The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Ii Part 45

_Ther_. reads to himself-- Guard thee well, _Thersander_; for thou shalt die by the Hand that brings thee this.

[_She stabs him; he falls into_ Lysander's _Arms_.

_Cleo_. Here's to thee, dear _Clemanthis_--

_Lys_. Help, Treason, help--

_Ther_. Ah, lovely Youth, who taught thee so much cruelty?

And why that Language with that angry Blow?

_Cleo_. Behold this Face, and then inform thy self.

[_Discovers her self_.

_Ther_. 'Tis _Cleomena_! oh ye G.o.ds, I thank ye!

It is her Hand that wounds me, And I'll receive my Death with perfect Joy, If I may be permitted but to kiss That blessed Hand that sent it.

_Enter_ King _and Guards_.

_King. Thersander_ murder'd! oh, inhumane Deed!

Drag the Traitor to a Dungeon, till we have Invented unheard of Tortures to destroy him by-- [_The Guards seize_ Cleo. _and_ Sem. _who was just entring_.

My Wounds are deep as thine, my dear _Thersander_; Oh, fatal Day, wherein one fatal Stroke.

Has laid the Hopes of _Scythia_ in his Tomb!

_The Guards go to carry_ Cleo. _and_ Sem.

Ther. _calls 'em back_.

_Ther_. Oh, stay, and do not bear so rudely off Treasures you cannot value.

--Sir,--do not treat her as my Murderer, But as my Sovereign Deity-- Instead of Fetters, give her Crowns and Scepters; And let her be conducted into Dacia, With all the Triumphs of a Conqueror.

For me, no other Glory I desire, Than at her Feet thus willingly to expire.

[_Goes to throw himself at her Feet, they prevent it and go off_.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

_A Council-Table: The_ King of Scythia _seated on a Throne, Officers, Attendants, Guards_.

_King_. Bring the fair Prisoner forth, and let's examine What Reasons could inspire her with this Cruelty; --How beautiful she is! [_Gazes on her_.

_Enter_ Cleomena _in Fetters_, Lysander, _with Guards_.

_Cleo_. Thy Silence seems to license me to speak, And tell thee, King, that now our Faults are equal; My Father thou hast kill'd, and I thy Son; This will suffice to tell thee who I am.

--Now take my Life, since I have taken his, And thou shalt see I neither will implore Thy needless Clemency by any Word or Sign: But if my Birth or s.e.x can merit ought, Suffer me not to languish any longer Under these shameful Irons.

[_With scorn_.

_King_. Cruel as Fair, 'tis with too much injustice Thou say'st our Crimes are equal: For thou hast kill'd a Prince that did adore thee; And I depriv'd thy Father of his Life, When he a.s.saulted mine in open Field, And so, as cannot leave a stain on thee, Or give thee Cause to say I've done thee wrong, But if I had, wherefore (oh, cruel Maid) Didst thou not spare that Heart that dy'd for thee, And bend thy Rage against thy Father's Foe?

But thou well know'st, in killing of _Tkersander_, The Father's Life would quickly follow after.

_Cleo_. I will not seek excuses for my actions, But I protest to thee before the G.o.ds, It was not to revenge my self on thee I kill'd thy Son; But what he suffered was for his own Sin, For he has banish'd from me all on Earth That could compleat my Happiness-- [_Weeps_.

--And now dispose my Destiny as you please, Only remember that I am a Woman.

_King_. What thou hast said will find but little credit: --But yet if _Thersander_ lives, And if it please the G.o.ds to spare that Life, I shall have Generosity enough To set thee free in favour of thy s.e.x, And my _Thersander's_ Love.

_Cleo_. Not dead? Why should the G.o.ds protect him?

_King_. Her Soul's possest with some despair.

Madam, I doubt you need not fear his Life, He will obey, and die as you desire-- [_Weeps_.

But not with Satisfaction, till he see you Conducted into _Dacia_.

I should not of my self have been so generous, T' have given you freedom with the Life of him Who did deserve a kinder Destiny; But 'tis his Will--and possible his last.

Therefore you're free, and may depart this Camp Whene'er you please; only this favour grant, (If an unhappy King may hope for any) You'll suffer him to take his last farewel.

_Cleo_. Immortal G.o.ds! how can it be? a Man Whose Wickedness arm'd me against his Life, Shou'd shew such Virtue in the rest of's Actions.

--Sir, I will see the Prince, Not as the Price of what you offer'd me, But that he may confess he did deserve A Death less glorious than I have given him: And I shall take it well if he will own That which may justify my Offence to you.

_King_. Madam, I thank you-- Dismiss her Fetters, and if she please, Let her have Garments suitable to her s.e.x, Only the Guards attend her at a distance.

[_Go out severally_.

SCENE II. _The Grove_.

_Enter_ Amintas, _drest like a Shepherd_, Urania _like a Shepherdess, the Druid_, Lyces, _and other dancing Swains, &c_.

_Druid_. Sir, I'm afraid you have made too bold a venture; And though your Wounds were more numerous than dangerous, I am not willing you should trust 'em to the Air.

_Amin_. Father, your Skill has wrought a perfect Cure, For which, the Life you sav'd you shall command.

_Ura_. Me too h' has freed of all my jealous Fears, By this eternal Knot 'twixt thee and me Which he has tied, and Fate can ne'er undo.

--Father--to you I owe _Amintas'_ Liberty-- To you his Life; and now for all my Joys, Which if my future Service can repay, Command with Freedom her you have preserv'd.

_Amin_. Come, dear _Urania_, let's hasten to the Camp; For I impatient grow to see my Prince; Heaven knows what my Mishap may have procur'd him.

_Ura_. How loth I am to leave these pretty Shades, The G.o.ds and Nature have design'd for Love: Oh, my _Amintas_, wou'd I were what I seem, And thou some humble Villager hard by, That knew no other pleasure than to love, To feed thy little Herd, to tune a Pipe, To which the Nymphs should listen all the Day; We'd taste the Waters of these Crystal Springs, With more delight than all delicious Wines; And being weary, on a Bed of Moss, Having no other Canopy but Trees, We'd lay us down, and tell a thousand Stories.

_Amin_. For ever so I'd be content to dwell, I wou'd put off all frightful Marks of War, And wou'd appear as soft and calm to thee, As are thy Eyes when silently they wound.

An Army I wou'd quit to lead thy Flock, And more esteem a Chaplet wreath'd by thee, Than the victorious Laurel.

--But come, Love makes us idle.

_Druid_. My Prayers ever go along with you, And your fair Bride, _Urania_.--I cou'd wish My Youth and Vigour were as heretofore, When only Courts and Camps cou'd make me happy; And then I wou'd not bid farewel so soon To so much Virtue as I've found in you.

_Amin_. I humbly thank you, Father, for a Goodness That shames my poor Returns.

Come, pretty _Lyces_, and thou, honest _Damon_, With all the rest of our kind Train; Let's hasten to the Camp, during this Truce, Your little rustick Sports will find a welcome.

_Ura_. There are no Women in the Camp, my Lord.