University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

An Apartment in the Palace of Timoleon, Darken'd. A Table with a Lamp on it.
Enter Timoleon.
Timol.
There is no middle way. I must submit
To see my Country sink beneath Oppression,
Or end it by a Brother's Blood. Hard Fate!
Thou Fiend, Ambition! what Extremities
Thou driv'st me to!

Enter Servant, with a Letter.
Serv.
From Demariste, Sir.

Timol.
My Mother! Scarce two Hours ago I left her.
What are her Orders at this Dead of Night?
What busy Cares intrude thus on her Rest?

Serv.
Her Letter will inform you, Sir; I cannot.
But when she gave it me, she sigh'd, she trembled,
And was all o'er an Agony.

Timol.
Just Heav'n,
Preserve my Mother! How is this? Retire.
Good Gods! But stay, here's more!—“If you design
“Against your Brother's Life, you strike at mine;
“I banish you that Moment from my Sight
“For ever: And may all the Gods concur
“With me to curse you.”—Wretched Timoleon!
Curs'd by my Mother! Which way shall I turn?
Heart-racking Thought! Never to see her more!
What shall I do? Nature works strongly in me,
While Virtue, and my Country, bid me strike.
Listen then to thy Country, and the Voice
Of Virtue—but—do I not strike a Mother?
I cannot bear a Thought of wounding her;
Or ev'n her Peace.—O thou un-erring Mind!
Thou Light Eternal! guide me by thy Rays,
Point out a Path, to lead me thro' this Maze,
Lest I should blindly err from Virtue's Ways.

[Exit.
Enter Timophanes, speaking to Attendants.
Timop.
So; wait without.—But hold—Pheron, attend me
To-morrow, with your Friends: Now, where's this Brother?
Not here! Retir'd to Sleep! It shall be so.
[Draws.
The Stillness, Darkness, both conspire to urge me.
Revenge! be thou my Goddess, steel my Heart,
And guide my Hand to Actions worthy thee!
Amazement! Whence that Voice? Beware, it cry'd.
No body sees me, hears me.—Where that Voice then?
Or, was there one? No; 'twas Illusion all!
Why do I linger thus? Again!—Beware!
By Hell! I heard it plain.—'Tis no Illusion.
Yet here is no one, that can see, or know
The Purpose of my Mind.—What can this mean?
No matter what—I was not born to fear.
[Going, starts back.
I hear it yet.—Hollow, and dire the Sound,
As Winds thro' Caverns rushing: Whence this Mock'ry?
Can Fancy (for it is no more) can Fancy
Curdle my Blood thus? If I tarry longer,
I shall be soften'd to a Child.—But, Ha!
What means this Trembling of my Limbs! O Horror!

[As he is going, the Ghost of his Father rises before him.
Ghost.
Beware, Beware, Beware Timoleon's Death.
Hear, mark, and tremble at thy future Fate.
Vengeance awaits thee; 'tis thy Father tells thee:
Hear, and attend me.—O, my Son! repent!
Repent, or soon thou wilt be doom'd to Torments,
To endless Torments, never-ceasing Pains.
I may no more.—Redress thy Country's Wrongs.
Observe, Repent, Redress.

Enter Timoleon with a Light, and Sword drawn.
Timol.
What Noise is this?
How! What! Timophanes! my Brother here!
Why are thy Eyes thus fix'd? What means this Posture?
Thou look'st a very Statue of Surprize,
As if a Light'ning Blast had dry'd thee up,
And had not left thee Moisture for a Tear.

Timop.
Shroud me in Darkness from that grizly Horror,
That ghastly Sight!

Timol.
Where! What Sight do you mean?

Timop.
Start from your Orbs, my Eyes, forget to see,
Rather than see such Terrors.

Timol.
What Terrors?

Timop.
View him!

Timol.
Ha!

Timop.
See!

Timol.
Whom?

Timop.
Look where the Phantom stands,
With hollow Eyes, and—Do not, do not look thus.

[Ghost disappears.
Timol.
There's nothing I can see.—What means all this?
This Visit! and so late! A Sword too! Drawn!
And on the Ground!—'Tis so, I see it now!

Timop.
Must the Dead rise to shake Timophanes?
The Living cannot—What! Timoleon here!

Timol.
Trust me, Timophanes, these Frights, these Terrors,
Are all the Attendants on Usurpers Thrones.
The Man who rises on his Country's Ruin,
Lives in a Croud of Foes, himself the Chief:
In vain his Power, in vain his Pomp and Pleasures;
His guilty Thoughts, those Tyrants of the Soul,
Steal in unseen, and stab him in his Triumphs.
Wretched, distracting State! when ev'ry Object
Strikes him with Horror, ev'ry Thought with Fear.

Timop.
What dost thou talk of Fear? 'Tis not in Mortals
To make me fear.

Timol.
Nor yet in Shadows?

Timop.
No.
A Mind fatigu'd, and spent, may yield a little,
But when resolv'd like mine, cannot be conquer'd.

Timol.
Think yet, and bless the Gods for these their Warnings:
Think what it is to make a People happy,
To see 'em smile, and bless you for the Cause;
To see 'em bless'd, and owe their Bliss to you:
What Glory! what Renown!

Timop.
Their Happiness
Is not my Thought, or Care: No! for my self
I reign, and they, like Slaves, shall live for me.

Timol.
And who would reign, on the mean Terms of being
The publick Hatred, and the publick Fear?
If thou art deaf to a whole Nation's Cries,
If deaf to Honour, and the Call of Virtue,
Yet think, and dread the Anger of a People,
Who fir'd by Wrongs, and by Despair provok'd,
May rouze to Freedom, when a Leader calls.
When once broke loose, their Fury knows no Bounds,
But like an Hurricane resistless rages,
Sweeps all away, and spreads a Waste around.

Timop.
The People's Fury, as their Love, I scorn.
Keep thy Advice, I ask it not, nor need it.

Timol.
Why then this Visit in the Dead of Night?
Thy Sword too drawn? Thou see'st I know thy Purpose,
But know thou too, Timoleon can forgive it.

Timop.
Forgiveness! and from thee!

Timol.
Why not from me?
Who wrongs another, makes him his Superior,
By giving him the Pow'r to pardon.

Timop.
Ha!

Timol.
Could'st thou e'er think, the Providence, I trust in,
Would not protect me? Yes, Timophanes,
Were the uplifted Dagger pointed at me,
While I revere the Gods, the Gods will guard me,
Avert the Blow, and turn it on th'Assassin.
Here, take thy Sword, and learn to use it better.

Timop.
Thus then I use it. Stand on thy Defence.
Thus I maintain the Power I have assum'd;
For Empire and my Crown, assur'd I stand;
That's the Dispute; be this my Argument.
Now, if I shrink for Fear, I am indeed
Unworthy of a Soldier's Name, like thee,
Whom ev'ry Tear can soften into Weakness.

Timol.
If Pity on the Wrongs the Injur'd suffer
Be term'd a Weakness, be it mine; for know
I glory in it, none but Cowards scorn it.

Timop.
Cowards!

Timol.
Ay, Cowards. The Brave are ever tender,
And feel the Miseries of suffering Virtue.

Timop.
Away, 'tis Fear; thy Soul is Woman all,
And shudders at the very Thought of Dangers.

Timol.
Dangers! I've seen them in their ugliest Forms.
Have seen them unappall'd;—I have pursu'd them
Thro' hostile Ranks,—where Death alone would follow.
Thou knowest I have:—but this is boasting.

Timop.
True,
'Tis only boasting, for thou dar'st not—

Timol.
What!

Timop.
Thou dar'st not justify thy foul Reproach?

Timol.
Dare not!

Timop.
No, if thou dost, come on. I hate
This Female Tongue-War, and will end it thus.

Timol.
Away, rash Madman!
I wo'not kill thee, tho' thou art ungrateful.

Timop.
Come on.

Timol.
Hold yet.

Timop.
Art thou a Man?

Timol.
I am.
Have Passions too, 'tis dang'rous to provoke.

Timop.
Thou, thou! 'tis false.

Timol.
I feel them rise within,
And struggle for a Loose. Down, down, ye Fiends.

Timop.
Thou cold, deliberate Traitor!

Timol.
Ha! no more.

Timop.
Yes, this—

Timol.
Forbear—

Timop.
Thou art—

Timol.
By Jove the Thund'rer,
Another Word, and Fate obeys the Call.

Timop.
Thou Villain then!

Timol.
'Tis said, and thus I answer.

[They fight. Timoleon disarms Timophanes.
Timop.
Confusion! Rage! Disarm'd!

Timol.
Thou art disarm'd,
Heav'n is against thee, 'tis to Heav'n I owe it.
What hinders now but that at once I finish
Corinth's Oppression, and thy Tyranny?

Timop.
Do it, and talk not.

Timol.
Does not Virtue bid it?
Do not my bleeding Country's Wrongs expect it?
Do not the crying Orphans, sighing Widows,
And sorrowing Mothers?—Mothers! ha! my Mother,
She, only she forbids.

[Aside.
Timop.
Why this Delay?
Thou long'st to see me dead, then take thy Wish.

Timol.
No, on my Soul I do not.—O my Brother!
Heav'n knows, that, with the Hazard of my own,
Thy Life I'd save, if Virtue would allow it.
Here, take thy Sword; thy Attempt upon my Life
Is from this Hour forgot.

Timop.
What's this I feel?
Is it Remorse?—No, 'tis not that; but Scorn
To be oblig'd.—I cannot bear the Thought.

[Aside.
Timol.
Once more, Timophanes, let me intreat,
By all the Friendship of our youthful Years,
By all the Dangers hanging o'er thy Head,
Think of the Crown unjustly thus usurp'd,
Think and resign it, and with that thy Shame.

Timop.
No more of that, it ruffles me too much,
Untunes my Soul, and makes it Discord.

Timol.
Hear me,
Yet hear me.

Timop.
No.

Timol.
I beg thee, I conjure thee.

Timop.
My Rage, that's just extinguish'd like a Lamp,
Kindles anew at the Approach of Fire,
And bursts into a Flame. I must be gone.
I leave thee then to moralize at Leisure.

[Exit Timophanes.
Timol.
He's gone!—he's lost!—Corinth or he must bleed;
Then he is doom'd.—My Country must be safe.
Corinth, I come.—Thy Wrongs at length have fix'd me.
Nature, lie still a while within my Breast;
And thou, Seducer of a Mind resolv'd,
Compassion! hence!—thou shalt no more enslave me:
My Country claims me all, claims ev'ry Passion,
Her Liberty henceforth be all my Thought!
Tho' with a Brother's Life, yet cheaply Bought:
For her my own I'd willingly resign,
And say with Transport, that the Gain were mine.