On us with such deluded eyes, to think This gilded marble, only deified By some imperfect souls' unworthy fear, Irregular humanity into A dull obedience to their power, which were Eur. Oh, horrid blasphemy! Are these the hallowed mysteries you use Had I no drop of bloud but what had been A lump of loth'd corruption, foul enough, Pri. Deluded innocence! think you, that fate should rob Me of the glorious treassure of your beauty, Soon as I had injoyed it? What though you are Conform a simple prince's zeal; I know Wayes to evade it, that shall make him tremble Whilst you, (though now) ordain'd to die a martyr, Eur. How strangely lies the devill here disguis'd Pri. Of age!look here, Eurione, [Throws off his pontificals. Is this a face to be dispis'd? be not amaz'd: Eur. Witnesse, you gods, that see my soul devellop'd Of crawling worms, the cold inhabitants No, impious villain !—when ghastly horror makes Heaven's all-discerning eye, this sin shall not Make up a link o' th' everlasting chain. Pri. Must I be then denied? fond girl! thou hast Precipitated all the hopes of life, By this abortive virtue; unlesse thou canst Command a guard of those imaginary And helplesse deities, to circle thee In forms more dreadful than the night, or death Presents them to our fears, no power shall save thee; The virgin goddesse stirs not. VOL. I. PART II. T. [Eurione flies to the altar. Eur. Oh, hear-hear me, you sacred powers, And from [Oroandes comes forward. With what dignity and scorn does Eurione repel the offers of the Priest's "prodigious lusts;" with what awful solemnity does she pour forth her denunciation, as if it had burst from the stony lips of Minerva herself. Zannazarro takes leave of his sister thus. "Zan. So-now we have ended, my Eurione, All our imployments on the earth: this is Act III. The King, after struggling with his passion for Eurione until all his better feelings were silenced, resolves to put his love upon the fortune of the sword. The scene between him and Oroandes possesses great merit; it is introduced by a picture of placid beauty, which imparts to the mind of the reader the same harmonious sentiments which shed a dignified calm over the soul of Oroandes. They are noble spirits both. Oroandes is the very abstraction of loyalty -of high and principled loyalty. The poet has skilfully depicted the dread with which the King shrinks from breathing his guilty purpose; till, for fear of failing altogether in his object, he drags it forth with shame to light, and, impatient of a pretext to escape from the very thought of it, in the tumult of combat, seizes the words in which Oroandes disparagingly compares Eurione with the Cyprian princess, almost before they are uttered. Oroandes alone, reading a note. "Oro. The hour, five-the place, the plain beneath the Hermit's rock. I have not mist in either circumstance, Unlesse my haste anticipated time;-it yet is not full five; Nor step, but mine, soil'd the earth's tinsel'd robe. -How full of heaven this solitude appears, * By a full quire of feather'd choristers, Enchac't with silver streams, and fring'd with woods, Enter the King, disguised. "Tis he, but strangely chang'd. King. Oroandes, you're now a loyal subject. The glorious structure of thy hopes, or live 'Till now my strongest fortresse, is become The fatall engine of my ruine. Oro. -Heavens! what have I done to merit this? King. Nothing but been too virtuous, and by that Center'd affections, which I must remove, Or shake thee into chaos. Oro. This language blasts me: sure, I have no sin The monster forth; and, in my bloud imbalm'd, Like a small star's kind influence govern'd by The latitude of my obedience, in Dying at the command of him for whom Look on the object through their tears, the ghost As of eternity, and yet clothed in Humanitie's most frail affections; all The sanguine stain of my resolves, so they, In this high tempest of your soul. King. Thy virtue fathomes not my depth of guilt; Such a prevention of my anger would Only exchange the active passion for Sorrow as insupportable: those characters, Are in dark hieroglyphicks hid, through which Oro. You speak in misty wonders, sir; such as lead My apprehension into wild meanders. King. This will unriddle all our doubts-Draw. Oro. Against my sovereign !—an act so wicked would Retort the guilty steel into my breast. Fear never yet marbled a coward's bloud More than obedience mine; that breath hath lockt No spirits dare from their cold center move. King. Will you deny, when I command? Oro. Pardon me, royall sir; had such a voice Not paus'd at the incounter of a danger I would bestride a cloud with lightning charg'd, Leap through the clefts of earthquakes, or attempt Yet count all this my happinesse, so I My king-whose frowns should be You are my king! More dreadfull to me, than oraculous truths When threat'ning sudden ruine; your sacred person |