 | Ulysses |  |
1
ACT I.
SCENE I.
SCENE, a Palace.Enter Telemachus and Mentor.
Tel.
O Mentor! Urge no more my Royal Birth,
Urge not the Honours of my Race Divine,
Call not to my Remembrance what I am,
Born of Ulysses, and deriv'd from Jove;
For 'tis the Curse of mighty Minds opprest,
To think what their State is, and what it shou'd be;
Impatient of their Lot they reason fiercely,
And call the Laws of Providence unequal.
Men.
And therefore wert thou bred to virtuous Knowledge,
And Wisdom early planted in thy Soul;
That thou might'st know to rule thy fiery Passions,
To bind their Rage, and stay their headlong Course,
To bear with Accidents, and ev'ry Change
Of various Life, to struggle with Adversity,
To wait the Leisure of the righteous Gods,
'Till they, in their own good appointed Hour,
Shall bid thy better Days come forth at once,
A long and shining Train; 'till thou well pleas'd
Shalt bow, and bless thy Fate, and own the Gods are just.
Tel.
Thou prudent Guide and Father of my Youth,
Forgive my Transports; if I seem to lose
The Rev'rence to thy Sacred Precepts due,
2
Ten Years ran round e'er Troy was doom'd to fall,
Ten tedious Summers and ten Winters more
By turns have chang'd the Seasons since it fell,
And yet we mourn my Godlike Father's Absence,
As if the Græcian Arms had ne'er prevail'd,
But Jove and Hector still maintain'd the War.
Men.
Tho' absent, yet if Oracles are true,
He lives and shall return.—Where'er he wanders,
Pursu'd by hostile Trojan Gods, in Peril
Of the waste Desart or the foamy Deep,
Or Nations wild as both, yet Courage, Wisdom,
And Pallas Guardian of his Arms is with him.
Tel.
And oh! to what does the God's Care reserve him!
Where is the Triumph shall go forth to meet him?
What Pæan shall be sung to bless his Labours?
What Voice of Joy shall cry, Hail King of Ithaca?
Riot, and Wrong, and woful Desolation,
Spread o'er the wretched Land, shall blast his Eyes,
And make him curse the Day of his Return.
Your Guest, the Stranger Æthon.
Enter Æthon.
Tel.
By my Life,
And by the great Ulysses, truly welcome;
Oh thou most worthy Æthon, thou that wert
In Youth Companion of my Father's Arms,
And Partner of his Heart, do's it not grieve Thee
To see the Honour of his Royal Name
Despis'd and set at nought? his State o'er-run,
Devour'd and parcell'd out by Slaves so vile,
That if oppos'd to him 'twou'd make Comparison
Absurd and monstrous seem, as if to mate
A Mole-Hill with Olympus?
Æth.
He was my Friend,
I think I knew him; And to do him right,
He was a Man indeed—Not as these are,
A Rioter, or Doer of foul Wrongs;
But boldly just, and more like what Man shou'd be.
Tel.
From Morn 'till Noon, from Noon 'till the Shades darken,
From Evening 'till the Morning dawns again,
3
Are all the Bus'ness of their guilty Hours;
The Cries of Maids enforc'd, the Roar of Drunkards,
Mixt with the braying of the Minstrels Noise
Who ministers to Mirth, ring thro' the Palace,
And eccho to the Arch of Heav'n their Crimes.
Behold! ye Gods, who judge betwixt your Creatures,
Behold the Rivals of the great Ulysses!
Mem.
Doubt not but all their Crimes, and all thy Wrongs
Are judg'd by Nemesis and equal Jove;
Suffer the Fools to laugh and loll secure,
This is their Day,—But there is one behind
For Vengeance and Ulysses.
Æth.
'Till that Day,
That Day of Recompence and righteous Justice,
Learn thou, my Son, the cruel Arts of Courts;
Learn to dissemble Wrongs, to smile at Injuries,
And suffer Crimes, thou want'st the Power to punish;
Be easie, affable, familiar, friendly,
Search, and know all Mankinds mysterious Ways,
But trust the Secret of thy Soul to none;
Believe me, seventy Years, and all the Sorrows
That seventy Years bring with 'em, thus have taught me,
Thus only, to be safe in such a World as this is.
Enter Antinous.
Ant.
Hail to thee, Prince! thou Son of great Ulysses,
Off-spring of Gods, most worthy of thy Race;
May ev'ry Day like this be happy to thee,
Fruition and Success attend thy Wishes,
And everlasting Glory crown thy Youth.
Tel.
Thou greet'st me like a Friend—Come near Antinous;
May I believe that Omen of my Happiness,
That Joy which dances in thy chearful Eyes?
Or dost thou? for thou know'st my fond fond Heart,
Dost thou betray me to deceitful Hopes,
And sooth me like an Infant, with a Tale
Of some Felicity, some dear Delight,
Which thou didst never purpose to bestow?
Ant.
By Cytherea's Altar and her Doves,
By all the gentle Fires that burn before her,
4
Nay and the truest too, I'll swear I think,
That ever Love and Innocence inspir'd.
Tel.
Ha! from Semanthe?
Ant.
From the fair Semanthe,
The gentle, the forgiving—
Tel.
Soft, my Antinous,
Keep the dear Secret safe; Wisdom and Age
Reason perversely when they judge of Love.
A Bus'ness of a Moment calls me hence,
[To Mentor.
That ended I'll attend the Queen; 'till then,
Mentor! the noble Stranger is thy Care.
—Fly with me to some safe some sacred Privacy,
[To Ant.
There charm my Senses with Semanthe's Accents,
There pour thy Balm into my Love-sick Soul,
And heal my Cares for ever.
[Exeunt Tele. and Ant.
Æth.
This smooth Speaker,
This supple Courtier is in Favour with you.
Markt you the Prince? how at this Man's Approach,
The Fierceness, Rage, and Pride of Youth declin'd;
His changing Visage wore a Form more gentle,
And ev'ry Feature took a softer Turn;
As if his Soul bent on some new Employment,
Of different Purpose from the Thought before,
Had summon'd other Counsels, other Passions,
And drest her in a gay fantastick Garb
Fit for th'Adventure which she meant to prove.
By Jove I lik'd it not—
Men.
The Prince, whose Temper
Is open as the Day, and unsuspecting,
Esteems him as devoted to his Service,
Wise, Brave, and Just: And since his late Return
From Nestor's Court at Pyle, he still has held him
In more especial Nearness to his Heart.
Æth.
'Tis rash, and savours of unwary Youth;
Tell him he trusts too far—If I mistook not,
You said he was a Woer.
Men.
True, he was;
Noble by Birth, and mighty in his Wealth,
Proud of the Patriots Name and Peoples Praise,
5
He won the Herd of Ithacans to think him
Ev'n worthy to supply his Master's Place.
Æth.
Unthinking, changeable, ungrateful Ithaca!
But Mentor! say, the Queen! Cou'd she forget
The Difference 'twixt Ulysses and his Slave?
Did not her Soul resent the Violation,
And spight of all the Wrongs she labour'd under,
Dash his Ambition and presumptuous Love?
Men.
Still Great and Royal in the worst of Fortunes,
With native Pow'r and Majesty array'd,
She aw'd this rash Ixion with her Frown;
Taught him to bend his abject Head to Earth,
And own his humbler Lot—He stood rebuk'd,
And full of guilty Sorrow for the past,
Vow'd to repeat the daring Crime no more,
But with Humility and loyal Service
To purge his Fame, and wash the Stains away.
Æth.
Deceit and Artifice! the Turn's too sudden;
Habitual Evils seldom change so soon,
But many Days must pass, and many Sorrows,
Conscious Remorse and Anguish must be felt,
To curb Desire, to break the stubborn Will,
And work a second Nature in the Soul,
E'er Virtue can resume the Place she lost;
'Tis else Dissimulation.—But no more,
The ruffling Train of Suiters are at hand,
Those mighty Candidates for Love and Empire;
'Tis well the Gods are mild, when these dare hope
To merit their best Gifts by Riot and Injustice.
Enter Polydamas, Agenor, Thoon, Ephialtes and Attendants.
Pol.
Our Souls are out of Tune, we languish all,
Nor does the sweet Returning of the Dawn
Chear with its usual Mirth our drowzy Spirits,
That droop'd beneath the lazy leaden Night.
Agen.
Can we, who swear we love, smile or be gay,
When our fair Queen, the Goddess of our Vows,
She that adorns our Mirth and gilds our Day,
With-holds the Beams that only can revive us?
6
Night must involve the World 'till she appear,
The Flowers in painted Meadows hang their Heads,
The Birds awake not to their Morning Songs,
Nor early Hinds renew their constant Labour;
Ev'n Nature seems to slumber 'till her Call,
Regardless of th'Approach of any other Day.
Eph.
Why is she then with-held, this publick Good?
Why does she give those Hours that should rejoyce us
To Tears, Perverseness, and to sullen Privacy?
While vainly here we waste our lusty Youth,
In Expectation of the uncertain Blessing?
Pol.
For twice two Years, this coy this cruel Beauty
Has mock'd our Hopes, and crost 'em with Delays;
At length the female Artifice is plain,
The Riddle of her mystick Web is known,
Which e'er her second Choice she swore to weave;
While still the secret Malice of the Night
Undid the Labours of the former Day.
Agen.
Hard are the Laws of Love's despotick Rule,
And ev'ry Joy is trebly bought with Pain;
Crown we the Goblet then, and call on Bacchus,
Bacchus the jolly God of laughing Pleasures,
Bid ev'ry Voice of Harmony awake,
Apollo's Lyre, and Hermes tuneful Shell;
Let Wine and Musick joyn to swell the Triumph,
To sooth uneasie Thought, and lull Desire.
Æth.
Is this the Rev'rence due to sacred Beauty,
Or these the Rights the Cyprian Goddess claims?
These rude licentious Orgyes are for Satyrs,
And such the drunken Homage which they pay
To old Silenus nodding on his Ass.
But be it as it may; it speaks you well.
Eph.
What says the Slave?
Tho.
Oh! 'tis the Snarler, Æthon,
A priviledg'd Talker—Give him leave to rail;
Or send for Irus forth, his fellow Drole,
And let 'em play a Match of Mirth before us,
And Laughter be the Prize to crown the Victor.
Æth.
And dost thou answer to Reproof with Laughter?
But do so still, and be what thou wert born;
7
Oh Folly! What an Empire hast thou here!
What Temples shall be rais'd to thee! What Crowds
Of slav'ring, hooting, senseless, shameful Ideots
Shall worship at thy ignominious Altars,
While Princes are thy Priests!
Pol.
Why shou'dst thou think,
O'erweening, Insolent, Unmanner'd Slave,
That Wisdom does forsake the Wealth, the Honours,
And full Prosperity of Princes Courts,
To dwell with Rags and Wretchedness like thine?
Why do'st thou call him Fool?
Æth.
Speech is most free,
It is Jove's Gift to all Mankind in common.
Why do'st thou call me poor, and think me wretched?
Pol.
Because thou art so.
Æth.
Answer to thy self,
And let it serve for thee and for thy Friend.
Agen.
He talks like Oracles, obscure and short.
Æth.
I wou'd be understood, but Apprehension
Is not thy Talent—Midnight Surfeits, Wine,
And painful undigested Morning Fumes,
Have marr'd thy Understanding.
Eph
Hence, thou Miscreant!
My Lords, this Railer is not to be born.
Æth.
And wherefore art thou born, thou publick Grievance,
Thou Tyrant, born to be a Nation's Punishment;
To scourge thy guilty Subjects for their Crimes,
And prove Heaven's sharpest Vengeance?
Eph.
Spurn him hence,
And tear the rude unhallow'd Railer's Tongue
Forth from his Throat.
Æth.
If brutal Violence
And Lust of foul Revenge shou'd urge thee on,
Spight of the Queen and Hospitable Jove,
T'oppress a Stranger single and unarm'd,
Yet mark me well, I was not born thy Vassal;
And wert thou ten times greater than thou art,
And ten times more a King, thus wou'd I meet thee,
Thus naked as I am I wou'd oppose thee,
8
E'er thou shoud'st do me Wrong, and go unpunish'd.
Eph.
Ha! do'st thou brave me, Dog?
[Coming up to Æthon.
Tho.
Avant!
Pol.
Begon!
Enter Eurymachus.
Eur.
What Daughter of old Chaos and the Night,
What Fury loiters yet behind the Shades,
To vex the peaceful Morn with Rage and Uproar!
Each frowning Visage doubly dy'd with Wrath,
Your Voices in tumultuous Clamours rais'd,
Venting Reproach, and stirring strong Contention,
Say you have been at Variance—Speak, ye Princes,
Whence grew th'Occasion?
Æth.
King of Samos, hear me.
To thee, as to a King, worthy the Name,
The Majesty and Right Divine of Pow'r,
Boldly I dare appeal—This King of Seriphos,
[Pointing to Ephialtes.
This Island Lord, this Monarch of a Rock,
He and his fellow Princes there, yon' Band
Of eating, drinking Lovers, have in Scorn
Of the Gods Laws, and Strangers Sacred Privilege,
Offer'd me foul Offence and most unmanly Injuries.
Eur.
Away! It is too much—You wrong your Honours,
[To the Woers.
And stain the Lustre of your Royal Names,
To brawl and wrangle with a Thing beneath you;
Are we not Chief on Earth, and plac'd aloft?
And when we poorly stoop to mean Revenge,
We stand debas'd, and level with the Slave
Who fondly dares us with his vain Defiance.
Eph.
Henceforward let the ribald Railer learn
To curb the lawless Licence of his Speech,
Let him be dumb, we wo'not brook his Prating.
Eur.
Go to! You are too bitter—But no more;
[To Æth.
Let ev'ry jarring Sound of Discord cease,
Tune all your Thoughts and Words to Beauty's Praise,
To Beauty, that with sweet and pleasant Influence
Breaks Life the Day-star from the chearful East.
9
Fresh as the Spring, and fragrant as its Flowers,
Your Queen appears, your Goddess, your Penelope.
Enter the Queen, with Ladies and other Attendants.
Diana thus on Cynthus shady Top,
Or by Eurota's Stream leads to the Chace
Her Virgin Train, a Thousand lovely Nymphs
Of Form Celestial all, Troop by her Side,
Amidst a Thousand Nymphs the Goddess stands confest,
In Beauty, Majesty, and Port Divine,
Supream and Eminent.
Qu.
If these sweet Sounds,
This humble fawning Phrase, this faithless Flattery,
If these known Arts cou'd heal my wounded Soul,
Cou'd recompence the Sorrows of my Days,
Or sooth the Sighings of my lonely Nights;
Well might you hope to woe me to your Wishes,
And win my Heart with your fond Tales of Love;
But since whate'er I've suffer'd for my Lord,
From Troy, the Winds and Seas, the Gods and you,
Is deeply writ within my sad Remembrance,
Know, Princes, all your Eloquence is vain.
Agen.
If those bright Eyes that waste their Lights with Weeping
Wou'd kindly shine upon Agenor's Hopes,
Behold he offers to his charming Queen
His Crown, his Life, his ever faithful Vows,
What Joys soe'er, or Love or Empire yield,
To bless her future Days, and make 'em happy all.
Pol.
Accept my Crown, and Reign with me in Delos.
Tho.
Mine, and the Homage of my People wait you.
Eph.
I cannot Court you with a silken Tale,
With easie ambling Speeches, fram'd on Purpose,
Made to be spoke in Tune—But be my Queen,
And leave my plain spoke Love to prove its Merit.
Qu.
And am I yet to learn your Love, your Faith?
Are not my Wrongs gone up to Heav'n against you?
Do they not stand before the Throne of Jove;
And call Incessant on his tardy Vengeance?
What Sun has shon that has not seen your Insolence,
Your wasteful Riot, and your impious Mirth,
10
Of my Son's Youth, and of my Woman's Weakness?
Ev'n in my Palace, here, my latest Refuge,
(For you are Lords of all besides in Ithaca,)
With Ruffian Violence and murd'rous Rage
You menace the defenceless and the Stranger,
And from th'unhospitable Dwelling drive
Safety and friendly Peace.
Æth.
For me it matters not;
Wrong is the Portion still of feeble Age,
My toilsom Length of Days full oft has taught me
What 'tis to struggle with the Proud and Powerful;
But 'tis for thy unhappy Fate, fair Queen,
'Tis to behold thy Beauty and thy Virtue,
Transcendent both, worthy the Gods who gave 'em,
And worthy of their Care, to see 'em left,
Abandon'd and forsaken to rude Outrage,
And made a Prize for Drunkards; 'tis for this
My Soul takes Fire within, and vainly urges
My cold enervate Hand t'assert thy Cause.
Qu.
Alas! they scorn the Weakness of thy Age,
As of my Sex—But mark me well, ye Princes!
Whoe'er amongst you dares to lift his Hand
Against the hoary Head of this old Man,
This good old Man, this Friend of my Ulysses,
Him will I hold my worst my deadliest Foe,
Him shall my Curses and Revenge pursue,
And mark him from the rest with most distinguish'd Hatred.
Eph.
That you are weak, defenceless and opprest,
Impute not to the Gods, they have befriended you,
With lavish Hands they spread their Gifts before you;
What Pride, Revenge, what wanton Love of Change,
Or Woman's Wish can ask, behold, we offer you.
Curse the Perverseness of your stubborn Will then,
That has delay'd your Choice, and in that Choice your Happiness.
Qu.
And must I hear this still, and still endure it!
Oh Rage! Dishonour! wretched, helpless Queen!
Return, return my Hero, my Ulysses.
Bring him again, you cruel Seas and Winds,
Troy and Adult'rous Paris are no more,
11
T'avenge himself and me upon these Tyrants,
And do a second Justice here at home.
Eur.
Amongst the mighty Manes of the Greeks
Great Names, and fam'd for highest Deeds in War,
His honour'd Shade rests from the Toils of Life
In everlasting Indolence and Ease,
Careless of all your Pray'rs and vain Complainings,
Which the Winds bear away, and scatter in their Wantonness.
Turn those bright Eyes then, from Despair and Death,
And fix your better Hopes among the Living,
Fix 'em on One, who dares, who can Defend you,
One worthy of your Choice.
Qu.
If my free Soul
Must stoop to this unequal hard Condition,
If I must make this second hated Choice,
Yet by Connubial Juno here I swear,
None shall succeed my Lord, but that brave Man
That dares avenge me well upon the rest.
Then let whoever dares to Love be bold,
Be, like my former Hero, made for War,
Able to bend the Bow, and toss the Spear;
For ev'ry Wrong his injur'd Queen has found,
Let him revenge and pay it with a Wound;
Fierce from the Slaughter let the Victor come,
And tell me that my Foes have met their Doom;
Then plight his Faith upon his bloody Sword,
And be what my Ulysses was, my best my dearest Lord.
[Exeunt Queen, Mentor and Attendants. Eur. Eph. Agen. Thoon. and Poly. following. Manet Æthon.
Æth.
O matchless Proof of Faith and Love unchang'd!
Left in the Pride, the wishing Warmth of Youth,
For ten long Years, and ten long Years to that,
And yet so true! Beset with strong Allurements,
With Youth, proud Pomp, and soft bewitching Pleasure,
'Tis wonderful! and Wives in later Times
Shall think it all the Forgery of Wit,
A Fable curiously contriv'd t'upbraid
Their fickle easie Faith, and mock them for their Lightness.
But see! the Samian King returns
12
Eur.
I sought you
Amidst the Croud of Princes, who attend
The Queen to Juno's Temple.
Æth.
When I worship,
And bow my self before the awful Gods,
I mingle not with those who scorn their Laws,
With raging, brutal, loose, voluptuous Crouds,
Who take the Gods for Gluttons like themselves.
Eur.
This fullen Garb, this moody Discontent,
Sits on thee well, and I applaud thy Anger;
Thy just Disdain of this licentious Rout:
Yet all are not like these; nor ought thy Quarrel
Be carry'd on to all Mankind in common.
Æth.
Perhaps the untaught Plainness of my Words,
May make you think my Manners rude and savage:
But know my Country is the Land of Liberty;
Phæacia's happy Isle, that gave me Birth,
Forbids not any to speak plain and truly;
Sincere and open are we, roughly Honest,
Upright in Deed, tho' simple in our Speech,
As meaning not to Flatter, or Offend;
The Use of Words we have, but not the Art,
And ev'n as Nature dictates so we speak.
Eur.
Now by great Juno, Guardian of our Samos,
In strong Description hast thou well exprest,
That manly Virtue I wou'd make a Friend of.
Nor thou, brave Æthon, shalt disdain our Amity,
Our proffer'd Love; for know that Kings, like Gods,
With all Things good adorn their own Creation,
And where their Favour fixes, there is Happiness.
Æth.
Yes, Sir, you are a King, a great one too,
My humbler Birth has cast me far beneath you,
And made me for the proffer'd Grace unfit;
Friendship delights in equal Fellowship,
Where Parity of Rank and mutual Offices
Engage both Sides alike, and keep the Balance ev'n.
'Tis irksome to a gen'rous grateful Soul,
To be opprest beneath a Load of Favours,
Still to receive, and run in Debt to Friendship,
13
Eur.
I know thee grateful; just and gen'rous Minds
Are always so, nor is thy Pow'r so scanty
But that it may vye with a King's Munificence,
May make me large Amends for all my Bounty,
May bless me with a Benefit I want,
And give me that which my Soul most desires;
The Queen.—
Æth.
How Sir, the Queen!
Eur.
The Beauteous Queen,
That Summer-Sun in full Meridian Glory,
Brighter than the faint Promise of the Spring,
With Blessings ripen'd to the Gatherer's Hand,
Mature for Joy, and in Perfection lovely;
Ev'n she!
The Pride of Greece, the Wish of youthful Princes,
Severe, and Cold, and Rigid, as she is,
Looks gently on thee Æthon, she beholds thee
With kind Regard, and listens to thy Counsels.
Æth.
Be still, thou beating Heart! [Aside.]
Well Sir, go on.
Eur.
No more, there needs no more, thy piercing Wit,
I read it in thy Eyes, hath found my Purpose.
Be favourable then, be friendly to me;
Nay I'll conjure thee, by my Hopes, by thine,
Whither they follow Wealth, or Power, or Fame,
Or what Desires soe'er warm thy Old Breast,
Counsel me, aid me, teach me, be my Friend.
Æth.
Suppose me such, what shou'd my Friendship profit you?
Eur.
Oh by Ten Thousand Ways! has not that Age
That turn'd thy rev'rend Locks to Silver White,
Has it not giv'n thee Skill in Womankind,
Sagacious Wisdom to explore their Subtleties,
Their coy Aversions, and their eager Appetites,
Their false Denials, and their secret Yieldings?
Yet more, thy Friendship with her former Lord,
Gives thee a Right to speak, and be believ'd.
Æth.
Then you wou'd have me woe her for you, win her;
This Queen, this Wife of him that was my Friend?
Eur.
Thou speak'st me well, of him that was thy Friend:
His Death has broke those Bonds of Love and Friendship,
14
Both in her Heart, and thine.
Æth.
Excuse me, Sir,
Nor think I meant to question your high Worth,
I am but ill at Praising, or my Tongue
Had spoke the great Things that my Heart thinks of you.
Suppose me wholly yours—Yet do you hold
This Sov'raign Beauty made of such light Stuff,
So like the common Changelings of her Sex,
That he that flatter'd, sigh'd, and spoke her fair,
Cou'd win her from her stubborn Resolution
And chast Reserv'dness, with his sweet Persuasion?
Eur.
No, were she form'd like them, she were a Conquest
Beneath a Monarch's Love, or Æthon's Wit.
Not but I think, she has her warmer Wishes,
'Twere monstrous else, and Nature had deny'd
Her choicest Blessing to her fairest Creature;
Her soft Desires, that steal abroad unseen,
Like Silver Cynthia sliding from her Orb,
At dead of Night to young Endimion's Arms.
Æth.
How think you so!—But so 'tis true it may be,
The best of all the Sex is but a Woman,
And why shou'd Nature break her Rule for One?
To make One true, when all the rest are false?
To find those Wishes then, those fond Desires,
To trace the fulsome Haunts of wanton Appetite,
She must be try'd.
Eur.
That to thy Care, my Æthon,
Thy Wit and watchful Friendship I commend.
Æth.
Yes Sir, be certain on't, she shall be try'd;
Thro' all the winding Mazes of her Thoughts,
Thro' all her Joys, her Sorrows and her Fears,
Thro' all her Truth and Falshood I'll pursue her.
She shall be subtler than Deceit it self,
And prosperously Wicked, if she 'scape me.
Eur.
Thou art my Genius, and my happier Hours
Depend upon thy Providence and Rule.
This Day, at her Return from Juno's Altar,
I have obtain'd an Hour of private Conference.
15
What, Private, said you! 'Twas a Mark of Favour,
Distinguishingly kind.
Eur.
Somewhat I urg'd
That much concern'd her Honour, and her Safety,
Nay ev'n the Life of her belov'd Telemachus,
Which to her Ear alone I wou'd disclose:
Thou shalt be present—How I mean to prove her,
Which Way to shake the Temper of her Soul,
And where thy Aid may stand me most in Stead,
I will instruct thee as we pass along.
Æth.
I wait you, Sir.
Eur.
Nor doubt of the Success,
This stubborn Beauty shall be taught Compliance.
Fair Daughter of the Ocean, smiling Venus,
Thou Joy of Gods and Men, assist my Purpose;
Thy Cyprus and Cythera leave a while,
Thy Paphian Groves, and sweet Idalian Hill,
To fix thy Empire in this rugged Isle;
Bring all thy Fires from ev'ry Lover there,
To warm this coy, this cruel frozen Fair,
Let her no more from Nature's Laws be free,
But learn Obedience to thy great Decree,
Since Gods themselves submit to Fate, and Thee.
[Exeunt.
End of the First Act.
| Ulysses | |