Scene III The Garden of Rasni’s Palace
Enter Alvida in rich attire, with the King of Cilicia, and her Ladies.
Alvi. Ladies, go sit you down amidst this bower,
And let the eunuchs play you all asleep:
Put garlands made of roses on your heads,
And play the wantons whilst I talk a while.
First Lady. Thou beautiful of all the world, we will.
[Ladies enter the bower.
Alvi. King of Cilicia, kind and courteous,
Like to thyself, because a lovely king,
Come, lay thee down upon thy mistress’ knee,
And I will sing and talk of love to thee.
K. of Cil. Most gracious paragon of excellence,
It fits not such an abject prince as I,
To talk with Rasni’s paramour and love.
Alvi. To talk, sweet friend! Who would not talk with thee?
O, be not coy! art thou not only fair?
Come, twine thine arms about this snow-white neck,
A love-nest for the great Assyrian king:
Blushing I tell thee, fair Cilician prince,
None but thyself can merit such a grace.
K. of Cil. Madam, I hope you mean not for to mock me.
Alvi. No, king, fair king, my meaning is to yoke thee.
Hear me but sing of love, then by my sighs,
My tears, my glancing looks, my changèd cheer,
Thou shalt perceive how I do hold thee dear.
K. of Cil. Sing, madam, if you please, but love in jest.
Alvi. Nay, I will love, and sigh at every rest.
[Sings.
Beauty, alas, where wast thou born,
Thus to hold thyself in scorn?
Whenas Beauty kiss’d to woo thee,
Thou by Beauty dost undo me:
Heigh-ho, despise me not!
I and thou, in sooth, are one,
Fairer thou, I fairer none:
Wanton thou, and wilt thou, wanton,
Yield a cruel heart to plant on?
Do me right, and do me reason;
Cruelty is cursèd treason:
Heigh-ho, I love! heigh-ho, I love!
Heigh-ho, and yet he eyes me not!
K. of Cil. Madam, your song is passing passionate.
Alvi. And wilt thou not, then, pity my estate?
K. of Cil. Ask love of them who pity may impart.
Alvi. I ask of thee, sweet; thou hast stole my heart.
K. of Cil. Your love is fixèd on a greater king.
Alvi. Tut, women’s love it is a fickle thing.
I love my Rasni for his dignity,
I love Cilician king for his sweet eye;
I love my Rasni since he rules the world,
But more I love this kingly little world.
[Embraces him.
How sweet he looks! O, were I Cynthia’s fere,109
And thou Endymion, I should hold thee dear:
Thus should mine arms be spread about thy neck,
[Embraces his neck.
Thus would I kiss my love at every beck;
[Kisses him.
Thus would I sigh to see thee sweetly sleep,
And if thou wak’dst not soon, thus would I weep;
And thus, and thus, and thus: thus much I love thee.
[Kisses him.
K. of Cil. For all these vows, beshrew me if I prove ye:
My faith unto my king shall not be fals’d.
Alvi. Good Lord, how men are coy when they are crav’d!
K. of Cil. Madam, behold our king approacheth nigh.
Alvi. Thou art Endymion, then, no more: heigh-ho, for him I die!
[Faints, pointing at the King of Cilicia.
Enter Rasni, with his Kings, Lords, and Magi.
Rasni. What ails the centre of my happiness,
Whereon depends the heaven of my delight?
Thine eyes the motors to command my world,
Thy hands the axier110 to maintain my world,
Thy smiles the prime and spring-tide of my world,
Thy frowns the winter to afflict the world,
Thou queen of me, I king of all the world!
[She rises as out of a trance.
Alvi. Ah feeble eyes, lift up and look on him!
Is Rasni here? then droop no more, poor heart.—
O, how I fainted when I wanted thee!
[Embraces him.
How fain am I, now I may look on thee!
How glorious is my Rasni, how divine!—
Eunuchs, play hymns to praise his deity:
He is my Jove, and I his Juno am.
Rasni. Sun-bright as is the eye of summer’s day,
Whenas he suits his pennons all in gold
To woo his Leda in a swan-like shape;
Seemly as Galatea for thy white;
Rose-colour’d, lily, lovely, wanton, kind,
Be thou the labyrinth to tangle love,
Whilst I command the crown from Venus’ crest,
And pull Orion’s girdle from his loins,
Enchas’d with carbuncles and diamonds,
To beautify fair Alvida, my love.—
Play, eunuchs, sing in honour of her name;
Yet look not, slaves, upon her wooing eyne.
For she is fair Lucina to your king,
But fierce Medusa to your baser eye.
Alvi. What if I slept, where should my pillow be?
Rasni. Within my bosom, nymph, not on my knee:
Sleep, like the smiling purity of heaven,
When mildest wind is loath to blend111 the peace;
Meanwhile my balm shall from thy breath arise;
And while these closures of thy lamps be shut,
My soul may have his peace from fancy’s war.—
This is my Morn, and I her Cephalus:—
Wake not too soon, sweet nymph, my love is won.—
Caitiffs, why stay your strains? why tempt you me?
Enter the Priests of the Sun, with mitres on their heads, carrying fire in their hands.
First Priest. All hail unto th’ Assyrian deity!
Rasni. Priests, why presume you to disturb my peace?
First Priest. Rasni, the Destinies disturb thy peace.
Behold, amidst the adyts112 of our gods,
Our mighty gods, the patrons of our war,
The ghosts of dead men howling walk about,
Crying “Væ, Væ, woe to this city, woe!”
The statues of our gods are thrown down,
And streams of blood our altars do distain.
Alvi. [starting up]. Alas, my lord, what tidings do I hear?
Shall I be slain?
Rasni. Who tempteth Alvida?
Go, break me up the brazen doors of dreams,
And bind me cursèd Morpheus in a chain,
And fetter all the fancies of the night,
Because they do disturb my Alvida.
[A hand from out a cloud threatens with a burning sword.
K. of Cil. Behold, dread prince, a burning sword from heaven,
Which by a threatening arm is brandishèd!
Rasni. What, am I threaten’d, then, amidst my throne?
Sages, you Magi, speak; what meaneth this?
First Magus. These are but clammy exhalations,
Or retrograde conjunctions of the stars,
Or oppositions of the greater lights,
Or radiations finding matter fit,
That in the starry sphere kindled be;
Matters betokening dangers to thy foes,
But peace and honour to my lord the king.
Rasni. Then frolic, viceroys, kings and potentates;
Drive all vain fancies from your feeble minds.
Priests, go and pray, whilst I prepare my feast,
Where Alvida and I, in pearl and gold,
Will quaff unto our nobles richest wine,
In spite of fortune, fate, or destiny. [Exeunt.
Oseas. Woe to the trains of women’s foolish lust,
In wedlock-rites that yield but little trust,
That vow to one, yet common be to all!
Take warning, wantons; pride will have a fall.
Woe to the land where warnings profit naught!
Who say that nature God’s decrees hath wrought;
Who build on fate, and leave the corner-stone,
The God of gods, sweet Christ, the only one.
If such escapes, O London, reign in thee,
Repent, for why each sin shall punish’d be!
Repent, amend, repent, the hour is nigh!
Defer not time! who knows when he shall die?