 | Leucothoe |  |
SCENE V.
ORCHAMUS, CLYTIE.Orchamus.
Hail! roseate dawn, at whose approaching light,
Spectres and birds ill-omen'd take their flight;
Thou, at whose rise Shame seeks Cimmerian shades,
And Lust and Murder hide their horrid heads;
Hope springs aloft, the mists of Grief exhale,
And Life and Joy renew their course—all hail!
Clytie,
kneeling.
May the King live for ever!
Orchamus.
Rise, bright maid;
Thou shouldst not pay obeisance, but be paid:
Abroad thus early have you made your way,
To add new charms to, or outshine the day?
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To view the infant morning at its birth,
As first it rose upon the darken'd earth,
When great Jove utter'd the creative word,
And Nature all alive obey'd her Lord;
To hear the birds, observe the waking flow'r,
And wond'ring at Heav'n's works, adore its pow'r.
Orchamus.
Exalted Wisdom! from those lips it broke!
Was it an angel, or fair Clytie spoke?
Was it an angel, or fair Clytie spoke?
How much superior beauty awes,
The coldest bosoms find;
But with resistless force it draws,
To sense and virtue join'd.
The casket where to outward show
The artist's hand is seen,
Is doubly valu'd, when we know
It holds a gem within.
The coldest bosoms find;
But with resistless force it draws,
To sense and virtue join'd.
The casket where to outward show
The artist's hand is seen,
Is doubly valu'd, when we know
It holds a gem within.
Clytie,
aside.
Now tremble, ye inconstants, wheresoe'er,
Who cheat with fraudful vows th'unwary fair:
Fate is at work—Love sits on Justice' throne,
And hastens to chastise you all in one.
[Going to speak to Orchamus, she corrects herself.
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What would'st thou? Speak. But now, there something sprung
Warm from your heart, which froze upon your tongue.
Give it free air—lay chilling fears aside,
And on a Monarch's faith and pow'r confide.
Clytie.
Yet why should friendship force me to reveal,
And tell him that which pity should conceal!
Orchamus.
Whate'er you would demand, my grant ensues;
When beauty asks, can Orchamus refuse?
Say, then, what thoughts so cruel to molest
The peaceful tenour of that gentle breast?
Clytie.
Ask not the subject of my thoughts, which known,
Perhaps may spoil the quiet of your own.
Orchamus.
Virtue unmov'd the thund'rer's voice can hear;
To guilt a stranger, we're unknown to fear.
Clytie.
Ay, but some ills there are of such a kind,
So black, so dreadful, ev'n the virtuous mind
Cannot support their shock, which leave a sting
Like vice behind.—Oh ill requited King!
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Than loss of state, dominion, wealth, and pow'r?
Orchamus.
You deal in riddles!
Clytie.
Dreadful to expound!
Oh! be my tongue to silence ever bound!
Drive, drive me from you to the farthest pole—
Orchamus.
You mean to stagger my determin'd soul!
Clytie.
Your daughter!
Orchamus.
What of her? I shake all o'er!
Clytie.
Yet send me hence in time, and seek no more.
Farewel!
[Going.
Orchamus.
Return, I charge you; haste, come back:
[She returns.
You would not leave me thus upon the rack.
Say, is my daughter dead?—I think I can—
At least I'll try—to bear it like a man.
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Was that the worst, how easy to be said,
For what's the loss of life? Her honour's dead.
Her virtue!
Orchamus.
Hah, beware!
Clytie.
But now these eyes
Beheld them rev'ling in their guilty joys;
Ev'n here they parted as you sought the place.
I could have stabb'd them in their last embrace.
Orchamus.
O name the traitor, that he soon may bleed!
Clytie.
The God you worship, Sir, has done the deed:
The glorious Sun, inspir'd with lustful flame,
Has paid your incense with your daughter's shame.
Orchamus.
'Tis well!—Oh Kings, your boasted pow'r how small!
Where, when did he? Damnation! tell me all.
Clytie.
At a silent, secret hour,
Softly stealing to her bow'r,
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Wishing, warm, and unarray'd;
Fir'd with the charming sight,
Soon began the am'rous fight!
Their pulse beat high to love's alarms;
He strove—and triumph'd o'er her charms.
Orchamus.
What's to be done? Confusion! shame! and death!
This hand shall stop the wanton strumpet's breath.
I gave her being—how then shall I take
That being from her?—Orchamus, awake!
'Tis dreams, chimera's all—imperfect, wild,
Justice commands me to destroy—my child!
This hand shall stop the wanton strumpet's breath.
I gave her being—how then shall I take
That being from her?—Orchamus, awake!
'Tis dreams, chimera's all—imperfect, wild,
Justice commands me to destroy—my child!
At once a father, and a judge,
How shall I bid her die or live?
There one severely would condemn,
The other tenderly forgive.
How shall I bid her die or live?
There one severely would condemn,
The other tenderly forgive.
[Walks about in great disorder.
Clytie,
aside.
What a rough war contending Passion keeps!
Now the storm's up; now, hah! by Heav'n he weeps.
Oh may these drops, like those which fall from high,
Before the rapid thunder rends the sky,
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And bode destruction, perils, rage, and death.
Orchamus.
Ye furies that howl in the abyss profound,
Hither, hither repair,
From the wilds of Despair,
And encompass me round;
Each a torch in her hand,
Take your terrible stand!
From my breast keep all motions of pity away;
And when Nature speaks,
In your yellings and shrieks
Drown her soft'ning plea.
What honour demands, 'tis our duty to give;
Who merits to die, shall we suffer to live?
| Leucothoe | |