University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Hermione
alone.

SCENE II.

Hermione, Cleone.
Herm.
Oh, Cleone, help me!
What have I done? Is Pyrrhus yet alive?
What say'st thou?—Answer me! Where is the King?

Cle.
Madam, I saw the cruel Prince set forward,
Triumphant in his Looks, and full of Joy.
Still, as he walk'd, his ravish'd Eyes were fixt
On the fair Captive; while through shouting Crowds
She pass'd along with a dejected Air,
And seem'd to mourn her Hector to the last.

Herm.
Insulting Tyrant! I shall burst with Rage!—
But say, Cleone, didst thou mark him well?
Was his Brow smooth? Say, did there not appear
Some Shade of Grief? some little Cloud of Sorrow?
Did he not stop? did he not once look back?
Didst thou approach him? Was he not confounded?
Did he not—Oh, be quick! and tell me all!

Cle.
Madam, the Tumult of his Joy admits
No Thought, but Love. Unguarded he marched on
'Midst a promiscuous Throng of Friends and Foes.
His Cares all turn upon Astyanax,
Whom he has lodged within the Cittadel,
Defended by the Strength of all his Guards.

Herm.
Enough!—he dyes!—the Traytor!—where's Orestes?

Cle.
He is in the Temple, with his whole Retinue.

Herm.
Is he still resolute? is he determin'd?

Cle.
Madam, I fear—

Herm.
How!—Is Orestes false?
Does he betray me too!

Cle.
A thousand Doubts
Perplex his Soul, and wound him with Remorse:
His Virtue and his Love prevail by Turns.
He told me Pyrrhus should not fall ignobly;
Pyrrhus the warlike Son of great Achilles.
He dreads the Censure of the Grecian States;
Of all Mankind: And fears to stain his Honour.

Herm.
Poor, timorous Wretch! 'tis false! he basely fears
To cope with Dangers, and encounter Death:—
'Tis that he fears!—Am I bright Helen's Daughter?
To vindicate her Wrongs all Greece conspired;
For Her Confederate Nations fought, and Kings were slain;
Troy was o'er-thrown, and a whole Empire fell.
My Eyes want Force to raise a Lover's Arm
Against a Tyrant, that has dared to wrong me.

Cle.
Madam, like Helen, trust your Cause to Greece.

Herm.
No! I'll avenge my self! I'll to the Temple;
I'll over-turn the Altar; stab the Priest!
I'll hurl Destruction like a Whirlwind round me!
They must not wed! they must not live! they shall not!
Let me be gone! I have no Time to lose!
Stand off! with-hold me not! I am all Distraction!
Oh Pyrrhus! Tyrant! Traitor! Thou shalt bleed!

SCENE III.

Hermione, Cleone, Orestes.
Orest.
Madam, 'tis done: Your Orders are obeyed;
The Tyrant lies expiring at the Altar.

Herm.
Is Pyrrhus slain?—

Orest.

Herm.
What have they done!

Orest.
Madam, forgive their Rage.
I own your Vengeance had been more compleat,
Had Pyrrhus fallen by me; and had he known,
Hermione chastised him by my Arm.

Herm.
Peace, Monster, Peace!—Go tell thy horrid Tale
To Savages, and howl it out in Desarts.
Would'st thou impute to me thy barbarous Guilt?
Me would'st thou make the Accomplice of thy Crimes?
Hence, to thy Greeks! and boast thy foul Exploits!
My Soul abhors them! I disclaim the Deed!
Be gone! I know thee not! Thou fell Barbarian!
What had he done? What could provoke thy Madness
To assassinate so great, so brave a Man!
Who set thee on?

Orest.
Grant me Patience, Heaven!
With your own Lips did you not curse the Tyrant,
Pronounce his Death, and urge me to destroy him?

Herm.
What if, transported by my boundless Passion,
I could not bear to see him wed another?
Were you to obey a jealous Woman's Phrenzy?
You should have dived into my inmost Thoughts:
My Heart, though full of Rage, was free from Malice;
And all my Anger was Excess of Love.
Why did you take me at my Word? You saw
The Struggles of my Soul; you heard me rave.
You should have question'd me a Thousand Times;
Yet still have doubted, and still question'd on,
Before you ventured on a Life so precious.

Orest.
Hear me but speak:—Heaven knows, against my Will.

Herm.
Why did you not return? Why not consult me
A Second time? And, undetermin'd still,
Again return, and still find new Delays.
What had your rash, officious Greeks, dire Blood-Hounds,
To do with my Revenge? What drew you hither,
To bring on me the vengeful Woes that haunt you?
Are these the Fruits of your detested Love?
Your fatal Embassy, your hateful Presence,
Drove Pyrrhus to my Rival; and destroys
Both him and me.—He might have loved me still,
Had you ne'er interposed.—Avant! Be gone!
And leave me in Epirus.—I renounce
My Friends, my Country, Greece, and all Mankind:
But chiefly I renounce Thee! Monster, Thee!

SCENE IV.

Orestes.
Am I awake! where am I! soft, my Soul:
Be not too rash.—Was that Hermione?
Why should her Anger thunder against me?
Was not this Blood-shed all by her Command?—
I am, indeed, a most outragious Monster!
A Ruffian, Murderer, a base Assassin!
And all to please a false ungrateful Woman.
Henceforward let the Laws of Nations cease;
And let the Pale, that severs Right and Wrong,
Things Sacred and Prophane, be broken down:
Gods in their Temples, Kings upon their Throne,
Are not in safety, while Orestes lives.
Oh, never more shall my torn Mind be healed,
Nor taste the gentle Comforts of Repose!
A dreadful Band of gloomy Cares surround me,
And lay strong Siege to my distracted Soul.

SCENE V.

Orestes, Pylades, attended by Greeks.
Pyl.
Haste, Prince; let us be gone: 'Tis Death to stay.
Andromache Reigns Queen: She gives the Alarm,
And vows Revenge upon the Foes of Pyrrhus.
The People arm and muster in the Streets:
Our Greeks will not be able long to guard
The Palace Gates, and to secure our Flight.
We must be speedy, Sir.

Orest.
You may depart,
My Friends:—Hermione and I remain.—
Her Cruelty has quite undone me!—Go,
And leave me to my self.—I'll find her out.

Pyl.
Alass, unhappy Princess!—She is no more:
Forget her, Sir, and save your self with us.

Orest.
Hermione no more!—O all ye Powers!

Pyl.
Full of Disorder, Wildness in her Looks,
With Hands expanded, and dishevelled Hair,
Breathless and pale, with Shrieks she saught the Temple,
In the mid-way she met the Corpse of Pyrrhus:
She startled at the Sight: Then, stiff with Horrour,
Gazed frightful! Wakened from the dire Amaze,
She raised her Eyes to Heaven with such a Look,
As spoke her Sorrows, and reproach'd the Gods:
Then plunged a Poignard deep within her Breast,
And fell on Pyrrhus, grasping him in Death.

Orest.
I thank you, Gods!—I never could expect
To be so Wretched!—You have been industrious
To finish your Decrees; to make Orestes
A dreadful Instance of your Power to Punish.
I am singled out to bear the Wrath of Heaven.

Pyl.
You hazzard your Retreat by these Delays.
The Guards will soon beset us. Your Complaints
Are vain, and may be Fatal.

Orest.
True, my Friend:
And therefore 'twas I thank'd the bounteous Gods.
My Fate's accomplish'd!—I shall dye Content.
Oh bear me hence!—Blow, Winds!—

Pyl.
Let us be gone.

Orest.
The murdered Lovers wait me.—Hark! They call!
Nay, if your Blood still reeks, I'll mingle mine.
One Tomb will hold us all.

Pyl.
Alass! I fear
His Ravings will return with his Misfortunes.

Orest.
I am dizzy!—Clouds!—Quite lost in utter Darkness!
Guide me, some friendly Pilot, through the Storm.
I shiver!—Oh, I freeze!—So:—Light returns:
'Tis the grey Dawn.—See, Pylades! Behold!—
I am encompast with a Sea of Blood!—
The crimson Billows!—Oh! My Brain's on Fire!

Pyl.
How is it, Sir?—Repose your self on me.

Orest.
Pyrrhus, stand off!—What would'st thou?—
How he glares!
What envious Hand has closed thy Wounds?—Have at thee.
It is Hermione that strikes.—Confusion!
She catches Pyrrhus in her Arms.—Oh, save me!
How terrible she looks!—She knits her Brow!
She frowns me Dead: She frights me into Madness!
Where am I?—Who are you?—

Pyl.
Alass, poor Prince!
Help to support him.—How he pants for Breath!

Orest.
This is most kind, my Pylades.—Oh, why,
Why was I born to give thee endless Trouble?

Pyl.
All will go well: He settles into Reason.

Orest.
Who talks of Reason?—Better to have none,
Than not enough.—Run, some one, tell my Greeks,
I will not have them touch the King.—Now!—Now!
I blaze again!—See there!—Look where they come!
A shoal of Furies!—How they swarm about me!
My Terrour!—Hide me!—Oh their snaky Locks!
Hark! How they hiss!—See! See their flaming Brands!
Now they let drive full at me!—How they grin,
And shake their iron Whips!—My Ears! What yelling!
And see Hermione!—She sets them on!—
Thrust not your Scorpions thus into my Bosom!
Oh!—I am stung to Death!—Dispatch me soon!
There:—Take my Heart, Hermione!—Tear it out!
Disjoynt me!—Kill me!—Oh, my tortured Soul!—

Pyl.
Kind Heaven restore him to his wonted Calm!
Oft have I seen him Rave: But never thus:
Quite spent!—Assist me Friends, to bear him off.
Our Time is short: should his strong Rage return,
'Twould be beyond our Power to force him hence.
Away, my Friends!—I hear the Portal open.

SCENE VI.

Phœnix
, attended by Guards.

SCENE VII.

Phœnix, Andromache, Cephisa, with Attendants.
Andr.
Yes, ye inhumane Greeks! The Time will come;
When you shall dearly pay your bloody Deeds!
How should the Trojans hope for Mercy from you,
When thus you turn your impious Rage on Pyrrhus;
Pyrrhus the bravest Man in all your League;
The Man, whose single Valour made you Triumph.
Is my Child there?—

Ceph.
It is the Corpse of Pyrrhus.
The weeping Souldiers bear him on their Shields.

Andr.
Ill-fated Prince! Too negligent of Life!
And too unwary of the faithless Greeks!
Cut off in the fresh ripening Prime of Manhood,
Even in the Pride of Life; thy Triumphs new,
And all thy Glories in full Blossom round thee!
The very Trojans would bewail thy Fate.

Ceph.
Alass, then will your Sorrows never End!

Andr.
Oh, never! never—While I live, my Tears
Will never cease; for I was Born to Grieve.—
Give present Orders for the Funeral Pomps:
[To Phœn.
Let him be robed in all his Regal State;
Place round him every shining mark of Honour;
And let the Pile, that Consecrates his Ashes,
Rise like his Fame, and blaze above the Clouds.

SCENE VIII.

Andromache, Cephisa, with Attendants.
Ceph.
That Sound proclaims the Arrival of the Prince:
The Guards conduct him from the Cittadel.

Andr.