University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—A room in Philip's Palace.
(Enter Dymas, with a Servant.)
Dymas.

When did the king arrive?

Servant.

Some half hour back, my lord; and the prince
sent immediately to request speech with you. His majesty
seems not in his wonted cheer, and forbade all show of
rejoicing. But, so please you, my lord, I will announce to
the prince your arrival, for he is impatient to have speech
with you.

[Exit.
Dymas.
Do so, good fellow. Not in wonted cheer?
I've that shall rouse him. This dull melancholy
Is mere stagnation: but in that do breed
A thousand venomous and horrid things,
Which in the cataract, or storm-shook water,
Had never lived. Best life is found in action;
And death—but total rest. The red-eyed soldier,
Even in the battle's hurricane, when his sword
With every motion gives, or wards off death,
Is happier yet than he, who, by the fire,
Moans o'er the toothache. Welcome, noble prince.

(Enter Perseus.)
Perseus.
Dear friend, I thank thee. Well—what—hast thou sped?
Hast got him sure?

Dymas.
When he that lies entombed
In Egypt's broadest pyramid,—the mummy
That, farther back than dim tradition goes,
Hath slept beneath the everlasting load,—
When he shall rise, and shake the burthen off,
And walk into the air,—Demetrius then,
And not till then, shall from his shoulders fling
The fate that waits to sink him.

Perseus.
Best of friends!
But how?—how mean you?

(Enter a Lord-in-waiting.)
Lord.
Let me not seem bold
T'intrude upon you. Twice the king hath asked
For the lord Dymas, and impatient waits.

Perseus.
He comes o' th' instant. Briefly tell me now.

[Exit Lord.
Dymas.
I'll give the pith. Demetrius to Rome
This night will fly,—start not, nor say a word—
All shall be after told thee. Philip's rage
Will rise to madness when I pour the tale
Full in his ear. The tender-hearted boy
To cross his father's vengeance hath conspired
And certain traitors aided in escape.
They will be captured,—but th' attempt not less
His own doom seals. Last news I have to tell,
And at this moment best,—our trusty friends
Philocles and Apelles are returned.
I've spoken with them—they are well prepared—
The lesson that we taught is not forgot;—
'Twill change each drop of sweet that stays behind
In Philip's bosom to the bitterest gall:
And, when the scroll from Quintius comes at length,
'Twill turn him all to poison: every word
Will bear Demetrius death,—and every look
Shoot burning arrows thro' him.—

Perseus.
So it will!
But go about it straight. Philip's displeased;—
'Shamed of his fruitless, and most foolish quest
To look at Italy from Macedon;—
And 'tis a humour that will keenly bite
On whatsoever it can fix its teeth.

Dymas.
I'll change his darkness soon to fiery light.
Be not far off;—you may be wanted too.

[Exit.
Perseus.
His fate is come at last. He cannot 'scape.
By heavens! I hate him worse than ugly death;
And will not long endure to breathe with him
The air of heaven.—He draws on him all eyes;—
Ensnares all hearts;—steals all men's expectations;—
Plots for the throne, which is my proper right;—
Lures to himself the bride, that should be mine;—
Stands like a sun to which all eyes are turned:
And leaves me but a shadow.—I must hate him,
Or not be man;—and I do hate him so
That I would rather feel the pangs of death
Ten times each day I live, than see him live
Crowned with his insolent hopes.—To-night—to-night—
Somewhat must be to-night—Ha! fool! thou look'st
For this blest night to cover thy foul deed,
And in thy black rebellion set thee safe.—
Fool! traitor! Roman minion! 'tis thy last!

[Exit.