 | Ulysses |  |
31
ACT III.
SCENE I.
Enter Æthon, Mentor and Eumæus.Æth.
If Virtue be abandon'd, lost and gone,
No matter for the Means that wrought the (Ruin;
Whether the Pomp of Pleasure danc'd before her,
Alluring to the Sense, or dreadful Danger
Came arm'd with all its Terrors to the Onset,
She shou'd have held the Battel to the last,
Undaunted, yieldless, firm, and dy'd or conquer'd.
Men.
Think on what hard, on what unequal Terms
Virtue, betray'd within by Woman's Weakness,
Beset without with mighty Fears and Flatteries,
Maintains the doubtful Conflict—Sure if any
Have kept the Holy Marriage-Bed inviolate,
If all our Græcian Wives are not like Hellen,
That praise the Queen my Royal Mistress merits.
Eum.
And oh impute not one unheeded Word,
Forc'd from her in the bitterest Pangs of Sorrow,
When fierce conflicting Passions strove within,
Like all the Winds at once let loose upon the Main,
When wild Distraction rul'd—Oh urge not that,
A Blemish on her fair, her matchless Fame.
Æth.
Oh Mentor, and Eumæus, faithful Pair!
To whom my Life, my Honour, all I trust,
These Eyes beheld her yielding—Cursed Object!
Beheld her in the Samian King's Embrace;
The Sight of Hell, of baleful Acheron
That rowls his livid Waves around the Damn'd,
Roaring and yelling on the farther Shore,
Was not so terrible, so irksome to me,
As when I saw his Arms infold Penelope.
I heard the fatal Compact for to Night,
The Joys which he propos'd, nor she deny'd—
But see she comes—
Men.
How much unlike a Bride!
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Behold her Tears, see comfortless Affliction,
Anguish, and helpless, desolate Misfortune
Writ in her Face.
Æth.
Retire; I wou'd observe her.
[Men. and Eum. retire to the back Part of the Stage.
Qu.
And dost thou only Weep? Shall that put off
Th'approaching Hour of Shame, or save thy Son?
Thou weep'st, and yet the setting Sun descends
Swift to the Western Waves, and guilty Night,
Hasty to spread her Horrors o'er the World,
Rides on the dusky Air,—And now it comes,
The fatal Moment comes, ev'n that dread Time
When Witches meet to gather Herbs on Graves,
When discontented Ghosts forsake their Tombs,
And ghastly roam about, and doleful Groan,
And hark! The Screech-Owl screams, and beats the Window
With deadly Wings—And hark!—More dreadful yet,
Like Thracian Tereus to unhappy Philomel,
The furious Bridegroom comes—The Tyrant! Ravisher!
And see! The Shade of my much injur'd Lord
Starts up to blast me!—Hence!—Begon, you Horrors,
For I will hide me in the Arms of Death,
And think on you no more—That Traytor here.!
[Seeing Æthon.
Æth.
Hail beauteous Queen! The God of Love salutes thee,
And thus by great Eurymachus he speaks,
Be Sorrow and Misfortune on thy Foes,
But let thy Days be crown'd with smiling Peace,
Content, and everlasting Joy dwell with thee.
Qu.
Com'st thou to Greet me with the sounds of Joy?
Thou Messenger of Fate!—So the hoarse Raven
Croaks o'er the Mansion of the dying Man,
And often warns him with his dismal Note,
To think upon his Tomb.
Æth.
Or I mistook,
Or I was bid to Treat of gentler Matters,
Kindly to ask at what auspicious Hour,
Your Royal Bridegroom and the Priest shou'd wait you.
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Too well my boding Heart foretold thy Tidings.—
Now what Reply?—There is no Room for Choice,
'Tis one Degree of Infamy to doubt,
What must be must be—Let me then resolve,
'Tis only thus—no more—and I am free.
[Aside.
Say to the Samian King, thy Master, thus;
When Menelaus and the Fate of Greece
Summon'd my Lord to Troy, he left behind him
None worthy of his Place in Love or Empire.
Æth.
How, Lady?—Whither points her Meaning now?
[Aside.
Qu.
Say too, I've held his Merit in the Balance,
But find the Price of Honour so much greater,
That 'twere an Ideot's Bargain to exchange 'em;
Yet tell him too, I have my Sex's Weakness,
I have a Mother's Fondness in my Eyes,
And all her tender Passions in my Heart.
Æth.
Ay, there! 'Tis there she's lost!
[Aside.
Qu.
Nor can I bear
To see what more, far more than Life I joy in,
My only Pledge of Love, my Lord's dear Image,
My Son by bloody Hands mangled and murder'd;
(Oh terrible to Nature!) Therefore one,
One Remedy alone is left to save me,
To shield me from a Sight of so much Horror,
And tell Eurymachus, I find it—here.
[She offers to Stab her self; Æthon catches hold of her Arm, and prevents her.
Æth.
Forbid it, Gods; perish the Tyrant rather,
Let Samos be no more.
Qu.
Off! Off, thou Traitor!
Give way to my just Rage!—Oh tardy Hand!
To what hast thou betray'd me! Let me go,
Oh let me, let me die, or I will curse thee,
'Till Hell shall tremble at my Imprecations,
'Till Heav'n shall blast thee—lost!—undone for ever!
Æth.
Oh Trifler that I am! Mentor! Eumæus!
[They come forward.
Come to my Aid!—Be calm but for a Moment,
And wait to see what Wonders it will shew thee.
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Guard her from ev'ry Instrument of Death,
Sooth and asswage her Grief, 'till my Return
Unfold the mighty Secret of her Fate,
And once more reconcile her Soul to Peace.
[Exit Æthon.
Qu.
And are you too my Foes? have you conspir'd
And join'd with that false Æthon to betray me?
Here sit thee down then, humbly in the Dust,
Here sit, a poor, forlorn, abandon'd Woman;
Cast not thy Eyes up to yon' azure Firmament,
Nor hope Relief from thence, the Gods are pityless,
Or busie in their Heav'n, and thou not worth their Care;
And oh! oh! cast 'em not on Earth, to seek
For Succour from the faithless Race of Man;
But as thou art forsaken and alone,
Hope not for Help, where there is none to help thee,
But think—'tis Desolation all about thee.
Men.
Far be that Thought, to think you are forsaken;
Gods and good Men shall make you still their Care.
And oh! far be it from your faithful Servants,
For all those Honours mad Ambition toils for,
For all the Wealth that bribes the World to Wickedness,
For Hopes or Fears, for Pleasures or for Pains,
To leave our Royal Mistress in Distress.
Eum.
At length Time's fulness comes, and that great Period,
For which so many tedious Years rowl'd round,
At length the white, the smiling Minute comes,
To wipe the Tears from those fair Eyes for ever;
That Good we daily pray'd for, but pray'd hopeless,
That Good, which ev'n the Prescience of the Gods
(So doubtfully was it set down in Fate,)
Uncertainly foresaw, and darkly promis'd,
That Good, one Day, the happiest of our Lives,
Freely and fortunately brings to pass.
Men.
And hark! Vindictive Jove prepares his Thunder,
[Thunders.
Let the Wrong-doer and the Tyrant tremble;
The Gods are present with us—And behold!
The solid Gloom of Night is rent asunder,
While Floods of daz'ling, pure Ætherial Light,
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Pallas, the Fautress of my Master's Arms,
And see where terrible in Arms, Majestick,
Celestial, and ineffably effulgent,
She shakes her dreadful Ægis from the Clouds!
Bend, bend to Earth, and own the present Deity.
[It Thunders again.
[The Scene opens above, and discovers Pallas in the Clouds.
[They kneel.
Eum.
Daughter of mighty Jove, Tritonian Pallas,
Be favourable! oh!—oh! be Propitious,
And save the sinking House of thy Ulysses.
Men.
Goddess of Arts and Arms, thou blue-ey'd Maid,
Be favorable, oh!—oh! be Propitious,
And glad thy Suppliants with some chearful Omen.
Qu.
Virgin, begot and born of Jove alone,
Chaste, Wise, Victorious, if by thy Assistance
The Greeks were well aveng'd on Perjur'd Troy,
If by thy Aid, my Lord from Thracian Rhesus
Obtain'd his snowy Steeds, and brought successful
Thy fatal Image to the Tents of Greece;
Once more be favourable—be propitious,
Restore my Lord—Or if that be deny'd,
Grant me to share his Fate, and die with Honour.
[Thunder again—The Scene closes above—They rise.
Men.
The Goddess smiles—Most happy be the Omen!
And to the Left auspicious rowls the Thunder.
Enter Æthon or Ulysses, without his Disguise, magnificently Arm'd and Habited.
Qu.
What other God art thou?—Oh sacred Form!
I dream, I rave!—Why put'st thou on this Semblance?
What shall I call thee?—Say, speak, answer me.
[She advances two or three Steps looking amazedly.
Son of Laertes! King! My Lord!—Ulysses!
Ulyss.
Why dost thou gaze?—Am I so dreadful still?
Is there so much of Æthon still about me?
Or hast thou—is it possible—forgot me?
Do's not thy Heart acknowledge something here?
Qu.
Nay 'tis, 'tis most impossible to Reason.
But what have I to do with Thought or Reason?
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I'll rush upon thee, clasp thee to my Bosom,
And if it be Delusion, let me die,
Hear let me sink to everlasting Rest,
Just here, and never never think again.
Ulyss.
No, live, thou great Example of thy Sex,
Live for thy World, for me, and for thy self,
Unnumber'd Blessings, Honours, Years of Happiness,
Crowns from the Gods, enrich'd with brightest Stars,
All Heav'n and Earth united in Applause,
Wait, with officious Duty, to reward thee.
Live to enjoy ev'n all thou hast deserv'd,
That fulness of Delight, of which these Arms
And this transporting Moment gives thee Earnest.
Qu.
I gaze upon thy Face, and see thee here,
The sullen Pow'rs below, who rule the dead,
Have listen'd to my Weeping, and relented,
Have sent thee from Elysium back to me;
Or from the Deep, from Sea-green Neptune's Seats
Thou'rt risen like the Day-Star, or from Heav'n
Some God has brought thee on the Wings of Winds;
Oh Extacy!—But all that I can know,
Is that I wake and live, and thou art here,
Ulyss.
Troy, I forgive thee now, ye Toils and Perils
Of my past Life, well are you paid at once.
For this the faithless Syrens sung in vain,
For this I scap'd the Den of monstrous Polypheme,
Fled from Calypso's Bonds, and Circe's Charms,
For this seven Days, and seven long Winter Nights,
Shipwrack'd I floated on a driving Mast;
Tost by the Surge, pierc'd by the bitter Blasts
Of bleak North-Winds, and drench'd in the chill Wave,
I strove with all the Terrors of the Deep.
Qu.
Yes thou hast born it all, I know thou hast,
These Wars, Winds, Magick, Monsters, all for me.
Blest be the Gracious Gods that gave thee to me!
Say then! Oh how shall I reward thy Labours?
But I will sit and listen to thy Story,
While thou recount'st it o'er; and when thou speak'st
Of Difficulties hard and near to Death,
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But when thou com'st to say how the Gods sav'd thee,
And how thy Virtue struggl'd through the Danger,
For Joy, I'll fold thee thus with soft Endearments,
And crown thy Conquest with Ten Thousand Kisses.
Ulyss.
It is a heavy and a ruthful Tale,
But thou wilt kindly share with me in all Things;
It shall be told thee then, whate'er I suffer'd,
Since, in a luckless Hour, I first set out,
Ev'n to that time, when scarce twice ten Days past,
As from Phæacia homeward bound to Ithaca,
A Storm o'ertook and wrack'd me on the Coast;
Alone and Naked was I cast a-shore,
And only to these faithful Two made known,
'Till Jove shou'd point me out some Opportunity,
Once more to seize my Right in thee and Empire.
Men.
'Tis hard, injurious, an Offence to Virtue,
To interrupt your Joys, ye Royal Pair,
But oh forgive your faithful Servant's Caution,
Think where you are, what Eyes malicious Chance
May bring to pry into the happy Secret,
Untimely to disclose the fatal Birth,
And rashly bring it immature to Light.
Ulyss.
Mentor, thou warn'st us well—Retire, my Love.
Qu.
What, must we part already?
Ulyss.
For a Moment,
Like Waves divided by the gliding Bark,
That meet again, and mingle as before.
Qu.
Be sure it be not longer.
Ulyss.
Sweet, it sha'not,
I'll meet thee soon, and bring our mutual Blessing,
Our Son t'increase the Joy.
Qu.
I must obey you,
Remember well how long thou hast been Absent,
And what a poor Amends this short Enjoyment makes me,
Oh I shall die with strong Desire to see thee,
Shall think this one impatient Minute more,
Than all thy long, long Twenty Years before.
[Exit Queen
Enter at the other Door Telemachus.
Tel.
The Queen my Mother, past she not this Way?
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She did, my Lord, ev'n now,
Tel.
Saw you not too
The Samian Princess, fair Semanthe, with her?
Say, went they not together?
Ulyss.
Might I speak,
I think it is not fit they were together;
For wherefore shou'd the Queen of Ithaca
Hold Commerce with the Daughter of Eurymachus?
Pardon me, Sir, I fear you are offended,
And think this Boldness does not fit a Stranger.
Tel.
'Tis true thou art a Stranger to my Eyes,
And yet, methought, thou spok'st with Æthon's Voice,
Save, that th'untoward Purpose of thy Words
Seem'd harsh, ungentle, and not like my Friend.
Ulyss.
What'er I seem, believe me, princely Youth,
Thou hast not one, one dear selected Mate,
That ought to stand before me in thy Heart;
Tho' from your tender Infancy 'till now,
He dwelt within thy Bosom, thou in his,
Tho' every Year has knit the Band more close,
Tho' Variance never knew you, but complying
Each ever yielded to the other's Wishes,
Tho' you have toild and rested, laugh'd and mourn'd,
And ran thro' every part of Life together,
Tho' he was all thy Joy, and thou all his,
Yet sure he never lov'd thee more than I do.
Tel.
Whoe'er thou art, (for tho' thou still art Æthon,
Thou art not he, but something more and greater,)
I feel the Force of every Word thou speak'st,
My Soul is aw'd with reverential Fear,
A Fear not irksome, for 'tis mix'd with Love,
Ev'n such a Fear as that we worship Heav'n with;
Oh pardon if I err, for if thou art not
Æthon, my Father's Friend, thou art some God.
Ulyss.
If barely to have been thy Father's Friend
Cou'd move thee to such tender, just Regards,
Thus, let me thus indulge thy filial Virtue,
[Embracing him.
Thus press thee in my Arms, my Pious Son,
And while my swelling Heart runs o'er with Joy,
Thus tell thee, that I am, I am thy Father.
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Oh most amazing!—
Men.
Yes, my Royal Charge,
At length behold thy God-like Sire, Ulysses,
Blest be my Age, with all its Cares and Sorrows,
Since it is lengthen'd out to see this Day,
To give thee back, thou dear entrusted Pledge,
Thus worthy as thou art, to thy great Father's Arms.
Tel.
Oh 'tis most certain so, my Heart confesses him,
My Blood and Spirits, all the Pow'rs of Life,
Acknowledge here the Spring from whence they came
Then let me bow me, cast me at his Feet,
There pay the humble Homage of my Duty,
There wet the Earth before him with my Tears,
The faithful Witnesses of Love and Joy,
And when my Tongue for Rapture can no more,
Silent, with lifted Eyes, I'll praise the Gods,
Who gave me back my King, my Lord, my Father.
Ulyss.
Oh rise, thou Offspring of my Nuptial Joys,
Son of my Youth, and Glory of my Strength,
Rob not thy Father's Arms of so much Treasure,
But let us meet, as Jove and Nature meant us,
Thus, like a Pair of very faithful Friends:
And tho' I made harsh Mention of thy Love,
(Oh droop not at the Name) By blue-ey'd Pallas
I meant it not in angry, chiding Mood;
But with a tender and a fond Concern
Reminded thee of what thou ow'st to Honour.
Tel.
When I forget it, may the worst Afflictions,
Your Scorn, your Hate, and Infamy o'ertake me;
Be that th'important Bus'ness of my Life,
Let me be task'd to hunt for it thro' Danger,
Thro' all the Roar of the tumultuous Battel,
And dreadful din of Arms; there, if I fail,
May Cowards say I'm not Ulysses Son,
And the great Author of our Race disclaim me.
Ulyss.
Oh Nobleness innate! Oh Worth divine!
Ætherial Sparks! that speak the Hero's Lineage,
How are you pleasing to me?—So the Eagle,
That bears the Thunder of our Grandsire Jove,
With Joy beholds his hardy youthful Offspring
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In the wide untract Air; 'till bolder grown
Now, like a Whirlwind, on the Shepherd's Fold
He darts precipitate, and gripes the Prey;
Or fixing on some Dragon's scaly Hide,
Eager of Combat, and his future Feast,
Bears him aloft, reluctant, and in vain
Writhing his spiry Tale.
Tel.
I wou'd be active,
Get me a Name distinguish'd from the Herd
Of common Men, a Name worthy my Birth.
Ulyss.
Nor shalt thou want th'Occasion, now it courts thee,
Stands ready, and demands thy Courage now,
Were I indeed as other Fathers are,
Did I but listen to soft Nature's Voice,
I shou'd not urge thee to this high Exploit,
For tho' it brings thee Fame, it brings thee Danger.
Tel.
Now by the God of War so much the better,
Let there be Honour for your Son to win,
And be the Danger ne'er so rude and deadly,
No matter, 'twill enchance the Prize the more,
And make it lovely in a brave Man's Eye;
So Hydra's and Chimæra's form'd in Gold,
Sit graceful underneath the nodding Plume,
And terribly adorn the Soldier's Helm.
Ulyss.
Know then, on this important Night depends
The very Crisis of our Fate; to Night,
The sleeping Vengeance of the Gods shall wake,
And speak Confusion to our Foes in Thunder,
Justice entrusts her Sword to this right Hand,
And I will see it faithfully employ'd.
Tel.
By Virtue and by Arms 'tis noble Work,
I burn impatient for it—Oh my Father,
Give me my Portion of the glorious Labour.
Ulyss.
One more immediate Danger threats thy Mother,
That to avert, must be thy pious Care;
While Mentor, with Eumæus and our self,
Back'd by a chosen Band, (whom how prepar'd,
How gather'd to our Aid, the pressing Hour
Allows not now to tell,) Invade yon' Drunkards,
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The Gods as Fables, start upon 'em sudden,
And send their guilty Souls to howl below,
Upon the Banks of Styx; While this is doing,
Dar'st thou defend thy Mother?
Tel.
Oh to Death,
Against united Nations wou'd I stand
Her Soldier, her Defence, my single Breast
Oppos'd against the Rage of their whole War;
She is so good, so worthy to be fought for,
The sacred Cause wou'd make my Sword successful,
And gain my Youth a mighty Name in Arms.
Ulyss.
Then prove the Peril, and enjoy the Fame.
E'er the Mid-hour of rowling Night approach,
Remember well to plant thee at that Door,
Thou know'st it opens to the Queen's Apartment.
To bind thee yet more firm; for oh my Son,
[Drawing his Sword.
With powerful Opposition shalt thou strive,
Swear on my Sword, by thy own filial Piety,
By all our Race, by Pallas and by Jove,
If any of these cursed Foreign Tyrants,
Those Rivals of thy Father's Love and Honour,
Shall dare to pass thro' that forbidden Entrance,
To take his Forfeit Life for the Intrusion.
Tel.
I swear—And may my Lot in future Fame
[Telemachus kneels and kisses the Sword.
Be Good or Evil but as I perform it.
Ulyss.
Enough—I do believe thee.
Men.
Hark! My Lord!
[A confus'd Noise is heard within.
How loud the Tempest roars! The bellowing Voice
Of wild, enthusiastick, raging Mirth,
With Peals of Clamour shakes the vaulted Roof,
Tel.
Such surely is the Sound of mighty Armies
In Battel join'd, of Cities sack'd at Midnight,
Of many Waters, and united Thunders;
My gen'rous Soul takes fire, and half repines,
To think she must not share the glorious Danger,
Where Numbers wait you, worthy of your Swords.
Ulyss.
No more, thou hast thy Charge, look well to that;
For these, these riotous Sons of Noise and Uproar,
I know their Force, and know I am Ulysses.
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And rude tumultuous Chaos, when as yet
Fair Nature, Form, and Order had not Being,
But Discord and Confusion troubled all;
Calm and serene, upon his Throne he sate,
Fix'd there by the eternal Law of Fate,
Safe in himself, because he knew his Pow'r,
And knowing what he was, he knew he was secure.
[Exeunt.
End of the Third Act.
| Ulysses | |