University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Orestes and Pylades.
Orestes.
O Pylades! What's Life without a Friend!
At Sight of thee my gloomy Soul clears up;
My Hopes revive, and Gladness dawns within me.
After an Absence of six tedious Moons,
How could I hope to find my Pylades;
My Joy, my Comfort! on this fatal Shore?
Even in the Court of Pyrrhus? in these Realms,
These hated Realms, so cross to all my Wishes.
Oh, my brave Friend! may no blind Stroke of Fate
Divide us more, and tear me from my self.

Pyl.
O Prince! O, my Orestes! O, my Friend—!
Thus let me speak the Welcome of my Heart.
[Embracing.
Since I have gain'd this unexpected Meeting,
Blest be the Powers, who barr'd my Way to Greece,
And kept me here! e'er since th'unhappy Day,
When warring Winds (Epirus full in View)
Sunder'd our Barks on the loud, stormy Main.

Orest.
It was, indeed, a Morning full of Horror!

Pyl.
A Thousand boading Cares have rack'd my Soul
In your behalf. Often, with Tears, I mourn'd
The fatal Ills, in which your Life's involv'd;
And grudg'd you Dangers, which I could not share.
I fear'd, to what Extreams the black Despair,
That prey'd upon your Mind, might have betray'd you;
And lest the Gods, in Pity to your Woes,
Should hear your Pray'rs, and take the Life you loath'd.
But now with Joy I see you!—The Retinue
And numerous Followers, that surround you here,
Speak better Fortunes, and a Mind dispos'd
To relish Life.

Orest.
Alas! my Friend, who knows
The Destiny, to which I stand reserv'd!
I come in search of an inhuman Fair;
And live or dye, as she decrees my Fate.

Pyl.
You much surprize me, Prince!—I thought you cur'd
Of your unpity'd, unsuccessful Passion.
Why, in Epirus, shou'd you hope to find
Hermione less cruel, than at Sparta?
I thought her Pride, and the disdainful manner,
In which she treated all your constant Suff'rings,
Had broke your Fetters, and assur'd your Freedom:
Asham'd of your Repulse, and slighted Vows,
You hated her; you talk'd of her no more.
Prince you deceiv'd me.

Orest.
I deceiv'd my self.
Do not upbraid the Unhappy Man, that loves thee.
Thou know'st, I never hid my Passion from thee:
Thou saw'st it in its Birth, and in its Progress.
And when at last the hoary King, her Father,
Great Menelaus, gave away his Daughter,
His lovely Daughter, to this happy Pyrrhus,
The Avenger of his Wrongs; thou saw'st my Grief,
My Torture, my Despair; and how I dragg'd,
From Sea to Sea, a heavy Chain of Woes.
O, Pylades! my Heart has bled within me,
To see thee, prest with Sorrows not thy own,
Still wandring with me, like a banish'd Man;
Watchful, and anxious for thy wretched Friend,
To temper the wild Transports of my Mind,
And save me from my self.

Pyl.
Why thus unkind?
Why will you envy me the pleasing Tasks
Of generous Love and sympathizing Friendship?

Orest.
Thou Miracle of Truth!—But hear me on.
When, in the midst of my disastrous Fate,
I thought, how the Divine Hermione,
Deaf to my Vows, regardless of my Plaints,
Gave up her self, in all her Charms, to Pyrrhus;
Thou may'st remember, I abhorr'd her Name,
Strove to forget her, and repay her Scorn
I made my Friends, and even my self, believe
My Soul was freed. Alas! I did not see,
That all the Malice of my Heart was Love.
Triumphing thus, and yet a Captive still,
In Greece I landed: And in Greece I found
The assembled Princes all alarm'd with Fears,
In which their common Safety seem'd concern'd.
I join'd them: For I hoped that War and Glory
Might fill my Mind, and take up all my Thoughts;
And, that my shatter'd Soul, impair'd with Grief,
Once more would reassume its wanted Vigour,
And ev'ry idle Passion quit my Breast.

Pyl.
The Thought was worthy Agamemnon's Son.

Orest.
But see the strange Perverseness of my Stars,
Which throws me on the Rock I strove to shun!
The jealous Chiefs, and all the States of Greece,
With one united Voice, complain of Pyrrhus;
That now, forgetful of the Promise given,
And mindless of his Godlike Father's Fate,
Astyanax he nurses in his Court;
Astyanax, the Young, surviving Hope
Of ruin'd Troy; Astyanax, descended
From a long Race of Kings; great Hector's Son.

Pyl.
A Name still dreadful in the Ears of Greece!
But, Prince, you'll cease to wonder, why the Child
Lives thus protected in the Court of Pyrrhus,
When you shall hear, the bright Andromache,
His lovely Captive, charms him from his Purpose:
The Mother's Beauty guards the helpless Son.

Orest.
Your Tale confirms what I have heard; and hence
Springs all my Hopes. Since my proud Rival woes
Another Partner to his Throne and Bed,
Hermione may still be mine. Her Father,
The injur'd Menelaus, thinks already
His Daughter slighted, and the intended Nuptials
Too long delay'd. I heard his loud Complaints
With secret Pleasure; and was glad to find
The ungrateful Maid neglected in her Turn,
And all my Wrongs avenged in her Disgrace.

Pyl.
Oh, may you keep your just Resentments warm!

Orest.
Resentments? Ah, my Friend, too soon I found
They grew not out of Hatred! I am betray'd:
I practise on my self; and fondly plot
My own Undoing. Goaded on by Love,
I canvass'd all the Suffrages of Greece;
And here I come, their sworn Ambassador,
To speak their Jealousies, and claim this Boy.

Pyl.
Pyrrhus will treat your Embassy with Scorn.
Full of Achilles, his redoubted Sire,
Pyrrhus is proud, impetuous, headstrong, fierce;
Made up of Passions: Will he then be sway'd,
And give to Death the Son of her he loves?

Orst.
Oh, would he render up Hermione,
And keep Astyanax; I should be blest!
He must; he shall: Hermione is my Life,
My Soul, my Rapture!—I'll no longer curb
The strong Desire, that hurries me to Madness:
I'll give a Loose to Love; I'll bear her hence;
I'll tear her from his Arms; I'll—O, ye Gods!
Give me Hermione; or let me die!—
But, tell me, Pylades; how stand my Hopes?
Is Pyrrhus still enamour'd with her Charms?
Or do'st thou think, he'll yield me up the Prize,
The dear, dear Prize, which he has ravish'd from me!

Pyl.
I dare not flatter your fond Hopes so far.
The King, indeed, cold to the Spartan Princess,
Turns all his Passion to Andromache,
Hector's afflicted Widow. But in vain,
With inter-woven Love and Rage, he sues
The charming Captive, obstinately cruel.
Oft he alarms her for her Child, confin'd
Apart; and, when her Tears begin to flow,
As soon he stops them, and recalls his Threats.
Hermione a thousand times has seen
His ill-requited Vows return to her;
And takes his Indignation all for Love.
What can be gather'd from a Man so various?
He may, in the Disorder of his Soul,
Wed her, he hates; and punish her, he loves.

Orest.
But, tell me, how the wrong'd Hermione
Brooks her slow Nuptials, and dishonour'd Charms?

Pyl.
Hermione would fain be thought to scorn
Her wavering Lover, and disdain his Falshood;
But, spight of all her Pride, and conscious Beauty,
She mourns in Secret her neglected Charms;
And oft has made me privy to her Tears:
Still threatens to be gone; yet still she stays;
And sometimes sighs, and wishes for Orestes.

Orest.
Ah, were those Wishes from her Heart, my Friend,
I'd fly in Transport—

[Flourish within.
Pyl.
Hear!—The King approaches
To give you Audience. Speak your Embassy
Without Reserve: Urge the Demands of Greece;
And in the Name of all her Kings require,
That Hector's Son be given into your Hands.
Pyrrhus, instead of granting what they ask,
To speed his Love, and win the Trojan Dame,
Will make it Merit to preserve her Son.
But, see; he comes!

Orest.
Mean while, my Pylades,
Go, and dispose Hermione to see
Her Lover, who is come thus far, to throw
Himself in all his Sorrows at her Feet.

SCENE II.

Orestes, Pyrrhus, and Phænix.
Orest.
Before I speak the Message of the Greeks,
Permit me, Sir, to glory in the Title
Of their Ambassador; since I behold
Troy's Vanquisher, and Great Achilles Son.
Nor does the Son rise short of such a Father:
If Hector fell by him, Troy fell by you
But, what your Father never would have done,
You do. You cherish the Remains of Troy;
And, by an ill timed Pity, keep alive
The dying Embers of a Ten-years War.
Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector?
The Greeks remember his high-brandish'd Sword,
That fill'd their States with Widows and with Orphans;
For which they call for Vengeance on his Son.
Who knows what he may one Day prove? Who knows
But he may brave us in our Ports; and, fill'd
With Hector's Fury, set our Fleets on blaze?
You may, your self, live to repent your Mercy.
Comply, then, with the Grecians just Demands:
Satiate their Vengeance, and preserve your self.

Pyr.
The Greeks are for my Safety more concern'd
Than I desire. I thought your Kings were met
On more Important Councils. When I heard
The Name of their Ambassador, I hoped
Some glorious Enterprize was taking Birth.
Is Agamemnon's Son dispatch'd for this?
And do the Grecian Chiefs, renown'd in War,
A Race of Heroes, join in close Debate,
To plot an Infant's Death?—What Right has Greece
To ask his Life? Must I, must I alone,
Of all her scepter'd Warriors, be deny'd
To treat my Captive as I please? Know, Prince,
When Troy lay smoaking on the Ground, and each
Proud Victor shared the Harvest of the War;
Andromache and this her Son were mine;
Were mine by Lot: And who shall wrest them from me?
Ulysses bore away old Priam's Queen;
Cassandra was your own great Father's Prize:
Did I concern my self in what they won?
Did I send Embassies to claim their Captives?

Orest.
But, Sir, we fear, for you and for our selves,
Troy may again revive, and a new Hector
Rise in Astyanax. Then think betimes—

Pyr.
Let dastard Souls be timorously wise:
But tell them, Pyrrhus knows not how to form
Far-fancy'd Ills, and Dangers out of sight.

Orest.
Sir, call to mind the unrivall'd Strength of Troy;
Her Walls, her Bulwarks, and her Gates of Brass;
Her Kings, her Heroes, and embattel'd Armies!

Pyr.
I call them all to mind; and see them all
Confus'd in Dust; all mixt in one wide Ruin;
All but a Child, and he in Bondage held.
What Vengeance can we fear from such a Troy?
If they have sworn to extinguish Hector's Race,
Why was their Vow for twelve long Months deferr'd?
Why was he not in Priam's Bosom slain?
He should have fallen among the slaughter'd Heaps,
Whelm'd under Troy. His Death had then been just,
When Age and Infancy, alike in vain,
Pleaded their Weakness; when the heat of Conquest,
And Horrours of the Night, rouz'd all our Rage,
And blindly hurry'd us through Scenes of Death.
My Fury then was without Bounds: But now,
My Wrath appeas'd, must I be cruel still?
And, deaf to all the tender Calls of Pity,
Like a cool Murderer, bath my Hands in Blood?
An Infant's Blood?—No, Prince—Go, bid the Greeks
Mark out some other Victim; my Revenge
Has had its Fill. What has escaped from Troy
Shall not be saved to perish in Epirus.

Orest.
I need not tell you, Sir, Astyanax
Was doom'd to Death in Troy; nor how
The crafty Mother saved her darling Son.
The Greeks do now but urge their former Sentence:
Nor is't the Boy, but Hector they pursue;
The Father draws their Vengeance on the Son:
The Father, who so oft in Grecian Blood
Has drench'd his Sword: The Father, whom the Greeks
May seek even here.—Prevent them, Sir, in time.

Pyr.
No! Let them come; since I was born to wage
Eternal Wars. Let them now turn their Arms
On him, who conquer'd for them: Let them come,
And in Epirus seek another Troy.
'Twas thus they recompens'd my God-like Sire;
Thus was Achilles thank'd: But, Prince, remember,
Their black Ingratitude then cost them dear.

Orest.
Shall Greece then find a Rebel Son in Pyrrhus?

Pyr.
Have I then conquer'd to depend on Greece?

Orest.
Hermione will sway your Soul to Peace,
And mediate 'twixt her Father and your self:
Her Beauty will enforce my Embassie.

Pyr.
Hermione may have her Charms; and I
May love her still, tho' not her Father's Slave.
I may in time give Proofs, that I am a Lover;
But never must forget, that I am a King.
Mean while, Sir, you may see fair Helen's Daughter:
I know how near in Blood you stand ally'd.
That done, you have my Answer, Prince. The Greeks
No doubt expect your quick Return.

SCENE III.

Pyrrhus and Phœnix.
Phœn.
Sir, do you send your Rival to the Princess?

Pyr.
I am told, that he has lov'd her long.

Phœn.
If so,
Have you not cause to fear the smother'd Flame
May kindle at her Sight, and blaze anew?
And she be wrought to listen to his Passion?

Pyr.
Ah, let them, Phœnix; let them love their Fill!
Let them go hence; let them depart together;
Together let them sail for Sparta: All my Ports
Are open to them both. From what Constraint,
What irksome Thoughts should I be then reliev'd!

Phœn.
But, Sir—

Pyr.
I shall another time, good Phœnix,
Unbosom to thee all my Thoughts.—For, see,
Andromache appears.

SCENE IV.

Pyrrhus, Andromache and Cephisa.
Pyr.
May I, Madam,
Flatter my Hopes so far, as to believe
You come to seek me here?

Andr.
This way, Sir, leads
To those Apartments, where you guard my Son.
Since you permit me, once a Day, to visit
All I have left of Hector, and of Troy;
I go to weep a few sad Moments with him.
I have not yet, to Day, embraced my Child;
I have not held him in my widow'd Arms.

Pyr.
Ah, Madam! should the Threats of Greece prevail,
You'll have Occasion for your Tears, indeed!

Andr.
Alas! what Threats? What can alarm the Greeks?
There are no Trojans left!

Pyr.
Their Hate to Hector
Can never die: The Terrour of his Name
Still shakes their Souls; and makes them dread his Son.

Andr.
A mighty Honour for victorious Greece
To fear an Infant; a poor, friendless Child!
Who smiles in Bondage; nor yet knows himself
The Son of Hector, and the Slave of Pyrrhus.

Pyr.
Weak as he is, the Greeks demand his Life;
And send no less than Agamemnon's Son,
To fetch him hence.

Andr.
And, Sir, do you comply
With such Demands!—This Blow is aim'd at me:
How should the Child avenge his slaughter'd Sire?
But, cruel Men! they will not have him live
To chear my heavy Heart, and ease my Bonds.
I promis'd to my self in him a Son,
In him a Friend, a Husband, and a Father.
But I must suffer Sorrow heap'd on Sorrow;
And still the fatal Stroke must come from you.

Pyr.
Dry up those Tears: I must not see you weep:
And know, I have rejected their Demands.
The Greeks already threaten me with War:
But, should they arm, as once they did for Helen,
And hide the Adriatick with their Fleets;
Should they prepare a second ten Years Siege,
And lay my Towers and Palaces in Dust:
I am determin'd to defend your Son;
And rather die my self, than give him up.
But, Madam, in the midst of all these Dangers,
Will you refuse me a propitious Smile?
Hated of Greece, and prest on every side,
Let me not, Madam, while I fight your Cause,
Let me not combat with your Cruelties;
And count Andromache amongst my Foes.

Andr.
Consider, Sir, how this will sound in Greece!
How can so great a Soul betray such Weakness?
Let not Men say, so generous a Design
Was but the Transport of a Heart in Love.

Pyr.
Your Charms will justifie me to the World.

Andr.
How can Andromache, a Captive Queen,
O'er-whelm'd with Grief, a Burden to her self,
Harbour a Thought of Love? Alas! what Charms
Have these unhappy Eyes, by you condemn'd
To weep for ever?—Talk of it no more.—
To reverence the Misfortunes of a Foe;
To succour the Distrest; to give the Son
To an afflicted Mother; to repel
Confederate Nations, leagued against his Life;
Unbribed by Love, unterrify'd by Threats,
To pity, to protect him: These are Cares,
These are Exploits worthy Achilles' Son.

Pyr.
Will your Resentments, then, endure for ever?
Must Pyrrhus never be forgiven?—'Tis true,
My Sword has often reek'd in Phrygian Blood,
And carry'd Havock through your Royal Kindred:
But you, fair Princess, amply have avenged
Old Priam's vanquish'd House: And all the Woes,
I brought on them, fall short of what I suffer.
We both have suffer'd in our Turns: And now
Our common Foes should teach us to unite.

Andr.
Where does the Captive not behold a Foe?

Pyr.
Forget that Term of Hatred; and behold
A Friend in Pyrrhus! Give me but to hope,
I'll free your Son; I'll be a Father to him:
My self will teach him to avenge the Trojans.
I'll go in Person to chastise the Greeks,
Both for your Wrongs and mine. Inspired by you,
What would I not atchieve? Again shall Troy
Rise from its Ashes: This right Arm shall fix
Her Seat of Empire; and your Son shall reign.

Andr.
Such Deams of Greatness suit not my Condition:
His Hopes of Empire perish'd with his Father.
No; thou imperial City, ancient Troy,
Thou Pride of Asia, founded by the Gods;
Never, oh never! must we hope to see
Those Bulwarks rise, which Hector could not guard!—
Sir, all I wish for, is some quiet Exile;
Where far from Greece remov'd, and far from you,
I may conceal my Son, and mourn my Husband.
Your Love creates me Envy. Oh, return!
Return to your betroth'd Hermione.

Pyr.
Why do you mock me thus? you know, I cannot.
You know my Heart is yours: My Soul hangs on you:
You take up every Wish: My waking Thoughts,
And nightly Dreams are all employ'd on you.
'Tis true, Hermione was sent to share
My Throne and Bed, and would with Transport hear
The Vows, which you neglect.

Andr.
She has no Troy,
No Hector to lament: She has not lost
A Husband by your Conquests: Such a Husband!
(Tormenting Thought!) whose Death alone has made
Your Sire immortal: Pyrrhus and Achilles
Are both grown great by my Calamities.

Pyr.
Madam, 'tis well! 'Tis very well! I find,
Your Will must be obey'd: Imperious Captive,
It shall. Henceforth I blot you from my Mind:
You teach me to forget your Charms; to hate you.
For, know, inhuman Beauty, I have loved
Too well to treat you with Indifference.
Think well upon it: My disorder'd Soul
Wavers between th'Extremes of Love and Rage.
I've been too tame! I will awake to Vengeance!
The Son shall answer for the Mother's Scorn.
The Greeks demand him: Nor will I endanger
My Realms, to pleasure an ungrateful Woman.

Andr.
Then he must die! alas, my Son must die!
He has no Friend, no Succour left, besides
His Mother's Tears, and his own Innocence.

Pyr.
Go, Madam; visit this unhappy Son.
The Sight of him may bend your stubborn Heart,
And turn to Softness your unjust Disdain.
I shall once more expect your Answer. Go;
And think, while you embrace the Captive Boy,
Think, that his Life depends on your Resolves.

SCENE V.

Andromache and Cephisa.
Andr.
I'll go, and, in the Anguish of my Heart,
Weep o'er my Child—If he must dye, my Life
Is wrapt in his; I shall not long survive.
'Tis for his sake, that I have suffer'd Life;
Groan'd in Captivity; and out-liv'd Hector.
Yes, my Astyanax; we'll go together!
Together to the Realms of Night we'll go!
There to thy ravish'd Eyes thy Sire I'll show,
And point him out among the Shades below.