 | Merope |  |
ACT II.
SCENE I.
SCENE Continues.Enter Glycon and Nicanor.
Glycon.
You say, the rumour of our purpos'd match
Already works as you and I could wish.
Nic.
It spreads apace, and captivates the vulgar,
As I foretold it would. It now remains
To think of somewhat that may please the Queen,
And introduce you with advantage there.
Enter Adrastus, and delivers a Paper.
Adr.
Permit me, Royal Sir, to offer This.
Timoclea, stripp'd of her inheritance,
Implores your goodness to allow a claim,
Not forfeited (as she presumes to hope)
E'en by her Father's treason.
Gly.
She mistakes.
Possession is against her; and the sword
Has cut her title short.
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But if your Wisdom
Yields to her suit, it hits the point in view,
By gratifying Merope, whose ward
Timoclea is.
Adr.
Her ward and favourite.
Gly.
Why there the question is intirely chang'd;
A question now no longer. Her desire
Is granted; for it smooths the way to mine.
We would not be suppos'd of choice to practise
A lean Plebeian virtue; but the Great
Themselves may now-and-then, without a blush,
Declare for justice when it serves their int'rest.
[A noise without.
Ha! what alarm is that? Inquire, Adrastus.
[Exit Adrastus.
My guards, Nicanor! Speak—where are they, Traitor?
Revolted?
Nic.
Surely no.
Gly.
They are; and treason
Knocks at my palace gate unmask'd.
Re-enter Adrastus and Phalantos.
Adr.
The tumult
Is over now. But whence it rose, Phalantus
Can best inform you.
Phal.
I have seiz'd a murd'rer
Fresh from the fact; that all unhappy omens,
Averted by his punishment, may fly
To distant regions, he shall never boast
Of baffling our Messene's laws.
Gly.
Who is he?
Phal.
He seems a stranger.
Gly.
Who the person slain?
Phal.
I know not; cast into the whelming stream,
His body sunk at once.
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What proof produce you
To warrant this?
Pha.
The Criminal's confession.
Soon as the Chace had summon'd me abroad,
I heard of one just robb'd and kill'd. The robber,
They told me, fled along the river side.
We follow'd on the spur, and overtook him
Close by the Palace wall; he drew his sword
Still blushing with the blood so lately spilt,
And yielded not, till after a resistance
That spoke uncommon Valour.
Gly.
Rather say,
Uncommon Insolence. And could he dare,
So near our person, to affront our power?
Pha.
A Ring, too costly to belong to Him,
I pull'd from off his finger, and present it
[Giving Glycon a Ring.
In confirmation of a a charge, which else
His fair appearance might almost disprove.
His aspect and his sentiments are noble,
Disguis'd in low degree and mean attire.
Gly.
Where is he? bring th'offender in; this Ring
[Exit Phalantus.
Is demonstration. Have you ever seen
[Shewing the Ring.
A Gem so nicely wrought? and, for its price,
Our Crown has none so rich.
Re-enter Phalantus, with Egistus.
Pha.
Great Sir, behold
The guilty person.
Gly.
Is this he, who rais'd
The cry of blood, and then profan'd our Court
With rude alarms and sacrilegious force?
Who are you? what you are appears too plain.
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Egist.
You misplace the name
On him who would not change these humble weeds
For purple stain'd with blood. Egistus, proud
Of honest poverty, am I. My birth—
Gly.
Dream'd you the Sceptre fill'd our hands in vain?
Or thought we tolerated robbers?
Egis.
Yes;
Illustrious, wealthy Robbers. I am needy;
And plunder is a crime, when join'd with want;
Want the worst crime. I cannot purchase pardon;
Or if I could, my Innocence disdains it,
And is its own Sollicitor. My plea
Is self-defence. I but prevented Him
Who would have murder'd Me. This witness, Jove?
Gly.
The common cheat of hypocrites, to vouch
A witness out of call. Relate your story.
Egis.
As I pursu'd my solitary way,
A savage wretch (for such his aspect spoke him)
Scarce older than myself, advanc'd to meet me.
His sword he brandish'd; and his ardent eyes,
Which, rolling first at leisure round, assur'd him
That help was far away, shot sternly on me
Their angry glances, and forbad my passage
Across the bridge, which both at once we gain'd.
He grip'd my arm, and menac'd present death:
With ready strength I loos'd his hold, and drew:
We fought a while, then clos'd and fell together;
Nor know I, if I found him underneath me
By accident or skill; but lifted high
My shorten'd sword, and plung'd it in his heart.
Gly.
'Tis well! you murder'd, and then robb'd: Proceed.
Egis.
I guess'd the body of the slain, expos'd
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From ev'ry quarter; and to fly was vain.
I therefore chose to cast it o'er the bridge,
From the mid arch, within the swelling stream.
Gly.
But tell me, trifler, why the dead was hurry'd
From the survey of Justice; which requires
Full satisfaction where a life is lost,
Egis.
'Twas not for guilt that I declin'd the Test;
But, bent on speed, I us'd the likeliest means
To shun delay. The judge within, my conscience,
I had already satisfy'd; and, trust me,
I fear offending That, when most retir'd,
Beyond the lifted arm of angry Pow'r.
Gly.
No more evasions, as you prize your life.
Egis.
I prize it not, nor would prolong it, but
On worthy terms. Where Virtue is the centre,
The circle may be small, but must be perfect.
Gly.
Are Life and Death indiff'rent to you?
Egis.
No.
Life is my choice; for Nature shrinks from death;
And dying now would balk a thousand glories,
That crouding forward wait upon my Genius,
And wing my fancy to the heights of Fame.
I have a Father too who lives in Me;
And in that thought my scorn of death is vanish'd;
For I must fear for Him, and beg for life,
Spare his in sparing mine.
Gly.
But whence this Ring
Found on you by Phalanthus? it confronts
Your weak defence, and aggravates your guilt
By the high rank of him you stripp'd and slew.
Egis.
You wrong my Innocence. Once more I claim
That Ring; no booty, but my Father's gift.
Gly.
And could the Father of a Son so mean
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Th'Assyrian Monarch's Crown?
Egis.
He could, and did.
So may the Gods, that guard this Royal roof,
Protect their Suppliant from his threaten'd doom,
As at Jove's Altar my indulgent Sire
Gave me the Ring, wept o'er me, and engag'd
My solemn vow that I would ever wear it.
Gly.
A well invented Tale! he never wants
A specious plea, whom none can contradict.
Who ever yet accus'd himself? but I,
The watchful Guardian of offended Law,
Rise at the call of blood. Be sure you bring
Some witness worthy of belief.
Egis.
I do;
Myself. Suspecting my integrity,
You wrong your own.
Gly.
Audacious wretch, to brave
The bended brow of Majesty! secure him
In strict confinement to receive his doom.
[Exeunt Egistus and Phalantus.
Nicanor, what if, to oblige the Queen
Yet farther, I present her This? [The Ring]
a proof
That what I do in favour to her Creature,
Is purpos'd as a mark of grace to Her.
Nic.
A thought becoming Glycon's wisdom!
Gly.
Here.
[Giving the Ring to Nicanor.
And let Timoclea bear it to her Mistress;
My Mistress now; and That the Ring to join us.
Enter a Messenger.
Mes.
My Lord, the Sacrifice, ordain'd in honour
Of your intended Nuptials with the Queen,
Awaits your presence.
Gly.
Glorious pageantry
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Forc'd to be Players in so stale a Farce!
[Exit Glycon.
[Adrastus is following.
Nic.
With you, my Son, a word.
Adr.
Some heav'nly Power
Inspir'd my Father with that happy turn,
That mov'd the King to grant Timoclea's pray'r.
Nic.
You are a stranger yet to half my project,
And owe me more than you imagine.
Adr.
Ha!
Nic.
It glads me that Timoclea chose my Son
Of all Mankind to patronize her cause.
Adr.
Not she, my Lord; but my Ismene for her.
Nic.
Argaleon's Daughter! Peace for shame, and quit
That grov'ling passion as you dread my curse,
Your only portion, if you disobey.
Adr.
Recall your sentence, or resume my life,
A worthless gift; for what is life without her?
Nic.
And with her, what but Misery and Shame?
Ambition was your darling passion once;
How can it stoop so vilely to adopt
The younger Branch of an attainted race,
And on my stock graft poverty and treason?
Adr.
The cruel weight of what you urge has struck
A chilling damp into my heart. Let Her
Deny or grant my suit, each way 'tis fatal,
If not approv'd by You. But oh! my Father,
Unless you own that tender name in vain;
If Nature, pleading for a once lov'd Son,
Has any influence left—
Nic.
Prepare your heart
To taste the sweets of change, and entertain
A Father's wiser choice. A Father's, said I?
It must be sure your own. Fate takes th'occasion
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A beauteous heiress now.
Adr.
But my addresses
May come too late—some other love—
Nic.
Away.
Henceforward cease to call Nicanor Father,
Or act your part without reserve. This Ring,
With Glycon's compliment to Merope,
I must with speed deliver to Timoclea:
But ere she carries it, I send her hither
To own your service, and receive your vows.
[Exit Nicanor.
Adr.
Farewel my Honour then—I cannot add
With equal case and truth, farewel Remorse;
That stings me to the soul for poor Ismene.
The soft—believing—injur'd—Ha!—Remorse;
And nothing more! He were a harden'd villain
Who felt not That—But what is he who feels it,
And perseveres? A greater—for he braves
Conviction—and for what? His int'rest—Most
Have that to plead; and what have I besides?
But, oh! how sordid is that plea in Love,
Which soars above it still in gen'rous minds!
And so it would in mine. But hold—my Father
Has interpos'd the bar of filial duty—
There let it rest—I shall discover all
To my worst foe, Reflection—Honesty,
I must allow thee this—no peace can mix
With crimes, unless the close offender hides 'em
From his own view, as from the world's—I dare not
Look farther in—Alas for giddy Reason,
When lost in thought's fantastic Mazes! Reason,
That like the dog attending some blind vagrant,
Guides, and is guided too; while he the wretch,
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And slowly gropes his way, in fear and danger
Of stumbling ev'ry step. But now begins
My part, a Player's part, to feign desire,
And glow with painted flames.
Enter Timoclea.
Tim.
My Lord, your Father
Tells me I have succeeded; and directs
My gratitude to You. Content and honour
Reward this goodness.
Adr.
It rewards it self.
But, ah! divinely fair, though charms like yours
Transcend desert, yet faithful homage paid
To Beauty, is allow'd the justest claim,
I dare not say, to recompence, but favour.
Tim.
May that be yours, the gift of Her, who won you
To undertake my Cause; the fair Ismene.
Adr.
O! let me change Ismene for Timoclea,
And then your wish is mine.
Tim.
A Change indeed!
You mock Timoclea, or you wrong her friend.
Adr.
If she is wrong'd, 'tis for Your sake I wrong her.
Let Her resent; but let Timoclea pardon:
Or if you will resent Ismene's wrongs,
Relentless to the fault your eyes inspir'd,
Adrastus, doating on that fault to death,
His refuge from scorn'd love, shall still embrace
The glorious chain; and nurse the tender smart;
Proud to offend, and pleas'd to be undone.
Tim.
Enough. In Justice I must tell Ismene
All that has past; but you have prov'd to-day
My gen'rous friend; and Gratitude requires me
To wish that you may merit her forgiveness.
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Calls me away.
[Exit Timoclea.
Adr.
Her Coldness is enough
To freeze a real passion to indiff'rence.
How I despise myself! and loath the slavery
That weighs me down beneath the double curse
Of arbitrary power, as Son and Subject,
To shame my Honour thus, and rob my Love!
[Exit.
SCENE changes to Merope's Apartment.
Enter at one door Arbantes, at the other Euryalus and Argaleon.
Eur.
Arbantes! well! how left you Merope?
Arb.
New Sorrows—fresh Alarms.
Arg.
To hear that Glycon
Resolves to wed her.
Arb.
That concern is lost,
Great as it was, in greater now. Her fears
Have kill'd Cleander.
Arg.
How?
Arb.
This very day
The robber slew him, for not one Messenian
(She cries)
is missing.
Eur.
Granted.
Arb.
The Deceas'd
Must consequently be a Foreigner.
Eur.
But why her Son?
Arb.
Description and Report
Chime with her fancy. He was young—alone—
And that which shocks her most, as well it may,
He came from Sparta; and you know, the road
Lies o'er the bridge, on which the Stranger fell.
Arg.
But does the Time agree?
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Too well. He might
With ease ere this have reach'd his journey's end.
Eur.
His journey's end indeed.
Arb.
The pregnant clouds
Hang low; and, scatter'd by our long'd-for Sun,
Must vanish soon, or burst into a storm.
Enter Merope and Ismene.
Mer.
O vain fallacious hope of joys to come!
O! sole Survivor of the Royal Line!
Lost, lost for ever! O unhappy Country!
But most unhappy Me!
Ism.
Dear Madam, spare—
Mer.
Away—you will not bar your wretched Mistress
The freedom of complaint—inhuman Glycon
Has still allow'd me That. Distinguish'd woe
Has given Merope the privilege
Of tears profusely shed, and loud laments;
And piercing groans, and open execrations:
While other mourners swell with stifling theirs;
Or vent them to remote and lonely Echoes.
Arg.
But since it may be otherwise—
Mer.
It cannot;
For mark the cruel artifice of Glycon.
Arb.
A vain surmise. For how should Glycon know?
Mer.
Nay; who can penetrate a Tyrant's ways?
'Tis plain to me he knew my Child's approach;
And plac'd th'Assassin at the bridge to kill him;
To sink the body, and conceal the fact.
For, base and bloody though he is, he fear'd
To tempt the fury of Mankind anew
By such a Murder publickly avow'd.
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Mer.
O my Timoclea! all is over.
Tim.
No.
Have comfort, Madam. At my entrance here
I heard of your distress, and bring relief.
Mer.
My dear Timoclea, do I wake?
Tim.
Whoe'er
Fell at the Bridge to-day, be well assur'd
He could not be your Son.
Mer.
Once more you raise me
From death to life; but how can life sustain
The swift returning tide? so fierce a flow
Of spirits all at once?
Tim.
The Prince your Son,
Nurs'd in obscurity, and train'd to want,
Must needs be scantily supply'd for travel.
Mer.
Too true, Timoclea.
Tim.
But the Stranger slain
Was spoil'd of costly Ornaments.
Mer.
If so;
Your inference is just. It was not he.
Tell me what Ornaments.
Tim.
Behold this Ring;
[Giving the Ring.
'Tis Glycon's gift to you.
Mer.
What would the Tyrant?
I hate the giver, and despise the gift;
And yet it comes in season now to—Ha!—
Tim.
My gracious Mistress, is it not a Treasure?
Mer.
What have I seen? Ye Gods! 'tis sure the same.
The hapless Youth, who lost his life to-day,
Had he this Gem?
Tim.
He had. But, Madam, why?
Why this disorder?
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Ye have now prevail'd,
Malicious Pow'rs. And, Fortune, thou hast struck
(Be satisfy'd) thy last blow.
Ism.
Heavens!
Arb.
Amazement!
Tim.
How my heart throbs!
Mer.
I gave your Father this,
[To Timoclea.
And swore him by my Husband's ghost to give it
To my Cleander, when he grew to manhood:
He grew to manhood; but, alas! in vain.
Tim.
What do I hear?
Arg.
Astonishing!
Mer.
I am
No more a Mother—all my hopes are fled.
Tim.
But, Madam, may you not mistake? Reflect
How many Suns have roll'd since you beheld
That Ring; and can you then retain its image
With such unfailing certainty?
Arb.
Besides,
May not two Jewels, form'd by chance alike,
Confound the nicest eye?
Mer.
How form'd alike?
Or how can I mistake? Five years I wore it;
The first dear Present of my husband's love;
And can you dream I know it not again?
What! are my senses gone? Alas! they are not—
I am not yet so happy—Look, my friend,
[To Arbantes.
The private Signature of King Cresfontes.
Arb.
Oh! the mysterious pow'r of Destiny.
Ism.
Her heart foretold her this by strong misgivings.
Tim.
Such wondrous Prophets oft are Mothers!
Mer.
Now,
What room, Arbantes, to prolong the date
Of this most wretched life? The Hope that fed it;
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Is shut in endless night. These eyes no more,
No, never more, shall see my Son—and Glycon's
Devoted head, the source of publick woe,
May now grow white in tyranny—Unkind
And partial Deities—the dire Usurper—
The Traitor—Murderer—has flourish'd long;
Enjoy'd his guilt, and glory'd in his shame.
While still your poison'd shafts flew thick and sure
At good Cresfontes, and his guiltless race,
Now quite extinguish'd: And perhaps it grieves ye,
That He, my last expiring hope, has left
No future mark of your unpitying wrath.
Arb.
The Gods, illustrious Merope, who frown
Thus to the last, have signaliz'd the wound
With unexampled smart, the more to grace
Your virtue. Think on That; and persevere.
Eur.
Let thousands daily sink in deep distress,
'Tis Yours alone to stem the stubborn tide,
And triumph o'er the waves.
Arb.
The winding paths
Of Providence divine delude our search:
For who can trace the maze?
Arg.
Remember Him,
The King of Men, in whose distinguish'd cause
Greece crouded to the war, in myriads arm'd,
And hid the Trojan shore. You know he offer'd
His darling Daughter to a cruel death:
Nor are you ignorant that Heav'n enjoin'd it.
Mer.
Had Heav'n enjoin'd a Mother to perform
That harsh command, the pangs of female softness,
Unknown to men, had made her disobey:
Besides, the victim you have nam'd, with joy
Hail'd the triumphant stroke that sav'd her country:
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To die ignobly by a ruffian's hands.
No, good Argaleon—dear Timoclea—no—
My death is fix'd—'Tis sure, the Tyrant's wiles
Found out my child; the Tyrant's hireling slew him!
Else why this ring, this vile inhuman insult,
This barb'rous present of unmanly spite?
Had I the murd'rer in my power, the truth,
In groans, should echo from the tortur'd slave;
And ripping to his heart the way, I'd rend
And scatter't piece-meal. O, my friends! assist me,
If you are friends! But you, who fear the Gods,
Must sly the wretch they all conspire to ruin.
Arg.
Your loss is ours, and claims our common vengeance.
Mer.
Then grant me, Jove, my pray'r; if pray'rs avail,
In all the bitterness of soul preferr'd!
If blood can cry, and royal blood be heard,
Let not a Queen, a Wife, a Mother, go,
Defrauded of the dear avenging blow,
Her passport to Cleander's shade below.
[Exeunt.
The End of the Second Act.
| Merope | |