University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE V.

Enter Atreus and Thyestes. A Table and Banquet.
SCENE the Court.
Atr.
Come Brother sit.

Thy.
May not Philistenes
Sit with us, Sir?

Atr.
He waits upon the Bride.
The Queen, the Bride, and Ladies are all sat;
They are before-hand with us, let us haste
To overtake 'em.

[Atr. and Thy. sit.
Thy.
Let us bless the Feast
With the Brides health—Sir, to the fair Brides health.

[Both drink.
Atr.
My most dear Brother, I will do you right.

Musique.
Atr.
A deeper bowl; this to the Bridegrooms health.

Thy.
This to the Gods for this most joyful day,
[Thy. pours some wine on the ground, both drink.
Now to the Bridegrooms health.

Atr.
This day shall be
To Argos an Eternal Festival.

Thy.
Fortune and I to day try both our strengths,
I have quite tyr'd her left-hand misery,
She now relieves it with her right-hand joy,
Which she lays on me with her utmost force;
But both shall be too weak for my strong Spirit.

Atr.
So! now my Engines of delight have scru'd
Aside.
The Monster to the top of Arrogance,
And now he's ready for his deadly fall.

Thy.
Oh! these extreams of misery and joy,
Measure the vast extent of a mans Soul,
My Spirit reaches Fortunes East and West.
She has oft set and risen here, yet cannot get
Out of the vast Dominion of my mind.
Ha! my proud vaunting has a sudden check;
See! from my Head my Crown of Roses falls.
My Hair, though almost drown'd beneath sweet Oyls
With strange and sudden horrours starts upright.
Something, I know not what, bids me not eat;
And what I have devour'd, within me groans,
I fain wou'd tear my breast to set it free.
And I have catch'd the eager thirst of tears,
Which all weak Spirits have in misery;
I who in banishment ne're wept, weep now.

Atr.
Brother regard it not, 'tis fancy all.
Misery like night is haunted with ill Spirits,
And Spirits leave not easily then haunts,
'Tis said, sometimes they'l impudently stand
A flight of beams from the forlorn of day,
And scorn the Crowing of the Sprightly Cocks:
Brother 'tis morning with our pleasure yet,
Nor has the sprightly Wine Crow'd oft enough;
See in great Flaggons at full length it sleeps,
And lets these melancholly thoughts break in
Upon our weaker pleasures, rouze the Wine,
And bid him chase these fancies hence for shame,
Fill up that reverend unvanquish'd bow,
Who many a Gyant in his time has fallen,
And many a Monster, Hercules not more.

Thy.
If he descends into my groaning breast,
Like Hercules, he will descend to Hell.

Atr.
And he will vanquish all the Monsters there.
Brother, your courage with this Hero try;
He o're our house has reign'd two hundred years,
And he's the only King shall rule you here.

Thy.
What ails me? I cannot heave it to my Lips.

Atr.
What, is the bowl too heavy?

Thy.
No, my heart.

Atr.
The Wine will lighten it.

Thy.
The Wine will not
Come near my Lips.

Atr.
Why shou'd they be so strange?
They'r near a kinne.

Thy.
A kinne?

Atr.
As possible, Father and Son not nearer?

Thy.
What do you mean?

Atr.
Does not good Wine beget good blood?

Thy.
'Tis true.

Atr.
Your Lips then and the Wine may be a kin.
Off with your kindred Wine, leave not a drop
To dye alone, bewildred in that bowle.
Help him to heave it to his Head, that's well.

Thyestes drinks; a clap of Thunder, the Table oversets, and falls in pieces; all the lights go out.
Thy.
What ponderous Crimes pull Heaven on our Heads?
Nature is choak'd with some vast Villany,
And all her Face is black.

Atr.
Some lights, some lights.

Thy.
The Sky is stun'd, and reels 'tween Night and Day;
Old Chaos is return'd.

Atr.
It is to see
A young one born, more dreadful than her self,
That promises great comfort to her age,
And to restore her Empire.

Thy.
What do you mean?

Atr.
Confusion I have in thy bowels made.

Thy.
Dire thoughts, like Furies, break into my mind
With flaming brands, and shew me what he means.
Where is Philisthenes?

Atr.
Ask thy own bowels:
Thou heardst 'em groan, perhaps they now will speak.

Thy.
Thou hast not Tyrant—what?—I dare not ask—

Atr.
I kill'd thy Son, and thou hast drunk his blood.

Thy.
Oh! Villany so vast it broke the Poles;
And through the spacious flaw, Hell rush'd on Earth.

Atr.
Thy groaning bowels call'd up Hell to Earth;
Wild beasts will follow one anothers howles.

Thy.
Hell came to have an interview with thee,
The greater Monster; one whose Villany
Has scar'd away the Sun; he wou'd depose
Himself, e're lend thy wickedness his light.

Atr.
E're lend my Justice,—but he cou'd lend all
His wealth to help thee to corrupt my Wife;
That he and all the Gods may flye for shame;
They all combin'd to that; Gods step'd the Mouth
Of blabbing Thunder, lest it spoyl'd the sport,
Nature cou'd see that sight, and not be sick,
Nor in disorder rowl, as she does now.

Thy.
I must confess, thy impious self, or I
Wou'd make Hell strain to outdo us in sin;
But of the three thou art the overmatch,
For Hell has bounds, thy wickedness has none.

Atr.
My just rewards of wickedness have none.

Thy.
Oh! Gods! If I deserve this punishment,
Revenge the Heavens plunder'd of their light:
Compose of lightning a false dreadful day,
And take no aim, but dart it at us both;
Hit one of us, and tis no matter which,
You strike the wickedst man that lives on Earth.
You will be merciful in burning me,
Make me become my dear Son's Funeral pile.
All Gods have left us but the Powers of Hell,
Those only are fit to bear us Company;
And with a Sword I fear to end my grief,
Lest I in my own bosom stab my Son.

Atr.
I never had thee in my power till now;
I had thy Fortune, Children, and thy Life;
But now these tears confess I have thy Soul,
And now I'm well rewarded for my pains.

Thy.
If now I shou'd not grieve, I were no man;
But a more horrid Monster than thy self.
What was my poor Sons fault?

Atr.
That he was thine.

Thy.
And being mine, wou'dst thou give me, give me
His blood to drink?

Atr.
Who injur'd me but thee?

Thy.
Bear witness Gods! he owns the innocence
Of this poor Youth, whose bloud he made me drink?

Atr.
What Gods? the Guardians of Nuptial Beds?

Thy.
Must sin with sin be punish'd?

Atr.
No, that sin
Becomes a Vertue, that chastises sin.

Thy.
Oh! my poor Son!

Atr.
All these are tears of rage,
'Cause I'm aforehand with thee in this sin.
Thou with my Children wou'dst have treated me,
But that thou wert afraid they were thy own
Incestuous Bastards all.

Thy.
I've done with thee,
And leave thee to the Gods for punishment.

Atr.
But I've not done with thee; for though thy eyes
Please me with weeping, so they shall not scape.
The sight of the remainders of thy Son,
And of her death thou lov'st above thy Son,
Shall tear 'em out, and then the work's compleat.
Open the Temple Gates, and call the Queen.
You mingled Lusts, now you shall mingle pains,
And through your Eyes, the passage of your Lusts.
Here shew the Father the Sons torn remains.

[The Temple is open, Philisthenes lyes bloudy.
Thy.
Oh! my Philisthenes! my mangled Son!
Had ever Hell such cruelty as this?

Atr.
Nor man such Treason and such lust as thine,
Nor injur'd Monarch such revenge as I.
Thy former Villany, and present Tears,
I'le cast in Brass, and in Effigie
I'le drag thee round all ages of the world.

Enter Antigone in a raving posture, Women offer to hold her.
Ant.
Stand off, I am not mad, but I shall be,
If this be true; it never can be true.
Oh! Sir, I've heard—

Atr.
What have you heard?

Ant.
Oh! Gods!
Oh! horrour!—

Atr.
What's the matter with you?—speak!
What have you heard?

Ant.
You have kill'd Philisthenes.

Atr.
There was no secret love between you? ha?
Confess it, was there? have you been so false?

Ant.
Oh! Sir, you fill my heart with dreadful fears:
The news is true—

Atr.
What's true?—

Ant.
That you have kill'd—

Atr.
That you have lov'd my Enemy?—is that true?—

Ant.
He is not, never was your Enemy.

Atr.
But did you love him?

Ant.
Yes above my Soul.
We both lov'd long, above expression lov'd,
Unknown to any but our faithful selves.

Atr.
Hast thou abus'd me so? why then let that
Which has thy Lover take thy Soul.

Ant.
What's that?

Atr.
What shou'd have damn'd Thyestes Son, but Hell?
If thou wilt take Hells leavings there thou mayst.

Atr. points to Phi. Ant. runs to him and falls at his feet in a Swoun.
Ant.
Oh! my Philisthenes! my murder'd Love?

Atr.
And, oh! my murder'd hopes! I thought this Maid
Had Vertues wou'd support our falling House;
I thought o' her side I was thunder proof,
And she's as false as any of our Race,
A Traytress to her Father and her King.

Thy.
Now 'tis my turn, fell Tyrant to insult,
Thou hast devour'd thy own beloved Child
As well as I, the Gods have given my heart
This Cordial of Revenge before I dye.

Atr.
She's none of mine.

Thy.
May they be curst that wake thee from this Dream,
Till thou hast shed thy Daughters innocent blood.

Ant.
Oh! horrour! horrour! my Philisthenes
All mangled, torn, and gory!—horrour—oh!

Atr.
How durst thou, Traytress, love my Enemy.

Ant.
He had more worth than all our Race besides,
None of our Race did e're deserve to live,
But this sweet Youth, and me for loving him.

Atr.
How dar'st thou talk thus? Fond Idolatrous Fool!

Ant.
After this murder, what have I to fear?
Nothing but Life, and keeping of my Wits.
Oh! with these words you have more cut my heart,
Than had you pierc'd it with a thousand Swords;
For now I find 'twas I shed all this blood.
Oh! Gods! oh Father! oh Philisthenes,
What have I spyed? The Knife that kill'd my Love?
Oh! you good Gods!
[Aside.
I thought a Priest shou'd once have joyn'd our hands;
But now this Knife shall mingle our hearts blood.

Atr.
What art thou doing there? thy looks are wild,
I like 'em not—to thy Apartment—go,
I can repair thy loss, but the whole world
Can never repair mine, shou'd I lose thee.

Ant.
I have so wounded my obedience,
By loving that dear Youth without your leave,
That 'tis too weak to hold my mighty grief,
Which forces me to dye without your leave.
Besides, Sir, all the Gods have call'd me hence,
And sent their pleasure by this Instrument.
[Stabs herself.
I come Philisthenes—

Atr.
Oh! hold her hand—
Too late, too late,
The Fatal blow is given;
Where had she that accursed Instrument?
She's past recovery! oh! my dear Child.

Thy.
Oh! you just Gods!—

Atr.
Incestuous Traytor peace,
Thy Villany did help to murder her,
Thy guilt is greater, and I'm more enrag'd.

Thy.
I scorn thy rage, for what have I to fear?

Atr.
Look here, and think what thou hast not to fear.

[Pointing to Ant.
Thy.
Ay, but look there, and what have I to fear?

[Pointing to Phi.
Atr.
An age of lingring torments.

Thy.
That I bear
In this one minutes sight of that poor Youth.

Atr.
Then I will add.

Thy.
New will refresh with change.

Enter Ærope, between her two Children Agamemnon and Menelaus.
Æro.
What is the matter both with Heaven and Earth?
For every Face below is white as Death,
And Heavens Face above is black as Hell.
Sir, you was pleas'd to send for me they say?

Atr.
I did.

Æro.
But I had come if you had not.
I was with my two little pretty Sons,
My Agamemnon, and my Menelaus,
When of the sudden, with a thousand groans,
The Air brought forth a monstrous Shade, as black
As Hell had vomited a Lake of Pitch.

Atr.
Thy sins were then in labour, and brought forth
This bloody Vengeance.

Æro.
Oh! most dreadful sight!

Atr.
The worst I ever saw, except thy self.

Æro.
My Child is murder'd!

Atr.
By thy own lust.

Æro.
No, by thy Perjury, inhumane Prince.

Atr.
How durst thou name, or think of Perjury.

Æro.
That Villain clear'd the innocence he wrong'd.

Atr.
I never will believe either him or thee.

Æro.
This bloody spectacle says that too loud.
I see a Dagger in my poor Childs hand.
I thank thee Daughter for this Legacy.
Now hear me Gods, for hear me well you may;
Born high on Innocence, I reach your Throne,
If e're in thought I yielded to that sin,
For which I suffer so much misery;
Kindle a Hell o' purpose for my Soul:
But if I undeserv'd have born all this,
Then build a Heaven fit for my reward,
And I will lay the first Foundation Stone.
Thus, thus, thus;
[She stabs Thy.
Nay Villain I will lay you firm.
[Stabs Thy. several times.
This for the loss of my dear Husband's Love:
This for the loss of my dear Daughters Life:
This for the ruin of my honest Name:
This for my Life I am about to lose.
Now I have done my self this little right,
I can with comfort dye!—oh! Sir, farewell;
[To Atr.
You loose a faithful Wife, what e're you think,
Made by great wrongs unfit for your embrace
But most deserving your kind memory.

Atr.
Oh! Sir! come here and see your workmanship.

Pen.
Oh! my deluded miserable age!
Have I toyl'd fourscore years for Innocence,
And am I made a murderer at last?

Atr.
Hence Hypocrite! thou never hadst conceal'd
My lewd and Trait'rous Brother in thy House,
So nurtur'd all his horrid sins, when born,
But that thou wert a bawd to 'em before.

Pen.
An ex'lent thing it is to serve your house.
For Charity to him I'm call'd a bawd;
For serving you I'm made a Murderer.

Atr.
For serving my revenge I give thee Life;
But for concealing him, thy feeble Life
I cumber with the load of all this blood.

Pen.
The scarlet Livery of your Family;
I wear your badge; Furies will know me now,
They are the Stewards of your Family,
They'l pay me all the wages I deserve.

Atr.
Go, for thy wages then—to Hell—begone—
Begone I say, and see my Face no more.

Pen.
Wou'd I had never seen the face of you,
Or any of your impious Family.
[Ex. Pen.

Atr.
Thrust the old Traytour out, away with him.
I do no more by him, then Gods by me;
For I am driven by them from plague to plague.
Man is a vagabond both poor and proud,
He treads on beasts who give him Cloaths and Food.
But the Gods catch him wheresoe're he lurks,
Whip him, and set him to all painful works.
And yet he brags he shall be crown'd when dead,
Were ever Princes in a Bridewell bred?
Nothing is sinfully begot but he;
Can baseborn Bastards lawful Soveraigns be?
That Tyrant then does best, who uses worst,
A mutinous Impostour, so accurst:
I'le breed with care these Boys for mischiefs born,
That men may feel new Rods when th'old is worn.

[Ex.