University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Enter Antinous, Cleon and Arcas.
Ant.
'Tis thus, my Fellow-Citizens and Friends,
'Tis thus unhappy Ithaca must groan
Beneath the Bondage of a Foreign Lord;
A needy upstart Race of hungry Strangers
Shall swarm upon the Land, eat its Increase,
Devour the Labours of the toiling Hind,
And gather all the Wealth and Honours of our Isle.

Cle.
The silken Minions of the Samian Court,
To Lord it o'er the Province shall be sent,
To rule the State, to be the Chiefs in War,
And lead our hardy Ithacans to Battel.
Freedom and Right shall cease; our Corn, Wine, Oyl,
The Fatness of the Year, shall all be theirs;
Our modest Matrons, and our Virgin Daughters,
Ev'n all we hold most dear, shall be the Spoil,
The Prey of our imperious haughty Masters.

Arc.
Would I coud say I did not fear these Evils.

Ant.
Oh honest Arcas, 'tis too plain a Danger.
The Queen, requir'd by publick Voice to Wed,
To end at once the Hopes and riotous Concourse
Of princely Guests, contending for her Love,
O'er-passing all the noblest of our Isle,
Inclines to fix her Choice on Proud Eurymachus.

Cle.
Why rides the Samian Fleet within our Harbour,
But to support their Tyrant's Title here?
With Causes feign'd they linger long, pretending
Rude Winter Seas, with Omens that forbid
The frighted Mariner to leave the Shoar;
While Neptune smooths his Waters for their Passage,
And gently whistling Winds invite their Sails,
As if they wish'd to waft them back to Samos.

Arc.
Ulysses is no more; the partial Gods,
Who favour'd Priam and his hapless Race,
Have pour'd their Wrath on his devoted Head,
And now in some far distant Realm, expos'd
To glut the Vulture's and the Lyon's Maw,
Or in the Oozy Bottom of the Deep,
Full many a Fathom down, the Hero lyes,
And never shall return—What then remains?
But that our Country fly to thee for Succour,
[To Antinous.
To thee, the noblest of the Lords of Ithaca,
And since, so Fate ordains, our Queen must Wed,
Be thou her second Choice, be thou our Ruler,
And save our Nation from a foreign Yoke.

Ant.
You are my Friends, and over-rate my Worth,
But Witness for me, for you still have known me,
When e'er my Country's Service calls me on,
No Enterprize so doubtful, or so dangerous,
But I will boldy prove it, to preserve thee,
Oh Ithaca, from Bondage.

Cle.
Wherefore urge you not
Your Suit among the rest?

Ant.
The cruel Queen
Rejects my humble Vows with angry Scorn;
And when I once presum'd to speak my Passion,
She call'd it Insolence—Since then I've strove
To hide th'unlucky Folly, from all Eyes
But yours, my Friends, who view my naked Soul.

Arc.
Avow your Flame in publick, tell the World
Antinous is worthy of a Queen;
So many valiant Hands shall own your Cause,
So shall the Voice in Ithaca be for you,
The Queen shall own your Love has made her great,
And giv'n her back an Empire she had lost.

Ant.
Think not I dream the Hours of Life away,
Supine, and negligent of Love and Glory;
No, Arcas, no, my Active Mind is busie,
And still has labour'd with a vast Design;
E'er long the beauteous Birth will be disclos'd,
Then shall your Pow'rs come forth, your Swords and Counsels,
And manifest the Love you bear Antinous;
'Till then be still—To favour my Design,
With low Submissions, with obsequious Duty,
And Vows of Friendship fit to flatter Boys with,
I've wound my self into the Prince's Heart.

Cle.
'Tis said, the Love-sick Youth dotes ev'n to Death
Upon the Samian Princess, fair Semanthe.

Ant.
Let it go on—'tis a convenient Dotage,
And sutes my Purpose well—The Youth by Nature
Is active, fiery, bold, and great of Soul;
Love is the Bane of all these Noble Qualities,
The sickly Fit, that palls Ambition's Appetite;
And therefore have I nurs'd the fond Disease,
Inspiring lazy Wishes, Sighs, and Languishings,
Unactive dreaming Sloth, and womanish Softness,
To freeze his Veins, and quench his manly Fires.
The froward God of Love, to boast his Pow'r,
Has bred of late some little Jars between 'em;
But 'twas my Care to reconcile their Follies,
And if my Augury deceives me not,
This Day a Priest in private makes 'em one,
Unknown or to the Queen, or to Eurymachus.
But see!—They come—retire.—
Enter Telemachus and Semanthe.
Do, Sigh, and Smile,
And print thy Lips upon the soft white Hand;
Scepters and Crowns are Trifles none regard,
That can be blest with such a Joy as this is.

[Exeunt Ant. Cle. and Arc.
Tel.
Yes, my Semanthe, still I will complain,
Still I will murmur at thee, cruel Maid,
For all that Pain thou gav'st my Heart but now.
What God, averse to Innocence and Love,
Cou'd shake thy gentle Soul with such a Storm?
Just at that happy Moment, when the Priest
Had join'd our Hands, thou start'st as Death had struck thee,
And sighing cry'dst, Ah! no!—it is impossible!

Sem.
And yet, oh my lov'd Lord, yet I am yours,
This Hand has giv'n me to you, and this Heart,
This Heart that akes with Tenderness, confirm'd it.

Tel.
And yet thou art not mine;—else why this Sorrow?
Why art thou wet with Weeping, as the Earth,
When vernal Jove descends in gentle Show'rs,
To cause Increase, and bless the infant Year,
When ev'ry spiry Grass, and painted Flow'r,
Is hung with pearly Drops of Heav'nly Rain?

Sem.
Ye Woods and Plains, and all ye Virgin Dryads,
Happy Companions of those Woods and Plains,
Why was I forc'd to leave your chearful Fellowship,
To come and lose my Peace of Mind at Ithaca?
And oh Semanthe, wherefore didst thou listen
To that dear Voice? why didst thou break thy Vow;
Made to the Huntress Cynthia and her Train?
Ah! say, fond Maid, say wherefore didst thou love?

Tel.
Alas! my gentle Love, how have I wrong'd thee?
By what unwilling Crime have I offended?
That thus with streaming Eyes thou should'st complain,
Thus dash my Joys, and quench those Holy Fires,
By yellow Hymen's Torch so lately lighted:
Thus stain this blessed Day, our Bridal Day,
With the detested Omen of thy Sorrows.

Sem.
Of what sou'd I accuse thee? thou art Noble,
Thy Heart is soft, is pitiful and tender;
And thou wilt never wrong the poor Semanthe.
And yet—

Tel.
What mean'st thou?

Sem.
What have we been doing?

Tel.
A Deed of Happiness.

Sem.
Are we not marry'd?

Tel.
We are,—and like the careful, thrifty Hind,
Who provident of Winter fills his Stores
With all the various Plenty of the Autumn,
We've hoarded up a mighty Mass of Joy,
To last for all our Years that are to come,
And sweeten ev'ry bitter Hour of Life.

Sem.
Fain wou'd I sooth my Soul with these sweet Hopes,
Forget the Anguish of my waking Cares,
And all those boding Dreams that haunt my Slumbers,
Last Night, when after many a heavy Sigh,
And many a painful Thought, the God of Sleep,
Insensible and soft, had stole upon me;
Methought I found me by a murm'ring Brook,
Reclin'd at Ease upon the flow'ry Margin;
And thou, thou first and last of all my Thoughts,
Thou dear, eternal Object of my Wishes,
Close by my Side wert laid.—

Tel.
Delightful Vision!
And oh! oh Pity that it was not real.

Sem.
A while on many a pleasing Theme we talk'd,
And mingled sweet Discourse; when on the sudden,
The Cry of Hounds, the jolly Huntsman's Horn,
With all the chearful Musick of the Chace,
Surpriz'd my Ear—and straight a Troop of Nymphs,
Once the dear Partners of my Virgin Heart,
Flew lightly by us, eager of the Sport;
Last came the Goddess, great Latona's Daughter,
With more than mortal Grace she stood confest,
I saw the Golden Quiver at her Back,
And heard the sounding of her Silver Bow.
Abash'd I rose, and lowly made Obeysance;
But she, not sweet, nor affable, nor smiling,
As once she wont, with stern Regard beheld me;
And wherefore dost thou loiter here, she said,
Of me, thy Fellows, and our Sports unmindful?
Return, thou Fugitive; nor vainly hope
To dress thy Bridal Bed, and waste thy Youth
In wanton Pleasures, and inglorious Love;
A Virgin at my Altar wert thou Vow'd,
'Tis fix'd by Fate, and thou art mine for ever.
With that she snatch'd a Chaplet from my Hand,
Which for thy Head in Fondness I had wove,
And bore me swiftly with her:—In my Flight,
Backwards, methought, I turn'd my Eyes to thee,
But found thee not, for thou wert vanish'd from me,
And in thy Place my Father lay extended
Upon the Earth, a bloody lifeless Coarse;
Struck to the very Heart, I shriekt aloud,
And waking, found my Tears upon my Pillow.

Tel.
Vex not thy peaceful Soul, my fair Semanthe,
Nor dread the Anger of the awful Gods,
Safe in thy Native unoffending Innocence.
Still when the golden Sun withdraws his Beams,
And drowzy Night invades the weary World,
Forth flies the God of Dreams, fantastick Morpheus,
Ten Thousand mimick Fantoms fleet around him,
Subtle as Air, and various in their Natures,
Each has Ten Thousand Thousand diff'rent Forms,
In which they dance confus'd before the Sleeper,
While the vain God laughs to behold what Pain
Imaginary Evils give Mankind.

Sem.
Not happy Omens that approve our Wishes,
When bright with Flames the chearful Altar shines,
And the good Gods are gracious to our Offerings,
Not Oracles themselves, that speak us happy,
Cou'd charm my Fears, and lull my froward Sorrows,
Like the dear Voice of him whom my Soul loves;
Ev'n while thou spok'st my Breast begun to glow,
I felt sweet Hopes, and Joy, and Peace returning,
And all the Fires of Life were kindled up anew.

Tel.
Hence then, thou meager Care, ill boding Melancholy,
Anxious Disquiet, and heart-breaking Grief,
Fly to your Native Seats, where deep below
Old Night and Horror with the Furies dwell,
Love and the joyful Genial Bed disclaim you;
To Night a Thousand little laughing Cupids
Shall be our Guard, and wakeful watch around us,
No Sound, no Thought shall enter to disturb us,
But sacred Silence reign; unless, sometimes,
We sigh and murmur with Excess of Happiness.

Sem.
Alas, my Lord!

Tel.
Again that mournful Sound!

Sem.
What other Pain is this? what other Fear,
So diff'rent quite from what I felt before?
Alternate Heat and Cold shoot thro' my Veins,
Now a chill Dew hangs faintly on my Brow,
And now with gentle Warmth I glow all o'er;
Short are my Sighs, and nimbly beats my Heart,
I gaze on thee with Joy, and yet I tremble,
'Tis Pain and Pleasure blended, both at once,
'Tis Life and Death, or something more than either.

Tel.
Thus untry'd Soldiers, when the Trumpet sounds,
Expect the Combat with uncertain Passions;
Thus Nature speaks in unexperienc'd Maids,
And thus they blush, and thus like thee they tremble.
At Even, when the Queen retires to Rest,
I'll meet thee here, and take thee to my Arms,
Thy best, thy surest Refuge.—
But see! the Stranger Æthon comes, retire,
I wou'd not have his watchful Eye observe us.
Enter Æthon.
I charge thee loiter not, but haste to bless me,
Haste, at th'appointed Hour—
Think with what eager Hopes, what Rage I burn,
For ev'ry tedious Minute how I mourn;
Think, how I call thee Cruel for thy Stay.
And break my Heart with Grief, for thy unkind Delay.

[Exeunt Telemachus and Sem.
Manet Æthon.
Æth.
Ha! what so close! how cautious to avoid me?
As who shoud say, Old Man you are too Wise,
What has my Youth to do with your Instructions,
While Folly is so pleasant to my Taste,
And damn'd Destruction wears a Face so fair?
This Samian King is Happy in his Arts;
His Daughter, vow'd a Virgin to Diana,
Is brought to play the Wanton here at Ithaca:
No matter for Religion; let the Gods
Look to their Rites themselves; the Youth grows fond,
Just to their Wish! and swears himself their Vassal.
His Mother follows next—But soft—They come;
Now to put on the Pander!—That's my Office.

Enter the Queen and Eurymachus
Qu.
Have I not answer'd oft, It is in vain,
In vain to urge me with this hateful Subject?
As thou art Noble, pity me, Eurymachus,
Add not new Weight of Sorrows to my Days,
That drag too slow, too heavily along,
Compel me not to curse my Life, my Being,
To curse each Morn, each chearful Morn, that dawns
With healing Comfort on its balmy Wings,
To ev'ry wretched Creature, but my self;
To me it brings more Pain, and iterated Woes.

Eur.
Oh God of Eloquence, bright Maja's Son!
Teach me what more than mortal Grace of Speech,
What Sounds can move this fierce relentless Fair,
This cruel Queen, that pityless beholds
My Heart that bleeds for her, my humble Knee,
In abject low Submission bent to Earth,
To deprecate her Scorn, and beg in vain,
One gracious Word, one favourable Look.

Qu.
Count back the tedious Years, since first my Hero
Forsook these faithful Arms to War with Troy;
And yet in all that long, long Tract of Time,
Witness, ye chaster Powers, if e'er my Thoughts
Have harbour'd any other Guest but him;
Remember, King of Samos, what I have been,
Then think if I can change—Æthon! come near.
[Æthon comes forward.
Good honest Man! how rare is Truth like thine!
Thou great Example of a Loyal Friend!

Æth.
Oh Lady, spare that Praise; if few like me
Are Friends, yet none have ever lov'd like you;
Why what a mighty Space is twenty Years!
'Tis irksome to Remembrance, to look back
Upon your Youth, that happier Part of Life,
Like some fair Field, of rich and fertile Soil,
That might have blest the Owner with Abundance,
But left unheeded, like a barren Moor,
Lies senceless, wild, uncultivate, and waste.

Qu.
Alas!

Eur.
Were Youth and Beauty giv'n in vain?
Why were the Gods so lavish of their Gifts,
To one, whose sullen Pride neglects to use 'em,
As if she scorn'd the Care Heav'n took to make her Happy?

Æth.
More than enough of Sorrow have you known;
Give Ease at length to your afflicted Soul,
Be comforted, and now while Time is yours,
Taste the good things of Life, yet e'er they perish,
Yet e'er the happy Season pass away.

Qu.
What Sov'reign Balm, what heav'nly healing Art,
Can cure a Heart so torn with Grief as mine,
Can stay this never-ceasing Stream of Tears,
And once more make my Senses know Delight?

Eur.
What God can work that Miracle but Love?
Love, who dispences Joy to Heav'n it self,
And chears his Fellow-Gods more than their Nectar,
'Till wrapt with vast, unutterable Pleasures,
Such as Immortal Natures only know,
Each owns his Pow'r, and blesses the sweet Boy.

Qu.
Now Æthon, by thy Friendship to my Lord,
Answer, I charge thee, to this cruel King;
Demand if it be Noble to Prophane
My Virtue thus, with loose dishonest Courtship.

Æth.
Are Love and Virtue then such Mortal Foes,
That they must never meet?

Qu.
Never with me,
Unless my Lord return.

Æth.
Vain Expectation!

Qu.
Ha! Surely I mistook!—what said'st thou, Æthon?

Æth.
That you have waited long for that Return,
Wasted too much of Life, and cast away
Those precious Hours, that might have been employ'd
To better use than Weeping.

Qu.
This from thee!
Oh faithless! Truth is vanish'd then indeed.
Oh Æthon!—art thou too—become my Enemy!

Æth.
If, to reward your Faith to lost Ulysses,
I pray the Gods to heap their Blessings on you,
To make you Mistress of a mighty Nation,
An Empire greater, nobler than your own,
And crown you with this valiant Monarch's Love,
If this be Enmity, you may accuse me.

Qu.
Dost thou Sollicit for him? dost thou dare
Invade my Peace, my Virtue?

Æth.
Not for him,
But for the common Happiness of both.

Qu.
Traitor! no more—at length thy wicked Arts
Thy false dissembled Friendship for my Lord,
Thy Pious Journey hither for his sake,
Thy Care of me, my Son, and of the State,
Thy Praise, thy Counsels, and thy shew of Virtue,
So holy, so adorn'd with Rev'rend Age,
All are reveal'd, and thou confest a Villain;
Hire, and the sordid Love of Gain, have caught thee;
Gold has prevail'd upon thee to betray me,
And bargain for my Honour with this Prince.

[Pointing to Eurymachus.
Æth.
It grieves me I Offend you—sure I am,
I meant it as a Friend.

Qu.
Hence from my Sight!

Eur.
Æthon, no more,—Since Love and willing Friendship
Employ their pious Offices in vain,
Learn we henceforth from this imperious Beauty,
Learn we, from her Example to be cruel:
And tho' our softer Passions rest unsatisfy'd,
Yet the more fierce, the manly, and the rough,
Shall be indulg'd and riot to Excess.
Up then Revenge, and arm thee thou fell Fury,
Up then, and shake thy hundred Iron Whips,
To Day I vow to sacrifice to thee,
And slake thy horrid Thirst with Draughts of Royal Gore.

Qu.
What says the Tyrant? [Aside.]
Oh, Eurymachus!
What fatal Purpose has thy Heart conceiv'd?
What means that Rage that lightens in thy Eyes?
That flashes fierce, and menaces Destruction?

Eur.
The lambent Fire of Love prevails no more,
And now another mightier Flame succeeds;
Vaunt not too soon, nor triumph in thy Scorn,
For know, proud Queen, in spight of thy Disdain,
There is a Way ev'n yet to reach thy Heart.
Thou hast a Son, the Darling of thy Eyes—

Qu.
Oh fatal Thought!
Fear, like the Hand of Death, has seiz'd my Heart,
Cold, chilling Cold—my Son! Oh my Telemachus!

Æth.
That stroke was home—now, Virtue, hold thy own.

[Aside.
Eur.
Know then, that Son is my Pow'r, and holds
His frail uncertain Being at my Pleasure,
And when I frown, Death and Destruction, greedy,
Watchful, intent like Tygers on their Prey,
Start sudden forth, and seize the helpless Boy.
Three Hundred chosen Warriors from my Fleet,
Who undiscern'd, in Parties, and by stealth,
Late came a-shore, now wait for my Commands;
Think on 'em as the Ministers of Fate,
For when I bid 'em execute, 'tis done.

Qu.
If, as my Soul presages from those Terrors
Which gather on thy stern, tempestuous Brow,
Thou art severely bent on Death and Vengeance,
Yet hear me, hear a Wretches only Pray'r,
Oh spare the Innocent, spare my Telemachus,
Let not the Ruffian's Sword nor murd'rous Violence
Cut off the Noble Promise of his Youth,
Oh spare him, and let all thy Rage fall here;
Remember 'twas this haughty, stubborn Queen
Refus'd thy Love, and let her feel thy Hate.

Eur.
A secret Joy glides thro' my sullen Heart,
To see so fair a Sutier kneel before me.
But what have I to do with Thoughts like these?
Æthon, go bear this Ring to bold Ceraunus,
The Valiant Leader of our Samian Band;
My last of Orders, which this Morn I gave him,
Bid him perform; haste thou, and see it done.

Qu.
Stay, I conjure thee, Æthon—Cruel King!
Speak, answer me, unfold this dreadful Secret:
Where points this sudden, dark, mysterious Mischief?
Say, at the Head of what devoted Wretch
This winged Thunder aims—Say, while my Fears
Have left me yet a little Life to hear thee.

Eur.
Already dost thou dread the gath'ring Storm,
That grumbles in the Air, preluding Ruin?
But mark the Stroke, keep all thy Tears for that,
Too soon it shall be told thee—Æthon, hence.

Qu.
holding Æthon.]
Not for thy Life—No not 'till thou hast heard me.
[To Eurymachus.
Too well, alas! I understand my Fate;
How have I been among the happy Mothers
Call'd the most happy, now to be most miserable:
The barren, comfortless sate down and wept,
When they compar'd their Marriage Beds with mine;
The fruitful, when they boasted of their Numbers,
With Envy and unwilling Praise, confest
That I had all their Blessings in my One.
Our Virgins, when they met him, sigh'd and blush'd,
Matrons and Wives beheld him as a Wonder,
And gazing Crowds pursu'd and blest him as he pass'd.
But then his Youth! his Tenderness! his Piety!
Oh my Telemachus! my Son! my Son!

Eur.
And what are all these Tears and helpless Wailings,
What poor Amends to injur'd Love and me?
How have I mourn'd thy Scorn, unkind and cruel?
How have I melted in unmanly Weeping?
How have I taught the stubborn Rocks of Ithaca,
And all the sounding Shore to eccho my Complainings?
And hast thou e'er Relented? Now Mourn thou.
And murmur not, nor think thy Lot too hard,
Since equal Justice pays thee but thy own.

Qu.
Oh didst thou know what Agonies I feel,
Hard as thou art, thou would'st have Pity on me:
Death is too poor a Name, for that means Rest,
But 'tis Despair—'tis mad—tormenting Rage,
'Tis terrible—'tis bitter Pain—it is
A Mother's Mourning for her only Son.

Æth.
Now, now her labouring Heart is rent with Anguish!
Oh Nature how affecting are thy Sorrows,
How moving, melting in a Mother's Eyes;
So Silver Thetis, on the Phrygian Shore,
Wept for her Son, foreknowing of his Fate,
The Sea-Nymphs sate around, and joyn'd their Tears,
While from his lowest Deep old Father Ocean,
Was heard to groan in pity of their Pain.

[Aside.
Eur.
Fair Mourner rise—Thus far thou hast prevail'd,
[Offering to raise her.
If, to attone for all I have endur'd,
For all thy cold Neglect, thy Arts, Delays,
For all my Years of anxious Expectation,
This Night thou give thy Beauties to my Arms,
This Night! For Love, impatient of my Wrongs,
Allows not ev'n a Moment's space beyond it.
The Prince, thy lov'd Telemachus, shall live,
And Danger and Distress shall never know thee more.

Qu.
Oh Shame! Oh Modesty! Connubial Truth
And spotless Purity! Ye Heav'nly Train!
Have I preserv'd you in my secret Soul,
To give you up at last, then plunge in Guilt,
Abandon'd to Dishonour and Pollution!
Oh never! never! let me first be rack'd,
Torn, scatter'd by the Winds, plung'd in the Deep,
Or bound amidst the Flames—Oh friendly Earth
Open thy Bosome—And thou Proserpine,
Infernal Juno, mighty Queen of Shades,
Receive me to thy dark, thy dreadful Empire,
And hide me, save me from this Tyrant's Fury.

Æth.
Oh racking racking Pain of secret Thought!

[Aside.
Eur.
Hence! hence thou Trifler Love! fond, vain Deceiver!
I cast, I tear thee out—Æthon, begone!

Qu.
Then drag me too!—Yet hear me once, once more,
For I will speak to thee of Love!—of Rage!
Of Death! of Madness! and Eternal Chaos!

Eur.
Away, thou Loiterer!

[To Æthon.
Æth.
Then I must go.

Qu.
Eurymachus!

[Holding out her Hand to him.
Eur.
Speak—

Qu.
Mercy!

Eur.
Love!

Qu.
Telemachus.

Eur.
My Queen! My Goddess! Art thou kind at last?
Oh softly, softly breath the charming Sound,
And let it gently steal upon my Soul,
Gently as falls the balmy Dew from Heav'n,
Or let thy kind consenting Eyes speak for thee,
And bring me the sweet Tidings from thy Heart;
She yields! Immortal Gods! she yields!

Qu.
Where is he?
Where is my Son? Oh tell me, is he safe?
Swear to me some most sacred solemn Oath,
Swear my Telemachus is free from Danger.

Eur.
Hear me, great Jove, Father of Gods and Men,
And thou blue Neptune, and thou Stygian Pluto,
Hear, all ye greater and ye lesser Powers,
That Rule in Heaven, in Earth, in Seas, and Hell,
While, to my Queen, on this fair Hand I swear,
That Royal Youth, that best lov'd Son is safe,
Nor dies, unless his Mother urge his Fate.
At Night, a Priest, by faithful Æthon's Care,
In private shall attend at thy Apartment,
There while rich Gums we burn, and Spicy Odours,
The Gods of Marriage and of Love invoking,
I will renew my Vows, and at thy Feet
Devote ev'n all my Pow'rs to thy Command.

Qu.
'Till then be kind, and leave me to my self;
Leave me to vent the Fulness of my Breast,
Pour out the Sorrows of my Soul alone,
And sigh my self, if possible, to Peace.
Oh thou dear Youth, for whom I feel again
My Throes, and twice endure a Mother's Pain,
Well had I dy'd to save thee, oh my Son,
Well, to preserve thy Life, had giv'n my own,
But when the Thoughts of former Days return,
When my lost Virtue, Fame, and Peace I mourn,
The Joys which still thou gav'st me I forget,
And own I bought thee at a Price too great.
[Exit the Queen.

Eur.
At length we have prevail'd: Fear, Doubt and Shame,
Those peevish Female Virtues, fly before us,
And the disputed Field at last is ours.

Æth.
Yes you have Conquer'd, have approv'd your self
A Master in the Knowledge of the Sex.
What then remains but to prepare for Triumph,
To rifle all the Spoils of Captive Beauty,
And reap the sweet Reward of your past Labours.
What of the Prince?

Eur.
He lives, but must be mine,
And my Semanthe's Love the Band to hold him;
But to to-morrow's Dawn leave we that Care,
The present Day, for deep, for vast Designs,
And hardy Execution is decreed.
This Night, according to their wonted Riot,
The Rival Princes mean to hold a Feast.

Æth.
I mark'd but now the mighty Preparation,
When to the Hall the sweating Slaves past in,
Bending beneath the massie Goblets Weight,
Whose each capacious Womb, fraught with rich Juice
Drawn from the Chian and the Lesbian Grape,
Portended witless Mirth, vain Laughter, Boasting,
Contentious Brawling, Madness, Mischief, and soul Murder;
While to appease the Gluttons greedy Maw
Whole Herds are slain, more than suffice for Hecatombs,
Ev'n more than Zeal, with Pious Prodigality,
Bestows upon the Gods to feed their Priests with.

Eur.
Then mark me well, or e'er the rowling Night
Have finish'd half her Course, the fumy Vapours
And mounting Spirits of the deep-drunk Bowl,
Shall seize the Brains of these Carousing Lovers;
Then shalt thou, Æthon, with my Valiant Samians,
Arm'd and appointed all at thy Command,
Surround the Hall, and on our common Foes
At once Revenge my Queen, thy self and me.

Æth.
Ha! At a Blow!—'tis just—'tis greatly thought!
By Jove, th'Avenger, 'twill be noble Slaughter;
Nor doubt the Event, I answer for 'em all,
Ev'n to a Man.

Eur.
Thine then be all the Care,
While I with softer Pleasures crown my Hours,
And revel in Delight.

Æth.
How! At that Hour!
[Starting.
Ha!—In Enjoyment! Can that be?

Eur.
It must.
Fierce for the Joy, in Secret, and alone
I'll steal upon my Love.

Æth.
Stay! that were well!—
Alone you must—

Eur.
None but the conscious Priest—
That too must be thy Care, to chuse one faithful,
One for the Purpose sit.

Æth.
Most worthy Office!
[Aside.
One to your Wish, try'd in these pious Secrets,
My Friend of ancient Date, is now in Ithaca;
Him sworn to Secrecy, and well prepar'd,
I will instruct to wait you with the Queen.

Eur.
Then be propitious, Love!

Æth.
And thou Revenge!
Shoot all thy Fires, and wake my slumb'ring Rage,
Let my past Wrongs, let Indignation raise
My Age to emulate my youthful Praise,
Let the stern Purpose of my Heart succeed,
Let Riot, Lust, and proud injustice bleed,
Grant me but this, ye Gods, who favour Right,
I ask no other Bliss nor fond Delight,
Nor envy Thee, O King, thy Bridal Night.

[Exeunt.