University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

A private apartment.
Demophoon, Creusa.
Demo.
Ask what thou wilt, and ask without constraint,
I can this day refuse Creusa nothing.
Yet speak not in behalf of Dirce; no,
Her father shall behold her die: the wretch
Has dar'd to insult the majesty of kings:
Even in my presence, 'midst the vulgar herd,
He sow'd seditious rumours, nay oppos'd
Our high decree, and durst compare himself
To me his sovereign—I'll no longer reign,
If insolence like this must pass unpunish'd.

Creu.
I come not, sir, to plead another's cause;
I know full well your purpose: my demands
Are for myself alone.

Demo.
What would'st thou seek?

Creu.
Let me return to Phrygia: your permission
Is wanting that the ships may quit the port.
Grant my request: you cannot, sure, refuse me;
Unless Creusa comes, as much she fears,
To be a slave, and not partake a throne.

Demo.
What say'st thou, princess? what suspicions fill
Thy breast? what passion dictates to thy tongue?
Wilt thou depart, and leave the prince, forego
The promis'd nuptials?

Creu.
For Timanthes, sir,
Creusa boasts no charms; a mortal beauty
Must never hope to win him—for himself—
But this imports not me—I would be gone—
Have I your leave, my lord?

Demo.
Thou art thyself
The mistress of thy actions: think not, princess,
Unwilling I'd detain thee: yet, permit me,
To say I hop'd far other from Creusa.

Creu.
I know not which most justly may complain:
The prince indeed—no more—to sum up all—
Let me depart—

Demo.
But hast thou seen my son?

Creu.
I have.

Demo.
And did he speak to thee?

Creu.
He did:
Would he had never spoken!

Demo.
Ha! what said he?

Creu.
Excuse me, sir, let this suffice—

Demo.
Creusa,
I understand thee; thou hast found the prince
Rough in address, unskill'd in courtly phrase.
Perchance he gave thee but a cold reception,
I can forgive thy anger. Born in Phrygia,
Nurtur'd in all the softness of thy country,
A Thracian's manners must be harsh to thee:
Wonder not then if such Timanthes seem:
Bred up in arms, the soul's more tender passions
To him are yet unknown: be thine the glory
To instruct him in the mysteries of love.
Thine be the easy task; for, O Creusa!
What power resides not in a face so charming,
And eyes that sparkle with such heavenly fire?
What breast, inspir'd by thee, but soon must learn?

Creu.
Reflect it ill befits with my condition,
To stand expos'd to a refusal.

Demo.
How!
Refusal? wherefore should'st thou fear it, princess?

Creu.
Who knows th'event?

Demo.
This day my son shall give
To thee his hand, if thou wilt deign to accept it.
I plight the faith and honour of a king;
And should he dare to disobey my will—
A father's just resentment—but no more—
It cannot be—I am alarm'd too soon.

Creu.
Yes, let him force Timanthes to consent,
That so I may refuse him. [aside.]
—Well, my lord,
I take your word—be thine the care—but if—

Demo.
Enough; to me securely trust thy honour.

Creu.

[Exit.