The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Ii Part 47

Then all your cold Disdain for me Will but increase Deformity, When still the kind will lovely be.

Compa.s.sion is of lasting Praise; For that's the Beauty ne'er decays.

Fair Nymph, avoid those Storms of Fate Are to the Cruel due; The Powers above, though ne'er so late.

Can be, when they revenge your Hate, As pitiless as you.

Know, charming Maid, the Powers divine Did never such soft Eyes design To wound a Heart so true as mine: That G.o.d who my dear Flame infus'd, Will never see it thus abus'd_.

Return, my dear _Clemanthis_, oh, return, [Cleo. _rises as in a Dream_.

And see 'tis not into thy lovely Bosom That I have sent my Vengeance.

_Sem_. What mean you, Madam?

_Cleo_. But thou, poor Ghost-- Instead of hasting me to my Revenge, Endeavour'st to touch me with Compa.s.sion.

_Sem_. Madam, who is't you follow thus and speak to?

_Cleo. Thersander_, why do'st rob me of that Face?

Is't to disarm me of my Indignation?

_Sem_. Oh, Madam, what do you do?

_Cleo_. Ha! dost thou see nothing?

_Sem_. Not any thing.

_Cleo_. Yonder's the _Scythian_ with _Clemanthis'_ Face, Or else _Clemanthis_ with _Thersander's_ Wound.

_Sem_. Compose your Thoughts, dear Madam, 'twas a Dream, An idle Dream, born from a troubled Fancy.

--How was it, Madam?

_Cleo_. Methought I saw _Clemanthis_, As when he was most charming to my Soul, But pale and languishing, having a Wound Like that I gave his Murderer To which with one of's Hands he seem'd to point; The other stretching out with pa.s.sionate Actions, And gazing on me,--thus methought he spoke: --See how you recompense my faithful Sufferings, --See the performance of your Promises; Look on this Wound which you have given my Heart, That Heart that still ador'd you: And yet you're not content with all these Cruelties, Though even in your Anger and my Death, I still continue faithful and submissive.

--Thus spoke the lovely Phantom.

_Enter_ Pimante.

_Pim_. Madam, there waits without a Servant to the Prince.

_Cleo_. He may come in.

_Enter_ Lysander.

_Lys_. Madam, my dying Prince begs you may know How willingly he does obey your Will, And dying still implores you wou'd believe He's guilty of no fault but having lov'd you, For which presumption he deserves to die; --But 'tis not by your Dagger, but your Eyes: That was too weak to exercise your Will, Your Cruelty had power alone to kill; And now from you one visit he implores, And after that he'll trouble you no more. [_Weeps_.

_Cleo_. That I will grant to satisfy the King.

_Lys_. When he is dead-- He'll send the Spirit of _Clemanthis_ to you, Who shall upbraid you with your Cruelty, And let you see, in wounding of _Thersander_, You've found the readiest way to kill _Clemanthis_.

_Cleo_. What means he by these Words?

_Lys_. He humbly begs you'll pardon the rough treatment You've had among the _Scythians_, Whose Crown, he says, _Clemanthis_ promis'd you, And he intreats you would accept it from him.

_Cleo_. To send the Spirit of _Clemanthis_ to me-- How this agrees with my sad Dream!

How did thy Master know-- _Clemanthis_ promis'd me the Crown of _Scythia_?-- [_Advances towards_ Lys. _and she starts_.

--Sure I have seen that Face before-- Art not _Lysander_, Page to _Clemanthis_?

_Lys_. Madam, I am, and ever serv'd that Master.

_Cleo_. How couldst thou then come near his Enemy?

_Lys_. Madam, it was by his Command I came.

_Cleo_. How could _Clemanthis_ love his Murderer?

It is no wonder then that generous Spirit Came while I slept, and pleaded for the Prince.

_Lys_. What means the Princess?

_Enter_ Pimante.

_Pim_. Oh, Madam, I have news to tell you that will Make you forswear ever fighting again.

_Cleo_. What mean you?

_Pim_. As I was pa.s.sing through a Street of Tents, I saw a wounded Man stretcht on the ground; And going, as others did, to learn his Fate, I heard him say to those that strove to help him, Alas, my Friends, your Succours are in vain; For now I see the G.o.ds will be reveng'd For brave _Clemanthis'_ Murder.

How! cry'd I out, are you then one of those _Thersander_ sent to kill that Cavalier?

_Thersander_, cry'd he, had no hand in it; But _Artabazes_ set us on to kill him.

Here he began to faulter in his Speech; And sure he spoke the truth, for 'twas his last.

_Cleo_. This looks like Truth. _Thersander's_ every Action Declar'd too much of Virtue and of Honour, To be the Author of so black a Deed.

--Tell him, I'll visit him, and beg his pardon.

[_To_ Lys. _who bows and goes out_.

--Generous _Thersander_, if this News be true, My Eyes shall spare some drops for injuring you.

[_Exc.u.n.t_.

SCENE V. _Changes to_ Thersander's _Tent_.

_He in a Night-gown sitting on a Couch; by him the_ King, _Officers, Attendants to them. Enter_ Cleomena, Semiris, Pimante; Lysander; _the_ King _rises to meet_ Cleo. _and seats her in a Chair by him_.

_Cleo. Thersander_, I am come to beg thy pardon, If thou art innocent, as I must believe thee, And here before the King to make confession Of what I did refuse the Queen my Mother.

--Know then, I lov'd, and with a perfect Pa.s.sion, The most unfortunate of Men, _Clemanthis_.

His Birth I never knew, but do believe It was ill.u.s.trious, as were all his Actions; But I have lost him by a fatal accident, That very day he should have fought with you.

[_Weeps_.

_Ther_. G.o.ds! where will this end? [_Aside_.

_Cleo_. But e'er the fatal moment of his Death, _Ismenes_ beg'd to know who did the Murder: But he could answer nothing but _Thersander_, And we believ'd it you.

Then Love and my Revenge made me a Soldier; --You know the rest-- And doubtless you've accus'd me with Ingrat.i.tude.

_Ther_. No, I shall ne'er complain of _Cleomena_, [_He kneels before her_.