University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Prison.
EUMENES. NARBAS. EURICLES.
EUMENES.
Think, think upon your Danger: fly, lov'd Father!
Fly from the Tyrant's Power, and leave me to my Fate.

NARBAS.
All Sense of my own Danger lost, in yours,
I threw myself, regardless, at his Feet.
Full of the fatal Subject, I began,
Uncautious in my Transport. Starting Conscience
Fled from the Face of Truth. He shun'd to hear,
Broke short, reply'd 'twas well: gave me Permission;
Nay, full of seeming Zeal, injoin'd my coming—
Bad me go pay my last short Debt, of Counsel:
And try to bend your Heart, to meet his Will.

EURICLES.
He added, that his Queen—he call'd her His!
I blush to name her such: but so, he charg'd me.
Since she, he said, in Pity but for you,
Yields a reluctant Hand, to close with his,
'Tis Time, her Son, whose Life she holds so dear,
Aids his own Int'rest, and confirms her Safety.
—The Rest, he paus'd and thought: but held it in,
Frown'd a disdainful Nod—and bad us leave him.

EUMENES.
Slowly awaking, from my Dream of Wonders,
I seem re-born, to some new World, unknown;
Where every thing, I meet with, shocks my Soul.
—You talk of dying, whilst I, yet, half doubt,
Whether, existing now, I really live!
If I am, truly, the lost Wretch I seem,
If in Mycene now inclos'd, I find
Queen Merope, my Mother—King Cresphontes
My Father, murder'd—his fear'd Murd'rer crown'd,
With his stol'n Diadem: and, in it, daring
Offer his widow'd Queen a Hand, stain'd, frightful,
In her first Husband's Blood—All This, to me!
Seems, while I drink in Heaven's fair Light, and view
Yon Mansion of the Gods, who govern Man—
Incredible! astonishing!—and horrid!

EURICLES.
'Tis horrible, indeed! too dark for Thought!
—But, Reason's Line wants Depth to sound Heaven's Will.

NARBAS.
Deign, my devoted Prince! my King!—my Son!
Suffer me, still, to use that long-lov'd Name—
Deign but—to live.—Time, Chance, and Fortune's Changes,
May vindicate your Glory.—Since the Tyrant
Tempts, to betray—reward him, with his own.
Deceive Deceivers, and Deceit grows Virtue.

EUMENES.
This, in thy Forests, Elis! had I heard,
Even there, I shou'd have blush'd to hear, from Narbas!
But, as I am.—No more.—
Kind was your Motives!—pitying my Distress,
You, but, forgot my Duty.

NARBAS.
Happy Forests!
Wou'd, Ye were Ours, once more! there, Peace dwelt with us:
There, Safety slept, upon unguarded Hills,
And every Tree's soft Shadow cover'd Anguish.

EURICLES.
Soft! behold!—the Tyrant comes!

SCENE II.

POLIPHONTES, To the Foregoing.
POLIPHONTES.
Retire: and wait, without.
[Exeunt Euricles and Narbas.
—And Thou, rash Youth!
Whose unexperienc'd Years, and gen'rous Plainness,
Fill me with all the Pity, due to Weakness!
For the last Time I come, to bring thee Power.
Leave to my Toil, to smooth thy future Paths;
And root out Faction's Thorns, which trouble Empire.
—When I am dead—as Age admits short Stay,
Thou, and my Merope will reign, at Ease,
And thank my painful Cares: and love my Memory.
—Why art thou dumb?—Pause on—I read thee, rightly.
Thou hast, I know, a kind of stubborn Pride,
Call'd Courage—and mistak'st it, for a Virtue.
—'Tis Virtue: when Presumption drives it not:
But suffers Thought to guide it.

EUMENES.
Guiding Thought
Has held me patient, long.—Now, answer me.
Am I Mycene's Monarch?

POLIPHONTES.
For thy Birth,
Be it, as Truth, or Trick, or Chance, conclude it,
If, from some low, some nameless Stock, derived,
Be humble, and advis'd—and rise to Greatness.
If happier Offspring cast thee for a King,
Make thyself worthy, of the Crown I mean thee.
—'Tis but, to wait me to the Marriage Altar,
Where Love, and Merope, and Peace, attend.
There, to the Gods and me, (Mycene's Guardians)

Swear Homage, and devote thy faithful Sword.
That done, Sports, Joys, and Safety, crown thy Youth:
And, in thy riper Years, expect the Diadem.
—Determine.—

EUMENES.
'Tis determin'd.

POLIPHONTES.
Tell me how?

EUMENES.
Why am I left unfree to chuse—yet, press'd
To tell thee my Decision?—The compell'd
To yield, disgrace Consent: and make Faith doubtful.
—I am a Captive. He, who holds not Freedom,
Has not his Will his own:—and chuses nothing.

POLIPHONTES.
Fierce, amid Misery! thou, at once, art brave,
And insolent, and wretched!—but, beware,
Nor trust, too far, my Pity of thy Poorness.
I give thee, yet, some Moments, to resolve.
I go, before thee: but, my Guards attend,
To bring thee to the Altar. Come, determin'd
To swear—and hope my Crown, and live, my Son:
Or die, a Slave un-own'd, and lose thy Name.

[Is going.
EUMENES,
(calling after him.)
Thou goest then?

POLIPHONTES,
(stopping.)
To expect thee.

EUMENES.
I will come.
And with me, (tremble to be told it,) comes
The God, that rais'd my Race to root out Tyrants.
Soon shall the Throne thou stol'st no more be Thine:
Horror and Penitence shall pale those Eyes,
Whose daring Insolence now frown on Virtue.
Menace and Insult, then, shall quit thy Voice,
And groaning Anguish grind it.—What the Gods
Restrain my Hand from reaching, happier Sons
Of my immortal Sire shall rise, to execute:
And hurl thee from a Power, that hurts Mankind.

POLIPHONTES.
Here, Narbas! Euricles!—You may return.
I leave him to your Lessons. Too too deeply,
He feels their past Impression. Teach him better:
Or your exacted Heads shall answer to me,
For every well-known Help I owe your Hatred.
—Narbas! Thy Age, I think, might best be trusted.
Experience lays his Dangers open to thee.
Thou, as thou lov'st, advise him.—Whether born
The Son of Merope, or Thine, no matter.
I must adopt him mine,—or Death demands him.
[Exit Poliphontes.

SCENE III.

EUMEMES, NARBAS, EURICLES.
EUMENES.
Where did this ill-instructed Tyrant learn
To threaten, for Persuasion!—I suspect,
He does not seem to doubt, but doubts indeed,
I share no Blood of Hercules.—He's gone:
And call'd me, to his Altar.—Let us follow.

NARBAS.
Stay.—Whither wou'd such fatal Rashness lead you?

EURICLES.
The Queen has Friends: howe'er too weak, too few:
Who dare defend her Cause. Give us but Time
To weigh, and to resolve, and these shall aid you.

EUMENES.
No.—In an Hour so black, so dire, as This,
I task but my own Heart, and Heaven, to aid me.
If I must fall, I will.—I go—to try
What God forsakes the Friendless.

[Going out, meets Merope.

SCENE IV.

MEROPE and ISMENE.
MEROPE.
Stay, my Son—
Th' Usurper sends me to thee.—Rest, unheard,
His Errand: but my own requires thy Ear.
It has, perhaps, been told thee, that the Woman
Conquers the Queen.
—Let no light Credit of a Guilt so shameful
Insult the Daughter, Mother, Wife,—ah, me!
And Widow—of a King.—Yet, I must go:
Must, at the Altar, lend my trembling Hand;
And seem—oh, Heaven!—

EUMENES.
O, Madam!—so, to seem,
Were so to be. Can solemn Vows, at Altars,
Leave Room for Art's Evasions? See me, sooner,
Tingeing the spotted Stone with gushing Blood:
And my torn Breast th'unseeming Sacrifice.

MEROPE.
So look'd, so spoke—so, sometimes, frown'd, Cresphontes.
Full of thy godlike Father, copy too,
The Confidence, he lent me. He had scorn'd
To doubt me, for a Moment, less than Merope.

EUMENES.
If I was guilty,—think—

MEROPE.
—No more.—Time presses;—
Hear my resolving Will: and curb thy own.
Th' Usurper of thy Throne no sooner joins
My Hand's suppos'd Consent, than, at the Altar,
He swears—in all the Pomp of priestly Witness,
To free thee from thy Chains—and, from that Hour,
Confirm Succession, thine.—

EUMENES.
Think, at what Price comes Empire, bought so dear!
Rather than see you wed this—

MEROPE.
Rash, again?—
Bound, by an Oath, so witness'd, by the Gods,
And All Mycene's Priests—and All her Peers—
He dares not break it: and Thou liv'st, to reign.
—For me, who have, thenceforth, no Call for Life,
I seek thy Father, in the Glooms, below.

EUMENES.
—No more.
—It shall not be.—See! my repugnant Soul
Shrinks from th' abhorr'd Conception. The felt God,
The God, glows, in me: swells, against Controul:
And every springy Nerve is active Fire!
Come on, Friends! Father! Mother!—trust my Firmness.
See, if I bear a Heart, that brooks this Wrong:
That poorly pants, for a base Hour of Life—
And let a Woman's Blood outdare a King's.

[Going.
MEROPE.
Oh! stay: return.—Call: stop him.

EURICLES.
Sir!

NARBAS.
Prince!

MEROPE.
Son!

EUMENES,
(Returning.
Look out: see yonder: view my Father's Tomb.
Know you his Voice! Are you a Queen?
Come listen—
I hear him—Hark!—my King, my Father calls!

MEROPE.
Methinks the God
He talk'd of, swells, indeed, his widening Soul,
Lifts him above himself—above Mankind.

EUMENES.
Come—let me lead you to the Altar's Foot.
There hear, there, see—there, dwells th'Eternal's Eye!

MEROPE.
Ah! what is thy Design!

EUMENES.
To die,—to live.
Friends!—in this warm Embrace, divide my Soul.
[To Narbas, who presses him tenderly.
—Weep not, my Narbas.
No Blush, for Deeds unworthy your Instructions,
Shall stain Remembrance of the Care, I cost you.
Stay thou, that this good Lord returning from me,
May find thee, and impart a ripening Hope
Whereon your Council may direct and save.
On to the Work of Fate—it calls me hence—
I hear it, and obey.

[Ex. Eum. Mer. and Eur.
NARBAS.
Away—I wou'd not see thee share my Sorrow.

ISMENE.
Oh! 'twere too poor a Wish. Heaven knows, I seek
No Share,—I long for Power, to bear it, All.

NARBAS.
Thou art too good, for Courts—where Ruin preys
On Innocence; and nought but Guile is safe.
—What are thy Thoughts, of this lost Prince's Virtues?

ISMENE.
I am unskill'd in Men: and, most, in Kings.
But, sure! if ever Beauty dwelt in Form,
Courage in Gentleness, or Truth in Grandeur,
All those adorn'd Perfections meet, in Him.

NARBAS.
Yet, see! how Heaven, that gave him all these Claims,
Forgets 'em, and resigns him.—Let That teach thee,
When, soon, as soon they will, thy Splendors fall,
Thou losest nothing, but a Right to Woes:

ISMENE.
Shou'd the Queen,
Best, of her Sex!
Leave this loud Stage of Pain,—and rest in Death,
Oh! teach my willing Feet to find some Gloom,
Dark, as my Prospects, deep inclos'd, for Safety;
And silent, as the Brow of midnight Sleep!

NARBAS.
Yes, we will go, my sweet Ismene, go,
Where Sorrow's sharpest Eye shall fail to find us.
Where we may mix with Men, who ne'er deceiv'd,
And Women, born to be, the Charms they look.
—There is a Place, which my Eumenes lov'd,
Till Youth's fond Hope of Glory dash'd his Peace;
Where Nature, plainly noble, knows no Pomp;
And Virtue moves no Envy:
[Shouts.
—Hark! That Cry
Bodes Horror—'tis the Signal of some Fate.
—Listen, again—

[Shouts.
ISMENE.
Again I hear: and tremble.
Who knows, but, now, the Queen's too direful Deed
Has ended all her Mis'ries!—

NARBAS.
No more these Eyes shall find thee, fated King!
Cresphontes, and his Race, are, All, no more.

ISMENE,
at a Window.
Hence, from the Temple, to the Palace Gate,
The scattring Crowd runs, wide, a thousand Ways:
All busied, without View—All, driven, by Terror!

SCENE IV.

Narbas. Ismene. Euricles, bloody.
NARBAS.
Breathless and bleeding see! who comes!—O, Euricles!

EURICLES.
Scarce had I Strength, wedg'd in by crossing Crowds,
To stem yon breathing Torrent.—Give me Rest.

NARBAS.
Eumenes?—does he live?

EURICLES.
He is—the Son confes'd—of Grecian Gods!

NARBAS.
What has he suffer'd?

EURICLES.
Nothing—but, has done—
Beyond Example's Boast.—Oh! such a Deed!
So terrible! so just!—so fill'd with Wonders!
That half Alcides' Labours, scarce were more.

NARBAS.
And shall he be a King?

EURICLES.
He is

NARBAS.
And Merope?
Great Mirror of Affliction!—lives She, too?
How was it?—say.—My Joys will grow too strong?

EURICLES.
The Altar, strew'd with Flow'rs, was ready dress'd,
The smoking Incense rose, in fragrant Curls,
And Hymen's lambent Torches flam'd, serene,
Silence, and Expectation's dreadful Stillness,
Doubled the solemn Horror of the Scene!
—There, Poliphontes stood: and, at his Side,
Dumb as a destin'd Victim, stood the Queen.
Our Prince's summon'd Hand had touch'd the Altar;
His Eye sought Heaven—as if prepar'd to swear.
The Tyrant smil'd:—when strait, the Priest look'd pale;
The Lights extinguish'd—and the Temple's Roof,
Shook by descending Thunder, seem'd to bow!
The God! the God! the reverend Starter cry'd,
Forbids these baneful Nuptials.—Yes: I HEAR him,
The dreadful Prince reply'd: and, at that Word,
Leapt, from the Altar, to the Tyrant's Breast—
And plung'd the sacred Axe of Sacrifice,
Snatch'd, like a Lightning's Flash! and reach'd his Life.
—He fell—and o'er him while with pendant Eye
Th' indignant Hero hung, with Arm new-rais'd,
Base, from behind, pale Erox pierc'd his Side.
—Red, in his mingled Blood, and rising Anger,
He heard the Crowd's protective Cry—turn'd short,
And buried in his Brow the rapid Steel.
Then, to the Altar's Height sublimely sprung,
Stood, Monarch, all-confess'd; and wav'd the Throng.
Come, let me guide you to this Work of Heav'n.
Haste, and partake it—fly—

NARBAS.
Oh! Happy Day—

[Exeunt.
SCENE the Temple of Hymen.
Eumenes discover'd on the Altar with the Axe of Sacrifice in his Hand. Merope kneeling, Priests, Attendants and Guards.
[Trumpets and Shouts heard.
MEROPE.
Now, now, ye Gods, my Pray'rs are heard.

[A loud Clap of Thunder.
EUMENES.
Hark! Madam, Heav'n approves! th' attentive Gods
Hear Hearts, and make Voice needless—Doubt not then
They are the good Minds Guardians—my Deliverance
Proves how they lov'd your Virtue: in your Safety
I feel their Blessing perfect—may I live
In Deeds, not Words, to thank the Good they gave.

MEROPE.
Deeds, Words, and Thoughts are theirs—
Heav'n claims us all.

EUMENES
to the People.
Hear me, my People, take your King, and with him,
Heav'n's best Gift, your Liberty—Haughtier Monarchs
Place Greatness in Oppression: Let my Throne
Find Safety, but in saving—
Pride is too apt to harden prosp'rous Pow'r,
But he, whose Youth is chasten'd by Distress
Makes Subjects Happy, and himself ador'd.
Enter Narbas, Euricles and Ismene. All speaking, kneeling.
Hail! and be ever bless'd, O King! O Queen!

MEROPE.
Rise—and lament no more, ye happy Friends
Of Virtue, and of Heaven!—See! what the Gods
Have done—to shame Suspicion, into Faith!
Oh! never let the Innocent despair:
The Hand, that made, can save: and best knows when.
[To Eumenes.
—Son of Alcides!—for, what Heart, but His,
Nourish'd in Misery! by Wants obstructed!
Ere sprung, like thine, at Youth's first Shoot, to Glory?
Trod on a Tyrant, and redeem'd a People?

EUMENES.
'Tis but the low, the last, the lightest Duty
Of a King's Hand, to dare. 'Tis His, to save;
To think, to hear, to labour, to discern,
To form, to remedy,—to be—but one:
Yet, act, and love, and fear, and feel,—for All.
—Oh, Madam! I am yours, midst all these Claims.
Be Those my Glory's, This my Duty's Care,
To add my Royal Father's Love, to mine:
And, with a doubled Rev'rence, seek your Comfort.
—Narbas! what Power can Language lend my Love,
To paint the Joy, Thy Sense of Pleasure gives me?
Thou Source, and Soul, and Author, of my Virtues:
Suspend we Thoughts, thus tender.—Let us, now,
Summon Mycene's Chiefs, and calm her People.
[To Merope.
Come, Madam! He who reigns, but climbs to Care;
Tho' Safe, his Throne, he finds no Softness, there.
Dangers, and Doubts, and Toils, each Moment seize,
Hang on his Business, and perplex his Ease.
Bright but by Pomp of Woe, Kings shine in vain;
Envy'd for Anguish, and adorn'd for Pain.