University of Virginia Library

Iphigenia, Chorus.
Iph.
Behold in Manacles the Grecians bound
Bend hitherward their Steps, a welcome Off'ring
To our great Goddess: Peace, ye Virgins, peace.
These fair First-fruits of Greece approach the Temple,
Nor hath the Shepherd with false Tales abus'd us.

Cho.
O venerable Goddess! if this Land
Hath in Obedience to thy heav'nly Will
These bloody Rites ordain'd, propitious now
Accept their Off'rings; Off'rings which the Greeks
Taught by their Laws deem horrid and profane.

Enter Orestes and Pylades bound, attended by Priests, Guards, &c.
Iph.
'Tis well. But it behoves me first to see
Perform'd in Order due, whate'er concerns
The Worship of the Goddess: loose their Chains,
For being holy, they may not be bound.
Depart ye now, and in the Sanctuary [to the Priests, &c.

Prepare the needfull and accustom'd Rites.
Alas! young Strangers, whence are ye deriv'd?
Whose Womb conceiv'd you? and whom call ye Father?
Whom style your Sister? if perchance ye have
A Sister; luckless Virgin! soon to lose
Such Brothers, “Who can see his future Fates,
“And say, Thus shall they be! The Ways of Heav'n
“Are imperceptible. And no one knows
“What Sorrows threaten him; th'Inconstancy
“Of Fortune still perplexing all Conjectures.
Whence came ye, wretched Strangers? a long Voyage
Hath brought you to this Shore; a longer yet
Remains, and to a Shore still more remote
From your dear Country—to the Shades below.

Ores.
Wherefore, O Virgin, whosoe'er thou art,
Dost thou bewail the common Woes of Life?
And why do our Misfortunes thus afflict thee?
“Fond is the Wretch, who, knowing he must die,
“Thinks by vain Sorrow and unmanly Tears
“To quell the Fear of Death; or, void of Hope,
“Grieves at th'Approach and Certainty of Fate,
“Creating thus two Evils out of one,
“By losing with his Life his Honour too.
Let Fortune take her Course; lament us not;
We know what Sacrifice your Customs here
Ordain, and know that we must be the Victims.

Iph.
Which of you Strangers is nam'd Pylades?
This Information I would first receive.

Ores.
He—But what Pleasure gain you from this Knowledge?

Iph.
Next, to what State of Greece doth he belong?

Ores.
Can this Intelligence import you aught?

Iph.
Are ye two Brothers of one Mother born?

Ores.
Brothers we are in Friendship, not in Blood.

Iph.
On thee what Name was by thy Sire impos'd?

Ores.
I shou'd, if rightly nam'd, be styl'd th'Unhappy.

Iph.
I meddle not with that, charge that on Fortune.

Ores.
Dying unknown we shall not be defam'd.

Iph.
Can such a Thought affect a Mind so great?

Ores.
You sacrifice my Body, not my Name.

Iph.
May I not learn what Country claims thy Birth?

Ores.
Thy Questions nought import a dying Man.

Iph.
Yet what with-holds your yielding me this Pleasure?

Ores.
Myself I boast from noble Argos sprung.

Iph.
Now, by the Gods! art thou indeed from Argos?

Ores.
Yea: of Mycenæ, once a potent City.

Iph.
Driv'n thence by Exile com'st thou here, or how?

Ores.
My Flight was voluntary, yet constrain'd.

Iph.
Vouchsafe then to reply to my Demands.

Ores.
I will, tho' it enhance my Misery.

Iph.
Thy Voyage hither, since thou cam'st from Argos,
Was greatly to be wish'd.

Ores.
By thee perchance.
If so, do thou rejoice; it joys not me.

Iph.
The Fame of Troy no doubt hath reach'd thy Ears.

Ores.
Wou'd that it never had, not even in Dreams!

Iph.
They say that famous City is no more.

Ores.
Troy is no more; Fame hath not ly'd in that.

Iph.
Is Helen to her Husband's Bed return'd?

Ores.
Return'd she is, and brought Perdition with her.

Iph.
Where dwells she now? She once did injure me.

Ores.
She dwells at Sparta with her former Lord.

Iph.
Thou common Bane of Greece, not mine alone!

Ores.
I too have reap'd the Fruits of her Espousals.

Iph.
Return'd the Grecians so as Fame reports?

Ores.
How many Questions hast thou ask'd in one!

Iph.
Fain wou'd I profit by thee, ere thou dy'st.

Ores.
Make thy Demands then; and indulge thy Pleasure.

Iph.
There was a Seer, nam'd Calchas, came he back?

Ores.
He dy'd; as in Mycenæ was reported.

Iph.
O mighty Goddess!—Lives Laertes' Son?

Ores.
He is not yet return'd, but lives, they say.

Iph.
O may he die, nor see his Country more!

Ores.
Spare, spare your Curses! nothing prospers with him.

Iph.
The Son of Thetis, is he yet alive?

Ores.
The valiant Son of Thetis, who in vain
At Aulis was espous'd, is now no more.

Iph.
Sure in those Spousals there was Treachery;
At least, so some pretend, who suffer'd by them.

Ores.
But in thy Turn, say, Virgin, who art thou,
That askest with such Knowledge about Greece?

Iph.
Myself am also from that Nation sprung,
But in my tender Years I was undone.

Ores.
I marvel not, if thou desire to learn
The State of Greece.

Iph.
The Leader of the Greeks,
He whom Men style the Happy, what of him?

Ores.
Whom say'st thou? for that Leader of the Greeks,
Whom I did know, was not among the happy.

Iph.
The royal Son of Atreus, Agamemnon.

Ores.
Virgin! I know not,—ask me not that Question.

Iph.
But by the Gods I will, and, gentle Stranger,
Vouchsafe to answer it, and make me happy.

Ores.
He fell; and others in his Fall involv'd.

Iph.
Fell! by what luckless Fate? Unhappy me!

Ores.
But wherefore dost thou sigh at his Misfortunes!
Can Agamemnon's Woes relate to thee?

Iph.
I sigh'd reflecting on his former Grandeur.

Ores.
He dy'd most wretched, murder'd by his Wife.

Iph.
Unhappy both, the Murd'ress and the Murder'd!

Ores.
Then finish here, and question me no farther.

Iph.
This only—Lives that wretched Monarch's Wife!

Ores.
No—she is dead—His Son did murder her.

Iph.
O noble House! how ruin'd, how confounded!
What cou'd incite the Son to such a Deed?

Ores.
He slew her to revenge his Father's Death.

Iph.
Oh! what a righteous Sin did he commit!

Ores.
Yet righteous as he was, neither in that,
Nor in obeying whatsoe'er besides
The Gods enjoin'd, hath he prov'd fortunate.

Iph.
Did Agamemnon leave no other Issue?

Ores.
He left a Virgin Daughter, nam'd Electra.

Iph.
And of his Daughter, that was sacrific'd
Is there no mention?

Ores.
None but of her Death.

Iph.
O wretched Daughter! O unhappy Sire!
Thou that cou'dst murder her.

Ores.
She fell indeed,
A thankless Victim for a worthless Woman.

Iph.
And dwells the murder'd Monarch's Son in Argos?

Ores.
That woefull Son dwells ev'ry where and no where.

aside.
Iph.
“Adieu, ye lying Visions! ye are nothing:
“As are those Dæmons also we call wise;
“E'en like the flitting Dreams which they inspire.
“In Things divine, it seems, as well as human,
“Confusion enters and Uncertainty.
This Solace yet remains, that if indeed
He be, as these pretend, who seem to know,
Lost and unhappy; not by his own Folly,
But by obeying Heav'n, he was undone.

Cho.
But we, alas! of whom shall we enquire
The Fortunes of our Friends; if yet they live?

Iph.
Strangers, attend: This Conf'rence to my Mind
A Purpose hath suggested, which pursued
With Care and Diligence (so all approve)
May in th'Event prove fortunate to all,
And above all most fortunate to me.
Wilt thou, so I preserve thee from the Altar, [to Orestes.

Repair to Argos, my Ambassador,
And to my yet surviving Friends from me
Convey a Letter, which a Captive once
Pen'd in my Name, condoling my Misfortunes,
And not imputing his sad Death to me,
But to the Laws and Customs of the Land,
And the dread Sanction of the Deity.
Till now I ne'er could find a Messenger,
That could escape from this inhuman Shore,
And bear my Letter to my Friends in Argos.
Thou therefore (for thou seem'st to entertain
No Enmity to me, and well to know
Argos, and those dear Objects of my Love)
Receive thy Life; no trifling Recompence
For the slight Task I wou'd impose upon thee.
But thou (for so these rigid Laws require) [to Pylades.

Must fall the Victim here, without thy Friend.

Ores.
O Virgin, all that thou hast said, is just,
One thing excepted, that my Friend must die.
I cannot bear the Burden of his Death;
For I have steer'd him into these Misfortunes,
The Pilot I, and he the Passenger,
The kind Companion of my Grief and Toil.
Then were it most unjust, that by his Death
Thy Favour I should purchase, and alone
Escape these Evils; therefore be it thus:
Thy Letter give to him, his faithfull Hand
Shall bear it safe to Argos; so shall Heav'n
Crown all thy Wishes with Success.—For me,
Let who so mindeth, slay me—“In the Laws
“Of Friendship 'tis most infamous and base
“To leave thy Friend to struggle with the Woes,
“In which thou hast involv'd him, and provide
“For thy own Safety only.” This Man here,
This Stranger, is my Friend, whose precious Life
I rate at no less Value than my own.

Iph.
O noble Youth! how gen'rous was the Root,
From whence such Virtue sprung! Thou best of Friends!
Pray Heav'n! that he, who now of all my Race
Alone survives, my Brother, prove like him!
For, gentle Strangers, I too have a Brother;
Tho' now deny'd to these desiring Eyes.
Then, since thy Choice determines so, let him
Convey my Letter, thou prepare to die;
Thou seem'st with Transport to embrace thy Death.

Ores.
By whom am I to bleed? what ruthless Priest
Performs these horrid and inhuman Rites?

Iph.
I; 'tis my Function to appease the Goddess.

Ores.
A Function neither to be lov'd nor envy'd.

Iph.
But laid on me by Force, which all obey.

Ores.
And doth thy Virgin Hand on Men perform
This slaught'rous Office?

Iph.
No, my sole Employ
Is on their Heads to pour the lustral Vase.

Ores.
May I demand who slays the Victim?

Iph.
They,
To whom that Charge belongs, are in the Temple:

Ores.
When I am dead, what Tomb is to receive me?

Iph.
A dismal Cavern in a yawning Rock
Deep sunk, and flaming round with sacred Fire.

Ores.
How then, my Sister! shall thy pious Hands
Perform a Sister's Part to thy dead Brother?

Iph.
O wretched Stranger! whosoe'er thou art,
Vain were a Wish like that: thy Sister far,
Far from this savage, barb'rous Land resides.
Yet since thou art of Argos, what I can,
What little Courtesies I can bestow,
Shall not be wanting to adorn thy Tomb,
Thy honorary Tomb; and on the Flame,
That shall consume thy Body, will I pour
The Flow'r-drawn Nectar of the Mountain-Bee,
And all the due Libations of the Dead.
Now go I, from Diana's Shrine to fetch
My Letter, where it lies. Unhappy Youth!
Thou shalt not find Malevolence from me.
Observe the Strangers, Guards; but bind them not. aside.

Joy, unexpected Joy shall I impart
To the dear Objects of my Love at Argos:
And when by my Epistle they shall learn
aside.
Her to be yet alive whom they think dead,
No anxious Doubts those Pleasures can allay.

Exit Iphigenia.
Cho.
Thee to the bloody Altar doom'd, [to Orestes.

Thee, Stranger, we lament and mourn.

Ores.
Rather rejoice; there is no Cause for Woe.

Cho.
But thee, to better Fortune born, [to Pyl.

Thee we felicitate; thee, happy Youth,
Who to thy Country shalt again return.

Pyl.
The Death of those we love blasts ev'ry Joy,
And saddens ev'ry Scene.

Cho.
O horrid Sacrifice! inhuman Rites!
Alas! thou dy'st. [to Ores.]
Alas! thou dy'st. [to Pyl.

Ah! which of you must die?
As yet I doubt, Oh! tell me which.
Tell me, to whom these Tears belong?
To whom must I address my mournfull Song?
Exit Chorus.

Ores.
Say, are thy Thoughts, my Friend, the same with mine?

Pyl.
I know not to thy Question what to answer.

Ores.
Who may this Virgin be? who with a Zeal
So truly Grecian strictly question'd us
About the Greeks? the Toils they underwent
Before the Walls of Troy? and their Return?
Of Calchas, the sage Augur? of the Son
Of Peleus? and the wretched Agamemnon?
Whose Woes how much did she commiserate!
And then with Eagerness examin'd me
About his Wife and Children! Sure she is
A Grecian born, and certainly of Argos:
Else would she never send her Letter there,
Nor with so much Sollicitude inquire,
As if united in one common Cause,
About the State of Argos.

Pyl.
I indeed,
But you my Tale prevented, was employ'd
On the same Question, with this Diff'rence,
I with myself reflected that the Woes
Of Kings are publick, and well known to all
Who yield Attention to the Voice of Fame.
My Mind too was with other Thoughts engag'd.

Ores.
What are they? by imparting them perchance
Thou may'st gain Knowledge.

Pyl.
With myself I thought
That to survive thy Death were infamous
In me thy Friend; together to this Shore
We sail'd, we liv'd, and we must die together.
In Argos shall I not, and Phocis too,
With Baseness and foul Cowardice be charg'd,
And seem to many (for most Men are evil)
Shou'd I return alone, to have betray'd,
Nay more, to have destroy'd thy Life, in this
So gen'ral Desolation of thy House,
That I might seize thy Sceptre, having wedded
Thy Sister, the sole Heiress of thy Kingdom.
These sad Reflexions with such Horror fill
My apprehensive Heart, that nought shall shake
Th'unalterable Purpose of my Soul,
To mingle my expiring Breath with thine,
At the dire Altar to be slain with thee,
And in one common Flame consume together.
This Part becomes a Friend, and him who dreads
Reproach and Infamy.

Ores.
Peace, peace, my Friend;
Me it behoves to bear my own Misfortunes;
And not by sharing double ev'ry Woe;
Were I with Murder to requite the Toils,
Thou for my sake hast suffer'd, what thou say'st
Of Infamy and Scorn, will all redound
On my detested Name: and sure for me
Thus hated, persecuted thus by Heav'n,
It cannot be calamitous to die.
But thou, my Pylades, art prosperous,
Art innocent and pure: no Curse attends
Thee or thy Family; while mine, alas!
Is all defil'd with Guilt and Wretchedness.
Thou with my Sister, whom to thee I gave
In Marriage, may'st with Children once again
My Father's House replenish, and preserve
My Memory and Name. Then go and live!
Live my Paternal Sceptre to enjoy.
But when to Argos thou shalt safe arrive,
By this Right Hand of Fellowship and Love,
I do conjure thee, Pylades, to raise
An honorary Tomb, and on it place
Some monumental Trophy to thy Friend;
And let my Sister offer on my Grave
Her Grief-shorn Tresses, and a pious Tear.
Then tell her how in Sacrifice I fell,
From all Pollutions by an Argive Maid
In my own Blood before the Altar purg'd.
And, oh! abandon not my Orphan Sister,
Nor naked leave my Father's wretched House,
Betraying the Alliance, thou should'st guard!
And now farewell! thou best and truest Friend!
Thou dear Companion of my youthfull Sports,
Twin-brother of one Nurse's tender Care!
Oh! what a Load of Sorrow and Distress
Have my Calamities impos'd upon thee!
Apollo, that great Prophet, hath deceiv'd us,
And, of his former Oracles asham'd,
Contriv'd to send me to this distant Shore;
Me, who resigning up myself to him,
As he commanded me, did slay my Mother,
In Vengeance of whose Death I perish now.

Pyl.
An honorary Tomb to thee shall rise;
Nor will I e'er abandon or betray
Thy Sister's Bed; since thou, unhappy Youth,
Wilt needs constrain me to survive my Friend,
Here doom'd to perish. So it seems decreed:
Yet still some Hope remains; nor can I yet
Distrust the Gods, whose sacred Oracles,
Tho' on the perillous Brink of Ruin plac'd,
Have never cast me down the Precipice.
Oft at the lowest Ebb of hopeless Fortune
The Tide returns, and wond'rous Changes brings—

Ores.
No more—I say, Apollo hath abus'd me;
And lo! the Virgin from the Temple comes.