Merope A Tragedy |
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| 1. | SCENE I. |
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 | Merope |  |
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,
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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:
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And every Tree's soft Shadow cover'd Anguish.
EURICLES.
Soft! behold!—the Tyrant comes!
| Merope | |