University of Virginia Library

Act 3d

Scene 1st

Phedon, Apame
Phedon
This day, this solemn day, my dear Apame,
Will stand recorded in Athenian Annals,
As the most black and dismal: Not the period,
When Heav'n sent forth the raging pestilence,
When the dank air we breath'd was big with death,
And Athens shew'd a heap of carcases,
Will wear a gloomier aspect to posterity.
Our after-race must blush to read, their fathers
Brought to an infamous, a cruel trial
The man, whose virtues made their state renown'd
Bove all the Grecian Cities; heav'n, they'll cry,
Had let the Furies loose, and given them leave
To dart their venom in each Attick

Attica was the region in Greece where Athens was located.

breast.
O Athens! O my country! how my soul
Indignant glows, that she within thy walls
First view'd yon glorious sun!

Apame
Thou art happy, Phedon,
Thou hast been a steady friend to Socrates:
Hast shewn a soul well worthy his instructions,
Nor will desert him in the day of evil;
Thou hast no brother, whose prepost'rous hate,
Whose perverse enmity, to worth, to virtue,
Can give thy heart a pang.—Too wretched I!
Long as I've lov'd that venerable sage,
And almost reverenc'd him as a divinity,
When I reflect, the man that calls me sister,
That drew his first, his infant-nourishment
From the same honour'd breast, resolves his ruin,
And joins with impious men against his life;
How I am struck with horror at the thought?
How I am lost in my excess of misery?

Phedon
Strange! that a man who in the spring of life
Promis'd a glorious harvest of brave actions,
Shou'd thus run counter to his fair beginnings,
And hate that virtue, which he once rever'd!
We then were friends; at least I call'd him mine,
And with delight I saw him close attend
The virtuous Socrates, and catch each sentiment—
As it came from him—How alass! he's chang'd!
Sure some malignant Planet sways his conduct,
And drives him head long on the guilty course,
He now with such determin'd will pursues.

Apame
Oh! he is lost, my Phedon, he is lost;
The gods have destin'd him to be the dupe
Of his remorseless folly;—Late I saw him,
And strove to win him from his dread design;
In vain—his fury rose—his form look'd madness—
Wild were his eyes—his voice grew loud and rageful,
And he in heighth of passion drove me from him.

Phedon
How I am mov'd at thy too just complainings?
O my Apame, Life is fraught with misery;
Few are our joys and many are our woes.
For me, had they denied me thy dear love,
If thou hadst not with kind compassion heard me,
Heard my fond suit, and bad me hope, that time
Might ballance all my miseries with thee,
Sure I shou'd sink beneath the pondrous load.

Apame
Ah! Phedon, cease t'indulge this weakness farther;
T'will but delude thee—Heaven forbids our loves—
Far from each other we must fly for ever;
Must bid adieu to ev'ry fond desire,
Each tender thought that knit our souls together;
I can't be thine—I must not—Nature, virtue,
The ties of blood, the rigid laws of honour,
Severly bar me from thee.

Phedon
Aweful powers!
What do I hear? Apame now forbid me
T'indulge my faithful love!—It must not be!
O thou art all to me the Gods can grant,
And, if I lose thee, Heaven hath not beneath it
A wretch more lost in misery than Phedon.

Apame
Phedon, be calm; to thy impartial reason
Will I appeal, and she'll I'm sure, acquit me.
My brother is the foe of Socrates,
Th'inveterate foe, and e'en to death pursues him.
However guilty, he is still my brother,
A Brother too, for all his wayward conduct
Something within commands me still to reverence.
Say, can I marry then the youth, whose friendship
For that illustrious, that much injur'd sage,
Must make him look on Melitus with hatred,
As on the base destroyer of his friend?
How wou'd it suit with thy Apame's virtue,
With that chaste fame she values far above
All that mistaken man calls great and splendid,
To lose herself in softnesses of love,
So to be led away by her fond folly,
As to forget that great, that innate law
Nature makes indispensable, forget
My brother is my brother, thou his enemy?
No Phedon, never can Apame's soul
Bear the reflection of so wild a conduct.

Phedon
Good heavens! Where am I? Are they all a dream,
These golden hopes, that have thus long entranc'd me?
To all the dreaded woes, that now alarm me,
Must this be added yet?—Apame lost!
Apame never mine!—Assist me, fair one,
Say something to relieve thy sinking Phedon,
Or, like the bark, that on the stormy surge
Hath long been tost, the sport of raging winds,
And sinks at length deep down to the opening gulph.
I fall victim to my love and thee.

Apame
Alass! what can I say to ease thy anguish?
That I have lov'd thee—witness, ye chaste Stars,
Witness, ye holy powers, that know our hearts,
And search the inmost passions lurking there;
Long have I lov'd thee, and to death will bear
The virtuous flame—but oh! Apame can
No more—

Phedon
How I am lost in many sorrows?
Thou lov'st me, my Apame! What avails
This fond confession, if I still must live
Unblest without thee, and must languish out
A tedious, hated life in dread despair?

Apame
Learn, Phedon, to support the awards of Heaven
With noble fortitude, with true philosophy;
And copy with more firmness thy great master.
He sets a glorious pattern—act like him.
This is unmanly whining—if he falls,
All I can promise, since I can't be thine,
Is, ne'er to be another's—if he lives,
(But oh! my heart forebodes, the god's decree,
That he must fall, and by my brother's means)
Yet, if he lives, and Melitus at length
Sees and laments his present wayward conduct,
I'll only say, that life without my Phedon
Will be a burden heavier to my soul,
Than to the chained slave, that tugs the oar,
And hourly dies beneath a tirant-lord.

Phedon
Too slender solace for my bleeding heart!
And yet I thank thee—yes; thy Phedon thanks thee.
O may high Heaven with piteous eye look down
On our transcendant loves!—But I'm all fear—
My trembling heart—forgive me, my Apame—
But when I think what I shall lose in thee,
Oh!—I will copy my great Master's firmness,
I'll copy thee—Do thou, my virtuous maid,
Support me—O I wou'd, wou'd hope, and yet
Some envious demon glooms upon my soul,
And e'en forbids my hope—O help me, Socrates,
Help me, Apame; help me all that virtue,
That I've imbib'd from Socrates and thee.

Scene 2d

Socrates, Plato, Phedon, Crito, and others his friends attending him to his trial
Socrates
No, Plato; no, my youths; it must not be.
Dear is the offer of your friendly hearts,
And Socrates will to his dying hour
Retain a kind remembrance of your love.
For me you shan't expose your precious lives
To needless dangers, to the rude resentment
Of a licentious people—I'm prepar'd
Gainst the worst fury of my mad accusers;
And can myself support my character.
Good Heaven hath not so left me; I can plead
With firmest resolution all my services,
My constant, faithful services to Athens,
And, if they will condemn me, they shall own,
Spite of their malice, that I die unjustly.

Plato
That the kind powers have blest thy sapient tongue
With all the energy of soft persuasion;
That virtues like thy own might well reject
The feeble aid of our imperfect eloquence;
That the severest trials of ill fortune
Cannot unnerve thy firm and manly soul,
We're well assur'd—But yet forgive thy friends,
If they still hope, their faithful cares may prove
Of solid service to thee 'gainst their slanders.
Mean tho' our powers of speech, we yet may urge
Something, that in the hurry of thy thoughts,
May slip thy memory, of great import—

Socrates
Alass! of what emolument to me
All you can say? my judges, if they're just,
From my own mouth will be convinc'd—However,
I'll be my own defender, and assert
My innocence of soul with honest freedom:
Firm and serene I'll meet the pouring tempest,
And smile at all the horrors they wou'd raise.

Plato
And can thy pupils, they, who've learn'd from thee
The road to wisdom, and the paths of peace
Whose tender minds thou hast form'd with pious care,
And, kind, instructed in each godlike virtue,
Silent, can they behold thee stand alone
Gainst the united malice of thy enemies,
And not reach out their helping hand? Must tears
And patient suffering only be their share,
And not one word drop from them to defend thee?
Much twill alleviate our heart-piercing sorrows,
If we're allow'd to plead thy righteous cause,
To shew Mankind that not in barren soil
Thou hast planted thy own virtues; that we know
Our heavy loss in being bereav'd of thee,
And will dare all that honour bids, to save thee.

Socrates
Enough, dear youths; I do believe, you love me,
And tis no moderate solace to my soul,
That I've not toil'd in vain'; that you deserve
My cares and labours.—Greatly it rejoices me,
To know, if Heaven determines I shall die,
That I shall leave in Athens worthy men,
Firm patriots like myself, sincere to friendship,
True to their country's interest and to virtue;
For such, I'm sure, are you—pursue the track
With steady resolution—but you will.
For me, you have my thanks; but know, 'twill pain me
More than my trial, to involve my friends
In the same ruin—Leave me to myself;
I shall not be dismay'd; my steady soul
Suffices 'gainst the assaults of all their fury,
And will repel their slanders—let us on;
The venerable court is set, and I
Wou'd not delay their more important business
For an old man, not worth the mighty pother,
Some wild and busy heads have made about him.

Scene the 3d

The Court of the Areopagus in the open air
The orator's
desk

Melitus, Anitus, Lycon, as accusers of Socrates, with the Athenian populace attending them: After some time enter Socrates, Plato, Crito, Phedon and numbers of the Athenian youth; he gay and cheerful, they under the greatest dejection.

Areopagus

Give out the business of the day.

Crier
reads

Melitus, son of Melitus of the people of Pythos

accuses Socrates, son of Sophroniscus of the people of Alopece.

Areopagus

Read the accusation.

Crier

Socrates is criminal, because he acknowledges not the gods, that the republick acknowledges; and because he introduces new deities; he is farther criminal, because he corrupts the youth.

Areopagus
Bid Melitus stand forth.

Crier

Melitus son of Melitus of the people of Pythos, appear and prove your accusation against Socrates son of Sophroniscus of the people of Alopece.

Melitus
ascends the Orator's desk and speaks.

Socrates
to his friends
Heavens! what a stranger am I to myself?
Say, friends, am I this wretch, this impious parricide?
If Melitus hath search'd my heart so deeply,
And found these dreadful mischiefs lurking there,
Sure never man was more unknown to man
Than Socrates to Socrates.

Melitus
To strengthen
What I've asserted 'gainst this vile deluder,
The worthy Anitus and gen'rous Lycon
Men of sincere affection to the state,
Faithful and active in their country's interest,
Are both prepar'd and willing to support me.

Areopagus
Let them attend, and speak their thoughts with freedom.

Anitus
Small is the trouble I shall give the senate;
I have not learn'd the niceties of speech,
And can but bluntly say what I've to offer.
Nay, tis with great reluctance I appear
Against the man that once I call'd my friend.
But when I see to what irreverent use
His talents are applied; when I observe,
Against those very gods that gave him all
The wondrous faculties he justly boasts,
He lavishes their blessings, and does outrage
To all that we hold sacred and divine,
When the wild listless youth of this great city
Run after him, and catch with eager gape
Each impious tenet he profanely utters;
When Heaven must soon lament it's want of votaries;
And the avenging gods, justly incens'd
At our neglect of their most holy worship,
Will curse this city with severest evils,
Will sink us deep in most deserv'd distress,
In woes more fatal than we've felt already,
Unless we timely hinder the result
Of their tremendous anger, I no more
Look on the ties of friendship to be binding:
And therefore I conjure you, rev'rend Senators,
As you are men of Athens, as you're citizens,
That have the welfare of the state at heart,
To rouse yourselves against these threatening perils,
To clear your city of these novel doctrines,
T'assert your gods, and most severely punish
The man who dares to speak against their power,
That dares deny their providence and being,

Phedon
aside
Poor tender Anitus! his righteous conscience
Can't bear the least infringement on the rites
Of his dear country. Sure his virtuous heart
Is clear from ev'ry stain of base injustice.

Lycon
It is no mean offender, ye Athenians
Today demands your cognisance; if ever
Presumptious man hath dar'd beyond forgiveness
Or of the gods or you, this vain declaimer
Against our hallow'd rites, this mighty reasoner
In speculative knowledge, this arraigner
Of our dread gods is he.—I wou'd be calm,
I wou'd be master of myself, my faculties,
While I lay forth the insolent attempts
Of his insidious heart. But when already
We feel the fatal issue of his conduct,
When even now our gods dart down their vengeance
In fearful bolts of wrath; and Athens mourns
Almost in Ashes their severe displeasure,
Say, can a citizen, can one that Loves
His dear maternal land, command his utterance,
And speak with temper?—O reflect, Athenians,
Consider coolly the successive evils
That long have ravag'd this devoted city;
Then say, if all the gods have not conspir'd
To pour destruction on us.—Why, my countrymen,
Why are we thus the objects of their wrath?
Why? 'Cause an old irreverend dotard lures you
To horrid guilt—grown desperate in impiety,
He charges you with folly in your worship,
Deprives high Heav'n of it's undoubted powers,
And quite annihilates it's blest inhabitants.
Are ye asleep, Athenians? Lo! Your youth,
Mad with his baneful dogmas, slight the temples,
No more the consecrated victim bleeds;
No more the solemn vows are paid;—nay further,
He draws them from the duties of relation;
In vain with his ungracious son the father,
In vain the mother, pleads parental cares.
Their children fly their precepts, and return
Unnatural ingratitude—Can this,
Can this be pleasing to the powers divine?
Will Athens flourish, when the holy bond
That shou'd subsist between a child and parent,
Is thus dissolv'd?—Let our experience teach us.
What an abandon'd wretch was Alcibiades?
What a remorseless savage tirant, Critias?
These left their friends to listen to his lore;
These were his pupils; these had long imbib'd
His boasted maxims; these were once his favourites,
And bore the appellation of his sons.
Awake, ye rev'rend Senators; no more
Sleep in the dangers that alarm the state;
Call forth your courage, let your country rouse you;
Be just, be earnest—Heaven and earth conjoin,
And claim your verdict 'gainst this dangerous man.
He will, I know, endeavour to amuse you;
He'll soothe you to forgive him; he'll smooth over
His base detested conduct—but beware—
He hath a winning, a bewitching eloquence;
His words are oil, but oh! there lurks within
Poison of killing force; and, if you hear him,
If to the magick of his tongue you yield,
I can but mourn the ruin of my country,
Shall weep, religion, thy deserted altars,
Shall wail, dear liberty, thy fall in Athens.

Plato
aside
O eloquence, what a pernicious bane
Thy beauties are, when basely they're adapted
To screen a villain, or defame the good.

Areopagus
Who speaks for the defendant?

Socrates
Even he
That best knows how to answer his accurers

(Plato attempts to mount the desk)
Plato, forbear; thou dost me great injustice
To think I want assistance 'gainst a heap
Of falsehood so absurd; if Athens boasts
An honest senate, I've no cause to fear.
E'en their own hearts will plead with them for Socrates,
And safely guard him 'gainst such frontless malice.

1 Areopagus
Gods! he e'en braves the senate.

2 Areopagus
Let him on
He'll say enough to make him guilty.

Socrates
Whence comes it, ye Athenians, that I am charg'd
With a denial of our country-Gods?
Have I not always worship'd in their temples?
Have I not always bow'd before their altars?
What festal days hath Athens e'er ordain'd
That I have not kept holy? Many are there
Can prove my presence, there, and Melitus,
Had he so will'd, might have observ'd me too.
They say, I introduce new deities:
What are they, Senators? inform me, do.
I own I'm ignorant, unless to say,
The voice of God directs me, is, to assert
Some novel deity you have not known.
They who divine by thunder, they that mark
The notes of birds, the priestess on her tripod,
Are they not guided by the voice divine?
What difference, tell me? only this, that I,
Pious as well as wise, ascribe to Heav'n,
What only they ascribe to second causes,
to mediate powers, whence they derive their Omens.
Alass! no base design, no wicked purpose
Hath ever swayed my heart: if heav'n declares
That I am wise, I sent not Cherephon

See above, act 1, scene 6, line 13.

To Delphos to enquire; and yet the God
Pronounc'd me more than wise,—both just and free.
But why am I not so? No slave to sense,
Above temptation, faithful to my poverty,
Still searching after knowledge, teaching others
What have I learn'd myself; Is this not wisdom,
Is this not justice, freedom, all that's right,
All that is grateful in the eyes of men,
Nay, I'll go farther, in the eye of Heaven?
Thus many of our citizens have thought,
Thus all the virtuous in the states of Greece
To me they've travell'd; and from me, well-pleas'd,
Imbib'd the maxims of philosophy.
But I corrupt your youth;—What youth corrupted?
Name even one, who with a mind sincere
Ador'd the gods, that I have made an infidel;
Name one remark'd for chaste and modest bearing,
That I have render'd impudent and leud;
Name any sober, frugal, hardy, brave,
That have become debauch'd, or profligate,
Or coward, or effeminate, from pursuing
The rigid path I've pointed to their steps.

Melitus
Many there are, unthinking, heedless youth,
Who, tho' regardless of a parent's will,
Bear most submissive reverence to thee,
And pay thee the submission that they owe
To them alone or Heaven.

Socrates
They have obey'd me
In following virtue; I was their preceptor;
Their parents knew not how to teach them wisdom,
And therefore they applied themselves to me.
Who heeds relation in a dangerous fever?
Is it their parent's counsel that they take
Or the Physician's? In the trade of war,
The general's skill, and not his friends are weigh'd.
Instruction is my province; therefore justly
Submissive reverence from them is my due.
Is this a cause, why I shou'd suffer death?
Is this so dread an evil to the state,
That nothing but my life can recompence
The mischiefs I have done?—Speak, Anitus;
Speak, Lycon, Melitus—but, O my judges,
Let them succeed; they hurt not Socrates
Death bears to me no terrors.—who can say,
Whether he is an happiness or evil?
But he that dreads him, for that very reason
Can not be wise—however he may palliate
His servile fears—his soul's estrang'd from wisdom.

The Areopagus consult for some time, and by their Suffrages bring him in guilty.
Areopagus
The justice of the senate, Socrates.
Hath found thee guilty; and thy punishment
By law is death—However, if thou'lt
Pay the fine awarded, thou'rt allow'd to live.

Socrates
A fine? for what Athenians? I a fine?
Yours is uncommon justice—Innocence
Hath ever sway'd my conduct; and no guilt
Cleaves to my soul; and she shall ne'er upbraid me,
That, dastard-like, I'd meanly save a life
I ever held indifferent at the forfeit
Of what I hold most dear, my fame and virtue.

Plato
O Socrates, have pity on your friends,
Your relatives, your country—curb a little
This grandeur of thy soul; impartial men
Will ne'er conceive thee guilty, and thy life
May yet be long a blessing to the world.

Socrates
No, Plato; were the wealth of Athens mine,
I wou'd not buy my life so basely from them.
But since they're in suspence, myself will rate
My services—be this my punishment.
As I've been ever faithful to my country:
Have frelly shed my blood in her defence,
And sav'd her noblest citizens from death,
Have taught her yout the road to solid glory,
To real virtue, and immortal happiness,
The publick shall maintain me, while I live,
A cheap reward for what I've done for them.

The Areopagus shew marks of high resentment, and after some consultation give the final sentence.
Areopagus
Thy haughty soul, thou son of Sophroniscus,
Compels us to condemn thee; therefore be it
As thy high crimes deserve—the poison'd bowl
Thy portion;—when arrives the sacred ship
From Delos' hallow'd Isle, that day's they last.
Be on thyself thy blood—dismiss the court.

Scene 4th

Socrates and his friends returning from the trial. Guards attending.
Socrates
Tis then determin'd, and I die, Athenians;
Why then I leave a base ungrateful world,
And hie me to those calm, those blessed regions
Where misery is no more, and all is peace.
Forbear, my friends; these unavailing tears
Betray unmanly weakness; tis beneath
Philosophy, to weep and grieve like women.
Compose your hearts; and bear my loss with firmness,
Like men that have not learn'd in vain my lessons.

Crito
O Socrates, th'injustice of thy country!
That thou so wise, so good, so innocent,
Shou'dst thus be sacrific'd?

Socrates
What means my Crito?
Tis better thus, than die an abject wretch,
Condemn'd by by own heart, my friend's disgrace.
My foes may take my life, but can't deprive me
Of what is more than life and all it's joys,
Unsullied innocence and firm integrity;
They are above their reach, above their malice;
Therefore they hurt not me—Cheer up, my youths—
Come, lead me to the prison—I can die.
The man who walks the path of life sincere,
Nor deviates from the truth, disdains to fear:
Tho' Death each horrid, ghastly form assume,
My hopes are fixed on better world to come:
Long, long ago the arduous task I learn'd
And view his fancied terrors unconcern'd.