University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

Enter Perseus.
Perseus.
Why loiters my Ambassador to Dymas?
His Greatness will not sure presume to scorn
A Friendship offer'd from an Heir of Empire.
But Pericles returns.
Enter Pericles.
Is Dymas ours?

Pericles.
He's cautious, Sir, he's subtle, he's a Courtier.
Dymas is now for you, now for your Brother;
For both, and neither: He's a Summer-Insect,
And loves the Sunshine: On his gilded Wings,
While the Scales waver, he'll fly doubtful round you;
And sing his Flatteries to both alike:
The Scales once fix'd, he'll settle on the Winner,
And swear his Pray'rs drew down the Victory—
But what Success had you, Sir, with your Brother?

Perseus.
All, all my Hopes are at the Point of Death!
The Boy triumphant keeps his Hold in Love:
He's ever warbling Nonsense in her Ear,
With all th'Intoxication of Success.
Darkness incloses me; nor see I Light
From any Quarter dawn, but from his Death.

Pericles.
Why start at his Death, who resolves on yours?

Perseus.
Resolves on mine!

Pericles.
Have you not mark'd the Princess?
You have: With what a Beam of Majesty
Her Eye strikes sacred Awe! It speaks her Mind
Exalted, as it is. Whom loves she then?
Demetrius? no; Rome's Darling; who, no doubt,
Dares court her with your Empire. And shall Perseus
Survive that Loss?—Thus he resolves your Death.

Perseus.
Most true. What Crime then to strike first? But how?
Or when? or where? O Pericles! assist me.

Pericles.
'Tis dangerous.

Perseus.
The fitter then for me.

Pericles.
Wait an Occasion that befriends your Wishes.

Perseus.
Go, Fool, and teach a Cataract to creep!
Can Thirst of Empire, Vengeance, Beauty, wait?

Pericles.
In the mean time, accept a Stratagem
That must secure your Empire, or your Love.
Your Brother's Roman Friendships gall no less
The King, than you: He dreads their Consequence.
Dymas hates Rome; and Dymas has a Daughter.
How can the King so powerfully fix
Demetrius' Faith, as by his Marriage there?
For Dymas, thus, Rome's sworn, eternal Foe,
Becomes a Spy upon his private Life,
And Surety for his Conduct.

Perseus.
True—but thus
Our Art defeats itself. My Brother gains
The Favourite, and so strengthens in his Treason.

Pericles.
Think you, he'll wed her? No; the Princess' Eye
Makes no such short-liv'd Conquest. He'll refuse,
And thus effect what I have strove in vain:
Yes, he'll refuse; and Dymas, in his Wrath,
Will list for us, and Vengeance—Then the King
Will, doubtless, much resent his Son's Refusal;
And thus we kindle the whole Court against him.

Perseus.
My precious Friend, I thank thee. I take Wing
On ardent Hope: I think it cannot fail.
Go, make thy Court to Dymas with this Scheme:
Begone—Erixene?—I'll feed her Pride
[Looking out.
Once more; but not expend my Breath in vain.
This Meeting stamps unalterable Fate,
I will wed her, or Vengeance.
Enter Erixene and Delia.
O Erixene!
O Princess! colder than your Thracian Snows!
See Perseus, who ne'er stoop'd but to the Gods,
Prostrate before you. Fame, and Empire sue.
Why have I conquer'd?—Because you are fair.
What's Empire?—but a Title to adore you.
Why do I number in my Lineage high
Heroes and Gods?—That you, scarce less divine,
Without a Blush may listen to my Vows.
My Ancestor subdu'd the World. I dare
Beyond his Pride, and grasp at more, in you.
Obdurate Maid! or turn, or I expire.

Erixene.
If Love, my Lord, is Choice, who loves in vain
Should blame himself alone; and if 'tis Fate,
'Tis Fate in all: Why then your Blame on me?
My Crown's precarious, thro' the Chance of War;
But sure my Heart's my own. Each Villager
Is Queen of her Affections, and can vent
Her arbitrary Sighs where-e'er she pleases.
Shall then the Daughter of a Race of Kings—

Perseus.
Madam, you justly blame the Chance of War:
The Gods have been unkind: I am not so.
No! Perseus comes to counter-balance Fate.
Thrace ne'er was conquer'd,—if you smile on me.
Silent! obdurate still! as cold as Death!
But 'tis Demetrius—

Erixene.
Prince, I take your Meaning.
But, if you truly think his Worth prevails,
How strange is your Request!

Perseus.
No, Madam, no;
Tho' Love has hurt my Mind, I still can judge
What Springs controul the Passions of the Great.
Ambition is first Minister of State;
Love's but a second in the Cabinet;
Nor can he feather there his unfledg'd Shaft
But from Ambition's Wing: But you conceive
More sanguine Hopes, from him whom Rome supports,
Than me. You view Demetrius on my Throne;
And thence he shines indeed. His Charms from thence
Transpierce your Soul, enamour'd of Dominion.

Erixene.
Why now you shew me your profound Esteem!
Demetrius' Guilt alone has Charms for me;
'Tis not the Prince, but Traitor, wins my Love.
Such Insults are not brookt by Royal Minds,
Howe'er their Fortunes ebb; and tho' I mourn,
An Orphan, and a Captive, Gods there are—
Fear then an Orphan's, and a Captive's Wrong.

Perseus.
Your cruel Treatment of my Passion—
But I'll not talk.—This, Madam; only this—
Think not the Cause, the cursed Cause of all,
Shall laugh secure, and triumph in my Pangs.
No; by the Torments of an Heart on Fire,
She gluts my Vengeance, who defrauds my Love!

[Exit.
Erixene.
What have I done? In what a Whirlwind Rage
Has snatch'd him hence on Ill? I frown on Perseus,
And kill Demetrius.

Delia.
Madam, see the Prince.

Enter Demetrius.
Erixene.
Ah, Prince! the Tempest, which so long has lour'd,
Is now full ripe, and bursting o'er your Head.
This Moment Perseus' Malice flam'd before me;
Victorious Rage broke thro' his wonted Guard,
And menac'd loud your Ruin. Fly, O fly!
This Instant.

Demetrius.
To what Refuge?

Erixene.
Rome extends
Her longing Arms to clasp you for her own.

Demetrius.
Madam, 'tis prudent; I confess it is:
But is it loving as true Lovers ought,
To be so very prudent in our Love?
I boast not so much Wisdom: I prefer
Death at your Feet, before the World without you.

Erixene.
In Danger thus extreme—

Demetrius.
Oh! most Belov'd!
Lov'd you like me, like me would you discern,
That I but execute my Brother's Purpose
By such a Flight. At that his Clamour, Rage,
And Menace aim; to chase a Rival hence,
And keep the Field alone. Oh! shall I leave him
To gaze whole Days; to learn to read your Eye;
To study your Delights; to chide the Wind's
Too rude Approach; to bid the Ground be smooth;
To follow, like your Shadow, where you go;
Tread in your Steps; perhaps—to touch your Hand.
O Death! to minister in little Things;
From half a Glance to prophesy your Will,
And do it, ere well form'd in your own Mind?
Gods! Gods! while Worlds divide me from my Princess,
That, should she call, Demetrius might grow old,
Ere he could reach her Feet.

Erixene.
If Perseus' Love
Pains you, it pains me more. Is your Heart griev'd?
Mine is tormented: But since Philip's Self
Is Love's great Advocate, a flat Refusal
But blows their Rage, and hastens your Destruction.
Had I not that to fear! were you secure!
I'd ease my Bosom of it's full Disdain,
And dash this bold Presumer on his Birth.
But, see! the grand Procession.

Demetrius.
We must join it.

Enter the King, Perseus, Romans, Antigonus, &c.
King.
Let the Procession halt! and here be paid,
Before yon flaming Altar, Thanks to Heav'n,
That brings us safe to this auspicious Day!
The great Lustration of our martial Powers,
Which from its distant Birth to present Time
Unfolds the Glories of this antient Empire,
And throngs the Pride of Ages in an Hour.

Posthumius.
What Figure's that, O Philip! which precedes?

[Pointing.
King.
The Founder of our Empire, furious Son
Of great Alcides. We're ally'd to Heaven;
And you, I think, call Romulus a God.—
That, Philip, second of our Name; and here,
O bend with Awe to him, whose red right Hand
Hurl'd proud Darius like a Star from Heaven,
With lesser Lights around him, flaming down,
And bid the laurel's Sons of Macedonia
Drink their own Ganges.

Perseus.
Give him his Helmet, Brother.

[Aside to Demetrius.]
King.
You lead the Troops that join in mock Encounter:
And in no other may you ever meet!
[To his Sons.]
But march one Way, and drive the World before you.
The Victor, as our antient Rites decree,
Must hold a Feast, and triumph in the Bowl.

Demetrius.
I long, my Lord, to see the Charge begin:
The brandish'd Faulchion, and the clashing Helm,
Tho' but in Sport; it is a Sport for Men.
Raw Alexander thus began his Fame,
And overthrew Darius, first, at home.
We'll practise o'er the Plans of future Conquests,
While neighbouring Nations tremble at our Play;
And own the Fault in Fortune, not in us,
That we but want a Foe to be immortal.

Perseus.
You have supply'd my Wants: I thank you, Brother,

King.
[Rising and coming forwards, Music.
How vain all outward Effort to supply
The Soul with Joy! The Noontide Sun is dark,
And Music Discord, when the Heart is low:
Avert its Omen! what a Damp hangs on me!
These sprightly, tuneful Airs but skim along
The Surface of my Soul, not enter there:
She does not dance to this inchanting Sound.
How, like a broken Instrument, beneath
The skilful Touch, my joyless Heart lies dead!
Nor answers to the Master's Hand divine!

Antigonus.
When Men once reach their Autumn, sickly Joys
Fall off apace, as yellow Leaves from Trees,
At ev'ry little Breath Misfortune blows;
Till, left quite naked of their Happiness,
In the chill Blasts of Winter they expire.
This is the common Lot. Have Comfort then:
Your Grief will damp the Triumph.

King.
It is over.
Hear too; the Trumpet calls us to the Field,
And now this Phantom of a Fight begins.
Fair Princess, you and I will go together,
As Priam, and bright Helen did of old,
To view the War. Your Eyes will make them bolder,
And raise the Price of Victory itself.

[All go out but Perseus, who has observ'd Demetrius and Erixene all this Time conversing, and stays behind thoughtful and disturb'd.]
Perseus.
Before my Face she feeds him with her Smiles:
The King looks on, nor disapproves the Crime;
And the Boy takes them as not due to me.
Without Remorse as happy as she'll make him.
Perish all three! I'll seek Allies elsewhere;
Father, and Brother, nay, a Mistress too.
Destruction, rise! Though thou art black as Night
Thy Mother, and as hideous as Despair;
I'll clasp thee thus, nor think of Woman more.
How the Boy doats, and drinks in at his Eyes
Her Poison! O to stab him in her Arms!
And yet do less than they have done to me.

Enter Pericles.
Pericles.
Where is my Prince? The Nation's on the Wing,
No Bosom but exults; no Hand but bears
A Garland, or a Trophy: And shall Perseus—

Perseus.
Vengeance!

Pericles.
[Shout within.
Hear how with Shouts they rend the Skies!

Perseus.
Give me my Vengeance!

Pericles.
Forty thousand Men,
In polish'd Armour, shine against the Sun.

Perseus.
Dare but another Word, and not of Vengeance,
And I will use thee, as I wou'd—my Brother.

Pericles.
Vengeance! on whom?

Perseus.
On him.

Pericles.
What Vengeance?

Perseus.
Blood.

Pericles.
'Tis yours.

Perseus.
What God will give it me?

Pericles.
Your own Right-hand.

Perseus.
I dare not—for my Father.

Pericles.
You shall dare.

Perseus.
Shalt thou dare give Encouragement to Perseus?
Unfold thy Purpose; I'll outshoot the Mark.

Pericles.
Where are you going?

Perseus.
To the mock Encounter.

Pericles.
What more like mock Encounter than the true?

Perseus.
Enough—He's dead! 'Twas Accident; 'twas Error:
No matter what. Ten thousand share the Blame.

Pericles.
Hold, Sir! I had forgot: On this Occasion,
The Troops are search'd; and Foils alone are worn,
Instead of Swords.

Perseus.
An Osier were enough.
Who pains my Heart, plants Thunder in my Hand.

Pericles.
But, should this fail—

Perseus.
Impossible!

Pericles.
But, should it,
The Banquet follows.

Perseus.
Poison in his Wine.
I thank the Gods! my Spirits are reviv'd!
I draw immortal Vigour from that Bowl!

Pericles.
Nay, should both fail, the Field and Banquet too,
All fails not; fairer Hopes to fair succeed:
For know, my Lord, the King receiv'd with Joy
The Marriage-Scheme, and sent for Dymas' Daughter.

Perseus.
Then there's a second Bowl of Poison for him.

Pericles.
Yet more: This Ev'ning those Ambassadors,
Which Philip sent to Rome, beneath the Name
Of public Business, but, in Truth, to learn
Your Brother's Conduct, are expected home.

Perseus.
Those whom I swore, before they parted hence,
In dreadful Sacraments of Wine and Blood,
To bring back such Reports, as shou'd destroy him:
And what if, to complete our secret Plan,
We feign a Letter to his Friend the Consul,
To strengthen our Ambassadors Report?

Pericles.
That Care, my Lord, be mine: I know a Knave,
Grown fat on Forgery; he'll counterfeit
Old Quintius' Hand and Seal, by former Letters
Sent to the King; which you can gain with Ease.

Perseus.
Observe—This Morning, at their Interview,
The Romans, in effect, inform'd the King,
That Thrace was theirs, and order'd him restore
The Princess. This will give much Air of Truth,
If our forg'd Letters say the Romans crown
Demetrius King of Thrace, and promise more.

Pericles.
My Lord, it shall be done.

Perseus.
All cannot fail.

[Trumpets.
Pericles.
The Trumpets sound; the Troops are mounted.

Perseus.
Vengeance!
Sweet Vengeance calls: Nor ever call'd a God
Such swift Obedience: Like the rapid Wheel,
I kindle in the Course; I'm there already;
Snatch the bright Weapon; bound into my Seat;
Strike; triumph; see him gasping on the Ground,
And Life, Love, Empire, springing from his Wound.
When godlike Ends, by Means unjust, succeed,
The great Result adorns the daring Deed.
Virtue's a Shackle, under fair Disguise,
To fetter Fools, while we bear off the Prize.

[Exeunt.