University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

A Terrace Walk.
Enter at one door Glycon and Nicanor, at the other Phalantus.
Phalantus.
Hail, happy King! and now a King indeed.
Cleander was the Youth that bled to-day;
Plung'd in Pamisus by the Robber's arm,
Your hated rival feasts its watry race.

Gly.
Whence this account? or have we dreamt so long
That we believe our wishes?

Pha.
The discovery
Was made by Merope; for so reports
One in her family; a prying slave
Retain'd by me to bring intelligence,
The secret, bury'd in uncommon silence
For three Olympiads past, her rage betrays;
Like some stupendous Earthquake, that reveals
The bottom of the Deep.

Nic.
Behold the fruit
Of soul Imposture, that recoils to crush
Her working head with unforeseen distress.

Gly.
But can your easy faith repose on Her,
Who has not blush'd to falsify so long?

Pha.
I credit not her Words, I do her Tears.
The slave beheld her as she tore her hair—
Restrain'd from stabbing her swoln heart, she sobb'd—
Lamented—scream'd—and rang'd with fury o'er
Each room, invoking her lost Son by name.

Gly.
How learn'd she this?

Pha.
That Circumstance, my Lord,
Escap'd the servant's search, but he assures me,
The fact is past dispute.

Nic.
It must be so,
From Merope's disorder, when you nam'd
Her Son as still alive.

Gly.
I wonder'd then;
But wonder doubly now, she should so well
Conceal the cause.

Pha.
Auspicious Prince, the darling
Of Fortune, that performs your soul's desire
By other hands, and saves your own the blame!

Nic.
Conclude the People's hopes quite lost; not one
Messenian, form'd for hardy daring, left.

Gly.
Yes; one more dreadful far than Numbers arm'd;
That inmate Foe—that fury Queen—that Woman,
By Sex implacable.

Nic.
The public spirit
Must needs be stagger'd by so home a blow—
Pursue th'advantage, and it falls for ever.
Nor let the Mother, now the Son is dead,
Disturb your rest; but treat her as you please.
Her Fondling, newly slain in contradiction
To what she publish'd of his dying young,
Destroys her credit with the Populace;
And makes Truth Scandal, when her spleen shall vent it
In prejudice to You. But, Sir, resolve
To solemnize Cleander's Funeral
With utmost speed; with counterfeited grief
And honourable pomp; at once to shew
Your heart is chang'd, and publish an event
Propitious to your future reign.

Gly.
Agreed.
And since Messene will be cheated, let her.
When once the People's minds are half-asleep,
The arts of Government may come in play,
And aid my purpose well. The brave and honest,
Remov'd by methods indirect, shall leave
Free room for soft effeminate arts, let loose,
To pall the spirit, and unbend the mind
To tame luxurious lethargy. The croud
Shall gape at shews and sports; while, sunk in sloth,
My titled slaves build palaces to sleep in;
Like Egypt's royal dust in pyramids,
The Mummies of deceas'd Nobility.
A shew of mercy shall embolden crimes;
Reward the wicked, and expose the good.
Laws shall be multiply'd; and edicts swarm;
And serve the crown alike, obey'd or broke.
Alarms of war abroad shall minister.
Occasion to their fears; and those to Me
A specious handle to lay load upon 'em,
And kindly introduce a foreign force.

Enter Adrastus.
Adr.
The queen is coming to implore your grace.

Gly.
Know you for what?

Nic.
Whate'er it is, I'm pleas'd
That she can make advances: Your compliance
May lead the way to hers.

Gly.
Or, should it not,
Slaves have no choice. She may comply; She must.

Adr.
Heav'ns, what a monster am I curs'd to serve!
[Aside.
Will justice never more ascend the throne?

Gly.
Her pride already has refus'd me once:
And 'tis beneath the dignity of Glycon,
To ask a second time. But see, she comes.

Enter Merope and Argaleon.
Mer.
O Glycon, wonder at a queen's distress!
[Kneels.
For you may wonder, though you cannot pity.
Behold the most forlorn of human kind,
Reduc'd to kneel, and to implore a favour
From you, the bitter bane of me and mine.

Gly.
For once be silent, and forget your sorrows.

[Raises her.
Mer.
I may be silent, but forget I cannot.

Gly.
You must; for as the destinies have doom'd
Your sex's softer mould to undergo
The test of adverse fate's refining fires—

Mer.
I'll stand it to the last. If lagging now
So near the glorious goal, I durst defraud
The female world of Merope's example;
It were a robbery no less than his
Who slew my husband, and usurps his throne.

Gly.
Forget the dead, and prize the living husband;
For love forbids delay—the precious hours
Already wasted call for haste—This night
Joins us for ever.

Mer.
How? just heav'n forbid it!

Gly.
If not; your faithful, old, belov'd, adherents,
(I know 'em to a man) dragg'd one by one,
And mangled on the wheel, shall bleed before me.

Mer.
O unexampled cruelty!

Gly.
'Tis none.
They, who reject the good, should bear the ill.

Mer.
The good you offer, is the worst of ills.

Gly.
To your perverseness. A distemper'd fancy
Turns joy to grief.

Mer.
Can joy be nam'd with wedlock,
When all I see, and all I hear, is death?

Gly.
I bring you honour and delight: Your sex
Is known to covet both.

Mer.
I covet death
Much other.

Gly.
Were it but a name, you might.

Mer.
What is it more to virtue?

Gly.
If you boast
Of virtue, prove it by obedience now;
Nor madly struggle with the Fate's decree.

Mer.
Forbear to press me on that hateful subject;
But grant, O grant my first and last request.
You have a captive who has robb'd and murder'd:
Make me the mistress of his life or death.

Gly.
You hear the Queen, Adrastus: let her orders
Relating to the pris'ner be obey'd.
Her sex's tenderness would spare the youth.

[Exit Adrastus.
Mer.
Can blood be pardon'd?

Gly.
So I understood you.
Had the deceas'd indeed been your Cleander—
But that's impossible—for Merope,
(You must have heard of Merope, renown'd
For rigid steady truth) ev'n she has told me,
Cleander in his infancy expir'd
Within his mother's arms.

Mer.
Ah, tyrant! now
You mock me, and pull off the mask, in hope
To see grief end me on the spot! But know,
Forlorn insulted Merope shall live
For lov'd revenge, her sole remaining joy:
Her fears are gone with him for whom she fear'd.
Yes, traitor, rending thus my hair—my garments—
And howling through the streets, I'll rouse Messene
To justice worthy me!

Gly.
You dream! you rave!

Mer.
If that suspicious head was still alarm'd
With apprehensions for the crown it wore,
And being born within a sceptre's view,
Was such a monstrous crime; you might have doom'd
The dear offender to some close retreat;
Condemn'd in fields to earn his scanty food,
And share the running stream with grazing flocks,
His low unenvy'd charge. Too happy I,
Had he but liv'd! I had despis'd a kingdom!
Ah! keep your kingdom, and restore my son.

Gly.
Cease, Merope, to weep: Our joyful 'spousals
Shall soon repair the loss you now lament,
And bury sorrow in forgetfulness.

[Exeunt Glycon, Nicanor, and Phalantus.
Mer.
In everlasting dark forgetfulness
I know to bury it. Our joyful 'spousals!
O for a brand, ye unrelenting powers,
To set the temple in a blaze around him!
The hand that bears it, bears my bridal torch.
Those nuptials, Glycon, and those flames, would bless me;
For I would perish too, content and glad
So to be join'd to thee.

Arg.
Alas, my Queen!
Heav'n guard your life: May no misfortune drive,
But nature lead, you off the stage.

Mer.
No more.
Long as they can, let cowards live; but I
Have liv'd already longer than I ought:
And so have you, and each Messenian slave,
Who owns a dagger, and yet fears to strike it
Home to the tyrant's heart, or to his own.

Arg.
O Madam, calm your rage, and recollect
That fate has made the pris'ner yours. The tyrant
In all his ways is violent, but various;
And may resume his grant.

Mer.
I therefore form'd
My scheme before I ask'd; and must prevent,
What you imagine, by dispatch.
Enter Ismene.
Ismene,
Are my commands perform'd?

Ism.
Alas! I come
To tell my Queen they are!

Mer.
'Tis well. Forbear.
[To Ismene who offers to follow her.
The work that now remains, is all my own.
[Exit Merope.

Arg.
Her forehead wears a storm, that soon will break
In thunder on the captive's head. You droop.

Ism.
Have I not reason, Sir? my sorrows wait
On those of Merope.

Arg.
And mine on yours:
Those sorrows of your own that shun the light,
And prey in silence on your tender bloom.
A stubborn sadness clouds my daughter's brow
With all the symptoms of despairing love.
'Tis so; or whence was that delib'rate blush
That paus'd a while on my last words, and then
O'erflow'd your kindling cheeks, and vary'd there
The settled pale with momentary red?

Ism.
I cannot speak; or if I could—

Arg.
Proceed—
If you could speak, you would accuse Adrastus.
But now, alas! you need not: He himself
Has sav'd your pains; and trust a father's care
To try all means that may renew his love.

Ism.
No; though it prov'd, what now it ne'er can prove,
Sincere as once I thought it.

Arg.
How it glads me
To find you thus indifferent!

Ism.
Alas!
Would I could find it so!

[Weeps.
Arg.
In tears! ay now
They stream apace, and claim another flood;
A flood of vengeance from the traitor's heart.

Ism.
What means my father?

Arg.
To obey the summons
Of nature—justice—honour—and revenge
Ismene's wrongs on her undoer's head.

Ism.
O rather say, on mine.

Arg.
Alas! my child,
You love him still.

Ism.
To my eternal shame.

Arg.
If so, be calm, and listen. My resentment
Against Adrastus was but feign'd to try you;
And probe a wound which I have now discover'd
Within the compass of my art to heal.

Ism.
You say he has accus'd himself.

Arg.
He has,
In terms so warm, you may assure your heart
There never was a Penitent like him.
He blush'd, Ismene, as you blush'd but now;
He wept as now you weep—reproach'd the tyrant—
His Father—and himself—His Blood (he told me)
Should expiate his offence, without forgiveness;
Which yet he durst not ask of wrong'd Ismene;
Unless her Father interpos'd to gain it,
Mov'd by the vows of his repenting love.

Ism.
If this be true.—

Enter Euryalus.
Eur.
The good old Polydorus,
[Apart to Argaleon.
Spent with his weary stage, is just arriv'd.

Arg.
Adieu my Child, and take this comfort with thee.—
The Shrub may flourish, tho' the Cedar falls;
And if the ruin of the royal house
Involves not You, the man you love is Yours.

[Exeunt severally.
SCENE Merope's Apartment. A Table with a Bowl upon it.
Enter Merope, and Keeper at the other door.
Keep.
The Captive in my charge, by your command,
Attends without.

Mer.
Conduct him in, and leave us.
[Exit Keeper.
What means this change? a horror, as at sight
Of one, my opposite by nature, chills me.
Ay, there's the Murd'rer—Now, ye righteous Powers,
Speed your own work.

Enter Egistus, with the Keeper, who goes out.
Egis.
Can Excellence like yours
Vouchsafe to shine upon a wretch like Me?

Mer.
Did ever daring villainy usurp
A form so fair? Avenging Jove has plac'd you
Within my pow'r. A band of chosen friends,
Arm'd and resolv'd, are ready at my call.
You cannot fly—and to resist were vain.

Egis.
Whom should the guiltless sly? when heav'nly Powers
Descend on earth, 'tis seldom to destroy.
A secret rev'rence, free from slavish fear,
Bends me to your command—Methinks you claim
My soul's obedience by a Mother's right.

Mer.
A Mother's right! profane that name no more.
'Tis sacred to unutterable grief.
I was a Mother once.

Egis.
Alas! for pity
That still you are not so!

Mer.
The Youth I mourn
Was all desire could frame; and Heav'n had spar'd
None of my Sons but him—the last of three—
The rest were murder'd too—and all their blood
I charge on Glycon, that inhuman source
Of misery to Me.

Egis.
Ten thousand curses
Light on his head—but can I only curse?
O! that a Wish could give me liberty,
And let my vengeance loose against the Tyrant,
Fenc'd by his Guards in vain!

Mer.
Dissembling Traitor!
Dream'st thou to fool me thus? My vow'd revenge
May reach the tyrant; but begins with thee.

Egis.
What have I done? But be it as it may;
Life is no more than lent—and, dying young,
I only pay before-hand.

Mer.
So compos'd!
The harden'd wretch! [Aside.]
But is not Death a prospect
Of Terror?

Egis.
Yes; to Cowardice and Guilt.

Mer.
Yet you would wish to live? Deny me that;
And my revenge is lost.

Egis.
You need not ask.
The same high spirit and superior sense
Shine in the Scorn of death, and Taste of life.

Mer.
Then prove thy Scorn of death, and drink it there.

[Pointing to the Bowl.
Egis.
What! like a savage beast, inclos'd in toils,
To perish thus, and not to know the cause?

Mer.
How came the tyrant to discover him?
And whence was You inform'd to find him out?
Dissemble not. 'Tis all in vain.

Egis.
Some strange
Mistake transports you—pray be calm a moment—
I apprehend you not.

Mer.
Alas! not you!
You are a stranger to the King!

Egis.
I was,
Ere I beheld him first to-day: Too well
I know him now; the Minister of Death:
Nor was it more than what my heart foretold,
When he pronounc'd my doom. But do I dream?
Can it be authoriz'd by You?

Mer.
At least
You was instructed to amuse a Woman
With that fictitious doom; too gross a blind
To balk occasion that may ne'er return,
And lull Revenge asleep.

Egis.
Still more mysterious!

Mer.
If not suborn'd by Glycon, what could tempt you
To slay the Guiltless? Did those hands deserve
To lop a branch from Hercules, prepar'd
To stretch a Royal shade, and shelter Nations?
What said my Child? Repeat his dying words.
Did he not call on Merope?

Egis.
Amazing!

Mer.
Why tremble thus my hands? Thou filial shade,
[Taking up the Bowl.
Dear! precious! wretched! but at length reveng'd!
Accept this off'ring—here.

[Giving it to Egistus.
Enter Timoclea.
Tim.
Ah! stranger, stay;
Or drink but half; and leave the rest for Me.

Mer.
Ha! who presumes to traverse my revenge?
Timoclea? but dispatch.

Egis.
I would obey;
And, sure of death, should chuse it here, to mock
The Tyrant's malice, and the Headsman's stroke.
Nor can the grizly king of shadows plant
One terror here to shake me. But the life
In which She claims an interest, is now
No longer mine, but hers.

Tim.
O! spare him—spare him—
And lay the blame on Fate alone.

Mer.
I would,
In any cause but this. Be witness, Heaven,
I punish not by choice.

Tim.
Then hear at least
His just defence.

Mer.
Of my Cleander's murder?

Egis.
'Twas to preserve myself.

Tim.
Mark that, and save him.
Fear not to justify the truth.
[To Egistus.
A Father,
Endanger'd as the pris'ner was, might slay
His only Son unknown—Perhaps the Prince
Was faulty.

Mer.
How?

Tim.
I only said, perhaps.
Nay, speak.
[To Egistus.
All children are not like their parents:
Was he exempt from blame; and kind and good,
Because my Queen is so? for so the world
Has ever found you hitherto. And shall
Timoclea be the first to want the pity
That foes have bless'd in You? O plead at least
My cause; for yours is mine.

[To Egistus.
Egis.
Dear Sov'reign sounds,
My counter-poison! I have heard enough
To triumph now in death.

Mer.
Ye Gods, who grant me
The pow'r of just revenge, forgive my slackness
In dallying with your Attribute. Off, traitress!
Ah! dear Cleander, whose dishonour'd ghost
Turns paler yet, to find his destin'd Bride
(For so the fondness of my soul design'd her)
Doat on his Murderer!

Tim.
O! pardon both;
[Kneeling.
(For both have err'd unwillingly) his hand,
And poor Timoclea's heart. Be merciful
To this my first offence—my Queen—my Mother—
For you have call'd me Child; and in return
My Father still has lov'd the Prince as his:
Alas! his soul's distress will equal yours
For your Cleander's death: And will you heap
More sorrows on his aged head by mine?

Egis.
By yours? Good Heav'n forbid!

Tim.
Most sure, by mine;
And 'tis but just. Am I th'occasion? Curse
On this untutor'd tongue—Alas! you know not—
I knew not then—but I—O Murder! I
Have rais'd the storm that wrecks you now—and have I.
But one poor life to offer? Mercy! mercy!

Egis.
O! spare the breath that from love's Altar here
Exhales like Incense. Sure, if tears more precious
Than Eastern gems could ransom me, the price
Is over-paid by You.

Mer.
Once more, obey me.

[Pointing to the Bowl.
Tim.
O, hold! [To Egistus.]
Consider for an hour.

[To Merope.
Mer.
Away.

Tim.
Nay, let it be but one poor minute more.
The Gods, who know his innocence, may work
Some unexpected miracle to save him.

Mer.
They may. Why do I loiter then? To-night
[Pulling out a Dagger.
This Dagger ends me: There' a revenge for thee.
But mark me well—for now—just now—

[Approaching Timoclea.
Tim.
Ah! spare me.

Mer.
I stab thy image in her heart, if thou
Delay'st a moment. Drink, or see her die.

Egis.
Your vengeance is aton'd—Timoclea safe—
[Drinking hastily.
Her Lover happy.

Tim.
Cursed act! revenge it
Thou master-fiend, Despair!

[Weeps.
Egis.
Restrain your tears:
The slave that was, is freed.

Mer.
For ever freed
Prom the just lashes of reproach—The stings
Of conscience shot to thy invenom'd soul:
For That was tainted first, and drew the poison
From its congenial hell.

Egis.
A weight like death
Hangs at my heart; and Nature sinks apace.

Mer.
It must—thy lawless sword could hardly pierce
My dear Cleander's heart with surer speed
Than will the vengeful bane make way to thine.

Tim.
Alas! I read it in his alter'd hue—
His livid lips—dim eyes—and faded cheeks—
Pale—ghastly pale—and now convulsions rend
The lab'ring strings of life, and tear Timoclea
From that devoted heart, so true to love;
My fatal love, its first, its deadliest poison.

[Faints.
Mer.
Help there—Who waits? convey her hence.

Enter Attendants, who carry her off.
Egis.
Farewel,
Timoclea, and the light—The shades of death
O'ercast my swimming eyes—Now—now I'm going—
O Polydorus!

[Sinks into the Chair.
Mer.
Polydorus, said you?

Egis.
My cruel fate at least was kind by halves,
To bring me here alone; else You perhaps
Had suffer'd with me.

Mer.
Ha! your Name? your Country?
Alas! I parly with the Dead. And oh—
But is it not a dream? methought he call'd
On Polydorus—Nay, his dying look
Was just my Lord's—but stay, how looks he now?
[Views the Body, and turns away.
I cannot bear the sight; my coward sex
Swells to my eyes, and sickens at destruction.
Yet this is he who slew my Son—I'm sure
Timoclea told me so—She should be here—
Where is she? gone, like those deluding fires
That far from help mislead thro' faithless moors
The night-bewilder'd wretch, then disappear.

Enter Argaleon.
Arg.
Joy to the Queen! the Stranger slain to-day,
Whom you believ'd your Son, is cast ashore;
And proves a Robber, own'd with mingled dread
And joy, by many, whom his felon hand
Had stript and wounded.

Mer.
Hold—art thou Argaleon?
Spare, pr'ythee, spare me, if thou art. Did I
Destroy thy Brother? am I Glycon? say,
Wherein has Merope offended thee,
That thou shouldst rack her thus? My Child not murder'd
This morning at the bridge? He was, he was.
That Image, horrid as it is, was joy
To this soul-rending fear that I have—what?
O! 'tis not to be borne. Look there.

Arg.
The Captive,
Pale! breathless! dead!

Mer.
He is.

Arg.
And kill'd by You?

Mer.
Why not, thou stern Inquisitor for blood?

[Trembling.
Arg.
I dare not speak my doubts; but Polydorus
Will come and end 'em soon.

Mer.
Is he arriv'd?

Arg.
He is; and hast'ning, fast as age will let him,
To pay his duty here.

Mer.
Run—fly—forbid him—
Hide me from him, and from my self—but stay;
Let Polydorus come to view the dead,
And worse than kill the living.

Enter Arbantes and Polydorus.
Arb.
Gracious Queen,
I bring your faithful servant, Polydorus.

[Polyd. kneels.
Mer.
Why came Ile not before? No ceremony:
Rise, Polydorus. But my Son, where is he?

Pol.
O! Heav'n! my Prince! my Darling! my Cleander?

[Viewing the Body.
Mer.
Did you not name my Child?

Pol.
Alas! I did;
But never thought to find him here, and dead.

Mer.
Eternal Palsy shake thy tongue—my Son
Dead by my hand!

Arb.
Help!—call for help, Argaleon,
To bear her hence, and to remove the body,
A sight too shocking for a Mother's eyes.

[Exit Argaleon.
Pol.
O! let me render my last service here;
With trembling arms embrace his dear remains;
Weep my farewel, and sob my soul away.

Mer.
Is this my wedding-night? or must I wait?
Where is the Priest? the Sacrifice is ready—
And hark! the Raven screams our nuptial song.
Yes, Glycon; thou hast gallantly deserv'd me,
By giving up the murderer to death:
For there he stands! just there! the Murderer?
Ye Pow'rs defend me! 'tis my Child, Arbantes:
Ah! how disfigur'd! good my friend, entreat him—
Will you not speak in my behalf? alas!
I dare not—Ha! he frowns! Kneel with me, kneel—
Mark how he frowns—nay, now you have delay'd,
Re-enter Argaleon with Attendants, who carry off the Body.
Till he is gone again.

Arb.
Alas! she raves.
Why will they loiter thus?

Mer.
Strange news, Arbantes!
The Son of poor Thyestes slain! To-night
He feasts upon him; and has summon'd me
To grace the Banquet with that bowl.
Enter Women Attendants.
Stand off.
Ye will not force me to the Tyrant's bed!
My Lord! Cresfontes, help! he has surpris'd me;
And hurries me away—help—Murder—help.

[They lead her off.
Arb.
Was ever night like this? O dire event!

Arg.
Distress unparallel'd by ages past!

Pol.
Split on a rock, we sink in view of land:
Our lights extinguish'd speak our wreck at hand.

[Exeunt.