University of Virginia Library

SCENE draws, the Court, King, &c.
Enter Dymas, and takes his Place by the King.
King.
Bring forth the Prisoners.
Strange Trial this! Here sit I to debate,
Which vital Limb to lop, nor that to save,
But render wretched Life more wretched still.
What see I, but Heav'n's Vengeance, in my Sons?
Their Guilt a Scourge for mine: 'Tis thus Heav'n writes
Its awful Meaning, plain in human Deeds,
And Language leaves to Man.

Enter Perseus and Demetrius in Chains, from different Sides of the Stage; Perseus follow'd by Pericles, and Demetrius by Antigonus.
Dymas.
Dread Sir, your Sons.

King.
I have no Sons; and that I ever had,
Is now my heaviest Curse: And yet what Care,
What Pains, I took to curb their rising Rage!
How often have I rang'd thro' History
To find Examples for their private Use?
The Theban Brothers did I set before them—
What Blood! what Desolation! but in vain!
For thee, Demetrius, did I go to Rome,
And bring thee Patterns thence of Brothers Love;
The Quintii, and the Scipio's: But in vain!
If I'm a Monarch, where is your Obedience?
If I'm a Father, where's your Duty to me?
If old, your Veneration due to Years?
But I have wept, and you have sworn, in vain!
I had your Ear, and Enmity your Heart.
How was this Morning's Counsel thrown away!
How happy is your Mother in the Grave!
She, when she bore you, suffer'd less: Her Pangs,
Her pungent Pangs, throb thro' the Father's Heart.

Demetrius.
You can't condemn me, Sir, to worse than this.

King.
Than what, thou young Deceiver? While I live,
You both with impious Wishes grasp my Sceptre:
Nothing is sacred, nothing dear, but Empire.
Brother, nor Father, can you bear; fierce Lust
Of Empire burns, extinguish'd all beside.
Why pant you for it? to give others Awe?
Be therefore aw'd yourselves, and tremble at it,
While in a Father's Hand.

Dymas.
My Lord, your Warmth
Defers the Business.

King.
Am I then too warm?
They that should shelter me from ev'ry Blast,
To be themselves the Storm! O! how Rome triumphs!
Oh! how they bring this hoary Head to Shame!
Conquest and Fame, the Labour of my Life,
Now turn against me; and call in the World
To gaze at what was Philip, but who now
Wants ev'n the Wretch's Privilege—a Wish.
What can I wish? Demetrius may be guiltless.
What then is Perseus? Judgment hangs as yet
Doubtful o'er them; but I'm condemn'd already;
For both are mine, and one—is foul as Hell.
Should these two Hands wage War; (these Hands less dear!)
What boots it which prevails? In both I bleed.
But I have done. Speak, Perseus, and at large;
You'll have no second Hearing. Thou forbear.

[To Demetrius.
Perseus.
Speak!—'Twas with utmost Struggle I forbore:
These Chains were scarce design'd to reach my Tongue.
Their Trespass is sufficient, stopping here.
[Shewing his Arms.
These Chains! for what? Are Chains for Innocence?
Not so; for, see, Demetrius wears them too.
Fool that I was, to tremble at vain Laws;
Nor learn from him Defiance of their Frown;
Since Innocence and Guilt are us'd alike;
Blood-thirsty Stabbers, and their destin'd Prey;
Perseus, and He—I will not call him Brother:
[Pointing at Demetrius.
He wants not that Enhancement of his Guilt.

King.
But closer to the Point; and lay before us
Your whole Deportment this ill-fated Day.

Perseus.
Searce was he cool from that Embrace this Morning,
Which you injoin'd, and I sincerely gave;
Nor thought he plann'd my Death within my Arms;
When holding vile, Oaths, Honour, Duty, Love,
He fir'd our friendly Sports to martial Rage.
If War, why not fair War? But that has Danger.
From hostile Conflict, as from Brothers Play,
He blush'd not to invite me to his Banquet.
I went not; and in that was I to blame?
Think you, there nothing had been found but Peace?
From whence soon after sally'd armed Men?
Think you, I nothing had to fear from Swords,
When from their Foils I scarce escap'd with Life?
Or Poison might his Valour suit as well:—
This pass'd, as suits his Wisdom, Macedonians!
Who volts o'er elder Brothers to a Throne:
With an arm'd Rout he came to visit me.
Did I refuse to go, a bidden Guest?
And should I welcome him, a threat'ning Foe?
Resenting my Refusal; boiling for Revenge!

Demetrius.
'Tis false.

Antigonus.
Forbear—The King!

Perseus.
Had I receiv'd them,
You now had mourn'd my Death, not heard my Cause.—
Dares he deny he brought an armed Throng?
Call those I name; who dare this Deed, dare all;
Yet will not dare deny, that this is true.
My Death alone can yield a stronger Proof;
Will no less Proof than that content a Father?

Pericles.
Perseus, you see, has Art, as well as Fire;
Nor have the Wars worn Athens from his Tongue.

Perseus.
Let him, who seeks to bathe in Brother's Blood,
Not find well-pleas'd the Fountain whence it flow'd:
Let him, who shudders at a Brother's Knife,
Find Refuge in the Bosom of a Father:
For where else can I fly? whom else implore?
I have no Romans, with their Eagles Wings,
To shelter me; Demetrius borrows those,
To mount full Rebel-high: I have their Hatred;
And, Thanks to Heav'n! deserve it: Good Demetrius
Can see your Towns and Kingdoms torn away
By these Protectors; and ne'er lose his Temper.
My Weakness! I confess, it makes me rave;
It makes me weep—and my Tears rarely flow.

Pericles.
Was ever stronger Proof of filial Love?

Perseus.
Vain are Rome's Hopes, while you and I survive:
But shou'd the Sword take me, and Age my Father,
(Heav'n grant they leave him to the Stroke of Age)
The Kingdom, and the King, are both their own;
A duteous loyal King, a sceptred Slave,
A willing Macedonian Slave to Rome.

King.
First let an Earthquake swallow Macedonia.

Perseus.
How, at such News, wou'd Hannibal rejoice?
How the great Shade of Alexander smile?
The Thought quite choaks me up: I can no more.

King.
Proceed!

Perseus.
No, Sir—Why have I spoke at all?
'Twas needless: Philip justifies my Charge;
Philip's the single Witness which I call,
To prove Demetrius guilty.

King.
What dost mean?

Perseus.
What mean I, Sir! what mean I!—To run mad;
For who, unshaken both in Heart and Brain,
Can recollect it!

King.
What?

Perseus.
This Morning's Insult.
This Morning they proclaim'd him Philip's King.
This Morning they forgave you for his Sake.
O pardon, pardon!—I cou'd strike him dead.

King.
More Temper.

Perseus.
Not more Truth; that cannot be!
And that it cannot, one Proof can't escape you;
For what but Truth cou'd make me, Sir, so bold?
Rome puts forth all her Strength to crown her Minion.
Demetrius' Vices, thriving of themselves,
Her fulsom Flatt'ries dung to ranker Growth.
Demetrius is the Burden of her Song;
Each River, Hill, and Dale, has learnt his Name;
While elder Perseus in a Whisper dies.
Demetrius treats; Demetrius gives us Peace;
Demetrius is our God, and wou'd be so.—
My Sight is short: Look on him you that can:
What sage Experience sits upon his Brow,
What awful Marks of Wisdom, who vouchsafes
To patronize a Father, and a King?
Such Patronage is Treason.

King.
Treason! Death!

Perseus.
Nor let the Ties of Blood tie up the Hands
Of Justice; Nature's Ties are broke already:
For, who contend before you?—Your two Sons?—
No; read aright, 'tis Macedon, and Rome.
A well-mask'd Foreigner, and your—only Son,
Guard of your Life, and—Exile of your Love.
Now, bear me to my Dungeon: What so fit
As Darkness, Chains, and Death, for such a Traitor?

King.
Speak, Demetrius.

Antigonus.
My Lord, he cannot speak; accept his Tears—
Instead of Words.

Perseus.
His Tears as false, as they.—
Now, with fine Phrase, and Foppery of Tongue,
More graceful Action, and a smoother Tone,
That Orator of Fable, and fair Face,
Will steal on your brib'd Hearts, and, as you listen,
Plain Truth, and I, plain Perseus, are forgot.

Demetrius.
My Father! King! and Judge! thrice awful Power!
Your Son, your Subject, and your Prisoner, hear;
Thrice humble State! If I have Grace of Speech,
(Which gives, it seems, Offence) be that no Crime,
Which oft has serv'd my Country, and my King:
Nor in my Brother let it pass for Virtue,
That, as he is, ungracious he would seem:
For, oh! he wants not Art, tho' Grace my fail him.
The wonted Aids of those that are accus'd,
Has my Accuser seiz'd. He shed false Tears,
That my true Sorrows might suspected flow:
He seeks my Life, and calls me Murderer;
And vows no Refuge can he find on Earth,
That I may want it in a Father's Arms;
Those Arms, to which e'en Strangers fly for Safety.

King.
Speak to your Charge.

Demetrius.
He charges me with Treason.
If I'm a Traitor, if I league with Rome,
Why did his Zeal forbear me till this Hour?
Was Treason then no Crime, till (as he feigns)
I sought his Life? Dares Perseus hold, so much,
His Father's Welfare cheaper than his own?
Less Cause have I, a Brother, to complain.
He says, I wade for Empire thro' his Blood:
He says, I place my Confidence in Rome:
Why murder him, if Rome will crown my Brow?
Will then a Sceptre, dipt in Brother's Blood,
Conciliate Love, and make my Reign secure?
False are both Charges; and he proves them false,
By placing them together.

Antigonus.
That's well urg'd.

Demetrius.
Mark, Sir, how Perseus, unawares, absolves me
From Guilt in all, by loading all with Guilt.
Did I design him Poison at my Feast?
Why then did I provoke him in the Field?
That, as he did, he might refuse to come?
When angry he refus'd, I shou'd have sooth'd
His rous'd Resentment, and deferr'd the Blow;
Not destin'd him that Moment to my Sword,
Which I before instructed him to shun.
Thro' Fear of Death, did he decline my Banquet?
Cou'd I expect Admittance then at his?
These numerous Pleas at Variance, overthrow
Each other, and are Advocates for me.

Perseus.
No, Sir; Posthumius is his Advocate.

King.
Art thou afraid that I should hear him out?

Demetrius.
Quit then this Picture, this well-painted Fear,
And come to that, which touches him indeed.
Why is Demetrius not despis'd of all,
His Second in Endowments, as in Birth?
How dare I draw the Thoughts of Macedon?
How dare I gain Esteem with foreign Powers?
Esteem, when gain'd, how dare I to preserve?
These are his secret Thoughts; these burn within;
These sting up Accusations in his Soul;
Turn friendly Visits to foul Fraud, and Murder;
And pour in Poison to the Bowl of Love.
Merit is Treason in a younger Brother.

King.
But clear your Conduct with regard to Rome.

Demetrius.
Alas! dread Sir, I grieve to find set down,
Among my Crimes, what ought to be my Praise.
That I went Hostage, or Ambassador,
Was Philip's high Command, not my Request:
Indeed, when there, in both those Characters,
I bore in Mind to whom I owe my Birth:
Rome's Favour follow'd. If it is a Crime
To be regarded, spare a Crime you caus'd;
Caus'd by your Orders, and Example too.
True, I'm Rome's Friend, while Rome is your Ally:
When not, this Hostage, this Ambassador,
So dear, stands forth the fiercest of her Foes;
At your Commands, fly swift on Wings of Fire,
The native Thunder of a Father's Arm.

Antigonus.
There spoke at once the Hero, and the Son.

Demetrius.
To close—To thee, I grant, some Thanks are due;
[Speaking to Perseus.
Not for thy Kindness, but Malignity:
Thy Character's my Friend, tho' thou my Foe
For, say whose Temper promises most Guilt?
Perseus, importunate, demands my Death:
I do not ask for his: Ah! no; I feel
Too pow'rful Nature pleading for him here:
But, were there no fraternal Tie to bind me,
A Son of Philip must be dear to me.
If you, my Father, had been angry with me,
An elder Brother, a less awful Parent,
He shou'd asswage you, he shou'd intercede,
Soften my Failings, and indulge my Youth:
But my Asylum drops its Character;
I find not there my Rescue, but my Ruin.

Perseus.
His bold Assurance—

King.
Do not interrupt him;
But let thy Brother finish his Defence.

Demetrius.
O Perseus! How I tremble as I speak!
Where is a Brother's Voice; a Brother's Eye?
Where is the Melting of a Brother's Heart?
Where is our awful Father's dread Command?
Where a dear, dying Mother's last Request?
Forgot, scorn'd, hated, trodden under Foot!
Thy Heart, how dead to ev'ry Call of Nature!
Unson'd! unbrother'd! nay, unhumaniz'd!
Far from Affection, as thou'rt near in Blood!
Oh! Perseus, Perseus!—But my Heart's too full.

[Falls on Antigonus.
King.
Support him.

Perseus.
Vengeance overtakes his Crimes.

King.
No more!

Antigonus.
See, from his hoary Brow, he wipes the Dew,
Which Agony wrings from him.

King.
Oh! my Friend,
These Boys at Strife, like Ætna's struggling Flames,
Convulsions cause, and make a Mountain shake;
Shake Philip's Firmness, and convulse his Heart;
And, with a fiery Flood of civil War,
Threaten to deluge my divided Land.
I've heard them both; by neither am convinc'd:
And yet Demetrius' Words went thro' my Heart.—
A double Crime, Demetrius, is your Charge;
Fondness for Rome, and Hatred to your Brother.
If you can clear your Innocence in one,
'Twill give us Cause to think you wrong'd in both.

Demetrius.
How shall I clear it, Sir?

King.
This honest Man
Detests the Romans: If you wed his Daughter,
Rome's Foe becomes the Guardian of your Faith.

Demetrius.
I told you, Sir, when I return'd from Rome—

King.
How!—Dost thou want an absolute Command?
Your Brother, Father, Country, all exact it.

Antigonus.
See yonder Guards at Hand, if you refuse.
[Aside to Demetrius.
Nay, more; a Father, so distress'd, demands
A Son's Compassion, to becalm his Heart.
Oh! Sir, comply.

Demetrius.
There! there! indeed, you touch me!
Besides, if I'm confin'd, and Perseus free,
I never, never, shall behold her more.—
Pardon, ye Gods! an Artifice forc'd on me.
[Aside.
Dread Sir, your Son complies.

Dymas.
Astonishment!

King.
Strike off his Chains. Nay, Perseus too is free:
They wear no Bonds, but those of Duty, now.
Dymas, go, thank the Prince: He weds your Daughter;
And highest Honours pay your high Desert.

[Exit.
Dymas.
O, Sir, without Presumption, may I dare
To lift my ravish'd Thought?—

Demetrius.
In what I've done,
I paid a Duty to my Father's Will:
And set you an Example, where 'tis due,
Of not with-holding yours.

Dymas.
My Duty, Sir,
To you, can never fail.

Demetrius.
Then, Dymas, I request thee,
Go seek the King, and save me from a Marriage
My Brother has contriv'd, in artful Malice,
To make me lose my Father, or my Love.
Go, charge the just Refusal on thyself.

Dymas.
What Philip authorizes me to wish,
You, Sir, may disappoint: But, to take on me
The Load of the Refusal—

Demetrius.
Is no more
Than Dymas owes his Honour, if he'd shun
The natural Surmise, that he concurr'd
In brewing this foul Treason.

Dymas.
Sir, the King
Knows what he does; and, if he seeks my Glory—

Demetrius.
In a Degree, destructive of his own:
'Tis yours to disappoint him, or renounce
Your Duty to your King.

Dymas.
You'll better tell—

Demetrius.
Yes, better tell the King, he wounds his Honour,
By lifting up a Minion from the Dust,
And mating him with Princes. Use your Power
Against yourself. Yes, use it, like a Man,
In serving him who gave it. Thus you'll make
Indulgence, Justice and absolve your Master.
Tho' Kings delight in raising what they love,
Less owe they to Themselves, than to the Throne;
Nor must they prostitute its Majesty,
To swell a Subject's Pride, how e'er deserving.

Dymas.
What the King grants me—

Demetrius.
Talk not of a Grant:
What a King ought not, that he cannot give;
And what is more than meet from Princes Bounty,
Is Plunder, not a Grant. Think you, his Honour
A Perquisite belonging to your Place,
As Favourite paramount? Preserve the King
From doing Wrong, tho' Wrong is done for you;
And shew, 'tis not in Favour to corrupt thee.

Dymas.
I sought not, Sir, this Honour.

Demetrius.
But would take it.
True Majesty's the very Soul of Kings;
And, Rectitude's the Soul of Majesty:
If mining Minions sap that Rectitude,
The King may live, but Majesty expires:
And he that lessens Majesty, impairs
That just Obedience public Good requires;
Doubly a Traitor, to the Crown, and State.

Dymas.
Must I refuse what Philip's pleas'd to give?

Demetrius.
Can a King give thee more than is his Own?
Know, a King's Dignity is public Wealth;
On that subsists the Nation's Fame, and Power.
Shall fawning Sycophants, to plump themselves,
Eat up their Master, and dethrone his Glory?
What are such Wretches? What, but Vapours foul,
From Fens and Bogs, by Royal Beams exhal'd,
That Radiance intercepting, which shou'd chear
The Land at large? Hence Subjects Hearts grow cold,
And frozen Loyalty forgets to flow:
But, then 'tis slipp'ry Standing for the Minion:
Stains on his Ermin, to their Royal Master
Such Miscreants are; not Jewels in his Crown.
If you persist, Sir—But, of Words, no more!
To me, to threat, is harder than to do!

Dymas.
Let me embrace this genuine Son of Empire.
When warm Debates divide the doubtful Land,
Should I not know the Prince most fit to reign?
I've try'd you, as an Eagle tries her Young,
And find, your dauntless Eye is fix'd on Glory.
I'll to the King, and your Commands obey.—
We must give young Men Opiates in a Fever.
[Aside.
Yes, Boy, I will obey thee, to thy Ruin.
Erixene shall strike thee dead for this.
[Exit Dymas.

Demetrius.