 | Merope |  |
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,
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—'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,
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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.
| Merope | |