ROSA

Behold! I stand amazed: Sir! ease my heart. A King less than a man! more than a God! I know not where to stay, nor how to partly. God hath ordained that wickedness shall die: Sir! who is guilty? Mustapha, or I? Who will endure the sentence he may give, Between you two? He must be King that lives. Your graven prepared is among your own: Neighbours, Church, People, Soldiers, made the Stage, Where Hope, and Youth shall ruin Fear, and Age. Most wretched I, raised to be overthrown. If you will die, then am I lost in you; And die you must, if you believe your own. If he shall live; then am I proved untrue, Hated by him, whom you have placed above, Lost unto you, and ruined by my love. " Ah Confidence! thou Glory of the ill! " How safely dost thou blinded Power assail, " That having all, yet knows not what it will? Content? Oh poor estate of Woman's Wit! The latitude of Princes is Desire, Which all, it hath enjoyed, still carries higher. Say you the World is left to my devotion? Who questioned am both in my State, and Fame, Must loose my Will, and cannot loose my Shame: For Mustapha, long since condemned to die, Now lives again. To boast of marriage then what ground have I? Ah servile Sex! must Yokes our honour be, To make our own loves our captivity? No Rossa, no: look not in Languished Wit, For none can stand on Fortune's steep with it. " Think Innocence harm; Virtue dishonour; " Wound Truth; and overweigh the scale of Right: Sexes have ways apart; States have their fashions: The virtues of Authority are Passion. Those silly nature's apt to lovingness, Which ever must in others power live, With Doubt become more found, with Wrong more thrall: Fear here wants eyes, Hate hath no sting at all. This mass of Passion who can deal withal? Too nice, and subtle is Inconstancy. Shall Wrong fair-written still in Patience be? Must my desire so many Cautions have, And wait on those thoughts that have worshipped me? I cannot bear this Mediocrity. Rosten! make haste: go hence, and carry with thee My life, fame, malice, fortune, and desire: For which, set all established things on fire. You ugly Ange ls of infernal Kingdoms! You who most bravely have maintained your beings In equal power, Like Rival, to the heavens! Let me reign, while I live, in my desires; Or dead, live with you in eternal fires. Use not these Parables of coward Fear: Fear hurts less when it strikes, than when it threatens. My self? What is it else but my desire? My Brother, Father, Mother, and my God, Are but those steps which help me to aspire. Mustapha had never truer friend than I, That would not with him live, but with him die. Yet tell: What is the worst? Oh cruel Fates! that do in Love plant Woe, And in elights make our Disasters grow. But speak: What hath she done? Nay, black Avernus's! so I do adore thee, As I lament my Womb hath been so barren, To yield but one to offer up before thee. Who thinks the Daughters death can Mother's stay From ends, whereon a Woman's heart is fixed, Weighs harmless Nature, without passion mixed. Rage knows no Kin: Power is above the Law, And must not curious be of base Respect, Which only they command that do neglect. My ends are great: Small things are wrought with ease. My end is not to quiet, but to move. The doing minds feel not that idleness. It's private Fortune that is built on Truth: Justice is but of great Estates the youth. I do protest no Terrors, no Desires, Glories of fame, nor Rumours injuries, Could, in a Mother's heart, have quenched the fire Of loving kindness, to her children born: It conquered is with nothing, but with scorn. I am resolved to move the wheels of Fate. Her Triumph shall be pain; her Glory shame: Horror is of excess a joust reward: The givers of example have regard. All imperfections that offence do move. Imagine all the depths of wickedness: My womb as hell; my soul the world of sin; Confusion in my thoughts, fear merciless; Without me Shame; Impenitence within. Thy Child is slain. These hands imbrued are, Even in her bowels, whom I nursed with care. She did conspire. Silence devours the rest. This Wretch conspired the ruin of this State. Sir! ask no more: for Ills go in a blood; You hear already more than does you good. Mischief it self is cause of mischief done. What should she fear; since with her is combined Mustapha, this States Successor, and your Son? The ruins of my own may show my faith: For I can see no comforts after you; Yet to your Basha's know I not what's true. Call Achmat first: for Truth is but a blast, Till it his censures Oracle hath passed. If greater by you than your self he be. Sir! you created him: he all the rest. And so these gifts tied to your children be. Ambition gets by doing, Estimation. Sir? Strength, Like Number, multiplies by place. The name of Power is yours; the being his; By whom Creation, Hope; Reward, and Fear Spread, and disposed still are, every where. Beside, there is no Age in men desire, Which still is active, young, and cannot rest: For Achmat knows you will not what you can; Since Crowns do change a State, but not the Man. Contempt deposeth Kings, as well as death. This Guidon, with her own hand wrought, and sent, Bears perfect record what was their intent. These Clouds, they be the house of Jealousy, Which fire, and water both, within them bear, Where Good shows less, Ills greater than they be. Saturn here feeds on Children that be his. His word; A fatal winding sheet Succession is. This precious Hill, where daintynesse seems wast, By Nature's art, that all Art will exceed, In careless finesse shows the sweet estate Of Strength, and Providence together placed: Two Intercessors reconciling hate, And giving fear even of it self a taste. Those Waves, which beat upon the cliffs, do show The cruel storms, which Envy hath below. The Border round about in Characts hath The mind of all; which in effect is this: It's hard to know; as hard, and harder too, When men do know, to bring their hearts to do. Like them that are descried, and feign would lurk. For while she would have made her self seem clear, She made her fault still more and more appear. She neither stubborn was, nor overthrown; And, but for Mustapha, made no request: As if his harms had only been her own. Solyman! Take heed. " Malice, Like Clocks wound up to watch the Sun, " Hasting a headlong course on many wheels, " Have never done, until they be undone. I slew my Child; my Child would have slain thee: All bloody Fates in my blood written be. Zanger, for whom even Mustapha was slain, And unto whom Camena's blood was shed; Zanger, for whom all World's on me complain, Hath done that which nor Law, nor Truth could do: (Horror, and doubt in my desires breed) Murdered himself, and overthrown me too. In every Creatures heart there lives Desire, Which men do hallow as appearing good: For Greatness they esteem it to aspire, Although it weakness be, well understood. This unbound, raging, infinite Thought-fire I took; nay it took me, and placed my heart On Hope's to altar Empire, and Succession. Chance was my faith, and Order my despair: Sect, Innovation, Change of Princes right, My studies were: I thought Hope had no end, In her, that hath and Emperor to friend. Whence Like the Storms (that then Like storms do blow, When all things, but themselves, they overthrow) I ventured; first to make the Father fear, Then hate, then kill, his most beloved Child. My Daughter did discover him my way, To Mustapha she opened mine intent: For she had tried, but could not turn my heart. Yet no hurt to me she in telling meant, Though hurt she did me to disclose my Art. I sought Revenge: Revenge it could not be; For, I confess, she never wronged me. Remorse, that hath a Faction in each heart, Womanish Shame, which is Compassions friend, Conspired with Truth to have restrained me; Yet killed I her whom I did dearly love; Furies of choice, what arguments can move? I killed her: for I thought her death would prove That Truth, not Hate, made Mustapha suspected: The more it seemed, against a Mother's love, The more it showed, I Solyman affected: Thus, underneath severe, and upright dealing, A mischievous Stepmothers malice stealing, It took effect: For few mean ill in vain. Which wicked Art although the Father knew, Yet his Affection turned my ill to good: Vice, but of hers, being only understood. Fear grew discreet, and would not speak in vain; Courage turned all the strengths of heart to bear; Justice it self durst murmur, not complain: So little care the Fates for us below: So little men fear God, they do not know. But ah! Woe worth each false preposterous way, Which promises good luck to evil deeds: Since Mustapha, whose death I made my Glory, Hath left me no power now, but to be sorry. For Zanger, when he saw his Brother dead, Confusedly with diverse shapes distract, He silent stood, with Horrors compassed: His Duty mixed with woe; Kindness with rage; Reverence, Revenge, both representing shame, Equally against, and with a Mother's name. But as these shadows vanished from his mind, The Globes of his enraged eyes he threw On me, Like Nature justly made unkind: And for this hateful fault my Love did make, From Pity, Woe, and Anger, thus he spoke: " Mother! Is this the way of Woman's heart? " Have you no Law, or God; but Will, to friend? " Can neither Power, nor Goodness escape your Art? " Be these the Counsels by which you ascend? " Is there no Hell? Or do the Devils love fire? " If neither God, Heaven, Hell, or Devil be; " It's plague enough that I am born of thee. " Mother! Oh monstrous Name! shall it be said, " That thou hast done this fact for Zangers sake? " Honour, and Life, shall they to one upbraid, " That, from thy Mischief, they their Honour take? " Oh wretched Men! which under shame are laid, " For faults which we, and which our Parents make. " Yet Rossa! to be thine, in this I glory; " That, being thine, gives power to make thee sorry. He wounds his heart; and falling down with death On Mustapha, who there for his sake died; These words he spoke: " Ah base Ambition! mould of Cruelty, " In thy vast narrow bosom ever breed " These hideous Counsels, light-abhorring deeds. " Yet you pure souls that Mahomet adore! " Read in these wounds my horror of his death, " And to the Christians carry thou it, Breath. He die. Woes me. When in my heart I look, Horror I see: all there lost but despair: My Love, and Joy become Afflictions book; Eternity of Shame is printed there. To think of God! Alas, that so I may: Yet Power, and Goodness can but show me Fear: Mercy I cannot crave, that cannot trust: Nor die I will; for death concludeth pains: Nor languish in conceit; for then I must Abhor my soul, in which all Mischiefs reign. I will bear with me, in this Bodies dust, What curse soever to the earth remains. I will bear with me Envy, Rage, Desire, To set all Hearts, all Times, all World's on fire. You weak Souls! whose true Love hath made you base, And fixed your Quiets upon others will: You humble Hearts! which unto Power give place, For conscience bearing yokes of Tyrants skill: You poor Religious! who in hope of grace, Bear many soar temptations of the ill, Rejoice: Unkindness, Cruelty, Disgrace, Vengeance, and Wrong bear hence with me I will. Rather take heed: where can more Danger be, Than where these Powers may be disposed by me? Solyman my Lord! The knowledge who was Father To Mustapha, made me (poor silly woman) Think worth in blood had natural succession: But now, I see, Ambitions mixtures may The gold of Nature's elements allay. His Fame untimely born: Strength strangely gathered, Honour won with honouring, Greatness with humble ness, (A Monarchs heir in courses popular,) Make me divine some strange aspiring mind; Yet doubtful; for it might be Art, or Kind. But look into him by his outward ways: Persia, our old imbrued enemy, Treats of peace with the Son, without the Father: A Course in all Estates to Princes nice; But here much more; where he that Monarch is, Must (Like the Sun) have no light shine, but his. The Offers; real Crowns, or Hope's of Kingdoms. What sudden knot hath bound up our divisions? Made them that only feared our greater growing, Offer such projects for our greater growing? " It's true, that private thoughts may easily change: " But States, whose ways are Time; Occasion, Seat, " Have other ends, then Chance, in all they treat. Yet be it, all the world would us obey; In Monarchies: which surfeit, more than pine; The King should judge: Strength knows what strength can wielded: The best foundation, else may overbuild. No, no: upon the pitch of high attempts I see him stand, sporting with Wrong, and Fear: For Law, and Duty, both are captives there. His Hope's, the Hope's of all; for all aspire: His means, that proud, rebellious Discontent, Which scorns both Governors, and Government. Solyman! Fear is broke lose within me. What will, or may, methinks already happens; His power thus great, will fixed, occasion ready, Shadows of ruin to my heart deliver. Confused noise within my ears does thunder Of multitudes, that with obeying threaten. Solyman! while fear, to loose thee, wishes death, My fear again, to leave thee, wishes breath. Sir! few in number or Time presents children; Where man ends, there ends discontentments empire; Novelty in flesh hath always had a dwelling; Then tell me Lord; what man would choose his room, That must expect in wickedness a mean, Or else be sure to feel a fatal doom? Can that stay in the amid whose center's lowest? Old age is Nature's Poverty, and scorn; Desires riches live in Princes children; Their youths are Comets, within whose corruption Men prophesy new Hope's of better Fortune's. Ah Sir! Corrupt occasion still preferreth The wisdom, that for self-advantage erreth. No Sir! But much may hap before his death; Who thinking nothing worse, and nothing after, Knows thought of wrong is death, if Princes live; Where dead, all heirs their own good do forgive. Before he comes, who knows your fatal hour? The wicked wrestle both with Might, and Slight: " While Princes live, each men life guardeth theirs; " When they are dead, men's loves go with their fear. Slain by the way less grudge, more safety were. These glorious hazards tempt, and hasten fate; They well become a Man, but not a State. Is Providence of no more use to Power? Behold! these sandy hearts have no foundation; Yet hence must I, with hazard, work my will, That have to do with thought, nor good, nor ill. My Lord! your doubts from arguments did rise Of wanton pride, ambitious seeking love: " And can remissions be in Nature wise, " While States upon the steep of danger move? No: think what pregnant grounds of his ambition Resolved you first, his Greatness was your danger: And shall a Father wave a Kings suspicion? Since Mischief, while her head shows in a cloud, In Pluto's Kingdom does her body shroud. This is the glass which Father looks not in; The Workman hides, the instruments discover: See how it fitts a King to be a lover? Sir! mark these words: whence should their wonder grow? His scorn, and grudge, he worships, and obeys: In him, or for him, what strange works are these? This Parents dotage, as it weakness is, So works it with the vigor of disease, Still undermining with the things that please. Upon this Quicksand what can be begun? I feel my heart now rise; my spirits work; Confused thoughts all words have overgrown, When Mustapha is dead, what Star hath motion, But Achmat; in whom Solyman yet trusts? They who their Ends, by Change, strive to advance, Must never doubt to go the way of Chance. When Children's blood the Father's forehead stains, What privilege for Counsellors remains? Use of killing; Suspicion, the favourite of Tyrants; Delight of Change; Favors passed; and fear of Greatness, Sharpened by Achmats harsh, and open dealing, Which mighty Tyrants liberty would draw Into the narrow scope of humane Law. how dead while Ach mat reigns? Down is the Idol, but the Workmanliues: His favour, virtue, reputation, course, To us are still that Mustapha, or worse. Then down he must, and shall. My chiefest End Is, first to fix this World on my Succession; Next so to altar, plant, remove, create, That I, not he, may fashion this Estate. Sir, odious is the fact on every side: The remedy is more than you can bear; And more must fallen upon you than you fear. And any weakness many does engender. Revenge, and Justice both require my death. And loose the privilege of death. Nay tell, and live a wor thy death. Rippenot my wounds, deer Lord! silence is fit: My life hath shame, and death must cover it. These horrors which in stained souls do live. To both alike. Remediless they be. Oh wearisome Obedience, Wax to Power! Shall I in vain be Mustapha's accuser? Shall any Justice equal him and me? Is Love so open-eared; my power so weak, As ought against me to my Lord dare speak? " Sands shall be numbered first and Motion fixed, " The Sea exchange her channel with the fire, " Before my will, or reason stand in awe " Of God, or Nature, common Peoples law. What! Am I not mine own? Who dare usurp To take this Kingdom of my self from me? Nature hath lied. She says, Life unto many May be denied, but not death unto any. Oh Solyman! I have at once transgressed The laws of Nature, and thy laws of State: I wretched am, and you unfortunate. Who ever thinks by Virtue to aspire, And Goodness dreams to be but Fortune's star; Or who by Mischiefs wit seeks his desire, And thinks, no Conscience, ways to Honour are: He, Mustapha! here seeing thee, and me; Sees no Men good, or ill rules Destiny. Then ah! woe worth them that with God contend, And would exchange the course of Fate by Wit, Which God makes work, to bring his works to end, And with it self, even oft, does ruin it. Ah Tyrant Fate! to them that do amiss: For nothing left me, but my Error, is.