Sams. All otherwise to me my thoughts portend, That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light, Nor th' other light of life continue long,. But yield to double darkness nigh at hand: So much I feel ny genial spirits droop, My hopes all flat, nature within me seems In all her functions weary of herself, My race of glory run, and race of shame, And I shall shortly be with them that rest.

Man. Believe not these suggestions which proceed From anguish of the mind and humours black That mingle with thy fancy. I however Must not omit a father's timely care To prosecute the means of thy deliverance By ransom, or how else: meanwhile be calm, And healing words from these thy friends admit. [Exit. Sams. O that torment should not be confin'd To the body's wounds and sores,

With maladies innumerable

In heart, head, breast, and reins;
But must secret passage find
To th' inmost mind,

There exercise all his fierce accidents,
And on her purest spirits prey,

As on entrails, joints, and limbs,

With answerable pains, but more intense,
Though void of corporal sense!

My griefs not only pain me

As a ling'ring disease,

But finding no redress, ferment and rage,
Nor less than wounds immedicable

Rankle, and fester, and gangrene,

To black mortification.

Thoughts, my tormentors, arm'd with deadly stings Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts,

Exasperate, exulcerate, and raise

Dire inflammation, which no cooling herb
Or medicinal liquor can assuage,
Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp.
Sleep hath forsook and given me o'er

To death's benumbing opium as my only cure;
Thence faintings, swoonings of depair,

And sense of heaven's desertion.

I was his nursling once and choice delight, His destin'd from the womb,

Promis'd, by heavenly message twice descending.
Under his special eye

Abstemious I grew up and thriv'd amain;
He led me on to mightiest deeds

Above the nerve of mortal arm

Against th' uncircumcis'd, our enemies :
But now hath cast me off as never known,
And to those cruel enemies,

Whom I by his appointment had provoked,
Left me all helpless, with th' irreparable loss
Of sight, reserv'd alive to be repeated
The subject of their cruelty or scorn.
Nor am I in the list of them that hope;
Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless;
This one prayer yet remains, might I be heard,
No long petition, speedy death,

The close of all my miseries, and the balm.
Chor. Many are the sayings of the wise,
In ancient and in modern books inroll'd,
Extolling patience as the truest fortitude;
And to the bearing well of all calamities,
All chances incident to man's frail life,
Consolatories writ

With studied argument, and much persuasion sought
Lenient of grief and anxious thought;

But with th' afflicted in his pangs their sound

Little prevails, or rather seems a tune

Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint:

Unless he feel within

Some source of consolation from above,

Secret refreshings, that repair his strength,

And fainting spirits uphold.

God of our fathers! what is man

That thou tow'rds him with hand so various,
Or might I say contrarious,

Temper'st thy providence through his short course,

Not evenly as thou rul'st

Th' angelic orders and inferior creatures,
Irrational and brute?

Nor do I name of men the common rout,
That wand'ring loose about

Grow up and perish as the summer fly,
Heads without name, no more remember'd,
But such as thou hast solemnly elected,
With gifts and graces eminently adorn'd
To some great work, thy glory,

And people's safety, which in part they' effect:
Yet toward these thus dignified, thou oft
Amidst their height of noon

Changest thy countenance, and thy hand with no
Of highest favours past

[regard

From thee on them, or them to thee of service.
Nor only dost degrade them, or remit

To life obscur'd, which were a fair dismission,

But throw'st them lower than thou didst exalt them Unseemly falls in human eye,

Too grievous for the trespass or omission;

Oft leav'st them to the hostile sword

Of heathen and profane, their carcasses

To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captiv'd;

[high,

Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times
And condemnation of the ingrateful multitude.
If these they 'scape, perhaps in poverty

With sickness and disease thou bow'st them down,
Painful diseases and deform'd,

In crude old age;

Though not disordinate, yet causeless suff'ring
The punishment of dissolute days: in fine,
Just or unjust alike seem miserable,

For oft alike both come to evil' end.

So deal not with this once thy glorious champion, The image of thy strength and mighty minister. What do I beg? how hast thou dealt already? Behold him in this state calamitous, and turn His labours, for thou canst, to peaceful end.

But who is this, what thing of sea or land? Female of sex it seems,

That so bedeck'd, ornate, and gay,
Comes this way sailing

Like a stately ship

Of Tarsus, bound for th' isles

Of Javan or Gadire,

With all her bravery on, and tackle trim,
Sail fill'd, and streamers waving,

Courted by all the winds that hold them play,
An amber scent of odorous perfume
Her harbinger, a damsel train behind?
Some rich Philistian matron she may seem;
And now at nearer view, no other certain
Than Dalila thy wife.
[near me,
Sams. My wife, my trait'ress! let her not come
Chor. Yet on she moves, now stands, and eyes
thee fix'd,

About t' have spoke, but now, with head declin'd,
Like a fair flower surcharg'd with dew, she weeps,
And words address'd seem into tears dissolv'd,
Wetting the borders of her silken veil:

But now again she makes address to speak.

Enter DALILA,

Dal. With doubtful feet and wavering resolution I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson, Which to have merited, without excuse,

I cannot but acknowledge; yet if tears
May expiate (though the fact more evil drew
In the perverse event than I foresaw,)

My penance hath not slacken'd, though my pardon
No way assur'd. But conjugal affection
Prevailing over fear, and timorous doubt,
Hath led me on desirous to behold

Once more thy face, and know of thy estate,
If aught in my ability may serve

To lighten what thou suffer'st, and appease
Thy mind with what amends is in my power,
Though late, yet in some part to recompense
My rash but more unfortunate misdeed.

Sams. Out, out hyæna! these are thy wonted arts, And arts of every woman false like thee,

To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray,
Then as repentant to submit, beseech,

And reconcilement move with feign'd remorse,
Confess, and promise wonders in her change,
Not truly penitent, but chief to try

Her husband, how far urg'd his patience bears,
His virtue or weakness which way to assail :
Then with more cautious and instructed skill
Again transgresses, and again submits:
That wisest and best men full oft beguil'd,
With goodness principled not to reject
The penitent, but ever to forgive,
Are drawn to wear out miserable days,
Entangled with a pois'nous bosom snake,
If not by quick destruction soon cut off
As I by thee, to ages an example.

Dal. Yet hear me, Samson; not that I endeavour To lessen or extenuate my offence,

But that on th' other side, if it be weigh'd
By' itself, with aggravation not surcharg'd,
Or else with just allowance counterpois'd,
I may, if possible, thy pardon find

The easier towards me, or thy hatred less.
First granting, as I do, it was a weakness
In me, but incident to all our sex,
Curiosity, inquisitive, importune

Of secrets, then with like infirmity

To publish them, both common female faults:
Was it not weakness also to make known
For importunity, that is, for nought,

Wherein consisted all thy strength and safety?
To what I did thou show'dst me first the way;
But I to enemies reveal'd, and should not,
Nor shouldst thou have trusted that to woman's
frailty:

Ere I to thee, thou to thyself wast cruel.

Let weakness then with weakness come to parle,
So near related, or the same of kind,

Thine forgive mine; that men may censure thine
The gentler, if severely thou exact not

More strength from me, than in thyself was found.