University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The Palace.
MEROPE. EURICLES. ISMENE.
MEROPE.
Is the World dumb, on my Eumene's Fate?

ISMENE.
Calamity, too soon, had found a Tongue.

MEROPE.
Has nothing, from the Borders, yet been heard?

EURICLES.
Nothing, that claims your notice.

MEROPE.
Who is He,
This Prisoner, I am told, but now, brought guarded?

EURICLES.
A rash young Stranger, caught with guilty Hand,
Red, from the recent Marks of some new Murder.

MEROPE.
A Murder! an unknown!—Whom, has he kill'd?
How? and where, was it?—I am fill'd with Horror.

ISMENE.
Oh! Sense too lively, of maternal Love!
All Things alarm your Tenderness. You hear
Chance speak: and take her Voice, for That of Nature.

MEROPE.
What is his Name? whence came he?—Why unknown?

EURICLES.
He seems, and is, if Truth may trust Appearance,
A Youth of that soft Stamp, which Fortune leaves
To Nature's gentlest Care; some Nymph's Adonis
Whose Eye, might sooner be suppos'd to kill
Th' unpity'd Maid, than his gay Sword the Man.

MEROPE.
Whom (tell me) has he kill'd?—answer.—I'll see him.

EURICLES.
What strange Emotion, This.—

MEROPE.
No Matter.—bring him.
If I discover Guilt, 'tis mine to punish:
If wrong'd, I owe him Mercy.

EURICLES.
—Should he have Merit,
'Tis plac'd so low, by Fortune.—

MEROPE.
Fortune's Faults,
Where Merit suffers, call on Kings, to mend 'em.

EURICLES.
What can a Wretch like This deserve, from Power?

MEROPE.
O, Euricles! look inward: ask thy Heart.
Be, for a Moment, but, This Wretch, Thyself—
And, then, acquit the Power, that scorn'd to note thee.
—Besides, who knows? he may—be still, prompt Fear.
Perhaps, my troubled Mind starts Hints too lightly.
Hearts that have Everything to fear, slight Nothing.
—Let him be brought.—I will, myself, examine him.

EURICLES.
Your Will must be obey'd.

MEROPE.
Go, my Ismene!
Bid those who guard the Pris'ner bring him hither.

Exit Ismene.
[Euricles, offering to go.]
MEROPE.
Stay, Euricles.
Stay: and partake more Terrors—Cou'd you think it?
Press'd by new Sorrows, I forget my past,
And have not yet inform'd you—Poliphontes
Has dar'd demand my Hand: dar'd—talk of Marriage.

EURICLES.
Oh! Queen!
I know his Offer Insult: know, It stains
Your Name. Yet, blushing, add,—Your forc'd Consent,
Grown infamously necessary,—stands,
The sole, safe Bar, 'twixt All your Race, and Ruin.

MEROPE.
'Tis Horror, but to think, so vile a Dream!

EURICLES.
So thinks the Army.—So, the Senate thinks.
So, think th' exacting Gods:—and, so—

MEROPE.
The Gods!—
Why were They nam'd?—Cou'd they forgive such Fall?
From their own Offspring, to a Son of Clay!

EURICLES.
The King, your Son—

MEROPE.
Ah! Name not Him.—How, Euricles!
How wou'd He thank, my Choice of such a Father?

EURICLES.
Princes grow wise by Sorrows. He will see
That hated Choice the Root of all his Safety.

MEROPE.
What, what, have you been telling me?

EURICLES.
Hard Truths:
Due, from firm Loyalty, to weak Distress.

MEROPE.
Can Euricles then plead, for Poliphontes!

EURICLES.
I know him guilty:—but, I know him rash:
Know him resistless: know him childless, too;
And know, you love Eumenes.

MEROPE.
Loving Him,
How can I chuse but hate, the Hand that wrongs him?
Princes shou'd be above these Self-securings:
And born, to live for Truth—or die for Glory.

Sits and weeps regardless of Eumene's Entrance.

SCENE II.

MEROPE. EURICLES. ISMENE. Guards, with EUMENES, in Chains.
EUMENES.
—(To Ismene.)
Is That the Queen, so fam'd for Miseries?

ISMENE.
It is.

EUMENES.
How sweetly aweful!—how adorn'd, by Sorrows!

ISMENE.
Why dost thou pause? the Queen admits thee nearer.

EUMENES.
No wonder, so much Sweetness, so distress'd,
Mov'd, even so greatly distant,—as to me:
And drew me, from my Desart!—Give me Leave
To stand, a while.—and gaze unmark'd—and note her.
—O, ye protecting Gods! whate're becomes
Of an abandon'd, nameless Thing, like me,
Bless this Supreme Unfortunate!

ISMENE.
Madam!—the Prisoner waits.

MEROPE.
—Turning, to observe him.
A Murderer, This!—
Come forward, Stranger.
—A Mien like this, a Murd'rer's!—Can it be,
That Looks, so form'd for Truth, so mark'd for Innocence,
Cover a cruel Heart?—Come nearer, Youth!
Thou art unhappy; bid That Fate protect thee:
And speak, as to an Ear that loves the Wretched.
Answer me now.—Whose was the Blood thou shed'st?

EUMENES.
Oh, Queen!—Yet—for a Moment—spare my Tongue.

MEROPE.
Murder, and Modesty!—Whence, all this Shame?

EUMENES.
Respect, Confusion,—something, here—un-nam'd,
And never felt, till now,—have bound my Tongue.
But—oh! do Justice, to your Power to shake me;
And, let not Hesitation—pass—for Guilt.

MEROPE.
Go on—Who was he, whom, I'm told, thou ha'st kill'd?

EUMENES.
One, who with Wrongs, and Insult, urg'd my Rashness.
Young Blood takes Fire too aptly.

MEROPE.
Young!—was he young?
Ice, at my conscious Heart, were warm—compar'd
With what he chills my Soul with!—Did'st thou know him?

EUMENES.
I did not. All Mycene's Earth, and Air,
Her Cities, and her Sons, are new, to me.

MEROPE.
What, was he arm'd, this young Assaulter? came he
With Malice? or for Robbery? Be of Comfort.
If he attack'd thee, thy Defence was necessary.
And sad Necessity makes All things just.

EUMENES.
Heaven is my Witness, I provok'd him not.
'Tis not in Valour's Wish, to offer Insult:
And sure! it is no Crime, to check it, offer'd.

MEROPE.
On, then—relate the Chance, that led thee hither.

EUMENES.
Entring your Borders, I beheld a Temple,
Sacred to Hercules; the God, my Soul
Low, as my Lot was cast, aspires to Honour.
—What shou'd I do? bare Vot'ry as I was!
I had no Off'rings: brought no Victims, with me.
Poor, and oppress'd by Fortune, what I cou'd
I gave—I knelt, and pour'd a Heart before him,
Warm, as a hundred Hecatombs! pure, humble,
Pious, and firm.—Th'Unhappy can no more.
I ask'd not, for myself, his undue Blessing.
I pray'd Protection, to his own high Race:
For, I had heard, Great Queen! your Wrongs requir'd it.
The Present God, methought, receiv'd my Prayer.
His Altar trembled; and his Temple rung!
Keen, undulating. Glories beam'd, about me:
I know not how I bore it!—but, my Heart,
Full of the Force infus'd, at once grew Vaster.
My swelling Courage, far above myself,
Sustain'd me:—and I glow'd, with All the God.

MEROPE.
(Rising in Emotion.)
Go on. Methinks, the God thou nam'st speaks in theee!
And Ev'ry Hearer glows, as warm'd as Thou!

EUMENES.
I bow'd, and left the Temple—Following, came
Two Men, of haughty Stride, with angry Lowre:
Roughly, accosting, they reproach'd my Prayer.
How did I dare, they ask'd, solicite Heaven,
To aid Sedition's Purposes? No God
Shou'd save a Wretch like me, prescrib'd by Power.
—I heard, astonish'd; and prepar'd to speak:
When, with impatient Fierceness, Each rais'd Arm,
With Rage conjoin'd, came on.

MEROPE.
Interrupting.
Both!—Came they,
Both,
To wound thee!—

EUMENES.
Both, with Madman's Frenzy,
Struck at my Breast, ignobly.

MEROPE.
Thou has eas'd me.
Go on.—These Men had Souls, that match'd their Fate.

EUMENES.
Un-arm'd, and inoffensive, so surpriz'd,
The God I had address'd repaid my Prayer.
—Warding the weakest Stroke, with swordless Hand,
Swiftly I clos'd, and seiz'd the wrested Steel
From Him whose stronger Arm more nearly press'd me.
Seiz'd it with Lightning's Swiftness: for, Oppression
Rowses Distress, to Vengeance.—On Himself,
I turn'd his pointed Weapon: sav'd my Breast,
And plung'd it in His own.—He fell.—The Other
Started, and curs'd: but, like a Coward, fled,
False to his dying Fellow.—Mighty Queen,
This is the sad short Truth. May the kind Power
I bow'd to, touch your Ear; and move your Pity!

MEROPE.
She were a Tygress, that cou'd hear this Tale,
And pause, upon thy Pardon—Still, go on:
How wer't thou seiz'd? hide Nothing: and hope All.

EUMENES.
Shock'd by uncertain Dread for what was done,
I gaz'd astonish'd round: and mark'd, beneath,
Where, at a Furlong's Distance, the Salt Wave
Broke on the Shore. Sudden I snatch'd the Corps,
And, hast'ning to the Beach, gave it to the Sea.
That done, I sigh'd, and fled: Your Guards, great Queen,
For what escapes such Eyes, as Heaven's, and Yours!
Unseen by me, mark'd all; follow'd, and took me.

MEROPE.
—To Euricles.
Did he resist, when seiz'd?

EUMENES.
I cou'd not, Madam.
The Name of Merope disarm'd my Will.
They told me they were yours. I bow'd, and yielded.
Gave 'em my new-gain'd Sword: and took their Chains.

EURICLES.
This Youth, by Him he kill'd, was judg'd Another.

MEROPE.
Oh! I have noted All: and Heaven was just.
—Retire, to farther Distance, gentle Youth.—
I'll tell thee, Euricles!
Methought, at every Word this Wanderer spoke,
Pity—or Something, tenderer than Pity,
Clung to my aking Heartstrings! nay, 'twas stranger!
For, I will tell thee All.—Cresphontes' Features,
Heav'ns, what Ideas Hopes and Fears can raise!
My dear dead manly Lord's resembled Features;
I saw, and trac'd, (I blush, to think what Folly!)
Trac'd,—in this Cottage Hero's honest Face.

ISMENE.
Compassion is a kind and generous Painter.
—Yet, Truth Herself must grow as blind, as Fortune,
Ere she cou'd look on That unhappy Youth;
And find him less, than worth her kindest Pity.

EURICLES.
Ismene speaks my Thoughts. He's innocent.
The Gods have stamp'd their Mark of Candor on him:
And no Impostor's Art inhabits there.

MEROPE.
(To Eumenes.)
Again, approach me.—In what Part of Greece
Did it please Heaven to give thee Birth, good Youth?

EUMENES.
(Advancing.)
In Elis, generous Queen.

MEROPE.
In Elis.—Tell me.
I hop'd, it had been nearer.—Hast thou, ever,
In thy low Converse, heard the Swains, thy Neighbours,
Mention the Name of Narbas?—or Eumenes?—
—The Last, thou must have heard of.

EUMENES.
Never, Madam.

MEROPE.
Never?—That's strange! what then was thy Condition?
What thy Employment? and thy Father's Name?

EUMENES.
My Father was a Shepherd: learn'd, and wise;
Prince of the Sylvan Shades, and Past'ral Vale,
He led th'attracted Hearts of list'ning Swains,
And pleas'd 'em into Subjects—in himself
Too humble, for Distinction—had not Virtue
Compell'd him into Notice.—
He liv'd un-envied: for, excelling All,
He veil'd superior Eminence, by Modesty:
No claim'd Exemption eas'd his Life from Care:
Peacefully poor! and reverently belov'd!
His fleecy Harvests fed him:—and, his Name
Was Policletes, Madam.

MEROPE.
What thy Own?

EUMENES.
Low, like my past'ral Care—to Cottage Ears
Adapted—and unform'd for your Regard.
—Yet, Elis, oft, may deign to speak of—Dorilas.

MEROPE.
Oh! I have lost my Hope. Heaven mocks Relief:
And every starting Spark is quench'd, in Darkness:
So, then, your Parents held no Rank in Greece?

EUMENES.
Did Rank draw Claim from Goodness, they have Rights
Wou'd leave all Place behind 'em, Inborn Virtue
Can borrow no Enlargement, but lends all
That keeps Contempt from Titles.

MEROPE.
Every Word
He utters has a Charm!—But, Why, at home
So bless'd, and, to such Parents, doubly dear,
Didst thou, forgetful of the Care thou owd'st 'em,
Quit their kind Cott, and leave 'em to their Tears?

EUMENES.
A vain Desire of Glory, first seduc'd me.
Oft had I heard my Father mourn Mycene,
Weep, for her Civil Wars, and suff'ring Queen.
Oft, had He charm'd my young, aspiring, Soul,
With Wonder, at your Firmness!—So, inflam'd,
I learnt, by slow Degrees, to think my Youth
Disgrac'd, by home-felt Virtues: Weigh'd the Call
Of Glory, against Duty; and grew bold
To hope, my humble Arm might add some Aid
To prop your warring Standards.—See! great Queen,
The only Motive of my erring Rashness.
For, Heaven has taught me, tho' it loves your Cause,
I merit my Distress: who left my Father,
Wanting, perhaps, in Age's feeble Calls,
Some Help, I might have lent him.—'Twas a Fault.
But, 'twas my first: And I may live, to mend it.

MEROPE.
[aside.
Methinks, I hear Eumenes—So, my Soul
Informs me, had He known Descent, thus lowly,
So, my Eumenes wou'd have thought, and spoke.
—Such, is his Age, where'er conceal'd he mourns:
Perhaps too, such his Fortune—driven, like This,
From Realm to Realm, a Wand'rer, thus unknown!
Friendless, and hopeless, and expos'd to Poverty!
—I will have Pity, on his Youth's Distress:
And cultivate his Fortune.—What bold Noise?
[Shouts heard without.
Whence can such Rudeness flow!—What is't, Ismene?

ISMENE.
[at a Window.
All Ills are Poliphontes. The vile Rabble
Shout their sure Vote, for Treason. Poliphontes
Is King, proclaim'd—and Hope is now no more.

EUMENES.
Oh! for the Sword, once more, your Guards took from me!
Now, now, I feel these Chains: Now, first, they bind me.

MEROPE.
Give him his Sword. Let him be free, as Air.
Honest Proposer!—but, Thy Help's too weak,
To prop a Throne, in Donger.—

EUMENES.
O, Queen!—forgive Presumption, in the Poor,
When They dare pity Greatness.
All have their Mis'ries—but, when Crowns grow wretched,
'Tis Arrogance, in mean ones, to complain.
[Exit Eumenes.

EURICLES.
Too fatally, I prophesied.—Confess
This hard Necessity: which, now, you find;
And seem, at least, to sooth the Tyrant's Hope.

MEROPE.
I misconceiv'd the Gods. I durst not dream.
They cou'd have bid Guilt thrive: and given up Virtue.

EURICLES.
They will not, Madam.

MEROPE.
So, my sad Heart, still,
Struggles to hope: and, if they mark my Woe,
They will forgive my Rashness.

EURICLES.
Come what must!
I will assemble round you the few faithful,
And, failing to protect, partake your Fall.
[Exit Euricles.

SCENE III.

MEROPE. ISMENE.
MEROPE.
O, People! People! They, who trust your Faith,
Bids the wild Winds blow constant.

ISMENE.
The People's Voice is call'd, the Voice of Gods.

MEROPE.
What villain Baseness wants some bold Pretence
That drags in Heaven, to grace it? Thefts, Plots, Perjuries,
Avarice, Revenge, the bloody Zeal, of Pride,
And unforgiving Bitterness of Heart;
All—have their Gods to friend! their Priests, to sanctifie.

SCENE IV.

MEROPE. ISMENE. EURICLES, with a Sword.
EURICLES.
Sorrow on Sorrows bear down Hope's last Prop.
Now, be a Queen, indeed!—arm your great Heart,
With Preparation, to its utmost Stretch:
—For, if it stands this Shock, its Power's immortal.

MEROPE.
No—I am sinking, from all Sense of Pain:
And shall grow safe, by Want of Strength to suffer.
Speak—there is now but one sad Truth to dread:
And my Soul waits it heard;—then, rests, for ever.

EURICLES.
It has pleas'd Heaven—this Sword! this fatal Sword!

MEROPE.
I understand thee; thou woud'st say, he's dead.

EURICLES.
Oh! 'tis too surely so: th' atrocious Crime
At last, succeeded—and all Care is vain.

MEROPE.
Gods! Gods!—'tis done.—now all your Bolts have struck me.

ISMENE.
Guard her distracted Brain!

EURICLES.
Save her, kind Heaven!

MEROPE.
What have I done? Where have I been?

EURICLES.
Alas! where Grief, too oft,
Has left, th' Unhappy—recollect.

MEROPE.
Oh! Euricles: I recollect, too much.
Trust my sustaining Heart, it breaks not, yet.
Comfort's brief Clouds, methought, came shadowing, o'er me.
But I am found, again: a Wretch, so friendless,
That Madness will not lend Relief: but shuns me.

EURICLES.
Perish, That young, that impious Hypocrite!
That ill-admir'd Attracter of your Pity:
Whom your Protection spar'd—for fancied Virtue!

MEROPE.
Who?—What?—

ISMENE.
Not Dorilas?

EURICLES.
Him, Him,—That Dorilas.

MEROPE.
Monster! beyond all Credit of Deceit!

ISMENE:
He!—'tis impossible.

EURICLES.
He was the Murderer.
I bring too clear a Proof. Passing, but now,
I found him waiting: freed him from his Chains;
And, to re-arm him, for the Cause he chose:
Call'd for his Sword—Which, as he stretch'd his Hand
To take, I mark'd, and trembled at the View,
These once-known Gems—too well remember'd, here!

MEROPE
—taking the Sword.
Oh, All ye sleeping Gods! 'twas my Cresphontes
'Twas the King's Sword. Narbas, beyond all Doubting,
Sav'd it, that dreadful Night, for my Eumenes.
Oh! what a false vile Tale this Flatterer form'd,
To cheat us into Pardon!
Take the dumb dreadful Witness from my Sight.
[giving Euricles the Sword.
Yet, stay—return it me.—
[resumes the Sword—and kneels.
—I thank ye—Gods!
Thank your inspiring Justice: and accept it.
Live, but to thank you,—for this dire, due, Sacrifice;
Which, from the childless Mother's widow'd Hand,
Your Heav'n-directed Vengeance well demands.
[she rises.
Yes. I will sheathe it, on my Husband's Tomb,
Deep, in the bleeding Murd'rer's panting Heart;
Then, scorning Poliphontes, pierce my own;
So, die, reveng'd, and safe,—absolving Heaven.
—Go, Euricles.—

EURICLES.
Not so.—Yet bear his Sight:
That, from his own dire Mouth, we may compel
Discovery, of his Guilt's commission'd Cause:
And, to the Bottom, search this fatal Tale.
[Exit Euricles.

ISMENE.
Erox!—the Tyrant's Minister of Death.

SCENE V.

MEROPE. ISMENE. EROX.
EROX.
[aside.
Now, aid me, wily Powers of winning Art!

MEROPE.
How now! What bold Intrusion plac'd thee here?

EROX.
Queen, of the Kingdom's Lord! his Heart's high Empress!
Suffer a Voice unequal to the Task,
To wrong th' intrusted Sense of his told Grief
Who sends me to condole you.—Poliphontes,
Had you but smooth'd that Brow's Majestic Bend,
I meant to have said, the King,—this Moment, heard
The Fate, most pitied, of the Prince, your Son
Heard, and takes equal Part, in all your Wrongs.

MEROPE.
More, than his Part, he takes, in what is Mine.
Else, had he never dar'd aspire, to seize
His Master's Throne; nor Name my murder'd Son.

EROX.
Wishing, he waits but Leave. Respect is delicate,
And wou'd not, un-admitted, now, approach.
Fain wou'd he talk of Comfort, to your Sorrows,
Who, weeping, wants the Power to curb his own.

MEROPE.
What wou'd your artful Sender come, to say?

EROX.
To beg, that to his Hand you wou'd commit
This hateful Murd'rer's Punishment.—He glows
For Vengeance in your Cause. Shou'd think his Claim
Unworthy a Crown's Trust; less worthy yours,
Cou'd he forget, that Justice props a Throne.

MEROPE.
No. Tell him no. My Hand revenges, here.
Too short of Reach, Heaven knows! but, what it can
It shall: and neither asks, nor bears, his Aid.

EROX.
The King too tenderly regards your Will,
To cross it, ev'n in Anger—less, in Reason.
—I humbly take my Leave.

MEROPE.
I grant it, gladly.
[Exit Erox.
Hunted on every Side, why waits Distress,
Till still new Growths of Anguish, more, oppress?
How poor a Thing is Life, drag'd on to Age,
To stand, the pitied Mark, of Fortune's Rage!
Death shuts out Mis'ry: and can, best, restrain
The Bite of Insult, and the Goad of Pain.