University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

The Tomb of Cresphontes.
NARBAS
alone.
[Starts, as Ismene comes nearer.

SCENE II.

Narbas, Ismene, follow'd by a Train of Virgins in white, who bring Baskets, and strew Flowers on the Tomb.
ISMENE.
Who is this bold Unknown? So sagely form'd!
Yet indiscretely rude—at such an Hour,
To break, abruptly, on the Queen's sad Purpose!

NARBAS.
Fairest, of Forms—

ISMENE.
Who are you?

NARBAS.
Chide me not,
Sweet Picture of the Powers, who shed soft Pity!
—I am a nameless, friendless, weak, old Man.
Once, I was Servant, to the Queen you serve;
O, grant the gracious Privilege, to see her.

ISMENE.
Rev'rend, and Wife! The first, I see you are:
The last, my Heart conceives you—what a Time
Have your misguided Wants unaptly chosen!
Your Sight wou'd, now, offend her.—Deep Distress,
From dire Solemnity of Purpose, brings her,
—'Twere prudent to withdraw.

NARBAS.-
[in a low Voice,
Come near—Ismene.

ISMENE.
Immortal Powers! Who can it be?—He knows me!
Fain wou'd I dare mix Hope, with Fear and Wonder.

[approaching him.
NARBAS.
Thou art my Child. Kind Heaven has sent thee, to me.
—Be cautious—and observe.

ISMENE.
[Kneeling.
Prophetic Heart!
Oh, Sir—I cannot speak!

NARBAS,
[raising her.
Hide thy Surprize,
Ere yet some dang'rous Note detects our Meeting.
—Soft as thy Eyes Ismene, be thy Voice.
And answer to my Question—round this Tomb.
Why thus assembled moves that virgin Train?

ISMENE.
Alas! the afflicted Queen,
Distracted comes,—to offer on this Tomb,
Her Life's last Sacrifice—a dreadful Victim!
—The Murd'rer of her Son.

NARBAS.
Eumenes, dead?—

ISMENE.
Alas, Sir! cou'd you be a Stranger to it?

NARBAS.
Blast! of my Soul's best Hope.—Who dar'd this Villainy?

ISMENE.
A Youth, who found him in Alcides' Temple.
One, from whose Air of manly Modesty
None, surely cou'd have fear'd—behold! he comes.
That fetter'd Criminal is He.—Oh, Sir!
Where will you, now, be hid?

NARBAS.
In Death, Ismene:
If I now hear and see—and am not dreaming!

ISMENE.
From the Queen's Eye, I dare no longer.—

NARBAS
[holding her.
Stay.
Queens, Kings, nor Gods, shall tear thee from my Arm,
Till thou hast heard me fully.

SCENE III.

Solemn Procession to a Dead March. Merope. Euricles, with the Sword. Eumenes, in Chains. Guards. Priests, as to Sacrifice—The Queen goes up weeping, and kneels silent, at the Tomb. While the Rest range themselves, on each Side the Scene.
NARBAS,
to ISMENE.
Some black-soul'd Fiend, some Fury ris'n from Hell,
Has darken'd all Discernment!—Call'dst thou not
That fetter'd Youth the Murd'rer of Eumenes?

ISMENE.
I call'd him so, too truly.

NARBAS.
He is Eumenes.
What angry God misleads the Queen, to Madness?
She dreams Eumenes kill'd—and kills Eumenes!

ISMENE.
Now are my Heart's late Tremblings well explain'd.
Quick let me rush, and warn her erring Hand.

NARBAS.
Not, for a thousand Worlds—to save him, So,
Were but to lose him, Surer—Poliphontes
Has Ears and Eyes too near us.—
I may anon find Means, when all are busied
To hide myself, unmask'd, amid'st the Crowd.
Sad and solemn Musick. Then a SONG, of Sacrifice: Mr. Beard, as Chief Priest.
Hear, from the dark and silent Shade!
Hear, ye pale Bands of Death!
Gliding from Graves, where once your Bones were laid,
Receive a Murd'rer's Breath.

Chorus,
of Priests and Virgins.
Receive a Murd'rer's Breath.

MEROPE,
rising and coming forward.
Where is this Victim—odious, to All Powers,
But one,—the dreadful Nemesis?

The Guards bring up Eumenes.
EURICLES.
Yet, er'e he dies,
'Twere fit, some Force of Torture should compel him
To name his vile Accomplices.

MEROPE.
It shall.
Say, Monster! what provok'd thee to this Guilt:
And what Associates join'd thee.

EUMENES.
I appeal
The Gods, who find it fit my Soul shou'd buy,
At this dear Rate, the Moment's Hope you lent it;
Those Gods can witness for me; They! who curse
The perjur'd, and disclaim the Base one's Safety.
My Lips detest Imposture:
—Nor know I, by what Change, in Heav'ns high Will,
I, who of late so bless'd, had touch'd your Pity,
Fall, now, beneath your Anger!

MEROPE,
taking the Sword from Euricles.
View this Sword.
Know you the dreadful Object.

EUMENES.
Twas the Villain's,
My just Hand punish'd with it.

MEROPE.
Seize him. Rend him.
Swift to the destin'd Altar, drag the Traitor.
He owns it! glories, in his bloody Crime:
And my shock'd Soul akes, at him.

The Guards seize him.
EUMENES
—struggling.
Off—away—
Spare your officious Grasp.—I will be heard;
One last loud Word—in Spite of Arms and Insult.

MEROPE
—after a Signal to the Guards, who quit Eumenes.
Thou then, who deal'st in Death, can'st find Death fearful.

EUMENES.
No, Madam! you mistake. Death shakes the Happy:
But He who is a Wretch receives him gladly.
—Yet, 'gainst imputed Guilt, the humblest, wrong'd,
Rise, bold in Innocence.
—Tell me, nor let your Pride deface your Pity,
Whose, so high-rated Blood was This I shed?
—If he was dear to You, curs'd be my Memory,
Or I had rather lost my Own, than His.

MEROPE.
Where has this cruel Wretch been taught Deceit?
Why was that Look, so like Cresphontes, His!

Half fainting.
EURICLES.
Great Queen! sustain your Purpose. Think of Vengeance.
The Laws of Nature,—and the Lives of Kings.

EUMENES.
Do Laws and Kings, then, call Injustice Vengeance?
Shame on the Great! why long'd my Eyes for Courts?
Courts, where the Pride of Guilt lays Claim to Honour.
—Haughty of Heart, why have they Souls thus abject
They threaten, praise, fright, flatter, and insult me!
—Yet, oh! twas just.—I left my Father, rashly;
Felt not the Pangs: weigh'd not the Tears I cost him.
Fate drew me from my Forest's guiltless Quiet,
Deaf to the Warnings of a Father's Wisdom:
And a griev'd Mother's Bodings.

MEROPE.
Mother, said he!
Barbarian! ha'st thou yet a Mother, left thee?
I was a Mother too—till Thy fell Hand
Depriv'd me of a Son—and all Life's Comforts.

EUMENES.
A Son!—your Son?

MEROPE.
Mine, Monster! Murd'rer! Mine.

EUMENES.
If Such was my Misfortune, Such my Curse,
If Heaven has made it possible—that He,
Who in a fatal Moment, err'd—and fell
By my ill-destin'd Rashness, was Your Son,
Earth holds not such another Wretch as I am!
And Mercy's faintest Glimpse shou'd shun to reach me.
Eumenes, here, offers to speak, and Merope interrupts him.
Mercy! thou Hypocrite.—If thou dar'st pray,
Raise thy dumb Hands: and ask, in vain, from Heaven,
The Mercy, thou deniedst my dying Son.

EUMENES.
Yet hear—

MEROPE.
Stop his detested Mouth;
Force the doom'd Victim to the Altar's Foot,
Veil him from Light, no more to be beheld:
Hide his quench'd Eyes, for ever.

Two Priests approaching, with a Veil, he snatches it, and throws it from him.
EUMENES.
Off! ye vain Forms!
Cover the Eyes of Cowards: Mine disdain ye.
Mine can, with stedfast and advancing Scorn,
Look in Death's Face, fullsighted.—When It comes
'Tis to be met, not hid.—
Welcome, Eternal Day;—Bad World, farewel.

Advances, between the Priests, to the Tomb—follow'd by the Queen, Euricles, Ismene, &c.
MEROPE.
At the Tomb—with the Sword drawn, and Eumenes kneeling ready.
Shade, of my murder'd Husband!—hear my call.

Chorus,
of Singer's Voices.
Oh! hear.

MEROPE.
Soul of my bleeding Son! hear, thou—

Chorus
of Singer's Voices.
Oh! hear.

MEROPE.
Un-expiated Souls!—if, in those Glooms,
Where walk the sullen Ghosts of earth-wrong'd Kings,
You hear Atonement's Voice, and wait Redress,
Rise, from your dire Domains!

Chorus,
of Singer's Voices.
Oh! rise.

MEROPE.
—Thou, last,
Tremend'ous Power! pale Goddess! present, still,
To direful Vengeance! nerve this lifted Arm,
And thus assisting—
Ismene preventing the Blow, Narbas breaks into Sight, and cries out loudly,
Stay, stay that bloody Purpose.
Death has already been too busy, here:
And Heaven disclaims such Sacrifice.

MEROPE,
in a frighted and trembling Attitude,
Who art thou?

EURICLES.
O, 'tis Narbas!
Cautious conceal this chance, or Ruin finds him.

ISMENE,
—aside—to the Queen.
Your Victim is your Son,—the Prince, Eumenes.

Merope lets fall the Sword—astonish'd, and trembling.
EUMENES
—rising himself to look round.
I heard a well-known Voice, now heard no longer.
Open, sad Eyes! once more, from the Grave's Brink,
And find what seem'd—oh! 'tis—It is—My Father!

NARBAS,
aside, to EUMENES.
Hear: and be mute. Thy Fate, unwary Youth!
Depends upon thy Silence.

EUMENES.
Whence, O ye Powers!
Can all these Myst'ries rise!

MEROPE.
Oh!—'tis too much—
And Life and I are lost.

Faints: and is supported by Ismene.
NARBAS.
Assist the Queen.

ISMENE.
Stay your unhallow'd Rites: the Queen's in Danger.

EURICLES.
Quit, rev'rend Priests! your unpropitious Sacrifice.
[Exeunt Priests.
Follow me, Guards; I will secure your Victim.

EUMENES.
O, Father—

NARBAS
—to EUMENES.
Shun me: and patient wait th' important Cause.

EUMENES.
O, bid me, ere I die, but hope your Pardon:
And, if I leave you bless'd—'tis all my Prayer.

NARBAS.
No more.—The Gods, who love, reward thy Virtue!

[The Soldiers, and Euricles, go off, with Eumenes.
ISMENE.
Kind Heaven restores the Queen.

MEROPE.
Where!—whither have ye brought me?—
—Ismene?—what means This!—Why weep my Virgins?
—Oh! I have kill'd him:— looking wildly round her
—for I see him not:
And I am doom'd to Pains, in Life immortal.

NARBAS.
Ease your sad Heart's too apprehensive Startings.
Euricles has secur'd him: And nothing's known.

MEROPE.
Still that kind Vision haunts me.—Art thou Narbas?

NARBAS.
Let my Tears answer—in this Gush of Joy—
I give you back my Trust, my King Eumenes.

MEROPE,
on her Knees.
Oh, gracious Heaven! support a Woman's Weakness:
And, what my Heart, yet panting, fails to utter,
Take, from my Soul's touch'd Sense; and make my Prayer.
You are too Great, for Thanks! too Good, for Duty!

[Rises.
EURICLES,
re-entering hastily.
Death! to th' insatiate Tyrant's Thirst of Insult!
—This Royal Scandal, to the Name he steals,
Has, with some fatal Purpose, seiz'd the King;
And holds him, to examine.

MEROPE.
Follow me.
Now shall he see, what Marks denote the Queen;
What Diff'rence, 'twixt the Guilty, and the Wrong'd.

NARBAS,
going.
Madam!—It must not be.

EURICLES.
Stay: Curb this Rashness.

MEROPE.
Is he not mine! Is he not yours?—your King?

EURICLES.
The moment you confess That dang'rous Truth,
No God, but hated Hymen, saves Eumenes.

MEROPE.
There, thou hast let in Light, upon my Soul,
—Rather than wed this Poliphontes.—

NARBAS.
Wed him?
WED—Polyphontes!

EURICLES.
Him.

NARBAS.
The World's last Groan,
Wrapt in surrounding Fires, had less amaz'd me!

EURICLES.
'Tis with That View the People call him King.
Since he reveng'd Cresphontes' Blood, they say,
He, best—

NARBAS.
He!—Every Curse of Death surround him!
He! He reveng'd!—The Villain's own damn'd Train
Shed,—spilt it. I beheld 'em: Trac'd the Fiend
Thro' all his dark Disguises—thro' Night's Eye
Saw the pale Murd'rer stalk, amidst his Furies.
His was the half-hid Torch,—the Postern Key,
That open'd to the Rebel's Rage the Palace.
—In the pierc'd infant Breasts of two doom'd Innocents,
I saw him plunge his Poignard: Twice receiv'd it,
Deep, in my own, encumber'd with my Charge:
Struggling, to bear the third sav'd Prince to shelter;
And, track'd by my lost Blood, with Pain escap'd him.

MEROPE.
When will my growing Horrors reach their End!
Oh! my fix'd Hate was Instinct. Something, fatal,
Dwelt on his dreadful Brow, and bad me shun him.
Blind! headlong! ill-discerning! noise-driv'n People!

EURICLES,
looking out.
Soft! the Tyrant comes!

MEROPE.
Can the Gods leave That possible?—
Narbas, be hid, this Moment—
[Exit Narbas.
—Euricles!
Fly thou—find to my mournful Son Access,
Comfort his Fears—but keep the Secret from him.

[Exit Euricles.

SCENE IV.

Merope, Ismene, Poliphontes in Nuptial Robes, Erox, and Train.
POLIPHONTES.
Health, to my Sovereign, late! Now—so the States
Decree—my Wife!—my Sister! and my Soul!
Dress'd is the Altar; and the Priests attend.
—Nay, do not turn aside, and shun your Triumph.
Look—and admire the Wonders of your Power!
The God of Love, to-day, smoothes all my Wrinkles:
And I am taught by Joy to smile back Youth.
—One Care alone precedes impatient Love.
They tell me, your too tender Heart recoil'd:
And lost your purpos'd Vengeance.—Let it be.
Beauty was meant to wound, a gentler Way.
Mine, be the Stroke of Justice.—When I view
This murd'rous Stripling, thro' the Grief he brought you,
Pity disdains his Cause; and Fate demands him.

MEROPE.
I find myself, 'tis true, too weak, for Vengeance.
Wou'd I had Power, more equal to my Wrongs!

POLIPHONTES.
Leave it to Me: 'Tis a King's Right.—I claim it.

MEROPE.
I shall consider of it.

POLIPHONTES.
Why? what doubt you?
Slackens your Anger? that your Vengeance hesitates!
Is your Son's Mem'ry now, less dear, than lately?

MEROPE.
Perish, the Will, that wrongs him! but, this Murd'rer,
This Youth—they tell me you suspect Accomplices—
Were it not prudent to suspend his Fate,
'Till he declares, who join'd him?

POLIPHONTES.
What expect you
To clear, beyond your Son's known Fall?

MEROPE.
His Father's—
That was a Cup of Gall.—Oh! conscious Guilt!
How dumb, thy Voice, unlook'd-for, strikes the Bold!

[Aside.
POLIPHONTES
(after a Pause.)
Well—ev'n of That too, We ourself will ask him.

MEROPE.
You are too busy, Sir! in a Pursuit,
That, least, admits your Quick'ning.

POLIPHONTES.
Strange Perplexity!
That what most seeks your Ease shou'd most offend!
But, spring it, whence it may, the Cause remov'd,
There, ends the Doubt, and Pain.—This Wretch shall die.

[Going.
MEROPE.
Barbarian! horrible, inhuman—Sir!
Why have you sought to startle me?—I fear'd—
You meant to snatch my Victim from—my Vengeance.

POLIPHONTES.
But—shall he really die?

MEROPE.
Die!—Who?—He—die?

POLIPHONTES.
This Murd'rer of your Son.

MEROPE.
I go, this Moment;
And will, alone, examine him.

POLIPHONTES.
Stay, Madam.
This new Embarrassment, of mingled Pains;
This Tenderness in Rage; these Hopes, Fears, Startings,
This Art, to colour some ill-hid Distress,
That casts Confusion o'er your troubled Soul:
Half Sentences, broke short; Looks, fill'd with Horror,
Are Nature's thin Disguise, to cover Danger.
—Something you will not tell alarms my Caution;
And bids my summon'd Fear take Place of Love.
—In ent'ring, here, I had a Glimpse, but now,
Of an old Man, who seem'd to shun my Presence.
Why is he fled?—Who was he?

MEROPE.
Scarce yet call'd
A King—and see! already fill'd with Jealousies!

POLIPHONTES.
Be kind, and bear your Part, then.—Burthens, shar'd,
Press light the eas'd Sustainers.—Come; your Hand.

MEROPE.
A Moment since, you talk'd but of Revenge:
Now, 'tis again all Love—Away: Keep separate,
Two Passions, Nature never yet saw join'd.

POLIPHONTES.
Let it be so, then. Death shall strait remove
That Obstacle: And but one Wish remains.
Follow, at Leisure, you: While I prepare.
[Exit Poliphontes.

MEROPE.
Act for me, now, and save me, Great Alcides!
To Power like thine, all Things are possible:
And Grief, oppress'd on Earth, finds Friends in Heaven.
Then when the woe-sunk Heart is tir'd with Care,
And every human Prospect bids despair,
Break but one Gleam of heav'nly Comfort, in;
And a new Race of Triumphs, thence, begin.