 | Agamemnon |  |
SCENE II.
Agamemnon, Melisander, Arcas.Agamemnon.
Nay, Arcas, to my Bosom,
(Arcas kneeling.)
Come, let me proudly take a faithful Heart!
Arcas.
Thrice welcome, Sir, to Argos and Mycenæ!
To Virtue welcome!
Agamemnon.
In my own Dominions.
I am a Stranger, Arcas. Ten full Years,
Or even one Day, is Absence for a King,
Without some mighty Reason, much too long.
For me, a just and memorable War,
Whose Actions future Times perhaps may sing,
My own, my Brother's, and my People's Honour,
With that of common Greece, must plead my Pardon.
Now shall my Cares attend the Works of Peace:
Calm Deeds, that glare not on the vulgar Eye;
And yet it equal Courage oft demands,
To quell Injustice, Riot, factious Rage,
Dark-working blind Cabals and bold Disorder,
As to confront the rigid Face of War.
Then tell me, Arcas, for, till self-inform'd,
I mean to see with your discerning Eyes,
And sure I am they never will mislead me;
Have I much Subject for this peaceful Courage?
This Fortitude of State?
Arcas.
Too much, my Lord.
38
Could answer your Heroic Deeds abroad!
You, doubtless, from the rugged School of War,
Have brought sound manly Hearts, and generous Spirits:
While we, alas! we rot in weedy Peace,
In slothful Riot, Luxury, Profusion,
And every Meanness to repair that Waste—
I see the noble Blood, indignant, mount,
At this Relation, to my Sovereign's Cheek:
But, as Affairs now press, I were a Traitor,
If with a sparing Tongue I spoke the Truth.
Agamemnon.
Immortal Gods! have I, these ten long Years,
Sustain'd a War at Troy; fill'd every day
With Cares incessant, Councils, Dangers, Toils,
Exploits of daring Brow, and signal Deeds,
To cherish Villains in licentious Ease?
Have I thus squander'd vile, on Phrygian Plains,
The bravest Blood of Greece to shelter such;
And to assert their Honour who have none?
Sustain'd a War at Troy; fill'd every day
With Cares incessant, Councils, Dangers, Toils,
Exploits of daring Brow, and signal Deeds,
To cherish Villains in licentious Ease?
Have I thus squander'd vile, on Phrygian Plains,
The bravest Blood of Greece to shelter such;
And to assert their Honour who have none?
It was not well, methought, when Melisander
I in a desart Island pining found,
Abandon'd there, by Cruelty supreme;
Methought it was not well. Foul is the State,
And ill Designs ferment, when honest Eyes
With Woods alone converse, and rural Scenes.
But what can this perfidious, this Egisthus,
What can he, say, by such loose Rule propose?
Is it his native Bent? Or does he push
Some dark Design, by these detested Means?
I in a desart Island pining found,
Abandon'd there, by Cruelty supreme;
Methought it was not well. Foul is the State,
And ill Designs ferment, when honest Eyes
With Woods alone converse, and rural Scenes.
But what can this perfidious, this Egisthus,
What can he, say, by such loose Rule propose?
Is it his native Bent? Or does he push
Some dark Design, by these detested Means?
Arcas.
There is no Vice a Stranger to his Heart,
Conceal'd beneath refin'd Dissimulation;
Dissimulation, that on you your self
Impos'd. Meantime, Sir, his outragious Views
Devour the Throne of Argos and Mycenæ.
39
Said you the Throne of Argos and Mycenæ?
Already have I lost my noblest Throne,
If he has robb'd me of my People's Virtue;
'Tis but vain Pomp, a Tyrant's Toy, the other.
And dares he bear a giddy Look so high,
As to my Throne? The Villain! sure he dares not.
Arcas.
Nay more, my Lord—He scales the dazzling Height,
And almost grasps with impious Hands your Sceptre.
Agamemnon.
To touch it is Perdition!—What! Egisthus!
Egisthus seize my Throne!
Arcas.
So means the Traitor.
Agamemnon.
That Creature of my Power! That Insect! rais'd
By the warm Beams of my mistaken Bounty!
Whom, when my Father's Vengeance raz'd his Race,
I sav'd, train'd up, with Favours, Honours heap'd;
And trusted in his hands at last a Jewel,
Too precious for the faithless Heart of Man—
O gross gross Blindness—Half my Kingly Pow'r!
By the warm Beams of my mistaken Bounty!
Whom, when my Father's Vengeance raz'd his Race,
I sav'd, train'd up, with Favours, Honours heap'd;
And trusted in his hands at last a Jewel,
Too precious for the faithless Heart of Man—
O gross gross Blindness—Half my Kingly Pow'r!
Ay, there breaks out his Father's treacherous Blood!
There, there, too late, I find the base Thyestes!
Forgive me, Atreus! Oh my royal Father!
Forgive my trusting thus the Seed of him,
Of an abhor'd an execrable Brother,
Who even profan'd thy Bed—But, ere yon Orb
Shall from the purpled Ocean rise again,
Oh injur'd Atreus! by thy sacred Shade
I swear, to make for this a full Atonement.
There, there, too late, I find the base Thyestes!
Forgive me, Atreus! Oh my royal Father!
Forgive my trusting thus the Seed of him,
Of an abhor'd an execrable Brother,
Who even profan'd thy Bed—But, ere yon Orb
Shall from the purpled Ocean rise again,
Oh injur'd Atreus! by thy sacred Shade
I swear, to make for this a full Atonement.
40
Is then this People, Arcas, grown so vile,
So very vile, that he dares entertain
The smallest Hope to rival me in Empire?
I like not vaunting—But, ungrateful People!
Can you prefer a nameless thing to me?
Am I not rough with Scars on your account?
And for the careful Love I always bore you,
Your Father nam'd? And yet prefer to me,
One who ne'er saw the glorious Front of War,
For nothing famous but corrupting Peace,
And whose sole Merit was my ill-judg'd Favour?
Can you—away!—Dishonour stains the Thought!
How should this be?
So very vile, that he dares entertain
The smallest Hope to rival me in Empire?
I like not vaunting—But, ungrateful People!
Can you prefer a nameless thing to me?
Am I not rough with Scars on your account?
And for the careful Love I always bore you,
Your Father nam'd? And yet prefer to me,
One who ne'er saw the glorious Front of War,
For nothing famous but corrupting Peace,
And whose sole Merit was my ill-judg'd Favour?
Can you—away!—Dishonour stains the Thought!
How should this be?
Arcas.
Not many, Sir, stand fix'd
On the deep Principles of reason'd Virtue,
Whom Time nor steals, nor Passion bears away.
Mankind, in general, float along the Stream
Of Custom; good or bad; and oft the Mind
To that familiar grows, by gradual Use
And still-encroaching Vice, whose first Regard
Gave Horror. Hence ten loosely-govern'd Years
Have wrought such strange Events, that you no more
Behold your antient Argos and Mycenæ.
These Cities now with Slaves and Villains swarm.
At first Egisthus, popular and fair,
All Smiles and Softness, as if each Man's Friend,
By hidden Ways proceeded, mining Virtue:
He Pride, he Pomp, he Luxury diffus'd;
He taught them Wants, beyond their private Means:
And strait, in Bounty's pleasing Chains involv'd,
They grew his Slaves. Who cannot live on little,
Or as his various Fortune shall permit,
Stands in the Market ready to be sold.
Agamemnon.
O damn'd detested Traffick!—But proceed.
41
While the luxurious Fever thus increas'd,
Still, in proportion as it gather'd Rage,
He lent it Fewel; and, more bold, disclos'd
His Noon-day Treason. Murmurs went about,
And spread at last into the common Talk,
That you was proud, severe, beneath the Mask
Of holding firm the Helm of State, a Tyrant;
That in vain Wars, which nought imported them,
You spent their Treasure, shed their noblest Blood;
And that, Troy conquer'd once, to her rich Plains
You meant from Argos to transplant your Empire.
Still, in proportion as it gather'd Rage,
He lent it Fewel; and, more bold, disclos'd
His Noon-day Treason. Murmurs went about,
And spread at last into the common Talk,
That you was proud, severe, beneath the Mask
Of holding firm the Helm of State, a Tyrant;
That in vain Wars, which nought imported them,
You spent their Treasure, shed their noblest Blood;
And that, Troy conquer'd once, to her rich Plains
You meant from Argos to transplant your Empire.
Mean time, in private, all, whom wild Debauch
Has set adrift from every human Tie;
Whom Riot, Want, and conscious Guilt inflame,
Holding the Gods and Virtue in contempt,
Amidst their Bowls; such are his Bosom-Friends:
And, join'd to them, a meaner ruffian Band,
Whose Trade is Murder, and whose Harvest Crimes,
Hang in black Cloud around him; whence, I fear,
A sudden Tempest is prepar'd to burst.
Has set adrift from every human Tie;
Whom Riot, Want, and conscious Guilt inflame,
Holding the Gods and Virtue in contempt,
Amidst their Bowls; such are his Bosom-Friends:
And, join'd to them, a meaner ruffian Band,
Whose Trade is Murder, and whose Harvest Crimes,
Hang in black Cloud around him; whence, I fear,
A sudden Tempest is prepar'd to burst.
This, Sir, from Duty and unfeigned Zeal,
I plain unfold: nor on my word, alone,
Believe these Accusations; clear as day,
I for them will produce the strongest Proof.
I plain unfold: nor on my word, alone,
Believe these Accusations; clear as day,
I for them will produce the strongest Proof.
Agamemnon.
I thank thee, Arcas. Truth, tho' sometimes clad
In painful Lustre, yet is always welcome,
Dear as the Light, that shows the lurking Rock:
'Tis the fair Star that, ne'er into the Main
Descending, leads us safe thro' stormy Life—
Gods! how it tears me from each calmer Thought!
To think this Traitor, that this double Traitor,
This Traitor to my self and to my People,
Should by such sneaking such unmanly Ways,
Thus filch away my Crown!—
Why stand I chafing here? One timely Deed
42
Come and behold me seize amidst his Guards,
His Coward Guards—Guilt ever was a Coward—
This Rival-King, and with him crown my Triumph.
Till then Troy smoaks in vain, and Agamemnon
Cannot be said to conquer.
Melisander.
Sir, beware—
Agamemnon.
Of what beware? Where am I, Melisander?
Am I not in Mycenæ? in my Palace?
Are not these Crouds, that stream along the Streets,
My Subjects all? Of what should I beware?
Not seize a Traitor in my own Dominions?
Yes I will seize him, Melisander,—will!
Melisander.
What Grace to Kings such generous Ardor gives!
But tho' brave Deeds be warm at first conceiv'd,
Let the best Purpose cool, nor miss your Blow.
More firm and sure the Hand of Courage strikes,
When it obeys the watchful Eye of Caution.
You hear from Arcas, Sir, what ruffian Bands,
What secret Deaths, what Daggers lurk around him:
Be cautious then; for Virtue's, Glory's sake!
And, when you strike, strike home.
Agamemnon.
O for those Greeks!
That this rude Day are tossing on the Seas;
Those hardy Greeks, whom ten Years War has steel'd;
With Toils, with Danger, and with Death familiar:
Then should you see what Chaff before the Wind
Are these weak Sons of soft enfeebling Peace;
While I the sweetest Morsel of the Gods
Enjoy'd, on proud triumphant Vice just Vengeance.
43
But since, my Lord, you cannot now exert
This nobler Force, let Prudence take its place.
Have patience, only, till you safely can,
And surely, seize him.
Agamemnon.
Well, till then I will.
And, tho' not made of patient Mold, in This
I will have patience, will, some tedious Hours,
Repress my Vengeance—
[pausing.]
Yes, I like the Thought—
He may be seiz'd this Evening at the Banquet,
Be there surpriz'd with ease—and shall!—
For by th'eternal Gods that rule Mankind!
The Sleep of Death alone shall seal these Eyes,
While such a Wretch holds power in my Dominions.
And, tho' not made of patient Mold, in This
I will have patience, will, some tedious Hours,
Repress my Vengeance—
[pausing.]
Yes, I like the Thought—
He may be seiz'd this Evening at the Banquet,
Be there surpriz'd with ease—and shall!—
For by th'eternal Gods that rule Mankind!
The Sleep of Death alone shall seal these Eyes,
While such a Wretch holds power in my Dominions.
Oh Clytemnestra! to the publick, now,
Succeeds the private Pang—At thought of Thee,
New Rage new Vengeance shake my inmost Soul!
Was my Belov'd, my Queen, my Clytemnestra,
So long abandon'd in a Villain's power,
Who knows, it seems, no Limits, owns no Laws,
Save those one Vice imposes on another?
And now the secret Cause, I fear, is plain,
Of that unusual Damp, that strange Dejection,
Which clouded her at Meeting. Still the more
I pour'd my Fondness, still the more distress'd
She seem'd; and, turning from my tender Gaze,
The copious Shower stole down her troubled Cheek;
As if she pity'd these my blind Endearments,
And in her Breast some horrid Secret swell'd—
Should it be so—Confusion!—Can I stoop
Even to suppose it!—How from slight Mistakes
Great Evils spring! But the most fruitful Source
Of every Evil—O that I, in Thunder,
Could sound it o'er the listning Earth to Kings!—
Is Delegating Power to wicked Hands.
Succeeds the private Pang—At thought of Thee,
New Rage new Vengeance shake my inmost Soul!
Was my Belov'd, my Queen, my Clytemnestra,
So long abandon'd in a Villain's power,
Who knows, it seems, no Limits, owns no Laws,
Save those one Vice imposes on another?
And now the secret Cause, I fear, is plain,
Of that unusual Damp, that strange Dejection,
Which clouded her at Meeting. Still the more
I pour'd my Fondness, still the more distress'd
She seem'd; and, turning from my tender Gaze,
The copious Shower stole down her troubled Cheek;
As if she pity'd these my blind Endearments,
And in her Breast some horrid Secret swell'd—
Should it be so—Confusion!—Can I stoop
Even to suppose it!—How from slight Mistakes
Great Evils spring! But the most fruitful Source
Of every Evil—O that I, in Thunder,
Could sound it o'er the listning Earth to Kings!—
Is Delegating Power to wicked Hands.
44
My Lord, let no Suspicions of the Queen
E'er taint your Bosom: if I judge aright—
Agamemnon.
No, Melisander, no; I am not jealous;
In me that Passion and Contempt were one:
No, 'tis her Situation gives me Horror,
Her dreadful Situation!—But of This
Enough—Then tell me, Arcas, tell me truely;
Are there a Few, say, do there yet remain
A Faithful Few! to save the sinking State?
Can you, ere Night, collect an honest Band,
A Band of such as worthy are to rescue
Their King and Country from impending Fate?
Ah! little thought I, that amidst my Subjects,
Embosom'd sweet in Peace, I, like a Tyrant,
Should e'er have needed Guards.
Arcas.
Yes, Sir, I know
A Band of generous Youth, whom native Virtue,
Unbroken yet by Avarice and Meanness,
Fits for our purpose: These I can collect—
Agamemnon.
About it quickly, Arcas; lose no time:
Go, bring me to the Banquet these brave Youths:
I long for their Acquaintance. Till that Hour,
Domestick Cares and Joys demand my Presence:
The Father's Heart now bears me to my Children.
Farewell! My All depends upon your Conduct.
| Agamemnon | |