 | The destruction of Troy |  |
SCENA Prima.
Cassandra SOLA.Cass.
It is decreed, thy dreadful Fate O Troy;
The Gods own City now they will not spare;
I see it plain in all the Signs of Heav'n;
My Eyes peirce farther yet, above the Arch
Where Jove himself does dwell, I see it written,
The Legend of unhappy Priam's Issue
The loss of thee, and all the fifty Sons.
In deep and horrid awful Characters,
Fate fetch'd from Hell did grave it, and the God
With his own mighty voice did dictate,
Thy proud, and lofty Walls must tumble down,
And all thy golden Pinnacles must burn
In Flames less bright, that now out shine the Sun,
Thy Swords, and Spears to harmless Plow-shares turn;
Rich blood shall fat the Tillage of thy Land,
And Corn shall grow where lofty Ilium stands.—
Strike, strike, me dumbe O all ye Gods severe!
Why do I speak your Words when none will hear?
In vain I told that Hecuba's lov'd Boy
Shou'd be the Fire, that wou'd consume thee, Troy.
With wringing hands I stood upon the Shore,
And curs'd the Fleet, that brought this Strumpet or'e,
And had they but believ'd this Tongue of mine,
Or minded these prophetick Eyes that wept,
They might have still their lost Palladium kept.
How much more wretched are we born
That know Events, than they that know 'em not,
Look pale, and meager, like old Envy's Hag,
At Mischeifs that we see presumptuous men
Grow fat and wallow in—
Fill'd with a Legion of prophetick Spirits,
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To try if I can at the last resist,
And stem the Torrent of these head-long Brothers—
They come—I'le go, and stop 'em at the brink
Of Ruin.
Exit Cassandra at one door. As she is going off, Enter Hector and Andromache, (Captains putting on his Armour) at another door.
Hect.
Well, thou hast brought me to the place of Conquest—
Wilt thou now leave me dear Andromache?
Leave me to pull the Prize of Victory
From the proud head of Thetis Son, and then
I'le crown thee with my green triumphant Lawrels,
Restore the Palm to her by whom it grew.
The King, and all the Trojans wait for thee,
To make th'Assembly perfect with thy Presence.
Go my propitious Goddess, and behold me
From thy Imperial Scaffold like the Sun,
Till Death is charm'd with thy reflection—
Give me my Arms.—
[Captain offers him his Arms]
And.
Hold off thy sacriligous hands—
Now, by my Hopes, I'le dress thee for my Soldier;
Then if thou meet'st with any Ill to day,
Andromache's unfortunate to thee,
Who bids thee go, and fight this once for me.—
These hands, whose soft Embraces thou did'st feel,
Shall clasp thy body round with hardn'd steel—
First let me place this Croslet on thy Neck.
Hect.
So Venus deck'd the am'rous God of War.
And.
Achilles Arms, by Cyclops hammers beat,
Have not the Fire these kisses do create?
My lips shall forge, and make it more divine—
Receive this Scarf—but from no hand but mine—
Save thou my Lord's most dear, and precious Head,
Whose awful Front has struck the Coward dead,
And in its Beaver lock that Godlike Face,
Which Venus wou'd adore instead of Mars—
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More fatal than the great Palladium's Spear;
Fledg'd with a wrong'd invet'rate Woman's smart,
Commend it from me, to Achilles Heart;
From thy Andromache this token bear;
Send it as quick, as I cou'd wish it there.—
Go Son of Priam, meet the Son of Thetis;
My heart foretells thou shalt return my Victor.
For now with greater Joy, I part with thee,
Than, when at first I took thee in these Arms,
The greatest Champion, and the best of Lovers.
Hect.
Enough, thou beauteous Charmer of my Soul,
Achilles now is less immortal, than
My self—These Tears, the pretious signs of Joy,
Which flow from the rich Fountains of thy Eyes,
Have made me sacred, and impenetrable,
And every kiss has kindled in my Veins
Immortal Fire, and sent inliv'ning heat
Through all my Sinews—I shall grow too big,
And stretch my Body with a Fury so divine,
Will burst this Iron mold—Let me go straight;
I wou'd not choose to be Achilles now,
That boasts how he was dipp'd in Acheron,
That Jove cull'd from his precious Magazine,
The choicest Arms, and gave it Thetis for her Son—
Heark, heark, they call—Wilt thou let go thy Champion?
And.
Go then, my Dear, and fly thou from my Arms,
Like a fierce Lion that is loos'd, and seize
Upon this Grecian Giant for thy Prey,
Whom thou hast hunted for so long—
Yet let me stay thee but a moment more,
And then rush on—
Hect.
Like thunder from the Heavens—
Whilst Hector and Andromache talk, Enter to them Paris, and Troilus ready for the Fight, with them Helena, and Polixena.
Troi.
Priam's dear Daughter, and my dearer Sister,
Go and behold me, shame thy causeless Fears—
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Polyx.
I wish you had not been to fight to day;
Something so fatal hangs about my Heart—
You are the only Brother that I fondly love;
If you shou'd be unhappy, and miscarry!—
Gods! I can speak no more—Pardon, O pardon
These sad, abrupt; I wish 'em not ill-boding Tears.
Troi.
Dearest Polyxena, you are to blame.
Par.
No more my Helen—Think'st thou that the Goddess
Who made thee mine, when on Mount Ida's Top,
I gave thee Prize of Beauty from all Heav'n
To her, and for thy sake refus'd the Crown
Of all the World, and Wisdom of Apollo;
Think'st thou that she can be so much ingrateful
To part us, and our Loves so soon, when I
Refus'd so rich, and mighty Bribes for thee?
Hel.
Blame me not now the trembling hour's so nigh.
Hect.
Again the Trumpet calls—Now they are come.
And.
Then I will let thee go—Blow yet more loud,
Till thy shrill Sound shall peirce the highest Cloud;
Thou shalt not raise thy Voice to such a height,
As I will gladly answer thee a' comes,
He comes, arm'd by Andromache with Love,
And Valour, that shall draw just admiration
From th'envious Deities—Take this last token
Of an assur'd, and happy Victory—
[Kisses him.]
Go, go, I'le pull my Eyes from thy dear sight
Least thou shou'dst stay too long, and look no more,
Till I behold rich Blood adorn thy Sheild,
Like drops of Coral on the spangl'd shore—
Answer me not, but go, possess the Field,
'Tis thine my Champion—
What idle Tears are these Polyxena?
Polix.
Go Troilus, thou hast a Virgin's chast
And dearest wishes for thee.
Exeunt, Andromache (leading Polyxena) and Helena at one door.
Enter Cassandra, at another door.
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Cass.
Stand ye rash Boys, and hear the voice of Fate;
Believe Cassandra once, before too late.
Paris.
Thou frightful Hag, thou stain to Priam's blood,
Advance no further—
Thou art more dreadful than a gaping Flood;
A Spirit damn'd, burst from it's flinty Womb,
Is not so fatal—Fly this foul Inchantress;
Thick mists of Devils follow where she comes,
And proclaim nought, but horrour, and despair,
Threatning worse Plagues, than Battails in the Air.
Troi.
Disturb us not Cassandra with thy Zeal;
Calm thy prophetick Rage, and smile upon us—
Speak once that we may bless thee for the News.
Hect.
Still dost thou haunt us? tell what fury now,
Has here inspir'd thee, with so curst a Brow?
Why hast thou left thy fond religious Cloister,
And now again torment'st us with thy Cries,
Wounding thy Blood with Scourges in thy Eyes?—
Say—Let us go—
Cass.
Ye cannot stir, if you will hear me speak,
Or if you do, I'le stop you with a Flood,
And drown your way, with Currents from my Eyes;
If that wont do, I'le peirce into the Vrnes
Of famous Ilus, Dardanus, and Troas,
Rip op'n the Monuments of your Ancosters,
And dig your Fathers out with these hard Nails,
That you may see the groning Spirits that you wake.
Par.
She's mad, and wou'd infect us all—
Cass.
'Tis thou art mad, thou Firebrand, thou Cerberus—
O that I cou'd but blot thy fatal Birth
Out of Mortalitie's Records—
How happy wou'd it be for Troy, or else
That thou hadst perish'd on Mount Ida's Top,
Or liv'd a base, and homely Shepherd still.—
O give me leave to tear this Monster in my fury,
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And fright that blazing Spirit from its seat,
That sets us all on flames.
Hect.
Resist us not this time—Go and return
Cassandra to thy melancholy Cell,
Consult the Gods above, and they will tell thee,
The Courages of Hector and his Brothers
Are quite above the Fates.
Cass.
Stay rash, yet thou most truly noble, Hector;
Stay Troilus; my love to thee, thou knowest,
Must speak thee well—Beware this fatal day,
Beware Alcides Race—I speak to both;
Let not the unborn World to come, record
With sorrow, that the Brave, and Valiant Hector
Fell by a hand, less worthy than his own.
Par.
O mind her not; Zeal and fond Abstinence
Has made her quite distracted.
Cass.
Hear first what Pallas says, and guess by that,
As you have ever found my words prove true;
Her Image still had kept your Walls and Towers,
Had you believ'd her Oracle by me—
Late at her Altar, as I lay last Night,
Piercing the Parian-stones with my loud Cries,
Softning the Steps with penetrating tears
For you ingrateful Brothers, for whom, in vain
I've spent whole Floods, and rais'd my tender Voice
Above the lofty sound of winds to reach your Ears,
Yet all were lost, and spent in vain upon you,
Your yet more unrelenting marble-hearts:
A sacred Vision all my Senses laid,
And Sun-beams in the Temple round displayd,
When straight a heav'nly awful Form I spi'd,
At whose almighty Voice, the Gates flew wide;
These words, like divine Thunder a' did roar,
“The work of Fate is done—
“For Priam, and his Sons are now no more.
Then, as I look'd, me thought, that by my side,
Did the great Myrmidonian Captain stand
With an advanc'd, and bloody Weapon in his hand—
Villain, said I, whose blood has stain'd thy Sword?
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The last of all the Race of Priam's Sons
But Paris, least unworthy of his death by me,
And him I come to find within these Walls.
Hect.
Mark not her words, I fear she is suborn'd
By Agamemnon and the Grecian Captains,
That mean to laugh us all to scorn—Hence forth
Be dumb—Come on—'Tis Hector leads you on.
Cass.
Ah! let me hold thee, gentle Troilus;
These Armes, more soft, than the great Grecian Champions,
Knew'st thou the danger, wou'd not be deni'd—
By heav'n, if thou dost stir from hence to fight,
Achilles Sword shall give thee death to day.
Ah! do not go, unnatural bold Brothers,
For aged Priam's sake, and Hecuba's.
Look back upon that great, and goodly Structure,
A City that so many thousand weak,
And helpless Souls contains, if you rash men
The Strength, and Pillars of that mighty Frame,
Shou'd sink, how soon wou'd it decline, and falling,
Crush us, and overwhelm us all with Ruin
Troi.
Take off thy hands—fond Woman thou shalt see,
My Life's beyond the reach of Prophesy.
Exeunt Brothers.
Cass.
Go then—
Be curst, and perish to the worst degree
Of unbeliev'd, and unavoided Destiny;
And may Cassandra's Voice henceforth infect
The Air, and breath eternal Plagues through all
The World, if what I've said shall never come
To pass, nor will I open any more
These slighted Lips of mine in thy behalf,
O despicable Troy—
Trumpets sound within.
The Trumpets sound—The Gods have summond ye,
Bold Ilium's Sons—bend, your stubborn Necks:
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Exit Cassandra.
| The destruction of Troy | |