"He reasons well-his eyes their wildness lose, "He vows the keepers his wrong'd sense abuse. "But if you hint the cause that hurt his brain, "Then his teeth gnash, he foams, he shakes his chain, "His eyeballs roll, and he is mad again." Lee was, happily, restored to society from his miserable confinement, though he did not long enjoy his liberty. He died suddenly in the streets, at the age of thirty-four. The severe indisposition to which he was subject, may possibly have had influence in guiding his pen to some of those flights of imagination, called by the sober critic-phrenzy. But thus the great Dryden speaks of those flights, and of those critics who censure them. 66 Despise those drones, who praise, while they accuse, "The too much vigour of your youthful muse. "By all, but some vile poets of the crowd: t RIVAL QUEENS. ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. Alexander's Camp before Babylon. Enter HEPHESTION and LYSIMACHUS, fighting; CLYTUS parting them. Clyt. What are ye madmen? This a time for quarrel? Put up, I say-or, by the gods that formed me, He, who refuses, makes a foe of Clytus. Lys. I have his sword. Clyt. But must not have his life. Lys. Must not, old Clytus! Clyt. Hair-brained boy, you must not. Heph. Lend me thy sword, thou father of the war, Thou far-famed guard of Alexander's life : Curse on this weak, unexecuting arm! Lend it, old Clytus, to redeem my fame; Know, 'tis thy glory, that thou diest by me. Clut. Stay thee, Lysimachus; Hephestion, hold I bar you both. My body interposed, Now let me see, which of you dares to strike. By Jove, you have stirred the old man! That rash arm, That first advances, moves against the gods, And our great king, whose deputy I stand. Lys. Some properer time must terminate our quarrel. Heph. And cure the bleeding wounds my honour bears. Clyt. Some properer time! 'tis false-no hour is proper; No time should see a brave man do amiss. Say, what's the noble cause of all this madness, When towns were sack'd, and beauties prostrate lay, I knew them, and despised their cobweb arts- Clyt. Yes, Troy, they tell us, by a woman fell Curse on the sex, they are the bane of virtue ! Death! I had rather this right arm were lost, Than that the king should hear of your imprudenceWhat, on a day thus set apart for triumph! Lys. We were, indeed, to blame. Clyt. This memorable day! When our hot master, whose impatient soul Lys. Clytus, thou'rt right-put up thy sword, Had passion not eclipsed the light of reason, Clyt. Because unmanned; Because ye follow Alexander's steps. Heavens! that a face should thus bewitch his soul, Heph. In his heart. Clyt. Well said, young minion!-I indeed forgot To whom I spoke-But Sysigambis comes: Now is your time, for with her comes an idol, That claims homage.-I'll attend the king. [Exit. Enter SYSIGAMBIS with a Letter, and PARISATIS. Sys. Why will ye wound me with your fond complaints, And urge a suit that I can never grant ; Par. To sooth this god, and charm him into temper, Is there no victim, none but Parisatis ? |