 | The Distrest Mother |  |
SCENE. V.
Hermione, Pyrrhus.Pyr.
Madam, I ought to shun an injur'd Princess:
Your distant Looks reproach me; and I come
Not to defend, but to avow my Guilt.
Pyrrhus will ne'er approve his own Injustice;
Nor form Excuses, while his Heart condemns him.
I might perhaps alledge our warlike Sires,
Unknown to us, engaged us to each other;
And joyn'd our Hearts by Contract, not by Love.
But I detest such Cobweb Arts: I own
My Father's Treaty, and allow it's Force.
I sent Ambassadours to call you hither;
Receiv'd you as my Queen; and hoped my Oaths,
So oft renew'd, might ripen into Love.
The Gods can witness, Madam, now I fought
Against Andromache's too fatal Charms!
And still I wish I had the Power to leave
This Trojan Beauty, and be just to you.
Discharge your Anger on this perjur'd Man!
For I abhor my Crime! and should be pleas'd
To hear you speak your Wrongs aloud: No Terms,
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Will equal Half the Upbraidings of my Heart.
Herm.
I find, Sir, you can be sincere: You scorn
To act your Crimes with Fear like other Men.
A Hero should be bold; above all Laws;
Be bravely false; and laugh at solemn Ties.
To be perfidious shews a daring Mind:
And you have nobly triumphed o'er a Maid!
To court me; to reject me; to return;
Then to forsake me for a Phrygian Slave:
To lay proud Troy in Ashes; then to raise
The Son of Hector, and renounce the Greeks:
Are Actions worthy the great Soul of Pyrrhus.
Pyr.
Madam, go on: give your Resentments Birth;
And pour forth all your Indignation on me.
Herm.
'Twould please your Queen, should I upbraid your falsehood;
Call you perfidious, Traitor, all the Names
That injured Virgins lavish on your Sex;
I should o'erflow with Tears, and dye with Grief,
And furnish out a Tale to sooth her Pride:
But, Sir, I would not over-charge her Joys.
If you would charm Andromache, recount
Your bloody Battles, your Exploits, your Slaughters,
Your great Atcheivements in her Father's Palace:
She needs must love the Man, who fought so bravely,
And in her Sight slew Half her Royal Kindred.
Pyr.
With Horrour I look back on my past Deeds!
I punish'd Helen's Wrongs too far; I shed
Too much of Blood: But, Madam, Helen's Daughter
Should not object those Ills the Mother caused.
However, I am pleased to find you hate me:
I was too forward to accuse my self:
The Man who ne'er was loved, can ne'er be false.
Obedience to a Father brought you hither;
And I stood bound by Promise to receive you:
But our Desires were different Ways inclined;
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Herm.
Have I not loved you then! perfidious Man!
For you I slighted all the Grecian Princes;
Forsook my Father's House; conceal'd my Wrongs,
When most provoked; would not return to Sparta:
In hopes, that Time might fix your wavering Heart.
I loved you, when inconstant: and even now,
Inhumane King, that you pronounce my Death,
My Heart still doubts, if I should love, or hate you.
But, Oh, since you resolve to wed another,
Defer your cruel purpose till to Morrow!
That I may not be here to grace her Triumph:
This is the last Request, I e'er shall make you.—
See, if the barbarous Prince vouchsafes an Answer!
Go, then, to the loved Phrygian; hence! be gone!
And bear to her those Vows, that once were mine:
Go in Defiance to the avenging Gods!
Be gone! The Priest expects you at the Altar—
But Tyrant, have a Care I come not thither.
| The Distrest Mother | |