 | Leucothoe |  |
27
SCENE III.
Clytie comes forward with the Black Slave. A short silence.Slave.
Why stand you thus bemus'd, in silence lost?
Fiend-struck you seem, or frighted by some ghost.
Alas! she hears me not; within her mind,
As warring flames are in the earth confin'd,
So is her rage and indignation pent.
Dear Mistress!
Clytie.
Oh!
Slave.
There give your passion vent.
Behold of love the so much boasted bliss!
Clytie.
Why was I born, ye Gods, since doom'd to this?
Off, idle ornaments, detested glare
Of gold and jewels, wherefore are ye here?
Why am I dress'd in pompous robes like these?
There's no one now whom I would wish to please.
Let then my soul and body be a-kin,
Naked without, as desolate within.
Off, idle ornaments, detested glare
Of gold and jewels, wherefore are ye here?
Why am I dress'd in pompous robes like these?
There's no one now whom I would wish to please.
Let then my soul and body be a-kin,
Naked without, as desolate within.
28
By various passions am I torn,
Now with anger, now with scorn;
Now with fear my heart's recoiling,
Now with rage my spirit's boiling:
As the diff'rent plagues infest,
To love or vengeance I incline;
Now I could stab his faithless breast,
Now—press him close to mine.
Now with anger, now with scorn;
Now with fear my heart's recoiling,
Now with rage my spirit's boiling:
As the diff'rent plagues infest,
To love or vengeance I incline;
Now I could stab his faithless breast,
Now—press him close to mine.
Slave.
Assuage your transports, you augment the ill
By nourishing those thoughts you ought to kill.
Clytie.
Hence, paultry babbler! when the loud winds sweep,
Command the Nile's impetu'us surge to sleep;
When burning Ætna rages, bid it cease;
Go sooth the tortures of the damn'd to peace:
Their sieve, their stone, their vulture, and their wheel,
Are light, are nothing, to the pangs I feel.
Slave.
Take comfort.
Clytie.
Yes; 'tis six'd, I'll die this hour;
That's all the comfort now within my pow'r:
A dagger ends at once my life and care.
Slave.
Oh! toss'd on seas of ruinous despair!
29
Revenge on those who wrong you—not yourself.
Clytie.
Revenge on whom? a God!
Slave.
The best revenge.
Pay falsehood back with falsehood, change for change,
Try softer hearts, exert your charms, and show,
Indifferent, as he leaves, you let him go.
Pay falsehood back with falsehood, change for change,
Try softer hearts, exert your charms, and show,
Indifferent, as he leaves, you let him go.
When unpity'd we languish,
And sigh for a swain,
Who feels not our anguish,
But laughs at our pain,
In vain we pursue his untractable mind,
With whining,
And crying,
And wishing,
And dying;
Then scorn the perplexer, and look out to find
Another as lovely—another more kind.
And sigh for a swain,
Who feels not our anguish,
But laughs at our pain,
In vain we pursue his untractable mind,
With whining,
And crying,
And wishing,
And dying;
Then scorn the perplexer, and look out to find
Another as lovely—another more kind.
Clytie.
Is this the mighty veng'ance you propose,
This the kind comfort then you yield my woes?
To sue to others, and from them obtain,
What all my love deserved from him in vain.
Returns I've had—How sweet!
30
How quickly past!
Better ne'er tasted, since they could not last.
Clytie.
And shall I turn a beggar with my charms?
The thought with double strength my fury arms:
No! thus at once my farther pangs I save—
[Drawing a dagger.
Slave.
Behold upon her knees your faithful slave!
Oh! let my tears, my services, prevail;
We've means of great revenge, which cannot fail.
Clytie.
Avaunt!
Slave.
Oh! hear me.
Clytie.
Yet again! beware,
Nor tempt the fury of my rage too far.
Come, thou last, only friend, thy work pursue.
[Looking at the dagger, as she holds it ready to strike.]
Slave.
By all my hopes of happiness, 'tis true;
The object of your jealousy shall die!
31
pausing from the stroke.
Go on.
Slave.
First lay that dreadful weapon by:
I cannot speak, your looks my words appal.
Clytie,
throwing away the dagger.
Said'st thou not she, th'accursed she, should fall?
You held my arm, or she, ere this, had lain
Dead at my feet.
Slave.
And she shall still be slain,
But not by you; the God already cold,
What then should gain his love, his veng'ance hold?
Clytie.
Speak quick the means; my soul has ta'en alarm,
And all my flutt'ring senses round me arm.
Oh give me poison, racks, consuming fire,
Swift as my rage, and wild as my desire.
Slave.
Nor poison, racks, nor fire, we need to wait,
The King, her father, be our means of fate:
To him unfold in secret all you know,
You point the weapon, but he strikes the blow.
32
I'll do't;—each moment is a year's delay:
'Tis clear, 'tis obvious as the noontide-day;
By passion blinded, by despair misled,
I walk'd in clouds.—She is already dead!
My rival's doom'd! I see her on the ground!
I hear her groans!—There's music in the sound.
Slave.
Look where in shades those myrtle-branches throng,
The King appears, and this way moves along;
The time, th'occasion, both conspire to bless
Your great design, and crown it with success.
Clytie.
What sudden tremors seize upon my heart!
Cold dewy damps from ev'ry pore perspire!
No matter—Injur'd Love, perform thy part,
The consequence be what it may.—Retire.
| Leucothoe | |