University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter from one side of the Theatre Agamemnon, attended: From the other Chryses, follow'd by Priests. Trumpets sounding.
Ag.
Art thou that Holy Man, so near the Gods,
Admitted to their Synods, to encline
Their hearts to Men, to represent our Griefs,
And move redress for the afflicted World,
Yet art thy self, obdurate to our Prayers,
Can'st with dry Eyes, behold a Monarch weep,
And preaching Mercy, yet thy self have none?

Chry.
Art thou that King renown'd for pious deeds,
Who from far Argos, to the Dardan Coast
Ha'st led so many Kings to punish Rapes,
Yet art thy self, a Ravisher?

Ag.
Thy Daughter was a Captive of the War,
My liberal Stars made me the precious Gift:
Thy right is lost; by Conquest she is mine.

Chry.
Then as a Captive, I demand her back,
Paying her Ransom, which by right of War
None can refuse.

Ag.
Keep, keep thy sordid Pelf,
The Gleanings of thy Trade by holy Taxes;
Should that bright God, whose Minister thou art,
Who, in his spacious round, from Pole to Pole,
Surveys the hidden Treasures of the deep,
Then lifting up his prying Eyes to Land
Searches the secret bowels of the Earth,
O should he bid me for my lov'd Chruseis
All that his Eye beholds, his Beams create
In that vast Circle, of the girded Globe,
By Mars, it were too little—Priest I tell thee
She is above all Ransom.

Chr.
Then ransomless restore her.

Ag.
Ungrateful Man, are these, are these my thanks?
When by the right of War I might have sold,
As others did, thy Daughter for a Slave,
A Houshold druge to some far distant Land,
I kept her for my self, to be my Queen,
To raise her, as in Beauty, in degree
Superiour to all others of her Sex:
What would thy Pride have more?

Chr.
Consent is free.
I tell thee King thou shalt not force her from me.

Ag.
Have I us'd force? What have I left unsaid?
What have I left unbid to tempt thy Pride,
Or glut thy Sacerdotal avarice?
Will Pow'r and Riches, bend thy stubborn Soul!
Take Argos, and Micene, all I have—
Will Pray'rs and Tears prevail? Behold me Weep.
Will Adoration touch thee? See me Kneel
Thus prostrate at thy Feet, as to the Gods.

Chr.
Were Clytemnestra Dead—

Ag.
Were Clytemnestra Dead! Her doom is seal'd;
Yes, she shall die, she has deserv'd it long.
Whilst I pursue my Brother's wrongs at Troy,
My Brother's Fate has caught me:—
Whilst I Besiege a vile Adulterer here
Adultery is got to my own Bed.

Chr.
How fatal still to thee, and to thy Blood,
Has Beauty ever been! Æropè first
With foulest Incest stain'd thy Father's Bed;
Thence follow'd Rapin, and avenging Wars,
Murthers, at which th'astonish'd Sun went back,
And turn'd aside, and veil'd his head in Clouds.
Thy Brother was the next; and thou the Third;
Heirs of Adultery: From Sire to Son,
Pollution, like Inheritance, descends
On thy whole Race; Nor wilt thou yet be warn'd.
Curse, Curse the Sex; hate Women and be Wise.

Ag.
Chruseis is a Star, without a spot;
With all her Sex's Charms, without their faults.
Though there are Seas that Rocks and Quicksands hide,
And with impetuous rage toss every Bark,
Are there not Streams that we may safely trust?
Though from each Soil spring forth the deadliest Roots,
Are there not fragrant Flow'rs and wholsom Plants?

Chr.
I came not here to argue, but demand,
Nor am I to be mov'd.

Ag.
Nor I, Proud Priest.—
Oh! give me patience, Heaven! 'Tis well, 'tis well,
Chruseis is thy Daughter, or thy Life
Should pay thy Arrogance—Hence, hence, be gone,
Lest I recal my Mercy—If again
Thou'rt seen returning to my Camp, Thou Diest,
Neither thy Office, nor thy Gods shall save thee.

Chr.
Hear me, Apollo! With thy silver Bow
Shoot these proud Greeks, and double all their Plagues;
And thou, O Jove, when their Battalions face
The Trojan Hosts, prepar'd to join the Battel,
With Lightning and with Thunder singe their Ranks,
Drive 'em before their Foes; Burn, Burn their Ships,
Nor let a Man be seen returning back
To tell the News in Argos.

Ag.
Hence Scrietch-Owl.
My Mortals are a Match for thy best Gods.
Twice has strong Diomed, in single Fight,
Dipp'd in Immortal Nichor his huge Spear,
And driven the God of Combat from the Field.
I dare thy worst, insulting Prophet.

Chr.
The Curse of Curses; May Domestick broils
Never forsake thy House; May that Lewd Couple
Who now Pollute thy Bed, contrive thy Death,
And perish by the Hands that most have wrong'd thee.
Next, May thy Son Orestes, to revenge
Thy fate, Murther his Mother, then run Mad,
By Furies haunted. And as thou hast Robb'd
Me of a Daughter, so may thine be forc'd
Into some Land unknown, to serve a Priest.
I pray the Gods, that this may be the Fate
Of thee and thine; and so I leave thee to it.
[Exit Chryses.

Ag.
Come all these Plagues.—Yet trust me I am mov'd,
And somewhat whispers to my Soul,—Thus it shall be.
The Prophet's Voice, is but the Voice of Fate,
Thus Perish Agamemnon and his Race.
My Children too! In what have they Offended?
From Son to Son shall Vengeances descend,
Guilty and Innocent alike involv'd!
Can this be Justice, Gods? Why am I Curst
But for my Father's Crimes? Thyestes Incest;
Thy Blasphemies, Oh Atreus! cry aloud
For Judgment still, and bloody Expiation.
Command our Priests do present Sacrifice;
By Prayers the Gods are mov'd.
Forward Eurybates.—

[Exit Agamemnon and Train.
Enter Nestor and Ulysses.
Nes.
'Tis better be a Dog, than be a Man;
Instinct of Nature is the only Guide
Unerring. Vain Light of Reason! Ah how frail!
How hard to be kept in, by steadiest bearers,
Put out by every accidental breath
That Passion blows! I say again Ulysses,
What Fool would be a Man, who had the Choice
Of his own Being? The best, most perfect,
Are so allay'd; the good so mix'd with bad;
Like counterfeited Coin of mingled Metal,
The Noble part's not currant for the Base.

Uly.
What pity 'tis, a Man so Brave, so Just,
Bate but this failing, this one fault of Love;
A Man resembling more the Gods than Men,
Should so be lost.—

Nes.
—What hinders us to loose
The fury of the Soldiers on this Woman?
Why tear they not this Author of their Woes
Piecemeal, and hew the Enchantress Limb from Limb?

Uly.
There Nestor, there's the wonder: As at Troy
When Hellen passes through the crowded streets,
Who curs'd her out of sight, strait bless aloud
And cry she's worth the War; Who would not Fight,
Though sure to Dye, to serve such wondrous Beauty?
So when the Fair Chruseis comes in view,
Her Beauty reconciles the most enrag'd;
The Sick, who know they perish for her sake,
Crawl from their Tents, to gaze upon her Face,
And looking on her, feel returns of strength.
Soldiers and Captains throng in Crowds about her,
And with loud Cries, approve their General's Love,
And with one Voice, consent to their own ruin.
To lose the sight of her, seems what they fear
More than the loss of Life or Victory.
Thus desperate are our ills.—
But we will yet retrieve him—
If Human Wit or Artifice can find
A remedy, spite of himself he shall be safe.

Nes.
Vain Boaster of thy Wit! O Flatterer!
Is there in Art a remedy for Love?
For Love thus obstinate!

Uly.
Nestor there is.
Himself has furnisht us the Means, the Ground
Whereon to build—'Tis Jealousy shall do't.
Th' Arrival of Briseis shall effect it,
And with this little spark I'll light a flame,
Shall purge our Air of all this Love-infection.
Already have I urg'd our fair destroyer,
And vext her mind with sharp anxieties:
I left her pondring, doubtful, and perplext,
And see, she comes—How thoughful!
Let us retire—when this has workt,
The dose shall be repeated.

Nes.
I guess which way thou driv'st: Succeed it Gods!
'Tis our last throw of Fortune.

[Exeunt.
Enter Chruseis, Artemis, and other Women Attendants.
Chru.
Said you so hot and passionate!

Art.
Worse, Madam, worse than I can tell you.

Chru.
And so they parted!

Art.
On such ill terms, better they'd never met.

Chru.
Then farewel all my hopes; And all ye joys
Of Love, for ever—Ah! farewel—
Love, what is Love? state me that question right,
Let me consider—Is it to quench desire,
To follow Nature roving after Sense?
This is self-love, unquiet to possess
For its own ease; the brutal Love of Beasts.
'Tis vile, 'tis shameful, I abhor the thought.
Then what is Love? Stay—let me think again.
Is it to fix our Wishes on one Object?
Pleas'd only when the thing we love is pleas'd;
Partaking of its sorrows, seeking its good;
Desirous more to give than to receive;
Willing to part with all, with Fortune, Life;
Chusing all Miseries, satisfy'd, rejoic'd
With any Ruin that's the means of Safety
To the Man belov'd.—Ay—this is Love,
True Love, Heroick Love: 'Tis Generous, 'tis Divine.
Say, Artemis; think'st thou no Woman yet
Lov'd thus?

Art.
None, Madam,—that I e're heard of.

Chru.
I tell thee then, there will be one e're Night,
Thanks to your kindness, Gods.—But that's a secret.
Why, why am I pick'd out to be the first?
The first,—perhaps, and last.—The Custom is,
From Man to Man to wander with our wishes,
Meeting, and parting, as it seems convenient:
These are call'd happy; these enjoy the Goods
Of Life and Fortune; all the World's their own;
Pleasure's their Mate; their hearts are still at ease.
But have these Virtue? No.—Is Virtue then
Given to make us wretched? Ah! sad Portion,
Fatal to all that have thee! shunn'd on Earth,
Depress'd, and shown but in severest Trials,
Condemn'd to solitude, then shining most
When black Obscurity surrounds—Poor, poor,
But ever beautiful.

Art.
Your thoughts are much disturb'd; you think too much.

Chru.
Could I not think, I were most happy.
But to the purpose—
Something I must resolve, quickly resolve,
For Fate comes on apace, and treads us near.
To stay is to undo the Man I love;
Shall I, shall I do that?

Art.
Ulysses, Madam.

Ulysses Entring.
Chru.
Ha! thou hast rouz'd a thought! no; 'tis impossible:
To doubt's an injury; to suspect a Friend
Is breach of Friendship: Jealousy's a Seed
Sown but in vicious Minds: prone to mistrust,
Because apt to deceive—I'll think no more on't.
Draw near, Ulysses, let me view thee well.
Look up, look on my face, erect and bold,
That humble Cringe, and that malicious Smile,
Those downcast Eyes betray thy treacherous Soul:
I tell thee, Greek, thou hast a lying look.
My Love's above thy Malice.

Uly.
Far be all Malice from my honest meaning;
But thus unwelcome Truths are still receiv'd:
No Secret have I told, nor idle Rumour,
But publick Certainties.—Briseis Rape
Is now the common talk of every tongue;
But for what end, what purpose;—far be't from me
T' interpret;—such Violence indeed
Looks strange, exceeding strange, to have no meaning.
And thus much may I add, without offence;
When Ladies can foresee approaching Change,
'Tis good to be before-hand with a Lover;
Better to leave than to be left. But you know best;
I advise nothing—He has sworn, say you,
Not to forsake; and having rais'd your hopes
To that degree, 'twere cruel to delude:
Yet I have known many an eager Lover
Protesting Love to death, defying Ruin,
When Reason and all Remedies have fail'd,
Cur'd by another Love. Nothing so common
As Love excluding Love. For just as Poyson
Is expell'd by Poyson; so one Woman
Drives another out. Frown not, nor be displeas'd;
What I suggest, is meant but to forewarn.

Chru.
What you suggest, is false; is false, Ulysses.
Beware the Vengeance of an injur'd Lover:
Not Blasphemy's more hateful to the Gods,
Than to a Lover is his Faith traduc'd.

Uly.
It may be false, and it may not. 'Tis wise to arm
'Gainst every Ill that's barely possible.
You have his Word; the Gods his Oath: he loves you,
And loves he not the Gods? Both ways engag'd;
To part, and not to part. But now we saw him
Doubting and unresolv'd, perplex'd to chuse:
Who once has doubted, may do so again.
And why this other Woman? Why Briseis
Just at this time, just now, the very moment
When Fate pronounc'd your parting? Implies it not
Design of Change? Intention to supply
The space in Love, that Destiny has doom'd?
And seems it not to say,—Take, take her, Gods,
But let me first provide a Successor.
Love, like an eager Gamester, overlooks;
But Reason, an impartial stander-by,
Sees this and more.

Chru.
Reason seems Malice when it comes from thee;
This might have weight from any other mouth.
From men professing treachery and deceit,
Even Truth it self's suspected.—
I know you false, insinuating, sly;
I know Atrides just, and full of honour,
Nor will I doubt his truth.

Uly.
The King is just, and you are just to think it:
Oh 'tis a wondrous proof of strong Esteem,
Not to mistrust a Friend, though there were ground:
And here are grounds, weighty appearances;
I say, in any other man 'twould look suspicious;
That's all—But sure the King is full of honour.
Oaths indeed in Love, differ from other Cases;
They bind, that's true. But as in vanquish'd Towns,
The Conquer'd to the Conqueror takes an Oath:
Yet if another comes, of greater Power,
And drives him out, that former Oath is null'd:
Nor is it Perjury to swear anew,
For who can help his Fate: Just so in Love,
Men swear.—And so observ'd.—'Tis Constancy.

Chru.
Who would be wicked, and yet fear the name;
Excuse their yielding still by pleading Force.
But speak Ulysses, truly if thou canst;
For I would know my danger. You have seen
This Miracle. Report still adds—
And smallest things are magnify'd by Fame.
Is she indeed so dangerous?

Uly.
What Images shall Eloquence prepare,
To paint a Form so perfect and Divine?
Others by slow degrees advance in Love,
And step by step, and leisurely get ground:
We Article with Judgment e're we yield,
Reason rejecting oft, where Fancy's fond.
She, seizes hearts, not waiting for Consent;
Like sudden Death, that snatches unprepar'd;
Like Fire from Heaven, scarce seen so soon as felt.
All other Beauties seem inferior Stars,
At her appearance, vanishing apace;
When e're she mounts, they set.

Chru.
'Tis worth my Pride to brave a Foe so Fair:
Cease, cease, my Eyes to Weep, resume your Pow'r,
Your Glory in this Battel is concern'd:
Approach thou Rival for my Monarch's heart;
I'll face thy Beauties, with as many more,
With Eyes oppos'd to Eyes, and Charms to Charms,
I'll fight it out, and Combat for his Love,
And let him be inconstant if he can.

Uly.
None who have Eyes but must allow your pow'r;
If she has any equal it is you.
But Fortune holds the Scale for all Events;
Light is the Balance where Desert is weigh'd,
If but a Grain of better Luck's against it.
How many Beauties, scarce regarded pass,
While Thousands with worse Faces gather Crowds?
Beauty it self owes many slaves to Luck.
In dangers imminent, retreats are wise;
And a new Face has strange prevailing Charms.

Chru.
From Cowardice, not Prudence, springs Despair.
Who doubt their Fortune, are not Wise, but Fear.

Uly.
Her's are the Odds, by being Unenjoy'd;
Were there but that, O 'tis a powerful Charm!
Th' Ill-favour'd, and the Ugly, and the Old,
Pass with this Charm, the Charm of being New.

Chru.
I see your snare: The Greeks would have me gone;
The King resists, and you would bait his Eyes
With a new Beauty, to supplant my pow'r:
You counsel flight, lest I should stay and Conquer:
Therefore I'll stay, to add this Triumph more.
Thou plott'st against thy self, Vain, vain, Projector!
My Honour needs no Lessons you can give;
I see my way, and will consult my Fame.

Enter Briseis Guarded and led in Strugling.
Bri.
Let go, ye Slaves, How dare you disobey?
Achilles will not leave me unreveng'd.
How dare you touch with Impious hands what's his?
If not his Wrath that keeps the World in Terror,
Then fear my Frown that makes Achilles tremble.

Uly.
to Chruseis.
I must acquaint the King with her arrival;
Forgive the Office, Madam.—
[Exit Ulysses.

Bri.
Loose me, I say.—

Chr.
Stand off, ye Ravishers—And let my Eye
Take a just view of this Imperious Beauty.
Let go your Impious hold—'tis my Command.

They leave her at Liberty, and stand at distance. She comes forward
Bri.
Whose Voice is this that has more Pow'r than mine?
With shame this freedom I receive, that's ow'd
To any other Frown but to my own.

Chr.
If you'd be absolute, you should have staid
Where you were so—but here 'tis I Command.

Bri.
If here you Reign, thank Fortune for your Pow'r,
That never brought Briseis here till now.

Chr.
Survey me well, and as you look grow Humbler.

Bri.
I have survey'd, and I confess you fair,
I like you well—but like my self much better.

Chr.
Nature this comfort has to none deni'd,
That all are Wits and Beauties to themselves.

Re-enter Ulysses.
Uly.
Thus Agamemnon greets the fair Briseis:
Brightest of Beauties, Hail! Welcome, as once
Chruseis was, e're yet the Curse of Heav'n
Made her and Ruin one—Welcom as Venus,
Would she abandon Troy to side with Greece:
Forgotten be this Day, all sorrows past,
For here are endless Joys—unmarkt the Sun
Now shrowds his Beams—for here are brighter Rays.
Sound, Sound our Trumpets, and our Timbals, Sound
Triumph through all our Camp—for Victory
Not shows a form so Fair.

Chr.
Thou do'st bely him, basely thou bely'st him,
These Words are thine, this Welcome is thy own.
It is the fate of Kings to be so serv'd,
Ill Ministers prophaning thus their Names
With acts unknown to them.
Think not to practice Treason and escape:
Offended Majesty, and injur'd Love
Shall find thee out, and thunder on thy head:
Traytor they shall.

Bri.
I easily believe his Homage true,
Nor thank him for't—but take it as my due.

Chr.
Foolish self-flatterer! how my Agamemnon
Will turn to scorn thy sensless Vanity!

Bri.
How I shall triumph to behold thy rage
For a lost Love! not Conquerors delight
In winning Towns and Kingdoms from each other,
More than we Women to take Lovers—
Though fancy may be nice and ti'd to one,
Pride is insatiate and demands a Crowd.
My Beauty, like Achilles, fights at all.
Oh, 'tis a glorious sight! to see the Men
Gazing with Eyes, that glow with Rapture on us,
To hear them cry aloud, Oh Gods how charming!
To have a Train attending up and down,
Watching at every turn to catch a Glance,
Breathing their Wishes after us in sighs:
Oh how we triumph! and with scornful toss
We tread along in State, and look Disdain!

Uly.
aside.]
O sympathy of Mind! well-suited Pair!
Happy Achilles! happy Briseis! two so like,
So much the same; how blest were they to meet!
How firm and lasting must their Passion be!
Strong as self-love! In them 'tis nothing else:
As in a Glass each their own Image sees,
And loving, in each other they enjoy,
And hug their own Reflection—

Chru.
Proportion thy endeavours to thy strength:
To such vain things, no Grief of heart's like this,
To labour to be lik'd, to sue for Praise
With greedy eyes, and still to be deceiv'd:
Go somewhere else to practise thy Designs;
Here like a common thing thou'lt pass along,
And unregarded, scarce attract one Eye.

Uly.
to Briseis.]
Forgive the Anguish of a rival'd Beauty;
When Ladies rail, 'tis Envy, not Dislike.
'Tis plain she fears, by counselling to go,
Nor dares to stand the trial with your Eyes:
Stay and assert your Empire over Man,
Which Heaven design'd, creating you so fair.

Bris.
Wise, wise Ulysses.—I remember well,
Oft I have seen you in Achilles Tent:
For nice Discernment, and deep Wisdom fam'd.
Yes, she would have me go, I see her Cunning;
But I will stay to get her Lovers from her,
And then I'll leave you all, to break your hearts.
I come not like a Conqueror to remain,
I have a better Countrey of my own;
But mean to show the Terror of my Eyes,
To burn, consume, to ravage, and away.
To the Guards.]
Come show me to this King, who waits to dye,
I long to let the killing Arrow fly.
To Chruseis.]
Follow, and witness to thy own Disgrace;
I challenge thee—to meet me on the place.

[Exit Briseis with the Guard.
Uly.
to Chruseis.]
Judge better now of my Advice.

Chr.
Traytor avoid me; from my sight, be gone;
The King shall know thy Malice, and revenge it.
Avoid my sight—
Glory that bid me go, now bids me stay,
To clear my King; that you and all may see,
Rather than live with her, he'll dye with me.