and
Bochart. It is certain, that the Saxons, like the other Northmen,
used the horrible superstition of human sacrifices. Woden, Freya or
Frigga his wife, and Thor the god of war, were worshipped by the Saxons
with probably the same attributes ascribed to them as in Denmark and
Sweden. The casting of lots is mentioned by Alfred in his version of
Bede, _pluton mid tanum_, "they cast lots with twigs. " Much, and most
extensive learning, has been displayed on the subject, by Mr Turner, in
the fourth volume of his Anglo-Saxon History. ]

[Footnote 22: This long stage direction contains an attempt to render
interesting what is necessarily ridiculous. With all the assistance
of bloody spunges, a stage combat must be always a ludicrous
representation of a real one. We are content, in old plays, to let it
pass, as a hieroglyphic, which conveys to us the author's meaning;
but modern dramatists would do well to obscure their combats, if the
termination is to be a bloody one. ]

[Footnote 23: The Nine Worthies were equally divided among three
religions; namely, Three Pagans, Hector, Pompey, and Alexander the
Great; three Jews, Joshua, David, and Judas Machabæus; and three
Christians, Arthur, Charlemagne, and Godfrey of Boulogne. ]

[Footnote 24: In this passage, Dryden's discontent with the existing
circumstances glances out: It is probable, that much was here omitted,
or altered, which would have adorned the termination of the piece,
had it been represented to Charles II. as originally designed by the
author. ]

[Footnote 25: With a slight alteration in spelling, a modern poet would
have written _Bond-Street_ beaux. A billet-doux from _Bow-Street_ would
be now more alarming than flattering. ]




CLEOMENES,

THE

SPARTAN HERO,

A

TRAGEDY.

TO WHICH IS PREFIXED

THE LIFE OF CLEOMENES,

BY MR THOMAS CREECH.


_His armis, illâ quoque tutus in Aulâ. _--JUV. Sat. iv.




CLEOMENES.


There has been occasion to remark, that Dryden seldom avails himself
of national peculiarities, or national _costume_, in sketching his
dramatic personages; the present tragedy forms, however, a remarkable
exception to this general observation. Cleomenes, the last of the
Spartans, is designed, not only as a hero, but as a Lacedemonian; and
is a just picture of that extraordinary race of men, whose virtues
were comprized in patriotism, and whose whole passions centered in
a thirst for military glory. This character Dryden has drawn with
admirable spirit and precision. It was indeed peculiarly suited to his
genius; for, although sometimes deficient in the pathos and natural
expression of violent passion, by which Otway, and even Southerne,
could affect the passions of an audience, he never fails in expressing,
in the most noble language, the sentiments of that stoical philosophy,
which considers sufferings rather as subjects of moral reflection,
than of natural feeling. Yet, lest a character so invulnerable to
the shafts of adversity, so much the _totus teres atque rotundus_ of
the poet, should fail to interest the audience, (for we seldom pity
those who shew no symptoms of feeling their own sorrows,) Dryden has
softened the character of his Spartan hero by the influence of those
chaste and tender domestic affections, which thrive best in bosoms
rendered by nature or philosophy inaccessible to selfish feeling. The
haughty and unbending spirit, the love of war, and thirst of honour
proper to the Lacedemonian, and inculcated by the whole train of his
education, complete the character of Cleomenes. The same spirit, which
animates the father, is finely represented as descending upon the son.
Cleonidas is a model of a Spartan youth; and every slight expression
which he uses, tends to bring out that celebrated character. The idea
of this spirited boy seems to be taken from the excellent character
of Hengo, in the "Bonduca" of Beaumont and Fletcher; whom Cleonidas
resembles in the manner of his death, and in his previous sufferings
by hunger, as well as in his premature courage, and emulation of his
father's military glory. [26] The wife and mother of Cleomenes seem
to be sketched after those of Coriolanus: the former exhibiting a
mild and gentle disposition; the latter, the high-souled magnanimity
of a Spartan matron. Of the other characters, little need be said.
Ptolemy is a silly tyrant, Sosibius a wily minister, and Cleanthes a
friend and confident; such as tyrants, ministers, and confidents in
tragedies usually are. Judging from his first appearance, the author
seems to have intended Pantheus as a character somewhat in contrast to
that of Cleomenes; but he soon tires of the task of discrimination,
and Pantheus sinks into a mere assistant. Cassandra is not sketched
with any peculiar care; her snares are of a nature not very perilous
to Spartan virtue, for her manners are too openly licentious. Such,
however, as are fond of tracing the ideas of poets to those who have
written before them, may consider Cassandra,--in her pride, her love,
and her alternate schemes for saving and destroying Cleomenes,--as
furnishing the original hint of the much more highly finished character
of Zara in Congreve's "Mourning Bride. "

The conduct of the piece, being calculated to evince the Spartan
virtue, patience, and courage, contains a long train of hopes
disappointed, seducing temptations resisted, sufferings patiently
endured, and finally closed by a voluntary death. There is no
particular object to which the attention of the audience is fixed, as
that upon which the conclusion of the piece necessarily depends. The
liberation of Cleomenes from his Egyptian bondage is doubtless the
consummation concerning which the poet meant that we should be anxious;
but this event might be brought about in so many different ways, and,
if accomplished, brings Cleomenes so little nearer to the restoration
of Spartan liberty, that it is perhaps insufficient to excite that
strong, concentrated, and vivid interest, which the plot of a drama
ought properly to inspire. The mind is distracted among the various
possibilities by which the desired catastrophe might be accomplished;
and feels a consciousness, that even were Cleomenes dismissed with full
sails from the port of Alexandria, it would be rather the beginning
than the winding up of his history. For these reasons, the plot seems
more deficient in interest than might have been expected, from the
spirited delineation of the principal character.

It appears that Dryden was unable, from illness, to put the finishing
strokes to "Cleomenes. " That task he committed to Southerne, now his
intimate friend, and who, as may be easily imagined, felt himself
much honoured by the task imposed upon him. [27] The half of the fifth
act was that upon which Southerne exercised this power of revisal and
finishing; for that it amounted to no more, will, I think, be obvious
to any who takes the trouble to compare that act with those which
precede it. The rabble-scene, introduced, as the poet himself tells
us, to gratify the more barbarous part of his audience, is indeed
deplorably bad.

The play, when presented to the theatre, met with unexpected opposition
from the government, then directed by Queen Mary, in the absence of
her husband. This was not very surprising, considering the subject
of the play, and Dryden's well-known principles. The history of an
exiled monarch, soliciting, in the court of an ally, aid to relieve his
country from a foreign yoke, and to restore him to the throne of his
fathers, with the account of a popular insurrection undertaken for the
same purposes, were delicate themes during the reign of William III. ;
at least, when the pen of Dryden was to be employed in them, whose
well-known skill at adapting an ancient story to a modern moral had
so often been exercised in the cause of the house of Stuart. Besides,
he had already given offence by his prologue to the "Prophetess,"
when revived, which contains some familiar metaphorical sneers, as
Cibber calls them, at the Irish war, the female regency, and even the
Revolution itself. This prologue had been forbidden; and a similar
exertion of authority was deemed fit in the case of "Cleomenes. "
Accordingly, before the inoffensive nature of the piece could be
explained, the court took alarm at the subject in the abstract, and
the performance of the piece was prohibited by the Chamberlain. [28] It
appears, the exertions of Lord Rochester, the maternal uncle of Queen
Mary, and of his family, had been sufficiently powerful to guarantee
the harmless nature of the play, and to procure a recal of the mandate,
by which the acting of the piece, and the consequent profits of the
author, had been for some time suspended.

When the play was performed, our author had the satisfaction to see the
first character admirably represented by the well-known Mrs Barry, to
whom he has paid, in the preface, the splendid compliment of saying,
"that she had gained by her performance a reputation beyond any woman
he had ever seen on the theatre. "[29] If this expression, as Cibber
seems to think, be a little over-stretched, it at least serves to prove
to us, that the play was well received; for, otherwise, the intercourse
of civility between the author and performers is generally very slender.

Cleomenes was acted and published in 1692.


FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 26: The whole passage is so very fine, that I think I may
venture to extract it from this beautiful and forgotten tragedy.
Caratach and Hengo, the uncle and nephew, are besieged on a rock by the
Romans, and reduced to extremity by hunger. They are decoyed by some
food, hung on a rock by the centurion Judas.

CARATACH _and_ HENGO _on the rock_.

_Caratach. _ Courage, my boy! I have found meat: Look, Hengo,
Look where some blessed Briton, to preserve thee,
Was hung a little food and drink; cheer up, boy,
Do not forsake me now!

_Hengo. _ Oh uncle, uncle,
I feel I cannot stay long; yet I'll fetch it,
To keep your noble life. Uncle, I'm heart-whole,
And would live.

_Car. _ Thou shalt, long, I hope.

_Hengo. _ But my head, uncle!
Methinks the rock goes round.

_Enter, below_, MACER _and_ JUDAS, _Romans_.

_Macer. _ Mark them well, Judas.

_Judas. _ Peace, as you love your life.

_Hengo. _ Do not you hear
The noise of bells?

_Car. _ Of bells, boy? 'tis thy fancy;
Alas, thy body's full of wind!

_Hengo. _ Methinks, sir,
They ring a strange sad knell, a preparation
To some near funeral of state. --Nay, weep not,
Mine own sweet uncle; you will kill me sooner.

_Car. _ Oh, my poor chicken!