University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

The Castle of Poliphontes.
Poliphontes. Erox.
POLIPHONTES.
She has her Views, I mine.—I shou'd have fear'd,
Some Hint's officious Reach had touch'd her Ear;
I shou'd have dreamt, her Eyes had catch'd some Glance,
To guide Discovery, down the dark Abyss,
Where my close Crime lies veil'd, in dumb Obscurity.
—But, that I know, she is a WOMAN—Erox!
And born to be capricious.

EROX.
Pride—not Distaste,
Holds out her Heart, against you.

POLIPHONTES.
Let her keep it.
My Hope is humbler, Erox. 'Tis her Hand
I seek: Hearts are Girls' Gifts to School-boy Lovers.
Now, let her Spleen start wild. When Time serves aptly,
Means shall be found to curb it—Thou art come
From sounding this fierce captive Son of Wonder.
What have thy Thoughts concluded?

EROX.
'Tis not He.
No Race of Hercules need, there, alarm you.
This but some rural Brave, of simple Nurture;
Void of Ambition's Flame: Bold, blunt and honest:
Fearless of Menace, tasteless of Reward,
And wanting ev'n the Wish, to dare, for Power.
He cannot be Eumenes.

POLIPHONTES.
Who, then, is he?

EROX.
He says he is a Shepherd's Son:—what, more,
He will not be provok'd, nor brib'd, to tell.
Firm without Fierceness; without Weakness, gentle:
Open as Day-light; yet, as dumb, as Death!
Spite of my Prejudice, he forc'd my Praise;
And Hatred must admire him.

POLIPHONTES.
Praise him on.
Be what, or whom, he may, 'tis fit he die.
The People, who conclude his Punishment
Inflicted, for Eumenes' fansied Murder,
Will dream that Race extinct; and cleave to Me.
So Danger comes less near: Nor shakes my Throne.
—What hast thou learnt, of that conceal'd Presumer,
Who, when the Arm of Merope was rais'd,
Restrain'd it, with some Power that touch'd her Soul?

EROX.
The young Man call'd him Father. Chance, it seems,
In that nice Moment, brought him to his View.
He mov'd the Queen's Compassion, for his Son,
Fled, like a Wanton, from the Good Man's Care,
Who, in his Search, came sorrowing on, from Elis.

POLIPHONTES.
I cannot trust this Tale. Thou grow'st too credulous,
Mysterious Caution hangs too thick a Veil
O'er all their late Proceedings. That old Man,
Left the Queen's Presence, starting, at my Entrance.
Why was he hid, if a young Rustick's Father?
Why shou'd my coming fright him? He has heard
Since then, his Son's redoubled Danger dwells
But in my Menace: Yet he comes not near me.
I had, ere now, beheld him at my Feet,
Had his Heart trembled with a Father's Terrors.

EROX.
See, Sir! he's free—and mark—the Queen, how near!

POLIPHONTES.
I note it, and determine.
—Now! my Sister.

SCENE II.

Poliphontes, Erox, Merope, Ismene, Euricles, Eumenes, and Guards.
MEROPE.
You see, Sir! I dare know, and use, my Rights.
How had your Will presum'd to seize my Victim?
Am I but Queen of Shadows? that my Vengeance
Must move, as you direct it?

POLIPHONTES.
Nobly urg'd!
The Victim is your Right, requires your Hand:
Mine had defac'd your Vengeance.—I assum'd
Pretence to aid it, but to fire your Languor.
Take Courage. I resign him. With his Blood
Wash this reluctant Faintness from your Heart:
And give it Warmth to meet me at the Altar.

MEROPE.
Horrid, and impious, Hope!

POLIPHONTES.
Looks Love so frightful?

EUMENES
to Poliphontes.
Who taught thee to associate Love with Cruelty?
What Right has Cupid to a Captive's Blood?
—Yet, mispresume me not, that I court thy Pity—
He has too poor a View from Life, to prize it,
Whose Death can only serve, to shorten Pain.
—But, I am told, Thou call'st thyself a King.
Know, if thou art one, that the Poor have Rights:
And Power, in all its Pride, is less than Justice.
—I am a Stranger,—innocent,—and friendless,—
And That Protection, which thou ow'st, to All,
Is doubly due, to me:—For, I'm unhappy.

POLIPHONTES.
Protection is for Worth:—Guilt calls for Vengeance.

EUMENES.
And what does Wrong's licentious Insult call for?
—In my own just Defence, I kill'd a Robber:
Law call'd it Murder; and the Queen condemn'd me.
Queens may mistake. Ev'n Gods, who LOVE, grow partial.
I can forgive th'Injustice of a Mother:
And cou'd have bless'd her Hand, beneath the Blow.
Nature has Weaknesses, that err to Virtue?
—But, What hast Thou to do with Mother's Vengeance?
Law, that shocks Equity, is Reason's Murder.

POLIPHONTES.
So young! so wretched!—and so arrogant!
Methinks, the Pride of an Alcides' Blood
Cou'd scarce have swell'd a Soul to loftier Boldness!

MEROPE.
Pity presumptuous Heat. 'Tis Youth's Prerogative.

POLIPHONTES.
Mean while, how happy such unpolish'd Plainness!
To move Defence, from Art so skill'd as Yours.
Your Son, sure! lives.

MEROPE.
Lives! and shall live. I trust him to the Gods:
They can—they did—they will protect him.

POLIPHONTES.
What cannot Woman's Pity! None, who marks
The willing Pardon your soft Looks insure him,
Can charge your Heart with Cruelty.

MEROPE.
My Looks,
Perhaps, hint Meanings, Prudence shou'd decline
To lend too loud a Tongue to.—but, there are,
Whose Heart speaks Nothing: Yet tells All, by Actions.

POLIPHONTES.
Mark, if I speak not, now, my Heart's true Language.
—Traitor! receive thy Doom

[Drawing his Sword.
MEROPE,
(interposing.)
Strike here, here, Murd'rer!
Menace my Breast; not His.

POLIPHONTES.
Whose Heart speaks, now?

EUMENES.
Now, ye Immortals! not to die, were, not
To triumph.—To be pitied, here! so pitied!
By such a Queen as Merope!—'tis Glory
That every Power beneath a God might envy!

POLIPHONTES.
If you wou'd have him live, confess, Who is he?

MEROPE.
He—is—

EURICLES
(to Ismene.)
Oh! we are lost.

ISMENE.
All, all, is hopeless.

POLIPHONTES.
If he has Right in You, be swift to own him:
Or, lose him by your Silence.

[Offers to kill Eumenes.
MEROPE.
Stay—he is—

POLIPHONTES.
Who? What?—say, quickly.

MEROPE.
He is My Son, Eumenes.

POLIPHONTES,
(starting, and aside.)
'Tis as I fear'd; and all my Schemes are Air.

[Stands pensively fix'd.
EUMENES.
Heav'ns!—Did I hear That, rightly?

MEROPE,
(embracing him.)
Thou art my Son.
Loud in the Face of Men and Ear of Gods,
Cresphontes was thy Father: I attest it:
I tell it, to the Winds: Proclaim it—boast it,
Hear it, Thou Soul of Murder! I have found him:
And, if I lose him, now, whole Heaven shall curse thee.

EUMENES.
I cannot comprehend it!—Yet, I kneel,
To thank you—but for deigning to deceive me.
Bless'd is his Fate, who dies, in such a Dream!

MEROPE.
One Way, thou art deceiv'd.—The Mother's Love
Forgets the Monarch's Danger.—Poliphontes!

POLIPHONTES,
(starting.)
Go on—I meditated—but—speak, Madam.

MEROPE.
Thou now hast wrung, from my affrighted Heart,
The Secret, that oppress'd it. Thou behold'st
Thy King, distress'd, before thee.—Sigh, if thou can'st,
Sigh,—for the Son, Prince, Mother—Fame, and Nature.

POLIPHONTES.
How to resolve will ask some needful Pause.
—Mean while, it shakes my Faith, to trust your Story.
You hear, the young Man's Honesty disclaims
This Greatness, you wou'd lend him.

EUMENES.
Modest Sense
Of my unequal Worth compell'd some Doubting;
But, now, 'tis Truth contestless. Royal Tears
Flow not for pitied Falsehood; and they prove it.

MEROPE.
Tears touch not Hearts of Flint; and I will spare 'em.
Bid your (kneels.)
Pride hear me—for, your Pity cannot.
See me an humble Suppliant, at your Feet,
Now first confessing I can fear your Anger.
This shou'd, beyond all Proof of Tears, convince you,
That Merope's his Mother.—Still, you frown: I forget
My own long Sorrows—all my Wrongs, and Insults:
Smile to the future—and absolve the past.
—Let him but breathe—to reign, were to be wretched;
—Cruel! you answer nothing!—look less dreadful.
Ease my distracted Soul—and speak some Comfort.

EUMENES.
O, Madam! quit that Posture.—My proud Heart
Aspires to keep the Glory you have lent it.
—If I, indeed, was born, to call you Mother,
Why do I see and hear you, not a Queen?
[Raises her.
—Nor think my Soul too haughty:—No Distress
Absolves Dejection: 'Tis the Brave's Prerogative,
To feel, without complaining.
Now!—Strike, Tyrant—
Courage, restrain'd from Act, takes Pride to suffer.

POLIPHONTES,
(to Merope.)
'Tis well. I have, with just Attention, heard;
And, in impartial Silence, weigh'd it, all.
Your Sorrow claims some Right to call for mine:
And his high Spirit charms me.—I take him
[Takes Eumenes by the Hand.
Into my heedful Care; remit his Sentence,
And, if found Yours, adopt him as my Son.

EUMENES.
Yours, said you?—Yours!

MEROPE.
Be patient, good Eumenes.

POLIPHONTES.
You rule his Destiny. You know what Price
I rate his Life at. Smile; and meet my Wishes.
For, may the Gods, conjointly, curse my Reign,
If he survives Refusal of my Prayer!
—Bethink you. In an Hour, I shall expect you;
Where, at the Altar, to th' attesting Powers,
You may proclaim your Choice. That Moment makes him
My Victim, or my Son. 'Till then, farewel.

MEROPE.
You cannot be so cruel.—Leave him, with me.
To see him, might persuade me.

POLIPHONTES.
See him, there:
See him, in Hymen's Temple. Erox, attend him.

[Exeunt.
EUMENES.
Oh, Queen! oh, Mother!
If I, already, dare assume a Right
To call you, by that dear, that awful Name:
Think, nothing, that may misbecome your Glory—
Do, nothing, that may mix Contempt, with mine.
—I leave you to the Care of Heav'n; and die.
Lead me to the Tyrant.

SCENE III.

Merope, Euricles, Ismene.
MEROPE.
Fly, follow, Euricles; hold thy kind Eye
Fix'd, to this Tyrant's Motions. Fain would I dream,
He threatens, but to fright me.

EURICLES.
Willing Hope
So flatters, to deceive you. Too, too sure,
His Purpose! Ev'n by Nature, stern and bloody,
How more, when Power and Safety prompt his Cruelty!
[Exit Euricles.

MEROPE.
Find thy good Father, Haste, Ismene; call him.
Tell him, Distress grows headstrong, and my Soul
Sickens for want of Counsel.

ISMENE.
[Aside.
What a Blindness
Is Thirst of human Grandeur! Give me, Gods!
A Cottage, and Concealment. Save the Queen;
And, from the Curse of Courts, remotely place me.
[Exit Ismene.

MEROPE
Alone.
No, there is none; no Ruler of the Stars,
Regardful of my Miseries.—
Oh, my lov'd Son! my Eyes have lost thee, ever.
I shall no more snatch Comfort, from thy Hopes,
Or wonder at thy Sweetness.—
Why have the Deities permitted this?
Why have they sported with a Mortal's Mind,
Unpitying it's Distraction? sent him to me
From a far distant Land? Sent him, for what!
To glut the Murd'rer's Sword, who kill'd his Father.
—Yet, you are just, ye Gods!—Amazing Darkness
Dwells o'er th' Eternal Will, and hides all Cause.
I must not dare to tax Almighty Power,
For what I suffer from it. Let it but pay me
With that curs'd Tyrant's Punishment attain'd:
Let me but see myself depriv'd of Him—
See him expell'd, from Light, from Earth, from Name,
Deep, as the chearless Voids below can plunge him!
And I will (kneeling)
kneel, a Wretch, and thank your Justice.

SCENE IV.

Merope, Ismene, Narbas.
NARBAS.
Oh! Queen! August in Woes! What Wrongs are yours!

MEROPE
rising.
Yes, Narbas,—I have sacrific'd my Son—
Have given him up, to Death—have, madly, own'd him:
—What Mother, who beheld her Son, as I did,
Doom'd and endanger'd, cou'd have, then, kept Silence!

NARBAS.
Gen'rous your Purpose! gloriously, you err'd:
And fell, but from a Height, 'twas Fame, to reach.
Dry up your Tears, and summon All your Soul:
Time presses,—and a Moment, lost, is Fate.

[Shouts heard.
ISMENE
looking out.
Uproar, and Cries without, in rising Wildness,
Heard from the City, reach the Palace Walls:
Sure Sign of new Confusion!

NARBAS.
I saw the Tyrant meet th' expecting Priests;
Attended, not in Hymeneal Robes,
But Vestments, such as Sacrifice demands;
And Pomp of bloody Rites, at dreadful Altars.
To These, his Hand consign'd the Victim, led:
And deaf'ning Shouts receiv'd him.—From the Train
Of Priestly Horrors, this Way mov'd their Chiefs;
Follow'd by loud, licentious, Bursts of Joy.
Amid th' enormous Swell of whose coarse Roar,
All, I distinctly heard was Poliphontes.

MEROPE.
—Where are my Guards? Arm'd, for my Vengeance, call 'em.

[Enter three Priests.

SCENE V.

Merope, Narbas, Ismene, Priests.
MEROPE.
What! are ye here already?—Out of my Sight,
Ye sanctify'd Deceits! You! whose bold Arts
Rule Rulers! and compel even Kings, to Awe!
Be gone, fly, vanish—
Ye Mouths of Mercy! and ye Hands of Blood!

CHIEF PRIEST.
Sorrows, and Wrongs, claim Privilege to rail:
And Heaven's affronted Vot'ries must forgive.

MEROPE.
Cool, in your Cruelty!—Religion's Veil
Ill cloaks Rebellion's Licence. Death was your Errand.
Why talk you of Forgiveness?—'tis not yours.

CHIEF PRIEST.
Not in Death's Cause we come; but Heaven's—and Love's.
If Vows were plighted, 'twixt the King and You,
No Power on Earth dissolves 'em.

MEROPE.
False, as Hell!
He knows, I heard his hated Vows with Horror.
—Slight Insolence!—To this ill-founded Charge,
Silence, and Scorn, shall answer.

[turning away.
CHIEF PRIEST.
Gracious Sovereign!
Suspend your Anger: 'tis unjustly rais'd.
—Enlighten, and command us.—Found too easy
In one wrong'd Faith, we twice, perhaps, have err'd:
Alike deceiv'd, in Both.—Unbend that Brow:
And deign to teach our Doubt, what Name to give
This Stranger? this young Captive to the King?

MEROPE.
Give him the Name you dare to misapply.
Call him your King—my Son—my lost Eumenes.

CHIEF PRIEST.
Hear That, prophetic Soul! high Heaven!—I tremble,
In Dread, this great Discovery comes too late.
The shouting People crowd the waiting Altar:
And, erring in their Zeal, mis-hail the Day.
—What can be, shall be try'd, to cross his Doom.
They shall be taught, with bold, adventrous Speed,
To save their Sovereign's Right—and, hence, rash Queen,
Learn due Repentance: and no more, let loose
The Rage of Wrongs, against the Tongues of Gods.

[Exeunt Priests.
MEROPE.
—This solemn Sharpness of deserv'd Reproach,
Struck my too conscious Guilt, with infelt Awe!
I have been warm too soon: and just, too late.
What, tho' Religion's Guardians taint her Tide!
Pure is the Fountain, tho' the Stream flows wide:
Too oft, her erring Guides her Cause, betray:
Yet, Rage grows impious, when it bars her Way.