University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The outward part of the Temple.
Enter Glycon, Nicanor, and Phalantus.
Glycon.
Prodigious! can it be?

Pha.
'Tis certain truth.

Gly.
There was indeed (for now I recollect)
A dark antipathy, I knew not whence,
Between the wretch and me. But has she slain
Her Son? her Darling? torn her bowels from her
With speed preventing mine? why this excels
The clinging shirt our great forefather tugg'd
In vain, to rend from his invenom'd limbs,
On Oeta's flaming brow; 'tis delicacy
Of mischief heighten'd to the gust of hate—
The Stretch—the Masterpiece—the lucky Hit
Of glorious ruin.

Nic.
Mark the timing too
Of this important Stroke; and thank the Gods
For turning on your Adversary's head
The fate that threaten'd yours.

Gly.
The Gods, Nicanor?
What! thou a Statesman? and whine thus? 'Tis false,
My Spirit—my Address—my Genius—these,
And only these, are Deities to Me.
By their resistless force, that buoy'd me up
From private life, I scal'd Messene's Throne,
Borne on a tide of blood; and, in despite
Of Heav'n and Earth combin'd, sit fast upon it,
Since all who had a claim are dust and ashes.
But you surmise Cleander's death has sav'd me
From some impending blow.

Nic.
And unsuspected
(It seems) by You: A proof, my lord, that danger
Lurks on the borders of security:
For his arrival here points out to Me
Some deep design, just ripe for execution.

Pha.
Add the return of Polydorus.

Nic.
True.
That old sagacious hound could ne'er resolve
To head the pack, but that the scent assur'd him
The chace was near an end.

Gly.
And to reward
Those expectations, let the Hangman hoist
That opener of seditious lyes aloft
To dance in every blast; and that way taint
His native air.

Nic.
A righteous sentence.

Gly.
Hark!

[Trumpets.
Pha.
The Temple's gilded roof rebounds the summons
Of trumpets, wafted by the winds, perfum'd
With aromatic sweets, and various flowers
That hide the Jasper pavement.

Gly.
Hark again.
[Shouts.
The Music now is drown'd in louder shouts
Of thousands, crouding to behold the pomp
Of our approaching Nuptials. Ask within,
[To Phalantus, who goes out.
If all is ready; for the midnight hour,
That yields her to my arms, is nigh. I laugh
At my late Consort's prophecy: But yet
It rises uppermost to-night, and damps
The gay ideas of my promis'd joy;
While still my eyes, turn'd thitherward unbid,
Dwell on her tomb, as I had bus'ness there.

Nic.
You say, my Lord, your Consort prophecy'd.

Gly.
Yes, on the verge of death, that gives a prospect
(As fools imagine) to departing souls,
Of future truths and undiscover'd worlds,
She lock'd her dying hand in mine, and cry'd;
The joy, with which I quit our barren bed,
Would still be greater, were a worthier bride
To fill the room I now resign for ever.
But oh! that golden fruit, though full in view,
And ready for the gath'ring hand, shall 'scape you;
For you must—there her language fail'd—she grasp'd me
Once more then groan'd her anxious soul away.

Re-enter Phalantus.
Pha.
Pale as the robe he wears, the startled Priest
Begs you, my Lord, to drop, at least defer
Your purpos'd marriage; for the Gods forbid it
By inauspicious signs of dire presage.
The slaughter'd victim had but newly stain'd
The blazing Altar, when a gust of wind
Impetuous blew it off, and quite extinguish'd
The consecrated fire. Nay more, there sprung
A silver right from King Cresfontes' tomb;
Along the temple thro' the western door
It shot; and, spreading as it rose, has fix'd
Above the Palace in a radiant Round.

Nic.
These are portents indeed!

Gly.
Effects of chance;
Or rather the caprice and wantonness
Of Nature, sporting with the coward's fears.
Where is the Queen?

Pha.
My Lord, I left within
Some of her friends; and others now advance
This way; which makes me guess, that she herself
Will not be long behind.

Gly.
'Tis well! the Gods
(You say) were angry when we offer'd last.
But if she warps or loiters now, I mean
To reconcile 'em with a sacrifice
More worthy Them and Me. Lead to the Altar.

[Exeunt.
Enter Polydorus and Arbantes.
Pol.
How fares the Queen?

Arb.
The Summons, that requires
Her presence here to tie the Nuptial knot,
Found her resign'd to Glycon's will: Her sleep,
However short and broken, has recall'd
Her wand'ring reason to a sense of pain;
Which yet she treats with patience now, like one
Resolv'd to end it soon.

Pol.
Too soon she cannot.
Life were a torment now, beyond the malice
Of her worst foes to wish her. Cruel Powers!
Is this the wretched end of all my watchings,
My pains, my hazards, for the dear Cleander?
Why was his Infancy your guardian care?
And Hope prolong'd till now? The dismal day,
Big with destruction, when his Father fell,
And both his Brothers, should have ended Him:
These tears had mingled then with those that swell'd
The purple deluge of Imperial blood,
Lost in a sea of undistinguish'd grief.

Arb.
Peace, Polydorus, and submit to Fate.

Pol.
Was it for this I form'd his matchless youth
To gentle manners, and to glorious toil?
To tempt the fury of the foaming Boar?
Or cross the Tyrant of Cythæron's shade,
Some famish'd Lion in his chace of prey?
The foaming Boar and famish'd Lion spar'd him,
Preserv'd from them to perish by a Mother.

Arb.
Be hush'd. She comes.

Enter Merope, veiled and in Mourning, led by Timoclea and Ismene.
Ism.
Observe that Shout, Timoclea.
[Shout.
Another yet; and nearer than the first.

[Shout again,
Tim.
Almighty Jove, as thou art worship'd here,
Let Justice, thy lov'd Attribute, prevail,
And doubly consecrate thy hallow'd shrine.

Enter Euryalus.
Eur.
Hail to the Queen! those loud-repeated Shouts
Proclaim'd the Tyrant's fall—his dying groans
Rejoice my ear—I saw him stretch'd along,
And gasping on the floor.

Mer.
Timoclea's prayer
Is answer'd now—my Husband's ghost appeas'd—
The two first pledges of our love reveng'd—
'Tis true, Cleander, still thy Murderer lives;
But thus—

[Draws a dagger, and offers to stab herself. Euryalus and Argaleon wrest it from her.
Eur.
O! stay your hand, and hear me out.
You are no Murderer—your Cleander lives—
He slew the Tyrant; and the general voice
Ev'n now salutes him King.

[Shouts of Cleander.
Mer.
Impossible!
Why am I thus deceiv'd?

Ism.
You are not—I
Deceiv'd you. When employ'd to fetch the draught
Design'd against your Son, the secret whispers
Of my prophetic tender heart inspir'd me
To put the change on your deluded hate.
A pow'rful Opiate, in the Poison's room,
With sudden influence lock'd his senses fast;
And, guiltless of the death your vengeance meant,
Produc'd its image, sleep.

Mer.
Support me, Nature,
Beneath this conflict—this surprize—

[Faints.
Enter Egistus.
Egis.
Where is she?
The pleasure of this glorious night must wait
Till I have found her out, and share it with her.
Alas! what change is this?

Eur.
The turn her spirits
Have taken, from the news that you are safe,
Has robb'd her of her sense.

Egis.
Let me recall it.
The voice of filial piety shall wake her
Once more to life, to joy, and me. My Mother!

Mer.
Where am I? Who are You?

Egis.
Your Son, Cleander.

Mer.
My Son Cleander! Yes—you are—you are—
[Embracing him.
I know you now—But joy—confusion—wonder—
Croud on my soul, and language sinks beneath 'em.
I must be mute, and gaze.

Egis.
How is it with you?

Mer.
My Life! my Glory! and my dear Defence!
Late my Despair and Shame! O let me hide
[Embracing him.
My Blushes thus—and thus—the memory
Of what has pass'd to-night!—

Egis.
My dearest Mother!

Mer.
Forgive your Murderer: Such I meant to be,
When e'en my piety had made me impious.

Egis.
O spare Yourself and Me that thought!

Mer.
I will:
For 'tis a precipice so steep and horrid,
I dare not look upon the sea beneath,
That roar'd aloud, and threaten'd to o'erwhelm
My soul with everlasting guilt.

Egis.
My Father!
[To Polydorus.
I wanted leisure for your joy before.
I call you Father still; for dear Timoclea,
With your consent, bestows herself upon me;
A gift more precious than the life she sav'd.
Yes, yes, my Mother; my Timoclea gave me
The life, Ismene, for her sake, preserv'd.

Pol.
My utmost wish is now fulfill'd; and death,
Come when it will, is welcome.

Mer.
O Ismene,
[Embracing her.
Some God inspir'd thee sure to disobey
Thy frantic Queen; and guardian aid was thine.

Egis.
What titles, equal to desert like yours,
[To Ismene.
Can pay the tribute of our thanks and praise?

Pol.
But statues crown'd, and obelisks, inscrib'd
By public gratitude, shall speak Ismene.

Egis.
In tenderness to You and Polydorus,
We kept ye both in ignorance till now.
The short-liv'd joy, to find me still alive,
Would but have added to your load of sorrow,
Had I miscarry'd in my bold attempt
On Glycon's life.

Mer.
But how that bold attempt
So well succeeded, I am yet to learn.

Egis.
My body, lifeless as it seem'd, was safe
Beneath your roof; and when the drousy weight
Of that lethargic draught gave way, I wak'd
In pleasing wonder to behold Timoclea,
Ismene, and my other friends: They told me
The secret of my birth, and how the Tyrant
Prepar'd to force you to his bed: With that,
Determin'd, at one gallant throw, to save
Your life, or lose my own, I plac'd myself
Close by the altar with my chosen few.
At once the Tyrant came; at once my sword
Was drawn, and pierc'd his heart—My friends proclaim'd me
Messene's rightful King—A doubtful murmur
Of consternation mix'd with joy ensu'd—
The guards, recover'd from their first surprize;
Began to kindle at their master's death;
And fierce Phalantus, who inflam'd their rage,
A second victim to my justice sell:
But odds of number would have over-pow'r'd us,
Enter Adrastus and Argaleon.
Had not Adrastus here, their leader, check'd
The rising storm.

Adr.
Persuasions, join'd with threats,
Have now induc'd my men, by my example,
To help the general cry of King Cleander.

Arg.
Cleander rings along the dome; Cleander,
In echoes, from the vaulted roof, returns.

Adr.
My soul in secret still espous'd your claim;
And though, entrusted as I was by Glycon,
I never would have drawn my sword against him;
Yet when I saw him welt'ring in his blood,
And you my lawful Prince appear'd before me;
My honour then, by inclination sway'd,
Could doubt no longer to complete the work
So gloriously begun.

Egis.
I thank you thus.
[Embracing him.
The blessings of a people sav'd be yours;
And all returns within my pow'r.

Adr.
If duty
Can merit a reward, I beg from You
[Bowing to Egistus.
My Father's pardon, and my own from Her.

[Bowing to Ismene.
Egis.
Your Father has his life—His ill-got wealth
Is forfeited to You.

Mer.
And for Ismene,
If I can guess, she will allow her Queen
[Leads Ismene to Adrastus, and joins their hands.
To seal your pardon, and to join your hands.

Egis.
And let those hands, and yours, and mine, and all,
Freed from the dire oppressor's chains, be rais'd
In grateful homage to the Pow'rs above,
A Monarch's Murder, unreveng'd so long,
Struck half their vot'ries dumb. The temple shakes
Whene'er the palace falls. But, lo! the God!
'Tis Jove himself, in Jove's own house, reveal'd.
For Justice, long oppress'd, erects her head:
Her hands are iron, though her feet are lead.

[Exeunt omnes.