University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Prison.
Enter Dinarchus.
Din.
Furies and Torments! how they follow me!
But stay! there's nothing—'twas my erring Fancy.
My Senses, with my Foes, conspire to abuse me.
Who, who wou'd bear a Being on such Terms,
As only make it wretched?—What's this dying?
It may be—no—perhaps it is not that:
Is it to quit our Thought?—O! if it is,
'Tis Bliss sufficient, when each Thought's a Pain.
Why then shou'd Mortals startle thus at Death?
Gloomy indeed at the first View it looks,
And black with Horror like a distant Wood;
But, enter'd once, it opens to new Scenes
Of Joys untasted, unimagin'd Pleasures:
And this can shew the Way.

[Holds up a Dagger.
Enter Eunesia.
Eun.
My dearest Father!
What! arm'd against your Life?

Din.
Away! away!
Why woud'st thou have me linger thus in Torments?
Perpetual Pain is a perpetual Dying;
Better to dye at once then.

Eun.
O my Father!
If your own Life you think not worth your Care,
What shall, what can your poor Eunesia do,
When you are gone?

Din.
O what indeed!—My Heart!
Wo't thou still hold?

Eun.
Give me your Dagger, Sir.

Din.
Yet when I'm dead, your Sufferings may cease.
Yes, yes, they will; 'tis me alone they hate,
I am the only Cause of your Oppression,
And this shall end it.

[Offers to strike.
Eun.
Hear me! yet hear me.
Suppose Lycander, Sir, when you are dead—

Din.
Ha! what!

Eun.
Shou'd seize me.

Din.
Let the Villain perish.
Hence with the Thought of Death: I'll live to guard thee.

[Throws away the Dagger.
Eun.
Yes, live, my Father, live; and hope for Joys.
Some unexpected Blessing yet may come
To sooth your Cares, and charm your Soul to Rest.

Din.
Strictly I've search'd each Corner of my Mind,
Yet cannot find one Gleam of Light within,
But all is dark—dark—dark—and lost in Horror.

Eun.
This Sorrow sits too heavy on your Spirits,
It weighs 'em down—O strive to throw it off—

Din.
I do, Eunesia—Yes, I do, my Child;
I chide it from me—but it clings the closer:
I reason with't, but Reason is too weak;
In vain I seek to force it from my Thoughts,
For like my Shadow it pursues me still.
A Shadow do I say? O that it were!
That it were but a Shadow! but 'tis real,
It is substantial Grief—'tis in my Heart,
'Tis fixt, 'tis rooted here—here—'tis distracting!

Eun.
O do not, do not talk thus: think of Comfort!

Din.
And is it to be found in Thinking, then?
Oh no! my Mind has rang'd from Thought to Thought,
From Place to Place, to seek it—but in vain.
At length it came unto the Court of Death.
In sullen Majesty the Horror sat,
Surrounded by a Croud of busy Courtiers;
Pain, Sickness, Frenzy, and ten thousand Cares.
Dreadful he lookt, yet dreadful smil'd on me.
He smil'd, and sent his Minister Despair
To tempt me in, with Promise of Relief.

Eun.
Ye gracious Pow'rs! ye Guardians of the Just!
Attend a Virgin's and a Daughter's Pray'r!
O show'r your Blessings on my Father's Head,
Infuse your Peace into his troubled Soul,
And let me be unhappy—I can bear it.

Din.
I'll in, and pray.—Consider, Gods, I'm old,
Old, old, and weak—I am unfit to bear.
Lay me down gently in Mortality,
Forgetting and forgot.

[Exit.
Eun.
My trembling Heart!
'Tis cold, and sick'ning with unusual Fears:
And tho' I brav'd it so before my Father,
And check'd my Sorrows; now, like troubled Waters,
Impatient of their Bounds, they rise, they swell,
Bear down the Banks, and deluge all around.
Ha! who is this! Protect me, save me, Heav'n!

Enter Lycander.
Lyc.
Why does the loveliest of her Sex retire
To Solitude, the Nursery of Grief,
Shrouding her Brightness in Obscurity?
What is the Cause of these incessant Tears?

Eun.
The Cause! I have sufficient for a Flood,
Eternal Cause to weep, when my poor Father
Is made a Prey to Violence and Rapine.

Lyc.
Your Breast, Eunesia, is too full of Sorrows,
That with their chilling Damps contract your Heart.
Nay, do not weep. Yet lovely are thy Tears!
Come, let me lead thee then where Joys shall court thee,
Where Joys in circling Orbs shall play around thee.
Each Wish thy rich luxuriant Fancy forms
Shall be thy own—thy Father shall be free,
And thou to such a state of Splendor rais'd,
That Mortals shall forget where they shou'd bow,
And pay their Vows to thee.

Eun.
Away! no more!
My Soul desires not such an envy'd Height.

Lyc.
Cruel Eunesia! shun'st thou thus my Sight!
Permit me but to sigh my Soul before thee.
Will you not turn? O turn! yet frown not on me.
Will you not speak?—yes, speak, but do not chide me.
Where-e'er you look, you brighten all arounnd;
When-e'er you talk—how ravishing the Musick!
Each Hearer listens, gazes, pants with Raptures.

Eun.
To me, there is no Musick in such Praise;
'Tis Flattery all, the Fool's Delight and Ruin.
If ought can add new Horror to your Love,
'Tis that; but know, they are alike my Scorn.

Lyc.
Scorn but usurps that Face, too fair a Seat
For ought but smiling Love. Love revels there,
O let it revel in thy Heart too. Come,
Thou hast thy Wishes, in thy Cheeks they glow,
They swell thy Lips, and sparkle in thy Eyes.

Eun.
Insolent Monster!

Lyc.
I am all on Fire;
Each Look, each Touch enflame me; what must then,
What must Enjoyment do? O rapt'rous Thought!
Come, let us fly to some delightful Scene,
Shut out all Cares, and ev'ry thing—but Love.
We'll give a Loose to Love, 'till Fancy faint,
And each Desire is full—'till we dissolve
In Ecstacies, beyond the Stretch of Thought.

Eun.
Base and ignoble, to insult me thus!
To wrong that Chastity you sha'not wound,
With Words, that Modesty must blush to hear.

Lyc.
Hence with this Niceness!

Eun.
Sooner with my Life.

Lyc.
Come, you must yield; nay, 'tis in vain you struggle,
It is not in thy Power.

Eun.
It is, to dye.

[Takes up the Dagger.
Lyc.
What means that Dagger? What is thy Intent?

Eun.
To plunge it in this Breast, and at a Blow
Prevent thy Violence, and assert my Fame.

Lyc.
Thou dar'st not dye.

Eun.
Not if I had thy Crimes.
But Virtue, when distress'd, can smile at Death,
And, as a Friend, embrace it.

Lyc.
Come, 'tis Folly;
Perverseness all.

Eun.
Touch me not, or I swear
By Pallas! by my Father's Wrongs, I swear,
The Instant thou pursu'st thy Insolence,
To strike it to my Heart. Yes, thou shalt find
Women, when arm'd with Virtue, know no Fear;
But Guilt, or Shame.—Dangers, or Death they meet,
With Minds more firm than impious Men like thee.

Lyc.
Now then, to try thy boasted Strength of Mind,
Unless thou seal my Love with instant Pleasure,
Thy Father—

Eun.
Ha!

Lyc.
Nay, do not start; 'tis fixt.
Thou soon shalt see him trembling on a Scaffold,
Ready to fall beneath a Villain's Hand.
Yes, thou may'st shudder, for 'tis fixt as Fate.
Thou soon shalt hear him in the Pangs of Death,
Amidst his Torments, hear him call on thee,
Groaning in Anguish, My ungrateful Child!
Then shalt thou see his hoary Head dissever'd,
His Body tumble quivering on the Ground,
So worn with Age, it cannot leap for Life.
Alas! she faints.—
How sweet her Breath! Sweet as Arabian Gales,
That catch the Odours of the Fields they fan.
Ha! Yes! It shall be so.—Who waits there? Pheron!
Enter Attendants.
Convey her gently off.—Hush! make no Noise.
Convey her off unseen, to my Apartment;
The Night will favour you.—So, gently, gently.
[They bear her off.
How my Heart bounds! while Love, Desire and Hope,
In busy sportive Dalliance play around it.

[Exit.
Enter Æschylus, and Jaylor.
Æsc.
Carry'd away! by whom?

Jay.
Lycander, Sir.

Æsc.
Lycander! When?

Jay.
But now; this very Instant.
You know his Power.

Æsc.
Curse on his Power, and him!
Whither will their Impiety extend?
Where is Dinarchus? Knows he ought of this?

Jay.
No, Sir; he is within.—No, here he comes.

Æsc.
How sad! how mournful! how depress'd he looks!
A sullen Gloom hangs low'ring on his Brow,
And seems the Entrance to the dreadful Cave,
Where Care and Sorrow dwell.

[Exit Jaylor.
Enter Dinarchus.
Din.
I'll think again.
Where is my Child! my Daughter? Æschylus!
How shall I bid thee welcome to a Place
Where Joy yet never enter'd? to a Place
Where Horrors only reign?—Groans are our Musick,
And Sorrows our Companions. Where's my Child?

Æsc.
Eunesia!

Din.
Yes.—What is the Matter? Tell me.
Malice, I thought, had run her greatest Length,
Tir'd with pursuing such a Wretch as I am.
Ha! thy Lips shake! Grief rolls about thy Eyes,
Thy Breast too swells, and labours with some Sorrow;
O quick unlade and tell me! Is my Daughter—

Æsc.
Your Daughter!

Din.
Ha! Death sits upon thy Lips,
And tells me what I dread; 'tis on thy Tongue;
But say not she is dead.

Æsc.
My Friend, she is not.

Din.
I thank the Gods for that—Where is she then?

Æsc.
She's gone.

Din.
With whom?

Æsc.
Lycander bore her off,
Unseen, unheard, by any but the Jaylor.
O Heav'n, display thy awful Vengeance on him!
Eternal Darkness strike upon his Eyes,
And Horror on his Mind. O let him live
Beset with Poverty, with Shame, and Terror.

Din.
It may be so.

[Wildly.
Æsc.
He hears not.

Din.
So they say.

Æsc.
Wildly he speaks, and looks transfix'd with Horror.
O, it is as I dreaded: 'Twas too much;
His Age must sink beneath a Shock like this.
Who waits there? Help to bear him gently in.

Enter Jaylor.
Din.
Ha! Who art thou? Lycander! Yes, 'tis he.
How like a Gorgon!—How he chills my Blood!
Villain!—Ha!—Yes.—I'll kill him at a Blow.—
Look! he approaches me: Who holds me thus?
Nay, do not stare;—thou sha'not have my Daughter!
See! he grins at me.—O, my Heart! my Heart!

[Sinks into Æschylus's Arms.
Æsc.
He's spent with Passion; bear him gently in,
Rest may restore his Mind. Look down, ye Gods!
Pity his Age, pity his broken Heart.

[Exeunt.