University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Periander walking disordered, Leonidas following.
O my lov'd Master! have I liv'd to see
This sight of woe? Alas! is this to conquer?
Are these the fruits of victory?

Periander.
Away,
Why nam'st thou victory to me, a slave
Subdu'd and tyranniz'd by his worst foes,
His unrelenting passions? Talk of ruine,
And I will hear thee: talk of hopeless misery;
No other strain befits thy master's triumph.

Leonidas.
This is the language of supreme distress,
Impatient of itself. My gracious Lord,
Forgive an old man's talk, who would this moment,
Might his poor life bring back your peace of mind,
With joy resign it.

Periander.
That were to bring back
The darted sun-beam, or recall the flight
Of unreturning time. O no: my soul
Has bid the last farewel to happiness,
To hope itself. And yet I thank thy love,
Indeed I do: but leave me for a while.
I would be private.

Leonidas.
Sir, I dare not leave you—
Forgive these tears—I dare not leave you thus
At variance with your self. I read too plain
The fatal thought that wakens in your bosom.

Periander.
And would'st thou have me live this abject thing?
This slave of folly? For I tell thee blushing,
With shame and strong abhorrence of my self,
I cannot tear that Woman from my soul,
False, faithless as she is—Then I will die.
That just revenge is still within my power.

Leonidas.
O Jealousy! thou merciless destroyer,
More cruel than the grave! what ravages
Does thy wild war make in the noblest bosoms!
Too long, my Lord, you listen to the whispers
Of that domestic foe, that bosom traitor.
For mercy's sake, throw not away so rashly
The jewel of your soul. Some unseen error
Mis-leads you from the truth, and ruins her.
Grant her a moment's audience.

Periander.
I have sworn,
That she shall die.

Leonidas.
Is then her sacred life
Of so small price, to cast her thus away
With blind precipitance? Your Queen, my Lord!
The fairest form, the most exalted mind!
Once so ador'd and lov'd! to whom your soul
Still cleaves with fondness! Can you give her up,
The mother of your darling Polydore,
Unheard, untry'd, to death and infamy?
Can you do this?

Periander.
O Thou! whose eye beholds
And pitys the frail heart of erring man,
Ruler of heaven and earth! or still these passions,
That rage in tempest here: or strike in mercy,
And free me from my pain.—What can I do?
My solemn vow is gone up to high heaven:
And would'st thou have me break it?

Leonidas.
That rash oath
Nor does, nor ought to bind. The Gods refuse it.
Should you, too late, discover she is wrong'd—
Think on it well—O what a life of horrors
Remains for you! I tremble but to name 'em.
The sad and silent meltings of vain sorrow;
The thorn of keen remorse; the sting of love,
Inflam'd by fond reflection, hourly sighing
For what he never, never hopes to find:
With these, late-coming, but no more to leave you,
Despair accurst. Dreadful society!
Yet such will share your day and night, and haunt
Your court, your throne, your solitude, your couch.
Alas, my Lord!

Periander.
O by my soul's strong anguish,
I would most gladly blot out from my thoughts
All memory of past time: I yet would question
The waking evidence of every sense,
To give her back that vertue, those fair beams
That shone on our first loves. Then was I blest
Beyond the race of men, belov'd and loving,
Honour'd and happy; and my name as odor
Pour'd forth, and breathing freshness all around.
O days of dear delight! that I could fix
For ever there, and think no farther on.
I will if possible.

Leonidas.
O happy change!
Confirm this gentle purpose, favouring heaven!
I fly to bring her hither.

Periander.
Stay thee yet.
I would resolve, but cannot. Love and rage
By turns assail me: melt me now to mercy;
Now rouse me to distraction—O my heart!

Leonidas.
Then punish the sole cause of all your pangs.
On the great criminal, on Procles' head
Discharge the fulness of a righteous vengeance,
And justify the Gods. Let the rack tear
The traitor's limbs; and as he howls with anguish,
Extort confession from him of the lyes,
The dark aspersions, that have well nigh ruin'd
Your injur'd, vertuous Queen, and tortur'd you.

Periander.
What hast thou done? O that detested name!
Thou know'st not half my madness—that curst name
Has set my brain on blaze, and call'd up there
Ten thousand furies. Hell! hast thou not heard
What shame and scorn, what vileness and confusion,
He heap'd upon my head—and she the cause!

Leonidas.
Oh heaven, and is this retribution thine?
Must Vertue know, what Vice alone should feel?

Periander.
Forbear, fond man. That heaven thou dar'st accuse,
Just, tho' mysterious, leads us on unerring,
Thro' ways unmark'd, from Guilt to Punishment.
I vow'd, alas! and with strong adjurations
Bound that just vow, to set my country free.
This, to my Father on his bed of death,
Solemn I swore—But, O blind lust of greatness!
Thro' wantonness of will I lightly weigh'd it,
Nor fear'd the hour of terrible account!
That hour is come: and what avails it now
That I, with equal hand and gentle rule,
Have sway'd my people? I am punish'd most,
Where I had bid my soul be most secure
Of happiness for years—Ha! Polydore.