Eurydice A Tragedy |
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| 8. | SCENE VIII. |
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 | Eurydice |  |
SCENE VIII.
Eurydice, Procles, Melissa, Medon.Eurydice.
My lord, my husband, stay—Oh hear me! hear me—
Shame! rage! distraction!—Cruel tyrant, off.
I'll follow him to death.
Procles.
No. By the joys
That swell my soaring thought, you shall not scape me.
Revenge and love combine to crown this night
With matchless bliss.
Eurydice.
Inhuman! hast thou eyes?
Hast thou a heart? and cannot all this wreck
Of ruin'd majesty, ruin'd by thee,
Move one relenting thought, and wake thy pity?
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Have savag'd his remorseless soul.—Hear then,
Almighty Jove! behold, and judge the cause
Of Periander! number all his wrongs
In plagues, in horrors—
Procles.
Ha! by hell, this raving
But wings his fate. Since thy fond folly weds thee
To ruine with this rival, know he dies;
This very night he dies. Thro' him I mean
To wound thy heart indeed. Thou shalt behold him
When the rack stretches strong his rending joints,
Bursts all his veins, and hunts the flying soul
Thro' every limb. Then, when convulsive agony
Grins hideous in his face, mangled and bleeding,
In the last throes of death, thou shalt behold him.
Eurydice.
It is not to be borne! My life dies in me
At the destroying thought—Ah stay thee, Procles—
Assist me, pitying heaven!—See then, behold me
Thus prostrate at thy feet. If thou hast not
Renounc'd all manhood, feeling, and remorse,
Spare me his life; save only that: all else,
His crown, his throne be thine.
Procles.
Off, let me go.
Thy words are lost in air.
Eurydice.
Nay hear me, Procles.
As is thy hope in heaven's forgiving goodness,
Shut not thy heart against the cry of misery.
Banish us any whither; drive us out
To shame, want, beggary, to every woe
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Forget my crying wrongs, and own thee merciful.
Procles
aside, and pausing.
This woman fools my rage—but to resolve.
No—yes: it shall be so. Rise then, and learn
Thy triumph o'er my soul. Yes he shall live,
This Periander whom I deadly hate.
Nay more, he shall be free. Leonidas,
With such safe conduct as thyself shalt name,
Attends him to our kingdom's farthest limit.
This, in the sight of Jove the supreme Lord,
I swear to do; so thou at last consent
To meet my love—Ha! what! and dost thou frown?
Weigh well what I propose; for on my soul,
His life, or death, awaits thy next resolve.
| Eurydice | |