University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter Agamemnon, Clytemnestra.
Clyt.
Yes, my Lord,
My Indignation made me leave the Camp,
And sly Achilles view: Scorn'd Iphigenia
Design'd Mycene should lament her Woe.
But that young Hero wondring at our Flight,
Call'd all the Gods to prove his Constancy,
And stopt our Journey. Nay, he presses now
That Marriage, which before, 'twas said, he shunn'd.
He seeks you full of Passion and of Love:
Furious to know who rais'd this false Report,
And punish his audacious Insolence.
Therefore let no Suspicions pall our Joys.

Agam.
Madam, 'tis well: Achilles must be trusted:
I own we wrong'd him: And I share your Joys,
As much, as least, as my concern allows.
Now since you wish that Calchas should perform
The Nuptial Sacrifice, 'tis fit you send
Your Daughter to the Altar: I'll there wait her coming.
Yet first in private let me here advise you:
You see what place you're in, how every thing
Seems fitter for a Fight, than for a Marriage;
The Tumult of an Army, and a Fleet:
An Altar bristling with Pikes, Darts and Spears,
Such horrid Pomp may sute with fierce Achilles,
But is not calm enough to court your Sight,
It were unseemly that the Greeks should see,
Their Queen bereft of awful Majesty,
And undistinguish'd in a Crowd of Soldiers.
Believe me, let your Maids alone attend
Your Daughter to the Altar—.

Clyt.
I, Sir, resign my Daughter to my Women!
And not accomplish what I have begun?
Have I then brought her hither from Mycene,
And shall I now refuse to lend my Hand
To lead her to the Priest?—Is not this a Duty
Incumbent on a Mother?—Who shall order
The Marriage Festival?—

Agam.
Madam, That might have been your Care
In Atreus's Palace: Now you're in a Camp.

Clyt.
Yes, I am in a Camp,
Where the whole Fate of Troy depends on you;
Where all the Grecians bow to your Command;
Where Thetis's Son will this Day call me Mother;
Pray, in what Palace could I e're appear
With greater Splendor and Magnificence?

Agam.
Madam,
By all th'immortal Authors of our Race,
I do conjure you, grant me this Request:
I have my Reasons.

Clyt.
My Lord,
By all those Pow'rs you nam'd, let me intreat you
Not to deny my Eyes that blissful shew.
Vouchsafe to see me there without a Blush.

Agam.
I thought much better of a Wife's Compliance,
But since my Arguments, and my Intreaties
Can have no force to bend your stubborn Mind,
Madam—it is my Pleasure—I command you—
Obey—
[Exit Agamemnon.

Clyt.
Ye Gods above! What makes my Husband use
Such barbarous Care to keep me from the Altar.
Is he so elevated with his Power,
That he disdains to own me for his Wife?
Or is his new Command yet so unsettled
That he dares not appear with Hellens Sister?
But why that Nicety? Yet, since 'tis his Command
I willingly submit; my Daughter's Bliss
Makes me amends for all; th'indulgent Gods
Unite her to Achilles, and my Joys
Are Infinite to think she shall be call'd—
But here he comes himself—

Enter Achilles.
Achil.
Madam, all things succeed to Crown my Wishes:
The King desires no further Satisfaction,
But trusts the Raptures of my eager Love.
I scarce began to clear my Innocence,
When with a kind Embrace he call'd me Son.
His Words were few: But, Madam has he told you
What happy News was spread at your Arrival?

Clyt.
What's that, my Lord?

Achil.
The Gods will be appeas'd: The Priest proclaims
That the next Hour by solemn Sacrifice,
Neptune will be propitious to our Vows,
And wake the drowsie VVinds; sure of his Promise
The joyful Mariners unfurl their Sails,
And turn their Prows to Troy. As for me, Madam,
Tho' I were glad if to indulge my Love
The VVinds should still be silent for a while:
Tho' with regret I quit the happy Shore,
VVhere Iphigenia will soon be mine,
Yet with delight I grasp the blest Occasion,
To Seal this noble Match with Trojan Blood;
And in the Ruins of perfidious Troy,
Bury the Shame of that respected Name,
To which mine will for ever be allied.
Enter Iphigenia, Eriphile, Ægina, Doris.
Fair Princess, all my Bliss depends on you:
Your Father waits our coming to the Altar;
[To Iphigenia.
Haste Madam, to receive the plighted Faith
Of your Adorer—

Iphig.
My Lord, before we go,
I hope the Queen will suffer me to ask you
A Boon to prove your Love: Here's a young Princess
VVhose noble Aspect speaks her high Descent:
Her Eyes continually dissolves in Tears,
You know her Troubles, for 'tis you have caus'd them.
And I just now transported with rash Passion,
Rudely insulted over her Affliction.
I would atone for my too-hasty Carriage,
And sooth her into Ease, but how I know not,
Unless it be by interceeding for her.
My Lord, she is your Captive, and those Chains,
Whose weight I pity, will at your Command
Fall from her Hands: Let then your generous Deeds
Begin this happy and auspicious Day.
Let sad Eriphile be now discharg'd
From our Attendance—Let all the Grecians see,
That the great King to whom I plight my Faith,
Is not contented to spread dire Alarms,
And wild Destruction through th'affrighted World,
But that he can relent at a Wifes Tears,
And like the Gods from whom he is Descended,
Will be disarm'd by the Unfortunate.

Eriph.
Yes, my Lord, you may alleviate
The quickest Pain a Woman ever felt.
'Tis true the Fate of War made me your Captive;
But still you strain too high its rigid Laws,
Thus to o're-bear my Heart with all the Torments
I suffer here.

Achil.
You, Madam?

Eriph.
Yes, my Lord, and waving all the rest,
Could you impose a more severe Commnd,
Than here to make my Eyes the sad Spectators,
Of the Prosperity of all my Foes:
My Proud, my Haughty, Persecuting Foes.
Where'er I go, I hear th'insulting Threats
Of a fierce Army, ready to destroy
My native Countrry: And to break my Heart,
I see, I see that fatal Hymens Brand,
Which will devour it, and consume my Hopes.
Therefore permit me to retire from hence:
And wandring from your Sight, and still unknown,
Bewail the Hardships of that dismal Fate,
[Weeps.
Which nothing but my Tears can well express.

Achil.
Fair Princess, that's too much: Wipe of those Tears,
You have your Wishes; follow to the Altar,
That all the Greeks may witness you are Free;
And may the Hour that gives you Liberty,
Make me for ever Blest.

[Enter Arcas.
Arc.
Madam, all things are ready for the Sacrifice;
To Clytem.
The King waits at the Altar for your Daughter,
And sends me to Demand her—Or rather,
Sir, I come
[To Achilles.
To beg your help against him.

Achil.
What say you, Arcas?

Clyt.
Ye Gods! What News is this?

Arc.
You alone, my Lord,
[To Achilles.
Can now Protect her.

Cchil.
Against whom?

Arc.
My Lord 'tis with regret I name him—
But I can keep no longer the black Secret,
And to be silent would be Treachery.
The Knife, the Fillet, the Pile, all is ready;
But were that fatal Pomp design'd to take
My Life for the Discovery—yet I must speak.

Clyt.
Heaven! How I tremble! Quickly; Arcas,
Explain your meaning—

Achil.
Whoe'er it be, speak boldly, fear him not.

Arc.
My Lord, you are her Lover; and you, Madam,
Her tender Mother; suffer not the Princess
To meet her Father—

Clyt.
What should we fear from him?

Achil.
Why should we distrust him?

Arc.
He waits her at the Altar, with intent
To Sacrifice her—

Achil.
He! Agamemnon!

Clyt.
His Daughter!

Iphig.
My Father!

Eriph.
Oh Heavens! What News!

Achil.
Gods! What blind Fury
Can Arm his cruel Hand against his Daughter?
'Tis Impious but to think on't.

Arc.
Alas! my Lord, there is no room for Doubt:
The Oracle and Calchas have pronounc'd
The fatal Doom, and stubbornly reject
All other Sacrifice: The Gods themselves
Protect the Ravisher, and bid the Winds
Lie husht till that be offer'd.

Clyt.
How can the Gods decree so black a Deed?

Iphig.
Heaven! VVhat's my Crime, that merits such hard Fate?

Clyt.
Now 'tis too plain
VVhy he impos'd on me such strict Commands,
To keep me from the Altar.

Iphig.
Is this the Marriage was design'd for me?

[To Achilles.
Arc.
The King to blind you, did suppose this Marriage,
And the whole Camp is still in the same Error.

Clyt.
My Lord,
[Kneels.
Here let me grasp your Knees—

Achil.
Alas! Madam—
[Raising her.
Pray rise—

Clyt.
My Lord, let me forget my troublesome State:
This low Submission suits my cruel Fortune;
I were too happy if my Tears could touch,
[Weeps.
Your Heart with Pity—Alass! 'Tis your Bride
They snatch away from you. I brought her up
To the fond Hopes of this auspicious Match.
'Tis you we sought on this detested Shore;
And 'tis your Name betrays her to her Fate.
Must she then go t'implore the Angry Gods,
And grasp that Altar dismally Adorn'd,
To Sacrifice her? You alone are here
Her Father, Husband and protecting God.
I read your Grief in your distracted Looks.
Daughter, I leave you in a Lovers Arms.
My Lord, I beg you, stay till I return.
I fly to meet my cruel, treacherous Husband,
And with just Rage oppose his wild Design.
I'll force the Priest to seek another Victim;
Or should my best Efforts prove vain, to ward
The fatal Blow, I'll die with my dear Daughter.
[Exit Clytemnestra.

Achil.
Madam, all this while
My wonder kept me Dumb and Motionless.
Was it to me she spoke? Am I Achilles?
And must your Mother and a Queen disgrace
My noble Passion, to descend thus low
VVith unbecoming Posture, Prayers and Tears
To move my Pity? VVho is more concern'd
Than Thetis's Son in your Prosperity?
Yes; you may trust my Love, th'affront is levell'd
At me alone: Whatever they attempt,
I answer for a Life on which my own depends.
But my just Anger does engage me further:
'Twere little to protect, I will revenge you,
And punish all at once th'ignoble Cheat,
That dar'd t'abuse my Name for your undoing.

Ipigh.
Pray, My Lord, stay—Hear me—

Achil.
Gods, must a Barbarian
Affront me thus! Whilst to revenge his Sister,
I fly to Troy; whilst by my leading Vote,
He holds command o're twenty Rival Kings;
Whilst for my Services, and Warlike Toils:
Whilst for the Price of that great Victory,
Which will enrich him, Vindicate his Wrongs,
And Crown his Name for ever with Renown;
I am contented with the glorious Title
Of being yours; the bloody Perjur'd Man
Thinks little to despise the sacred Laws
Of Love and Nature, and to rack my Soul
With the sad view, of your dear, Virgin Heart
Reeking upon an Altar, his black Deed
Must still be cover'd by a Marriage Pomp;
'Tis I must lead you to the Sacrifice;
My credulous Hand must guide the fatal Knife;
And in the place of Husband, I must prove
Your Executioner—Gods! I grow Mad to think on't.

Iphig.
My Lord, let not your Passion thus transport you.

Achil.
Just Heaven! What had become of all my Hopes,
Had not my coming forestall'd your Arrival?
The harmless Bride abandon'd to their Fury,
Had vainly sought her absent Love, and met
A Butcher Priest: Still charging on my Name
The bloody, barbarous Cheat. Such Treachery
I will expostulate before all Greece
Madam, your Honour is concern'd in mine.
And therefore you'll approve my just Revenge
The cruel Man shall know Achilles's Wrongs
Ne're went unpunish'd—

Iphig.
My Lord, if ever you did truly Love me,
Let now my Prayers and Tears disarm your Anger.
Consider that Barbarian whom you dare,
That cruel, bloudy, treacherous Enemy,
Is still my Father—

Achil.
Your Father, Madam? No—His black Design
Leaves him no other than a Murtherer's Name.

Iphig.
My Lord, I still repeat it, He's my Father:
A Father whom I love, whom I revere;
A Father who till now has cherish'd me,
With all Indulgence and Paternal Care.
My Heart brought up e'en from my Infancy,
To dutiful Respect, is sad when he's offended.
'Tis not our Nuptial tie can make me lose,
My Duty, and allow your furious Passion.
Yet, see, my Lord, how very much I love you,
Since I could bear to hear th'outragious injury,
You offerr'd to his Name. But how can you
Think him so barbarous that unconcern'd
He'd see his Daughter bleed, if any way
He could prevent the cruel Sacrifice.
Believe me, Sir, I saw him sigh and weep.
Do not condemn him till you hear him speak.
Must his Heart, fill'd with Horrors, still encounter
Your raging Hatred?—

Achil.
Is't possible, Madam!
Amidst your Danger is this all you fear?
A wild Barbarian (for this Name befits him)
Betrays you to the Priest like a tame Victim,
And when my Tenderness would stop his Fury,
You seem concern'd to trouble his Repose;
I'm silenc'd, he's excus'd, he is lamented;
For him you tremble, and 'tis me you fear.
Has then Achilles sued and sigh'd in vain?
Is this the Progress of my constant Love?

Iphig.
Oh! Cruel Man! How can you doubt that Love,
Of which I gave you such convincing Proofs?
You saw how with dry Eyes, and undisturb'd,
I heard the bloody Messenger of Death;
But, all ye Powers of Love! How deep was my Despair,
When at our first Arrival the false News,
Of your inconstancy came to my Ears?
My just concern made me accuse the God's,
Reproach your Falshood, and curse all Mankind.
Then, then you might have seen, how much I value
Your Love before my Life—Alas! I thought
My generous Flames had rais'd me o're all Mortals.
Perhaps the envious God's have been provok'd,
By the Excess of my Felicity.

Achil.
My Iphigenia,
As I am dear to you, be tender of your Life.

Enter Clytemnestra, Ægina.
Clyt.
We are undone my Lord, unless you save us:
My Cruel Husband still avoids my sight,
And keeps me from the Altar; 'twas in vain
I strove to break my Passage through his Guards.
He justly fears a Mothers load complaints.

Achil.
Then, Madam it becomes me
To act your Part: He shall both see and hear me.

[Going.
Iphig.
Alas! Madam!—My Lord, where will you go?

[Stops him.
Achil.
What will your unjust Prayers expect from me?
Must we oppose you first?

Clyt.
Daughter, what do you mean?

Iphig.
Madam, by all the Gods!
Let's stop a furious Lover, and prevent
A dangerous meeting: My Lord, I beg you, stay:
Too much of Gall would raise your just Reproaches,
Lovers are passionate; my Father's jealous
Of his Authority: I know th'Atrides
Are fierce and haughty, let more gentle Tongues
Melt him to Pity; wondring at my stay
He'll soon be here to fetch me—
Then he shall see a Mother's Heart opprest
With throbbing Grief: He'll hear a Daughter's sighs;
Nay, I'll do more: Instructed by my Love,
I'll speak kind Things, and use endearing Arts
To rouze in him the Father; to prevent
Your Grief, your Fury; and to live for you.

Achil.
Since 'tis your Will, I yield, and wish your Counsels
May yet recal his lost abandon'd Reason.
Use all your soft Persuasions to subdue
His stubborn, barbarous Heart; and as he tenders
His own Repose, let him take care of mine
In your dear safety—But I wast time
In frivolous Talk; tis Deeds that must reclaim him.
Madam, compose your Self in your Apartment:
[To Clytemnestra.
In the mean time I'll see all things prepar'd,
For your Defence; and I engage my Faith,
Your Daughter's Life's secure, whilest I have breath;
The God's and Calchas did her Death foretel,
But my Word is the surest Oracle.

[Exeunt Omnes.