University of Virginia Library

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.