University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Scene changes to the Tents of Achilles.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus.
Ach.
The Gods have taken Vengeance from our hands,
And seem resolv'd to do our Work alone;
Like sprightly Steeds broke from their Mangers loose,
That toss in Air their Necks, and neigh aloud;
So march the Trojans from behind their Walls:
They clash their Armour, and they shake their Spears,
And with loud Cries provoke the Greeks to Battel.

Pat.
Oh Achilles!

Ach.
Why weeps Patroclus in this hour of Joy?
Vengeance is sure; his Foes upon his Foes
Shall do Achilles right. Rejoice, Rejoice:
O give me Musick; sound aloud, Rejoice,
Till every Valley ecchoes back, Rejoice.
Let all our Myrmidons be seen to day,
With Garlands crown'd, as at a Feast of Triumph;
Let Songs of Joy be heard in every Tent;
And like the Corybantes crush the Ground,
Each drumming in his hand a Brazen Cymbal.
Now by the Gods, the Myrmidon that weeps
To day's a Traytor, and shall dye.

Pat.
That Traytor is Patroclus:—Death's my choice,
Rather than live to see my Friends destroy'd.

Ach.
Has then Patroclus any other Friend,
More lov'd than his Achilles? Wouldst thou dye,
Rather than live to see my Wrongs reveng'd?

Pat.
No, by the Gods I'd dye to bring thee Vengeance:
Thy Foes are mine: But let our Wrath be just,
Not brutal. What Wrongs hast thou receiv'd
From any other Greek, but Agamemnon?
And must all perish for the Crimes of one?

Ach.
Perish like dogs: I laugh to see 'em bleed;
Their dying Groans are Musick to my ears;
My Rage makes no distinction: All are Foes,
That to my Foes are Friends.—Away Patroclus,
How canst thou pity them, and yet love me?

Pat.
O Gods! Let never Rage like this possess
Patroclus. O hard-hearted, cruel Prince,
Thou surely wer't not of a Goddess born,
Nor was the good Æacides thy Sire:
Sprang from the Sea thou seem'st, begot by Storms,
And thy impenetrable Heart's a Rock.

Ach.
Take heed, Patroclus, lest thy ill-tim'd Pity
Provoke me too; and I forget our Friendship.

Pat.
Forget it, do; and bury in my Breast
Thy bloody Blade: I'll not outlive the day
That brings such foul dishonour to my Countrey.
Think not that I'll stand by, a tame Spectator.
If Greece must fall, then fall Patroclus too.
I'll to the Fight.

Ach.
Now by the Gods thou shalt not;
With my drawn Sword I'll bar the Passage up,
And see what Myrmidon dares help the Greeks.

Pat.
That Myrmidon am I.—Dishonour brand me,
If I not go; or falling on the Point
Of my own Sword, give freedom to my Soul,
That does disdain to live beyond its Honour.

Ach.
Is this thy Love, Patroclus?

Pat.
That I do love thee, well thou know'st, Achilles:
Command me to cut off a Limb, I'll do't.
Let but this Day be past, on which depends
The Safety and the Glory of all Greece;
This Day of such Importance to the Publick,
And then thy private Grudge shall be my own.
To single Fight I'll challenge Agamemnon;
Let us preserve him for our own Revenge.
'Tis base to see a Foe oppress'd with odds;
Make Vengeance sure, but let it then be brave.

Ach.
Thou hast o'recome me; and my Heart, like Wax,
Melts at thy Tears, and can deny thee nothing.
Go then, Patroclus, where thy Glory calls:
And thou alone of all the Greeks be safe.
What mean my eyes by these unusual drops?
No: Thou must stay. Oh! think again, Patroclus.
The good Mænetius, when at Pthia last
We parted, gave thee, weeping, to my Charge;
Take here, said he, all that my Soul holds dear,
And safe return him, to support my Age.
Well have I kept my Word; behind my Shield
I plac'd thee still; my Body was thy Armour;
Still side by side we fought, and never parted.
My Friend, my dearest Friend, why wilt thou leave me?

Pat.
At night I'll come all glorious back again,
And fill your Tents with Spoils of slaughter'd Foes.
The Greeks and Trojans that beheld me fight
Beneath your Buckler, shelter'd by your Sword;
And think Patroclus is too weak alone;
Shall see that I can fight without a Guard.

Ach.
Oh cruel Honour! that obliges thee
To go, and me to stay. My Soul till now
Ne're felt such strife; not when I lost Briseis.
Then wilt thou go?

Pat.
O melt me not with so much Tenderness:
My heart that beat but now with Manly Virtue,
Is soften'd like a Woman's.

Ach.
Go then, whilst all thy Courage is upon thee,
But go attended like Achilles Friend;
Take all my Troops, and put my Armour on;
Look like Achilles, like Achilles fight;
Be thou victorious, perish all the rest;
Let Agamemnon, like a beaten Slave,
Fly to his Ships, and there be burnt or drown'd;
Let Fire and Sword all other Greeks destroy,
Till Thou and I, alone, are left to conquer Troy.

Exeunt severally.
The Scene returns to Agamemnon's Pavilion.
Enter Nestor and Ulysses, seeming in discourse with Chruseis.
Nes.
Let but some modest Matron come in view,
How unregarded and unmarkt she goes:
O let her pass, they cry, she's good for nothing.
But let some flanting Minx come prancing by,
All Eyes are on her, and all Necks are bow'd;
Oh how they strive and justle to get nearest!
Hide, hide your Heads, ye Gods, from Mortal Worship,
When such as these, divide our Adorations.

Uly.
It looks more like a Triumph, than a Rape:
To joyful Tunes the merry Timbrels play,
While Captive Queens like Minstrels dance and sing.
Trumpets and Tymbals sound Olympus high;
The Voice of Victory made a Call to Lust:
In graceful Order each Battalion's drawn;
And in the Front our Princes stand in Arms,
Shining with Gold, and nod their stately Plumes,
Saluting as she passes.—Armour that's Proof
To Swords and Spears, and to the Javelins Thrust,
Gives easy Passage to one Glance of hers;
Whilst with disdainful State she treads along,
And looks regardless of such petty Conquest;
None but their King, their General.—But hark!
Again the Trumpets—This way bends the Sound;
Sure she approaches—Madam, will you meet
The Show—It may be worth your Curiosity.

Chr.
D'ye mock me, Greek? Am I become your scorn?
I thank ye, Gods, though Love is mine no more,
Yet Vengeance is.—Ungrateful Man!
And was I kept with so much Form of Truth,
To be but left with greater Infamy!
Forsaken! Oh the disgraceful word! False!
Is he false? No, let him if he dares—
I'll stay, that he may perish.
Exit Chruseis.

Nes.
Nay then we are again outwitted.

Uly.
Is't not in Art to tempt a Woman once
To stray from Wickedness? Or to beguile her
Into good? Are then their Stars so strong,
That they are fated to be mischievous?

Enter Agamemnon attended.
Ag.
Bid Diomed with his Ætolian Horse,
Observe 'em from yon Hill.—
To live and conquer is the Noblest Fate,
But the next Glory is a Gallant Death.
Success, O Jove, and Victory are thine,
Fortune is thine; my Honour is my own:
Facing my Doom, with my drawn Sword I'll stand,
Nor turn my Back upon thy wrathful Bolt.

Uly.
Yet might I advise—

Ag.
Still the same Argument.
Thou know'st my Answer.—I am fixt.
I see my Fate, ye Gods, and I accept it;
Life is not worth the Price you ask—To live
With her I love, was my first Wish—My next,
Is to dye with her.

Uly.
But this word more, and I have done.—

Ag.
Spare thy self the pains—Thy words, like Winds
Against an Oak, regardless whistle by;
The Leaves are troubled, but the Root is fix'd.
I say, thou may'st displease, but canst not move.
I am not to be mov'd.

Uly.
Then hear me as an Advocate for Love,
The Friend of Love:—For what so sweet in Love
As Change. If you must love, then love
Like other men: Love like th'Immortal Gods,
Variety; the Luxury of Love.

Ag.
I understand thee not. Trust me, Ulysses,
I fear thy Brain is troubled.

Uly.
Thus I unfold the Riddle.—Briseis Rape
I neither counsell'd nor approv'd; you know it:
Much urg'd, and much provok'd, against your Nature,
Unwilling to all Violence, you did it.
Make the best use of what is past recall;
Take her, and give Chruseis to the Gods:
So shall you love, and be victorious still,
Live and enjoy. Exchanges like to this,
Love does allow and practise every hour.
She's handsome, and a Woman, a kind Woman,
What would you more? And what does Love require,
But beautiful and kind?

Ag.
Far be such wicked Counsellors from Kings:
How dar'st thou, Traytor, tempt my honest heart
To such vile Purposes. When I am false,
Forsake me all that's true. What! parcel Love
Like common Dole, by Scraps, to every Eye
That hungers after Lust! shall I do this?
No. My frank Soul gives largely, all at once,
Nothing by halves. True Love has no Reserves.
Yes, my Chruseis, I am only thine;
Only and all. The Soul that's snatch'd by Death,
Returns no more: Nor will her Eyes give back
The Heart she keeps in her Eternal Chain.

Uly.
Behold Briseis entring—Timely she comes
To end this Argument: her Eyes will plead
More strongly than my Tongue: To them I leave it.
Exit Ulysses.

Enter Officers and Attendants, Then Briseis.
Agamemnon approaches her, bowing respectfully.
Ag.
Forgive me, Madam—

Bri.
E're thou speak'st, hear me: Thy vain Intent
I easily divine. 'Tis Love thou'dst mention.—

Ag.
With needless Fears—

Bri.
Approach me not—
Perhaps you thought, because I lov'd Achilles,
'Twas possible some other might succeed.
If once some Man, more charming than the rest,
Has found the way to melt a Womans heart,
Strait every Fool presumes to be as welcome.

Ag.
Give me but leave—

Bri.
No; you shall never have my leave to Love.
Or did you think, because your Empire's wider
In Power and Wealth, exceeding my Achilles,
With higher Offers to corrupt my Faith?
Though Hearts for Hearts, uncertainly prevail,
Riches and Power are Baits that never fail:
He makes most progress in a Woman's Breast,
Who Proffers highest, not who Loves her best.
These are the insolent remarks of Men,
With which we know you all arraign our Sex;
But learn to the confusion of thy hopes,
I would not change for Mars,—much less for thee.

Ag.
Think not that I mean—

Bri.
I care not what you mean—Thou dar'st not Greek,
Not for thy life offend Divine Achilles.
When he withdraws his Arm, your Glory sinks,
Achilles is the Pillar of your Cause,
The Prop of Greece, and Terror of the Trojans,
And Thou, without him, Nothing.

Enter Chruseis.
Chr.
Think not I come to interrupt your Joys,
Ungrateful King, I know I am unwelcome:
As willingly as thou hast made this Choice,
So willingly, Chruseis do's confirm it,
Take, Take her, Traitor, Take her to your Arms,
Falsest of Greeks, who are of Men the falsest:
I quit you of all Vows, of all Engagements
Give her my Oaths that you repent you made,
And I repent, that ever I received.
To Briseis.]
Nor triumph thou; for were he worth my keeping,
Thou should'st not have him yet: The Gift I make
Is of a thing I scorn.

Bri.
I scorn as much to take it.

Ag.
What means Chruseis?

Chru.
Oh Agamemnon! hadst thou but been true,
Hadst thou been constant but a little longer,
Couldst thou have persever'd, but yet one hour,
My Virtue had prepar'd, for Thee, for Me,
Such proofs of Love, so passionate and noble,
Such Scenes of Glory, delicate and nice,
As had amaz'd Mankind—But thou hast ruin'd all;
O squanderer of Fame! Thy Honour, Mine,
'Tis lost, 'Tis gone, for ever past recal:
A perjur'd Lover, and forsaken Mistress,
Is all the name, that's left for both—

Ag.
Who's perjur'd? who forsaken?

Chru.
Seek not to hide what I have heard, and seen,
Nor be so Vain, to think thy falshood grieves:
My only grief is that I ever lov'd,
To cease to do it, is a pleasure to me.
Hadst thou been true, I had been great, but wretched:
But thou art false, and what I lose in glory,
Will be made up in Ease, for Falshood cures;
A generous Love disdains to harbour Traitors:
My Heart deceiv'd, for want of knowing Thee,
Receiv'd thee in, a Robber, not a Guest,
But on discovery, thus turns thee out,
Unworthy to be there:
Unworthy of good Usage.

Ag.
Have I been false?—By the immortal Gods—

Chru.
Yes, Thou canst swear, and swear, I know it well:
But swear not by the Gods, whom thou hast mockt,
Nor yet to me, who can believe no more:
But swear to her, for she is yet to learn
How well thou canst deceive—O what are Men!
How impiously they play with Perjury!
Traitor, I know the Value of your Oaths,
Ulysses told me—

Ag.
What has Ulysses told you?

Chru.
What I have seen.

Ag.
Ulysses is a Traitor—speak Briseis,
Be thou my Witness—Have I mention'd love?

Bri.
I would not give you leave.

Chru.
Thou art condemn'd—thy Witness has condemn'd thee;
Thou'rt Perjur'd doubly—Perjur'd to us both—
Thou would'st have sworn, would she have heard thee swear,
And now thou would'st recant, because she scorns thee.

Bri.
Though I commanded silence to my self,
And my nice Ear disdain'd to hear thy Love,
Who bids thee make a secret of thy Passion?
My scorn were lost, were not thy love proclaim'd;
To Me be silent, To the World be loud;
Begin by telling her; I give thee leave.

Ag.
To her alone—

Chru.
I'll spare thee the confession.
'Tis a stale story, and I know enough.
Would'st thou then own it? Brave me to my face?
Thou dar'st not—No—Thou art not yet so harden'd.
Why dost thou tremble when I look upon thee?
When thou would'st speak, upon thy falt'ring Tongue,
The Accents dy; All Arguments of guilt!
Thy Colour goes and comes upon thy face,
And thy young treason blushes to be seen.
The Murder'd Body, at the Murdrer's touch
Will bleed afresh: nor can Betrayers bear
The sight of one betray'd, without confusion.
Thou fear'st me still, I read it in thy Eyes,
And in thy Limbs, that scarce support thy Body,
Oh! that I could look thee dead.—

Ag.
My wounded Soul is on its flight—

Bri.
Die quickly then, for I'm in hast to go,
Die at my feet, that I may spurn thee Dead,
To show my scorn—How dar'st thou look
When I am by, on any Face but mine?

Chru.
Look on, look on,—Gaze till thy Eye-Balls burst,
And rowling round thy sight from Charm to Charm,
Survey me all, and then repent thy change.
Gaze till thou'rt mine again; 'till falling down
Low at my Feet, thou do'st expire with shame.
There is a secret struggle in thy Soul,
I see thou would'st return, but 'tis too late;
For know, Atrides, thou behold'st thy last.
He kneels.]
Sink lower, lower, hide thee under-ground,
Thou'rt odious to my Eyes, and I can bear
Thy sight no longer.

Ag.
Hear me Chruseis.
Rises.]
Would either hear, both might be satisfy'd.
Ye both have dream'd, and each of ye believes
The Visions of her sleep—would you but hear—

Chru.
Oh that I ne're had heard, nor ever seen;
'Tis past, 'tis past, Atrides, Love's no more,
My Heart is harder now, than once 'twas soft;
Farewell for ever—Yet forgive him, Gods!
Not on his head, but on his faithless Sex
Revenge the Cause of poor abandon'd Truth:
Nor let it be by Famine, or Disease;
Nor yet by Thunder, nor tempestuous Blast;
Nor Fire nor Sword, nor by consuming Wars;
Let us Revenge our selves; commit to us
This mighty Charge.—No Vengeance like a Woman's.
Let Falshood punish Falshood: Let Deceit
And Treachery be only Women's Arts.
Henceforth, through rowling Ages, Let there be
Not one Example of a Woman Faithful.
Let all be Hellens, perjur'd Devils all.
Let every Husband, be a noted Cuckold,
Give 'em not Wives to comfort, but to plague:
Let Love be all a trick, and a pretence,
And every Woman be a bosom Serpent.
The Gods have granted—And methinks I read
The Page of Fate, and find it first for ever,
That not a Woman shall be born hereafter
But shall deceive some Man—Debates arise,
Dissentions reign, Pollution be triumphant,
And Jealousies and Jars, Confound the World.
[Exit Chruseis.

Bris.
My Conquest is complete: She flies, she flies,
And has avow'd the triumph of my Eyes.
So may all thrive, who dare my Empire brave,
Like her despair, and be Mankind my Slave.
How pleas'd will be Achilles, when he knows,
My Beauty, has reveng'd him on his Foes:
I go to tell him, nor will be delay'd,
Stir not to stop me—For I'll look thee dead.
[Exit Briseis.

Ag.
Go where I never may behold thee more
Thou Imp of thy Achilles—Like a Child
I struck, and hit my self; I rais'd a storm
And perish in't: the means of my revenge
Has turn'd to my own ruin: And the load
I cast, has weigh'd me after it, and sunk me.
'Tis just ye Gods, your Providence has caught
My foolish Wrath, and my own act of Vengeance
Becomes revenge for him? 'Gainst whom 'twas meant.
[Sees Ulysses entring.
Ar't thou there Traytor? Com'st thou then to watch
The workings of thy Poyson on our Loves?
Safer thou d'st met a Tygress hunting out
The Thief that robb'd her Young—

Ulys.
What I have done—

Ag.
What thou hast done—Undo—Or thou shalt dye—
[Seizes hold of him.
Thou shalt be torn by Horses, rack'd alive
Bury'd quick—I'll have thee hew'd to pieces—
Prometheus Vulture, and Ixion's Wheel
The Stone, the Sieve; The Tortures of the Damn'd
Are but slight pains—Thou shalt be more than damn'd—
Find out Chruseis strait—
[Thrusts him away.
Confess thy Fraud, unravel her mistake,
Convince her of my Love and Innocence:
I fear her Wrath, more than the Wrath of Heaven.
Appease her well—And let me find her gentle—
[Siezes him again.
See this be done—look to't—Away—
[Thrusts him towards the Door.
Why send I him?
On Wings of Love, the Lovers self should fly,
Love has a thousand ways, and all I'll try,
And at her feet, be justify'd or dye.

[Exeunt all.