University of Virginia Library

[Scene]

SCENE a Cave in a Desart.
Thy.
Astonishment! Confusion! how came I
To be the horrid Villain that I was?
I had it not from Nature, if I had,
Why did it not break out in many years:
How cou'd I carry such a load of sin
And feel no pain? Did Custom dull my sence?
No, for as soon as e're my greedy Eyes,
Numbring the Treasures of my Brothers Bed,
Had stoln more Appetite than I cou'd appease,
I bowed beneath the weight, and cou'd not rest
Till I had laid it on his Bed again.
Perhaps I felt no sin, because I liv'd
In th'Element of sin, my Brother's Court.
Things in their Element lose all their weight;
Water in water feels as light as Air.
No, 'twas not that; I was the first that brought
Incest and Treason to my Brother's Court.
From my own self came all my Villany;
Had I not been a Dunghill, Beauty might
Have shin'd as wholesomely on me, as others.
I loath, detest my self, and flye mankind,
Counting the worst of men too good for me.
Heark! I hear voices!—nay, and I see men;
They're very near me too, I'le hide my head.

Thy. goes into a Cave. Enter Peneus and Philisthenes.
Pen.
Here dwells your Father.

Phi.
In this Wilderness?

Pen.
Here in this Cave.

Phi.
Ah! lonely, poor abode.

Pen.
'Tis his own choice: I proffer'd him my House,
Where I had Rooms to hide, and ways to fly.
In case of danger; but he rather chose
This melancholly Desart, and this Cave.
I'le call him out to you. Thyestes! ho!
Ho! Prince Thyestes! know you not the Voice
Of your old faithful Peneus?

Enter Thyestes.
Thy.
Peneus here?

Phi.
Is that my Father? oh! how sadly chang'd?

Thy.
Who hast thou here, old Friend?

Phi.
One you may trust,
Half your own self, your Son Philisthenes.

Thy.
My Son?

Phi.
My Father—

Thy.
Welcome to my arms,
My Hope, my Comfort!—Time has rowld about
Several Months since I have seen thy Face,
And in its progress has done wond'rous things.

Phi.
Strange things indeed, to chase you to this sad
Dismal abode, nay, and to Age I think.
I see that Winter thrusting it self forth,
Long, long, before its time, in Silver Hairs.

Thy.
My fault, my Son, I wou'd be great and high;
Snow lies in Summer on some Mountain tops.
Ah! Son, I'm sorry for thy noble Youth,
Thou hast so bad a Father; I'm afraid
Fortune will quarrel with thee for my sake;
Thou wilt derive unhappiness from me,
Like an hereditary ill disease.

Phi.
Sir, I was born when you were innocent,
And all the ill you have contracted since,
You have wrought out by painful penitence.
For healthy joy returns to us again.
Nay, a more vigorous joy than e're we had.
Like one recover'd from a sad desease,
Nature for dammage pays him double cost,
And gives him fairer flesh than e're he had.
For a spoil'd Cottage, she bestows a Brief
On all her works, that doubles what he lost.

Pen.
Your Son Philisthenes, has told you truth:
The King your Brother, by what God transform'd
I cannot tell, is turn'd an excellent man.
He has no memory of all Errours past,
Except his own; the chief of which he counts
His too immoderate passion for revenge.

Thy.
And can this be?

Pen.
Will I not tell you truth?

Thy.
By thy own goodness, art thou not deceiv'd?
Thou dwell'st in open truth, and when thou com'st
Among dark men, thou knowst not what they are.

Pen.
Oh! Sir, my reason is not dim with age,
What-e're my Eyes are; time which steals our sight,
Is for the Thievery by Nature fin'd,
To make us recompence in inward light.
Know, Sir, I did not lend your Brother Faith,
Without a Pawn, as wealthy as his Crown;
The Golden Ram, let this prevail, not I.

Thy.
I stand amaz'd, for what wou'd this prevail?

Pen.
To make you glorious in your Brothers Throne,
Your Brother happy in the sight of You.

Phi.
And me in the possession of my Love:
I love his Daughter, fair Antigone,
And he has sworn to place her in my Arms,
When-ever to his Arms I can bring you.

Thy.
This is too much; a man that wou'd revive
His famish'd Friend, wou'd never cram him thus:
He choaks my Faith with gorging it too fast,
And surfeits sickly Friendship with a Feast.

Pen.
Can you suspect, when you have such a pledge?

Thy.
If the King be so good; 'twere a new Treason
To blast him with my sight.

Pen.
Your penitence
Restores intirely all your innocence,
And now your presence wou'd restore your Joys.

Thy.
Things are miscall'd, I ne're was blest till now:
When I was great, I had not one delight:
Who needs a Taster has small joy in taste
Who needs a Guard for safety, ne're are safe.
And who needs watching, has but little rest.
What solitude so bad, as throngs of Knaves!
What dwelling so uneasie as is his,
Who in a thousand Rooms can take no rest,
Till his proud Palace has beat back a Sea,
And lifted up a Forrest on its brow?
Say Poyson come not in a Princes Cup,
Care will, and that's as bad; say Care shou'd not,
Intemperance may, which is as bad as both;
A lingring Poyson that consumes our time,
Our Nights in drunkenness, our Days in sleep.
Say he ne're see the bloody face of War,
A thousand Dishes are a dangerous Camp,
Where very often men have met with Death,
Among those fair pretended Friends of Life;
Nor is his rest the more for silent peace,
In Calms of peace, when all without is still,
Factions within will make a Kingdom rowl.

Pen.
No doubt these Evils, and a thousand more,
Attend on Royal greatness; but what then?
Will you adventure nothing for your Friends?

Phi.
Oh! Father! humbly on my knees I beg,
Go to the King, if for my sake alone.

Thy.
For thy dear sake alone I fear to go,
I fear to make thee guilty of my blood.

Pen.
What reason have you to distrust the King?

Thy.
He has had heavy wrongs, and no revenge.

Pen.
Is Poverty and Exile no revenge?
Shame and Repentance is revenge enough
To a good man.

Thy.
It cannot be denyed.

Pen.
Can you not say he once was a good man?

Thy.
The best of Kings, and Brothers?

Pen.
Did he e're
Shew any hate to you, till you wrong'd him?

Thy.
Oh! never! never!

Pen.
Did he then requite
Your hate so ill, as you return'd his love?

Thy.
Oh! no!

Pen.
Why judge you then of him so ill?
Since you cou'd make him turn from good to ill,
May not the Gods turn him from ill to good?

Thy.
It cannot be deny'd.

Pen.
Are you not turn'd?
Wou'd you fain act o're all your Crimes again?

Thy.
I'd rather dye?

Pen.
Do you excell him so,
That goodness shall be reconcil'd to you
On easie terms, but on no terms with him?

Thy.
I think him a much better man than I.

Pen.
Since you are chang'd, why may not he be so?
I leave it to your choice, believe the King,
And make up all the breaches of your House,
Or begin new Confusions by your stay;
Affront the King, and make him shed the blood
Of your dear Son, and me your just old Friend,
Hew Nations down to make his way to you,
Whilst Curses in full cry shall hunt you out,
As the great common mischief of the world.

Thy.
No more, no more, I'm overcome—I'le go.—

Pen.
Oh! Gods! I thank you for so good success
In my good Embassy.

Phi.
And in my Love.

Thy.
You Divine Guardians of these innocent Woods,
My only Friends of all the Heavenly Powers;
Who here so faithfully have hid me long,
And blest my mind with penitence and ease,
If you can bear the wickedness of Courts,
Go with us thither, and preserve us there:
Not but my life to Justice is a debt;
But let not my dear Son, and good old Friend,
Prove guilty of shedding their own blood and mine,
By undertaking such a good Design.
For who will Vertue follow, and obey,
If when she is their Guide, men lose their way?