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Cal. Forgive me.-Now I turn to thee, thou shadow

Of my contracted lord! bear witness all,
I put my mother's wedding-ring upon
His finger; 'twas my father's last bequest:

[Places a ring upon the finger of ITHOCLES. Thus I new marry him, whose wife I am; Death shall not separate us. Oh, my lords, I but deceiv'd your eyes with antick gesture, When one news straight came huddling on another,

Of death, and death and death; still I danc'd

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'Tis here fulfill'd.

Near. I am your king. All. Long live Nearchus, king of Sparta!

Near. Her last will

Shall never be digress'd from. Wait in order
Upon these faithful lovers, as become us.—
The councils of the gods are never known,
Till men can call th' effects of them their own.
[Exeunt omnes

Το

EPILOGUE.

WHERE noble judgments and clear eyes are fixed
grace endeavour, there sits truth, not mixed
With ignorance: those censures may command
Belief, which talk not, till they understand.
Let some say, this was flat; some, Here the scene
Fell from its height; another, That the mean
Was ill observ'd in such a growing passion,

As it transcended either state or fashion;
Some few may cry, 'Twas pretty well, or so,
But-and there shrug in silence: yet we know
Our writer's aim was in the whole addrest
Well to deserve of all, but please the best;
Which granted, by th' allowance of this strain,
The Broken Heart may be piec'd up again.

THE

RIVAL QUEENS;

OR,

THE DEATH OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT.

BY

NATHANIEL LEE.

PROLOGUE.

WRITTEN BY SIR CAV. SCROOP, BART.

How hard the fate is of the scribbling drudge,
Who writes to all, when yet so few can judge!
Wit, like religion, once divine was thought,
And the dull crowd believ'd as they were taught;
Now each fanatic fool presumes t' explain
The text, and does the sacred writ prophane;
For while your wits each other's fall pursue,
The fops usurp the power belongs to you.
Ye think y'are challeng'd in each new play-bill,
And here you come for trial of your skill,
Where, fencer-like, you one another hurt,
While with your wounds you make the rabble
sport.

Others there are that have the brutal will
To murder a poor play, but want the skill;
They love to fight, but seldom have the wit
To spy

the place where they may thrust and hit; And, therefore, like some bully of the town, Ne'er stand to draw, but knock the poet down. With these, like hogs in gardens, it succeeds, They root up all, and know not flowers from weeds.

As for you, sparks, that hither come each day

To act your own, and not to mind our play,
Rehearse your usual follies to the pit,
And with loud nonsense crown the stage's wit;
Talk of your cloathes, your last debauches tell,
And witty bargains to each other sell;
Glout on the silly she, who, for your sake,
Can vanity and noise for love mistake,
Till the coquette, sung in the next lampoon,
Is by her jealous friends sent out of town;
For in this duelling, intriguing age,
The love you make, is like the war you wage,
Y'are still prevented ere you come t'engage:
But it is not such trifling foes as you
The mighty Alexander deigns to sue;
Ye Persians of the pit he does despise,
But to the men of sense for aid he flies;
On their experienc'd arms he now depends,
Nor fears he odds, if they but prove his friends.
For as he once a little handful chose

The numerous armies of the world t' oppose;
So, back'd by you, who understand the rules,
He hopes to rout the mighty host of fools.

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say

Then, mischief's in the bosom of you both.
Lys. I have his sword.

Cly. But must not have his life.

Lys. Must not, old Clytus?

Cy. Mad Lysimachus, you must not.
Heph. Coward flesh! O feeble arm!

He dallied with my point, and when I thrust,
He frowned and smiled, and foiled me like a fencer.
O reverend Clytus, father of the war,
Most famous guard of Alexander's life,
Take pity on my youth, and lend a sword!
Lysimachus is brave, and will but scorn me;
Kill

me, or let me fight with him again. Lys. There, take thy sword, and since thou art resolved

For death, thou hast the noblest from my hand. Cly. Stay thee, Lysimachus; Hephestion, hold;

I bar you both, my body interposed.

Now let me see, which of you dares to strike! By Jove, ye have stirred the old man; that rash

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Cly. 'Tis false.

Another time, what time? what foolish hour?
No time shall see a brave man do amiss.
And what's the noble cause, that makes this

madness?

What big ambition blows this dangerous fire?
A Cupid's puff, is't not, a woman's breath?
By all your triumphs in the heat of youth,
When towns were sacked, and beauties prostrate
lay,

When my blood boiled, and nature worked me

high,

Clytus ne'er bowed his body to such shame: The brave will scorn the cobweb arts-The souls

Of all that whining, smiling, cozening sex,
Weigh not one thought of any man of war.
Lys. I confess our vengeance was ill-timed.
Cly. Death! I had rather this right arm were
lost,

To which I owe my glory, than our king
Should know your fault-what, on this fa-
mous day!

Heph. I was to blame.
Cly. This memorable day,

When our hot master, that would tire the world,
Out-ride the labouring sun, and tread the stars,
When he, inclined to rest, comes peaceful on,
Listening to songs; while all his trumpets sleep,
And plays with monarchs, whom he used to
drive;

Shall we begin disorders, make new broils?
We, that have temper learnt, shall we awake
Hushed Mars, the lion that had left to roar?

Lys. 'Tis true; old Clytus is an oracle.
Put up, Hephestion―did not passion blind
My reason, I on such occasion too
Could thus have urged.

Heph. Why is it then we love?
Cly. Because unmanned.

Why, is not Alexander grown example?
O that a face should thus bewitch a soul,
And ruin all that's right and reasonable!
Talk be my bane, yet the old man must talk:
Not so he loved, when he at Issus fought,
And joined in mighty duel great Darius,
Whom from his chariot, flaming all with gems,
He hurled to earth, and crushed the imperial
crown;

Nor could the gods defend their images,
Which with the gaudy coach lay overturned:
'Twas not the shaft of love, that did the feat;
Cupid had nothing there to do; but now
Two wives he takes, two rival queens disturb
The court; and while each hand does beauty
hold,

Where is there room for glory?

Heph. In his heart.

Cly. Well said;

You are his favourite, and I had forgot

Who I was talking to. See Sysigambis comes,
Reading a letter to your princess; go,
Now make your claim, while I attend the king.
[Exit.

Enter SYSIGAMBIS, PARISATIS.
Par. Did not you love my father? Yes, I see
You did; his very name but mentioned brings
The tears, howe'er unwilling, to your eyes.

I loved him too; he would not thus have forced My trembling heart, which your commands may break,

But never bend.

Sys. Forbear thy lost complaints;
Urge not a suit, which I can never grant.
Behold the royal signet of the king,
Therefore resolve to be Hephestion's wife,

Par. No! since Lysimachus has won my heart,

My body shall be ashes, e'er another's.

Sys. For sixty rolling years who ever stood The shock of state so unconcern'd as I? This, whom I thought to govern, being young, Heaven, as a plague to power, has rendered

strong;

Judge my distresses, and my temper prize,
Who, though unfortunate, would still be wise.
Lys. To let you know, that misery doth sway
(Both kneel.
An humbler fate than yours, see at your feet
The lost Lysimachus: O mighty queen,
I have but this to beg,-impartial stand,
And, since Hephestion serves by your permis-
sion,

Disdain not me, who ask your royal leave
To cast a throbbing heart before her feet.
Heph. A blessing, like possession of the prin-

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That circles in our bodies, can deserve: Therefore I take all helps, much more the king's, And what your majesty vouchsafed to give; Your word is past, where all my hopes must hang.

Lys. There perish too-all words want sense in love;

But love and I bring such a perfect passion,
So nobly pure, 'tis worthy of her eyes,
Which, without blushing, she may justly prize.

Heph. Such arrogance, should Alexander woo, Would lose him all the conquests he has won. Lys. Let not a conquest once be named by

you,

Who this dispute must to my mercy owe.

Sys. Rise, brave Lysimachus, Hephestion rise:
'Tis true Hephestion first declared his love;
And 'tis as true, I promised him my aid;
Your glorious king turned mighty advocate.
How noble, therefore, were the victory,
If we could vanquish this disordered love?
Heph. "Twill never be.

Lys. No, I will yet love on,
And hear from Alexander's mouth, in what
Hephestion merits more than I.

Sys. I grieve,

And fear the boldness, which your love inspires; But lest her sight should haste your enterprize, "Tis just I take the object from your eyes.

[Exeunt SYS. and PAR. Lys. She's gone, and see, the day, as if her look

Had kindled it, is lost, now she is vanished. Heph. A sudden gloominess and horror come About me.

Lys. Let's away to meet the king;

You know my suit.

Heph. Yonder Cassander comes,

He may inform us.

Lys. No, I would avoid him;

There's something in that busy face of his,
That shocks my nature.

Heph. Where and what you please. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter CASSANDER.

Cass. The morning rises black, the lowering

sun,

As if the dreadful business he foreknew,
Drives heavily his sable chariot on;
The face of day now blushes scarlet deep,
As if it feared the stroke which I intend,
Like that of Jupiter.-Lightning and thunder!
The lords above are angry, and talk big,
Or rather walk the mighty cirque like mourners
Clad in long clouds, the robes of thickest night,
And seem to groan for Alexander's fall.
'Tis as Cassander's soul could wish it were,
Which, whensoe'er it flies at lofty mischief,
Would startle fate, and make all heaven con-
cerned.

A mad Chaldean, in the dead of night,
Came to my bed-side with a flaming torch;
And bellowing o'er me, like a spirit damned,

He cried, 'Well had it been for Babylon,
'If cursed Cassander never had been born."

Enter THESSALUS, and PHILIP, with letters.
Thess. My lord Cassander.
Cass. Ha! who's there?
Phil. Your friends.

Cass. Welcome, dear Thessalus, and brother
Philip.
Papers-with what contents?
Phil. From Macedon
A trusty slave arrived-

-great Antipater

Writes, that your mother laboured with you long,
Your birth was slow, and slow is all your life.
Cass. He writes, dispatch the king-Craterus
comes,

Who in my room must govern Macedon;
Let him not live a day-he dies to-night;
And thus my father but forestalls my purpose:
Why am I slow then? If I rode on thunder,
I must a moment have to fall from heaven,
Ere I could blast the growth of this Colossus.
Thess. The haughty Polyperchon comes this
way;

A mal-content, on whom I lately wrought,
That for a slight affront, at Susa given,
Bears Alexander most pernicious hate.

Cass. So, when I mocked the Persians, that adored him,

He struck me in the face, and by the hair

He

swung me to his guards to be chastised;
For which and for my father's weighty cause,
When I abandon what I have resolved,
May I again be beaten like a slave!

But lo, where Polyperchon comes: now fire him
With such complaints, that he may shoot to ruin.

Enter POLYPERCHON.

Pol. Sure I have found those friends, dare second me;

I hear fresh murmurs as I pass along:
Yet, rather than put up, I'll do't alone.
Did not Pausanias, a youth, a stripling,
A beardless boy, swelled with inglorious wrong,
For a less cause his father Philip kill?
Peace then, full heart! move like a cloud about,
And when time ripens thee to break, O shed
The stock of all thy poison on his head!
Cass. All nations bow their heads with ho-
mage down,

And kiss the feet of this exalted man:
The name, the shout, the blast from every mouth,
Is Alexander: Alexander bursts
Your cheeks, and with a crack so loud
It drowns the voice of Heaven; like dogs ye
fawn,

The earth's commanders fawn, and follow him;
Mankind starts up to hear his blasphemy:
And if this hunter of this barbarous world
But wind himself a God, you echo him
With universal cry.

Pol. 1 echo him?

I fawn, or fall, like a far eastern slave,

To haunt some cloister with my senseless walk,
When thus the noble soul of Polyperchon
Lets go the aim of all his actions, honour.

Thess. The king shall slay mé, cut me up alive, Ply me with fire and scourges, rack me worse Than once he did Philotas, e'er I bow.

Cass. Curse on thy tongue for mentioning
Philotas!

I had rather thou hadst Aristander been,
And to my soul's confusion raised up hell,
With all the furies brooding upon horrors,
Than brought Philotas' murder to remembrance.
Phil. I saw him racked, a sight so dismal sad
My eyes did ne'er behold.

Cass. So dismal? peace!

It is unutterable: let me stand,
And think upon the tragedy you saw;
By Mars it comes! ay! now the rack's set for
Bloody Craterus, his inveterate foe,
With pitiless Hephestion standing by:
Philotas, like an angel seized by fiends,
Is straight disrobed, a napkin ties his head,
His warlike arms with shameful cords are bound,
And every slave can now the valiant wound.

Pol. Now, by the soul of royal Philip fled,
I dare pronounce young Alexander, who
Would be a god, is cruel as a devil.

Cass. Oh, Polyperchon, Philip, Thessalus, Did not your eyes rain blood, your spirits burst, To see your noble fellow-soldier burn, Yet without trembling, or a tear, endure The torments of the damned? O barbarians, Could you stand by, and yet refuse to suffer? Ye saw him bruised, torn, to the bones made bare;

His veins wide lanced, and the poor quivering flesh

With pincers from his manly bosom ript,
Till ye discovered the great heart lie panting.
Pol. Why killed we not the king, to save Phi-

lotas?

Cass. Asses! fools! but asses will bray, and fools be angry.

Why stood ye then like statues? there's the

case,

The horror of the sight had turned ye marble. So the pale Trojans, from their weeping walls, Saw the dear body of the godlike Hector, Bloody and soiled, dragged on the famous ground, Yet senseless stood, nor with drawn weapons ran, To save the great remains of that prodigious

man.

Phil. Wretched Philotas! bloody Alexander! Thess. Soon after him the great Parmenio fell, Stabbed in his orchard by the tyrant's doom. But where's the need to mention public loss, When each receives particular disgrace?

Pol. Late I remember, to a banquet called, After Alcides' goblet swift had gone The giddy round, and wine had made me bold, Stirring the spirits up to talk with kings, I saw Craterus with Hephestion enter In Persian robes; to Alexander's health

And lick his feet? Boys hoot me from the pa- They largely drank; then, turning eastward, fell

lace,

VOL. I.

Flat on the pavement, and adored the sun. T

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