University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

Enter Timoleon, and Pollidamus.
Timol.
Throw down your hissing Bolts, ye angry Powers,
Upon my Head, since 'tis your dreadful Will,
Let fall at once, and dash me to the Earth;
For these dire Plagues, these starts of Indignation,
Are more insufferable—

Pollid.
Perfidious Tyrant!
Tyrant's a Name too mild for such Barbarity,
There should be one in Hell new form'd on purpose;
Curse on my credulous and easy Folly!
Are these the Fruits of all his flattering Smiles?
Only to gain a hellish Opportunity
For more and greater Mischiefs, Robbery, Murder?
Oh, horrid! horrid!

Timol.
Murder—Damnation seize him!
That has been ever known his darling Sin,
His dear Twin-Brother, still incorporated
In his curst Infancy, some Woolf was slain,
From whom his bloody Nurse took the warm Gore,
To smear her Breasts, and make him suck in Cruelty,
With his first Nourishment: Must not then, ye Gods,
Blood be for Blood repaid? Oh, Justice! Justice!

Pollid.
The dreadful Insolence too of frighting Ladies,
Wounding and bruizing Children, butchering Servants,
Then basely plundering all, is past Example.

Timol.
Why Lucifer has drawn him to the Lees
Of Wickedness; the Fiend runs low in Villainy:
From the first rank of Crimes, Murder, Oppression,
Rapes, Incest, and unnumber'd Sacrileges,
He now descends in curst Variety,
To the poor, base, Mechanick Vice of Stealing!
The Ruffian's Trade to satisfy his Riot,
When Want has made him desperate.

Enter Gomond.
Pollid.
Now, good Gomond,
What's farther done? The worst we know already.

Gomon.
A little to allay that worst then, hear
Something of Comfort.

Timol.
The Word sounds as strange
As if it were Arabick.—Well, proceed; what Comfort?
Is my Wife past her Fears and laid in Peace;
Or my poor Boy, my sweet young tender Blossom,
Pluckt up by some rude Gripe?—Oh! execrable Dog!
These are his Comforts.

Gomon.
No, brave Soldier,
Fate has not been so cruel, your Wife and Son
Are safe, tho' yet in some Disorder, being retir'd
To Bacchus Temple, with the rest o'th' Ladies,
T'avoid Imprisonment, threatned by the Tyrant;
Whose Guards have made such an unmanly Havock
'Mongst all that did resist, Story can't parallel.

Pollid.
The helpless Women, stript of their very Ornaments,
Carriages robb'd, and all their hoarded Treasure,
Sav'd up for many Years, 'tis said, amounting
T' a Mass of Wealth—

Gomon.
All which that Devil Damocles
Stood by to see dispos'd to the King's Use;
Besides the common Plunder given the Soldiers
For their good Service.

Timol.
Oh, Devil! Devil! these are his Comforts.

Gomon.
No, great Timoleon,
These now shall feast your Ear; this matchless Villainy
Have the Ætolians so possest with Horror,
Rage and Revenge, that throughout all the Country;
Nay, through the utmost Bounds of wide Achaia
They flock in Shoals to Arms, each Hour brings Numbers;
So that with those good Troops already rais'd,
Which are to watch the Sign from Prince Demetrius,
Within the Walls; we shall, e'er Morn, be ready
To form a powerful Siege.

Pollid.
The News was Yesterday,
The Prince to be proscrib'd at three Days end,
Unless he find out Grimoald.

Gomon.
'Tis most true, the Riddle of himself to be that Traytor,
Being yet unknown, tho' it must make Demetrius
Extremely active to divert his Fate;
Which under Covert of a Search for Grimoald,
Still furthers our Affairs.

Pollid.
The new Ætolian Governour's revolted too,
And has to Day dispatch'd a Letter to him,
T'encourage and assist all Enterprizes.

Gomon.
My Lord, I saw it; every thing besides,
Methinks, looks well and lucky, and to lead us
To certain Victory, dear General,
We only want you there.

Timol.
Me! Saidst thou me?
In such a Cause can any one be wanting
That has a Soul, and the least Grain of Honour,
Much less Timoleon? Oh! Gomond, thou hast nam'd
A Word indeed so powerful, that Revenge,
Revenge, with its Associate Victory;
That were I dead, and shrouded up to lie
In mouldring Dissolution, a Clod inanimate,
Like Heavens first Fiat, wou'd anew create me;
Dart thro' the porous Marble where I lay,
Like bright Ætherial Lightning force its way,
And faster raise new Life, than could the old decay.

Pollid.
That was spoke like Timoleon.

Timol.
Time, that giv'st Hero's space for mighty Actions,
And hast, I hope, assign'd me these last Minutes
To crown my Days with Glory; shake my Sands,
Oh! shake 'em slowly, that I may have leisure
To finish this great Deed; then willingly
I fall thy Victim, full of Years and Honour.

Gomon.
Ten thousand Soldiers fight in your Resolves, Sir,
'Mongst which we've some of the old hardy Kind,
That trod your former Marches; Sun-burnt Faces,
With valiant Hearts, and sinewy Arms to follow ye;
That when their still lov'd General gave the Word,
Tho' Fate it self stood to oppose, would conquer.

Timol.
Let us go on; Charge, charge then, I am ready;
Within my Banner, by some curious Hand,
The Figure of Clorona shall be painted,
Dress'd in her Virgin white, an Angel Innocence
Gracing her Look; and in her snowy Bosom
A bloody Dagger, stuck by a black Fury,
Grizly and baleful, representing Damocles,
Wave in the Air to animate our Friends.
Then sound the Trumpet, and begin the Sport.
'Tis done, 'tis done, methinks I see the Action;
The Walls are mounted, and the Breach is made:
Oh! fix me there, thou martial Deity,
That lov'st a Soldier; and this Aristander,
Once more within my reach, if then I lose him
May I be lost with Infamy; not Jove's Bolts,
Nor crooked Fulgor, with its darling Flames,
Should guard him from me; Heaven nor Earth should save him;
Not all the Powers Hell sent him for Supply,
Nor all the Thunder bursting from the Sky.

[Exeunt.