University of Virginia Library

Scene 4th

Apame, Phedon
Phedon
That pensive posture, and that tearful eye
Betray fair excellence, the ill success
Of my Apame's pleadings with her brother.

Apame
O Phedon, Melitus, I fear, is doom'd
By the just gods to force his own destruction,
His strong inveteracy 'gainst Socrates
To them is painful; and for righteous ends
Tho' that great man may suffer, still my brother
Must feel the utmost fury of their vengeance:
For well I know, their justice yet will punish
The wretch, a foe to virtues like their own,

Phedon
Then he's resolv'd?

Apame
Resolv'd? he shuns his sister;
Soon as he saw me, from my sight he fled,
Like a base murderer, conscious of his guilt,
Who dreads each whisper'd nothing that he hears,
And flies the phantom that himself hath form'd.

Phedon
Then thou must fall, my Socrates: thy soul,
Great as hath yet e'er animated man,
I know, will bear this stroke of fate undaunted:
Will smile at all the malice of her foes,
And look with calm indifference on death.
Hence spring our fears: Were he like other men,
Had he the same weak frailties to lament,
Life wou'd appear to some importance to him,
And he'd be more sollicitous about her.
For, far from this, he thinks not of his danger,
As danger; but pursues his wonted course,
Directing others in the paths of truth,
As if no foes endeavour'd his destruction,
And all without was, like his own pure soul,
Sweet harmony and peace.

Apame
This binds me to him,
Weak as I am, and of that thoughtless sex,
Who seek no further for their rule in life
Than the dull road their mothers trod before them;
Yet ever hath my heart leap'd at the name
Of Socrates; and scarce had reason dacon'd
In my young mind; but I grew fond to hear
The lessons that he taught; to learn from him
Truths, hid before in sophistry's dark guise,
And close to follow, where he led the way.
The more I knew, more was my joy athirst
For higher knowledge; and he still encreas'd,
Still as he hed me on, my love of wisdom.
But, more than all his wondrous eloquence,
His choice expression, and his flow of reason,
His practice pleads; unerring in his life,
He walks conspicuous in each godlike virtue,
And lives himself in the great good man he teaches.

Phedon
He is indeed the man thy justice speaks him.
Nor did he want a herald to his virtues,
Cou'd he employ a nobler tongue than thine;
For thou art even wanton in his praise,
And then shin'st loveliest, when his worth's thy subject.
Oh! my Apame! how unlike thy brother.
But I'll evade the contrast—he's thy brother,
And therefore to a softer theme I'll turn,
Such as demands the eloquence of gods,
Thy heav'nly beauties, thy divine perfections.

Apame
Forbear, presuming Phedon—

Phedon
Listen to me,
Nor with that frown indignant kill your Phedon.
Say rather; dearest object of my vows;
Thou first and only mistress of my heart;
Say, wilt thou now with kind relenting eye
Hear me pour forth the truest noblest passion
That ever swell'd a fond and faithful soul;
A soul that lives not but upon the hope,
The distant hope that goodness, nigh divine,
Will look with pity on the pangs she suffers.
Oh! thou art all that fancy's self can paint—
All harmony, all excellence, all beauty!
Thy form so exquisite, that wou'd the maid,
Last of the gods that left our earth reluctant,
Once more forsake her natal plains above,
And with her presence gladden thankless man;
She'd sure shine forth in all the bright effulgence,
In the divine attractions of Apame,
O stay that killing look—forgive my rapture—
Indulge my wanton tongue while she essays
A task more arduous, to display the charms,
The heavenly beauties of thy matchless mind.

Apame
Say, is this Phedon, this the strenuous friend
Of Socrates, of Socrates the sage,
Form'd by his rules, and won by his example,
Who can thus poorly waste the precious hours
In wordy compliment and vain encomiums
On the mean trifle of a woman's beauty?
Now when thy friend, thy father, thy instructor
Walks on the verge of fate, can thy low soul
Sink in the soothings of an idle passion?

Phedon
Chide not, Apame, chide not; deep I feel
The pressing dangers of that virtuous man;
And oh! if I had twice ten thousand lives,
I'd part will all, nay, almost part with thee,
To save him from the direful fate that threats him;
For much I fear the pow'r of those that hate him.
For what inures my heart amid it's sorrows,
What firms my soul, but love of thee, my charmer,
Of thee the lover and the friend of Socrates?
This ardent passion arms me 'gainst my grief,
With manly fortitude, with intrepidity.
Forgive me then, nor blame thy faithful Phedon,
If in the fullness of his love he speaks
The glorious charms of that transcendant maid,
Which thus inspires him to sustain each shock,
To dare all danger for the friend he loves.

Apame
No more; but that I know thy honest heart,
This flattery wou'd be grating to my ear,
Harsh and discordant as an ill-tun'd instrument.
'Tis not by sounds like these I can be won.
Yet still forgive me, virgin—modesty—
I own thy worth, thy virtues, and thy truth
Have made my soul a sharer in thy griefs.
But oh! I leave it to thy thought to form
The various evils that will thwart our bliss.
Still be thyself, still be the friend of Socrates;
And if the gods join with thee in thy cares,
And crown thy filial friendship with success,
Apame then with honour—spare my blushes—
What have I said?—my maiden heart condemns me—
I dare not stay to tell thee, how I'd thank thee.