University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Enter Eriphile, Doris, they sit on a green Bank near the Sea-Shore.
A SONG Set by Mr. PURCEL, and Sung by Mrs. ERWIN.

Dor.
Madam, what blind Fury
Can make you envy Iphigenia Fate?
An hour, and she's no more—And yet you say
You never was more jealous of her Bliss.
Heavens! What do you mean? What wild Design?

Eriph.
Yes, Doris, yes: My Heart perplex'd with Cares,
Beholds with envious Eyes my Rival's Fate.
How kind her Dangers! And how curst my Hopes!
Didst thou not see her Triumph? How Achilles
Was troubled and concern'd? I saw, I saw it;
And shunn'd the signs of her undoubted Bliss.
The valiant, proud, insulting, fierce Achilles,
Achilles dreadful to all humane kind;
Who never knew a Tear, but what he draws
From others Eyes: Achilles, who 'tis said,
Was suckled by a Lioness or a Tigress;
Achilles for her now begins to tremble,
Sighs and turns pale, and weeps, and yet thou pitiest
Here blest Condition; Death it self were pleasing,
If I could purchase fierce Achilles's Tears.

[Weeps.
Dor.
Dear Madam, moderate your Sorrows:
Or if you weep, let Iphigenia
Bespeak your Tears; she was our kind Protectress,
And in an hour she dies.—

Eriph.
No, Doris, she'll not die—
Dost thou believe Achilles wept in vain?
Thinkest thou his Love and Courage will ly buried
In shameful Unconcern? No, he'll prevent
All her impending Dangers: Thou shalt find
The angry God's pronounc'd this Oracle
To raise her Glory, aggravate my Woes,
And make her still the dearer to her Lover.

Dor.
What Reasons, Madam, can breed this Suspicion?

Eriph.
Dost thou not see
How all endeavour to prevent the Blow?
The fatal Sentence is still kept a Secret;
And tho' all things be ready at the Altar,
The Camp is unacquainted with the Victim.
Does not this silence speak a wavering Father?
What can he do? What Heart of flint or steel
Could e're resist th'Assaults he must encounter?
The Rage and Fury of an incens'd Wife;
A Daughter's Sighs and Tears; the deep Despair
Of a whole Family; fond Nature's struggles;
Achilles's threatning Love. No, 'tis in vain
The God's pronounc'd her Doom, for she shall live
I, I alone must be unfortunate.
Oh! If I dared—

Dor.
Madam, what do you mean?

Eriph.
Why don't I follow
The angry Dictates of my jealous Mind?
And publish to the Camp the fatal Sentence,
The Oracle pronounc'd, and how by impious Silence
They strive to make it void, and save the Victim
The God's demand—

Dor.
Oh! What a wild Design!

Eriph.
Oh! What excess of Joy!
What Altars would the Trojans raise to me,
If vindicating my Captivity,
I sow'd Dissension through the Grecian Camp,
And arm'd Achilles against Agamemnon!
If I could make them lay aside their Quarrel
'Gainst Troy, and turn their Arms 'against themselves!
If my malicious Whispers could destroy
The Grecian Army, and secure my Country!

Dor.
Madam, I hear a noise—'Tis Clytemnestra:
Compose your self, or else avoid her Presence.

Etiph,
Let's in: And to prevent this hated Marriage,
I'll use all means—The Gods allow my Passion.

[Exeunt Eriphile, Doris.
Enter Clytemnestra, Ægina.
Clyt.
Thou seest, Ægina, I must fly my Daughter:
So far she is from shedding any Tears,
Or trembling for her Life, that she excuses
Her cruel Father, and would have my Grief
Respect the Hand that strikes the cruel Blow.
Oh! Constancy! Oh! Reverence! Oh! Love:
Yet to reward all these, my Savage Husband
Complains of her Delay. I'll here expect him;
For, sure, he'll come t'expostulate with me
The reason of her stay. But he appears:
Be husht my Passion; let me try how far
He can dissemble his base Artifice.

Enter Agamemnon.
Agam.
Madam, what do you mean? How comes this Place
Don't offer Iphigenia to my sight?
I sent Arcas to demand her from you—
Where have you left her?—
What stays her? Is it you? will you not grant
My just Request? And do you still persist
To follow to the Altar?

Clyt.
My Lord, if she must go,
My Daughter's ready: But does nothing stop you?

Agam.
Me! Madam?

Clyt.
But have you taken care of all?

Agam.
Calchas is ready; th'Altar is prepar'd.
I have done all my Duty bid me do.

Clyt.
My Lord, you tell me nothing of the Victim?

Agam.
Madam?
What means this jealous care?

[Aside.
Enter Iphigenia.
Clyt.
Come, Daughter, Come; they only wait for you:
Be thankful to a kind, a loving Father,
Who will himself conduct you to the Altar.

[Weeps.
Agam.
What do I see! What means my Wive's discourse?
Daughter, you weep, and look with downcast Eyes:
What's this Disorder?
But both the Daughter and the Mother weep.
Oh! Arcas! I'm betray'd.—

Iphig.
Father, be not alarm'd: You're not not betray'd:
Command and I'll obey; my Life is Yours,
You may retake it without Artifice.
With that contented and submissive Heart,
With which I did accept a promis'd Husband,
If I must needs submit to Heaven's Decree,
I'll prove an innocent Victim, and respect
The Blow you order; with all due obedience
I'll spill that Blood, I have receiv'd from you.

Agam.
Oh! dutiful Respect! Oh! wondrous Love!

Iphig.
Yet, if this Reverence, this humble Love
Seem to deserve a better Recompense;
If you can pity a fond Mother's Grief,
My Lord. I dare to say, that as I am
Surrounded with bright Honour, I could wish
A milder Fate, and that the bounteous God's
Would not cut off my Life so near its Spring.
'Tis I first call'd you by the Name of Father;
—That soft, endearing Name—
'Tis for that Name so oft you thank'd the God's,
'Tis I made your Delight; with me you learnt
To cast off Majesty, and not disdain
—With fond Caresses to assume the Father.
Alas! With how much eagerness and Joy,
I lov'd to hear the Names of all those Countries
You went to Conquer? My presaging Hopes
Began t'anticipate the wish'd-for News
Of Troy's Destruction, and prepar'd a Feast
To grace your Triumph. Little did I think,
That to obtain your Victory, my Blood
Must first be spill'd by you.—

Agam.
Oh! She'll un-man me with her tender Words?

Iphig.
Not that the horror of the threatning Blow
Makes me remind You of your former Kindness.
Fear not: My Heart still careful of your Fame,
Shall ne're expose my Father to a Blush.
And had my Life alone been my Concern,
My grateful Thoughts had been conceal'd for ever
Within my dutious Breast. But, Sir, you know
That on my wretched Fate a tender Mother,
And a fond Lover fix'd their Happiness.
A King whose worth you own, lookt on this Day
To light the Torch of our illustrious Hymen;
Sure of a Heart, you gave me leave to promise,
To his undoubted Love, he thought himself
The happiest of Mankind:—But since he knows
Your fatal purpose, judge of his Alarms.
You see my Mother's woe, pardon, dear Father,
My weak endeavours to prevent their Tears.

[Weeps.
Agam.
Daughter, 'tis but too true: The angry God's
Demand a Victim, for what Crime, I know not:
But you are nam'd. A cruel Oracle
Commands that you shall bleed.—
To save your precious Life from the black Doom,
My Love prevented your endearing Prayers.
I wave to tell you how long I withstood:
Believe that Love which you just now attested.
This very Night I did recal the Order,
Which they before had wrested from my Hand.
I sacrific'd to you the cause of Greece,
My Ambition, my Safety, nay, my Honour.
Arcas was sent to keep you from the Camp,
But the God's would not suffer he should meet you;
They baffled my Efforts. Oh! Wretched Father,
Who vainly Strove to guard, what they pursue!
Trust not to my unsettled feeble Power:
What Curb could hold a furious Multitude,
Freed from th'uneasy yoke of my Command,
By holy Zeal, and superstitious Fear?
Daughter, your hour is come, and you must yield.
But, even in Death, regard your high Degree;
And mind a Counsel which I scarce can follow:
Since the sad Blow that strikes your Heart shall sink
Deeper in mine; yet, let your Constancy,
Approve your Birth, and make the God's asham'd
Of their black Sentence. Go—Let all the Grecians
Know by your Courage, 'tis my Blood they spill.

Clyt.
No: Do you not bely your fatal Race:
'Tis plain you spring from Atreus and Thyestes.
Butcher to your own Daughter, to compleat
Your natural Cruelty, you only want
To entertain me with the gastly Feast
Of all her slaughter'd Limbs. Oh! Barbarian!
Is this th'auspicious Sacrifice your care
Prepar'd with so much Art and Secrecy?
How could your Hand subscribe the black Decree,
And not be stopt by th'horror of the Deed?

Agam.
Oh! Wretched Father!

[Wheeps.
Clyt.
Force not before us a dissembling Woe;
Nor think your Tears can prove your Tenderness.
What Fights are those you fought in her Defence?
What Floods of Blood were spill'd to save her Life?
Where's the wild Havock that speaks your Resistance?
What Heaps of Slain can silence my Complaints?
These Savage Man, these are the Witnesses,
By which your Love should shew your just Concern,
For Iphigenia's Life.

Agam.
Madam, the God's must be obey'd:
A fatal Oracle pronounc'd her Doom.

Clyt.
Have not all Oracles a dubious meaning?
Are the just God's so pleas'd with murderous Deeds
That innocence must bleed? If Hellen's Crime
Must be aton'd for in her Family,
Let then Hermione be fetch'd from Sparta,
She's her own Daughter: Let fond Menelaus
With his own Blood redeem his guilty Wife.
But what blind Fury leads you to the Altar,
To expiate her Crime, and be his Victim?
Why must I rend and tear a Mother's Breast,
And pay his Fondness with my dearest Blood?
Nay, is this Author of so many Jars,
This great Disturber of the East and West,
A worthy Prize to crown your warlike Toils?
How often have we blush'd at her Disgrace?
Before your Brother by a fatal Tie
Made her his Consort, had not Theseus dared
To steal her from her Father? Does not Calchas
Assure us that from their clandestine Match
A Princess sprung, who still is left unknown?

Agam.
Oh! Cruel Honour!
Unfortunate Alliance!

Clyt.
But, no: A Brother's Love, his injur'd Honour,
Are the least Cares that trouble your Repose.
Your Thirst of Empire, nothing can allay;
Your haughty Pride of having twenty Kings
Attend and fear You: The supreme Command
Lodg'd in your Person, these, Oh! Wild Barbarian,
These are the Gods to whom you Sacrifice;
And careless of the Blow, your Unconcern
Courts the Applause of the affrighted Greeks.
Too jealous of your fatal envied Power,
You're glad to purchase it with your own Blood:
And by so dear a Price deterr the Boldness
Of your Competitors.—Is this to be a Father?
Oh! I grow mad—This cruel Treachery
Hurries my Senses into wild Distraction.
A Priest, surrounded by a barbarous Crowd,
Shall lay his Murdering hand upon my Daughter;
Shall Tear her Bosom, and with cruel Eyes
Consult her panting Breast—
Whilest I who brought her to the Camp in Triumph,
Must return home, disconsolate and attended
With black Despair: I must behold the Way
Still fragrant with the Flowers strew'd on her Passage
No, no: It shan't be said I brought her here,
To be thus butcher'd, if with the same Blow
You offer not a double Sacrifice.
No Tears, No Duty shall e're part me from her,
Unless you tear her from my Slaughter'd hands.
Barbarous Husband, no less barbarous Father,
Come, if you dare, and wrest her from her Mother
Daughter, go in: At least this time for all
I'll be obey'd—

[Exeunt Clytemnestra, Iphigenia, Ægina.
Agamemnon
Solus.
These are the furious Clamours I expected:
These are the loud Complaints I fear'd to hear.
Yet, if my wavering and distracted Mind,
Fear'd nothing but their Cries, I'd not regard them.
Alas! Why did the Gods impose upon me
So rigid a Command, yet, leave me still
A Father's Heart?

Enter Achilles.
Achil.
My Lord, a strange Report has reach'd my Ears.
For both our Sakes I wish it may be false,
'Tis said, and with just horror I repeat it,
That Iphigenia by your Command
Expires this day; That having silenc'd Nature,
And all the Dictates of Humanity,
With your own hand you give her to the Priest;
That 'tis my Name that brings her to the Altar;
That you suppos'd
These Nuptials to amuse us; and to make me
The shameful Instrument of this black Murder.
What say you to't, My Lord? What must I think on't?

Agam.
My Lord,
I never give account of what I do:
My Daughter's unacquainted with my Will;
But when I think it proper to inform her,
You then may learn her Fate: I'll give the Camp
My Sovereign Orders.—

Achil.
Too well I know what cruel Fate attends her.

Agam.
Then why d'ye ask?

Achil.
Why I do ask? Ye Gods! Is't possible,
That he can dare t'avow so black a Deed?
Think you I will approve your wild Design?
Think you my plighted Faith, my Love, my Honour,
Will e're consent to let your Daughter bleed?

Agam.
But you, who dare to speak with threatning Voice,
Have you forgot who 'tis you ask such Questions?

Achil.
And have you, Sir,
Forgot who 'tis I Love? Whom you affront?

Agam.
Who bids you be concern'd about my Family?
Mayn't I dispose of Iphigenia
Unless you be consenting? Am I not
Her Father still? Is She your Wife? Mayn't she—

Achil.
No—she's yours no more—
I'm not to be amus'd with frivolous Hopes:
You swore she should be mine; and therefore, Sir,
As long as I have blood within my Veins,
I will maintain those Rights your Promise gave.
But, Sir, was't not for me she came to Aulis?

Agam.
Expostulate with the Gods, 'tis they demand her.
Accuse the Priest, Ulysses, Menelaus:
Accuse the Camp; nay, first accuse your Self.

Achil.
Me!

Agam.
Yes, you: Who greedy of the Eastern Conquest,
Quarrel each day with Neptune and the Winds.
You who offended at my just Alarms,
Have spread your eager Fury through the Camp.
My tender Heart had found a way to save her:
But Troy is all you wish, all you demand.
I stopt the Race which you desir'd to run,
Her Death will set it open; Go—depart.

Achil.
Hell-Furies! Can I hear and bear all this
Is't thus you aggravate your Perjury
With base Affronts? What! Did I e're desire
T'obtain a Wind with Iphigenia's Blood?
What great Concern makes me repair to Troy?
For whom do I neglect my Parent Goddess,
And my disconsolate Father's fond Advice?
Why do I court that Death the Oracle
Foretold their Son? What Wrongs are those I suffer'd?
Was e're a Trojan Fleet so bold to dare
Make a Descent on my Thessalian Shore?
Did e're a Ravisher come to Larissa,
To steal away my Sister or my Wife?
What loss have I sustain'd? Is't not for you,
Barbarian as you are, I fly to Troy?
For you, whom I invested with Command
O're all the Grecian Princes and my self.
For you, whom I reveng'd in flaming Lesbos,
Before your gather'd Forces met in Aulis.
But what prevailing Motive call'd us hither?
Was it not to restore a ravish'd Wise
To Menelaus? Then who can think I will
Be wanting to my self, and tamely yield
The Bride I Love. 'Tis true your Brother suffer'd
A base Affront; but then has he alone
A Right to venge his Wrongs? I too will vindicate
My injured honour—I love your Daughter:
She only has my Vows: To her I promis'd
My Ships, my Soldiers, nothing to your Brother.
Let him pursue his Wife, and seek a Triumph
The Gods have promis'd to my Blood alone.
What's Hellen, Paris, Priamus to me?
I only ask my Iphigenia.
She, She's the Prize for which I'll quit this Shore,
And fly to Troy.

Agam.
Then, fly from hence: Return to Thessaly.
I disingage you from your solemn Vows.
Others will come submissive to my Power,
To reap those Laurels, which to you were promis'd.
And forcing Destiny by glorious Deeds,
Will gladly meet their Death before the Walls
Of ruin'd Troy. I see through your Contempt,
How dear I bought your haughty, proud Assistance.
By your insulting Speech it seems you are
The Arbiter of Greece, and that I bear
An empty Title. To your boast'd Valour
All must submit: All follow your Command.
A kindness when reproach'd becomes a Wrong:
I ask less Valour, but more Obedience.
Away—I cancel all our former Ties,
Regardless of your Friendship, or your Hatred.

Achil.
Thank that one Tie that holds my boiling Passion:
I still respect my Iphigenia's Father.
But wer't not for that Name, perhaps the Chief
Of Twenty Kings had dar'd me once for all.
One Word and I have done: But mark me well.
Your Daughter and my Honour ly at stake:
I will defend them both; And if you'd reach
The Heart you aim to strike, This is the way
[Points to his Breast.
Through which your Blow must pass.
[Exit Achilles.

Agam.
And this shall make her Sentence past recal:
My Daughter was more dreadful by her Self.
Thy haughty Love, that thinks to make me tremble,
Anticipates the Blow, thou meanst to ward.
No more Debates—
It is resolv'd I'll dare his Insolence:
My injur'd Honour summons all my Reason,
And his proud Threats determine the Contest,
'Twixt Nature and the Gods; for now my Pity
Would look like Fear—Guards—

Enter Eurybates, Guards.
Euryb.
My Lord.

Agam.
What am I doing!
How can I give the bloody, rash Command?
Barbarous Man!
What Fight doest thou Prepare? What hated Foe,
Art thou exposing to their Violence?
A Mother waits me: An undaunted Mother,
Who will defend her 'gainst a murdering Father.
I shall behold my Men less cruel than my self,
Respect my Daughter guarded by their Queen.
'Tis true Achilles threatens and contemns me:
But still my Daughter's constant to her Duty;
She neither flies the Altar, nor declines
With murmuring Discontent the Blow I give.
What means my horrid, sacrilegious Zeal?
What Vows can I address for such a Victim?
A glorious Harvest waits me: But what Laurels
Can please, when stain'd by Iphigenia's Blood?
I will appease the angry Gods: But, oh!
What Gods, can be more cruel to me, than I am to my Self?
No: 'twill not be. I yield to Love, to Nature:
I'll not blush at my Pity, she shall live.
But what! Am I
Regardless of my Fame? Must proud Achilles
Carry the Day, and think I fear'd his Threats?
What frivolous care disturbs my anxious Mind!
He loves my Daughter:
She'll make another blest.—Eurybates
Call hither Clytemnestra and the Princess:
Tell them they need not fear.—
[Exit Eurybates.
Almighty Powers!
If your immortal Hatred perseveres
To wrest her from my Hands, what can weak Mortals do,
I know my Love destroys what I would save:
Yet such a Victim does at least deserve
A confirmation of your rigorous Laws,
And that you should demand it once again.
Enter Clytemnestra, Iphigenia, Eriphile, Ægina, Doris, Eurybates.
Madam, you and your Daughter may depart:
Her safety be your Care. Haste from this Place
Where cruelty bears sway. My Guards, commanded
By Arcas, shall attend you; I excuse
His happy Rashness. Secrecy and Speed
Are now requir'd: Both Calchas and Ulysses
Have hitherto been silent; and therefore
Take heed they're not acquainted with your Flight,
Disguise your Daughter, that the Camp may think
I keep her here, and send you back alone.
Go, Fly—
And may the Gods contented with my Tears,
[Weeps.
Spare me the sight of Iphigenia
For a long time.—Guards, attend the Queen.

Clyt.
Oh! Husband!

[Weeps.
Iphig.
Oh! Father!

[Weeps.
Agam.
Once more, avoid th'impatient, barbarous Priest:
Be gone, fly hence—To favour your Escape
I'll find some Reasons to make him suspend,
The fatal Sacrifice till the next day.

[Exeunt all but Eriphile, Doris.
Eriph.
Doris, this Way.

Dor.
Madam, don't you follow?

Etiph.
Oh! I yield at last.
I feel the Power of Jealousy and Love:
Achilles's Tenderness fills me with Rage.
It is resolved, I'll be reveng'd or fall,
Come, to the Priest I will discover all.

[Exeunt Eriphile, Doris.