University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Poliphontes, Erox, Merope, Ismene, Euricles, Eumenes, and Guards.
MEROPE.
You see, Sir! I dare know, and use, my Rights.
How had your Will presum'd to seize my Victim?
Am I but Queen of Shadows? that my Vengeance
Must move, as you direct it?

POLIPHONTES.
Nobly urg'd!
The Victim is your Right, requires your Hand:
Mine had defac'd your Vengeance.—I assum'd
Pretence to aid it, but to fire your Languor.
Take Courage. I resign him. With his Blood
Wash this reluctant Faintness from your Heart:
And give it Warmth to meet me at the Altar.

MEROPE.
Horrid, and impious, Hope!

POLIPHONTES.
Looks Love so frightful?

EUMENES
to Poliphontes.
Who taught thee to associate Love with Cruelty?
What Right has Cupid to a Captive's Blood?
—Yet, mispresume me not, that I court thy Pity—
He has too poor a View from Life, to prize it,
Whose Death can only serve, to shorten Pain.
—But, I am told, Thou call'st thyself a King.
Know, if thou art one, that the Poor have Rights:
And Power, in all its Pride, is less than Justice.
—I am a Stranger,—innocent,—and friendless,—
And That Protection, which thou ow'st, to All,
Is doubly due, to me:—For, I'm unhappy.

POLIPHONTES.
Protection is for Worth:—Guilt calls for Vengeance.

EUMENES.
And what does Wrong's licentious Insult call for?
—In my own just Defence, I kill'd a Robber:
Law call'd it Murder; and the Queen condemn'd me.
Queens may mistake. Ev'n Gods, who LOVE, grow partial.
I can forgive th'Injustice of a Mother:
And cou'd have bless'd her Hand, beneath the Blow.
Nature has Weaknesses, that err to Virtue?
—But, What hast Thou to do with Mother's Vengeance?
Law, that shocks Equity, is Reason's Murder.

POLIPHONTES.
So young! so wretched!—and so arrogant!
Methinks, the Pride of an Alcides' Blood
Cou'd scarce have swell'd a Soul to loftier Boldness!

MEROPE.
Pity presumptuous Heat. 'Tis Youth's Prerogative.

POLIPHONTES.
Mean while, how happy such unpolish'd Plainness!
To move Defence, from Art so skill'd as Yours.
Your Son, sure! lives.

MEROPE.
Lives! and shall live. I trust him to the Gods:
They can—they did—they will protect him.

POLIPHONTES.
What cannot Woman's Pity! None, who marks
The willing Pardon your soft Looks insure him,
Can charge your Heart with Cruelty.

MEROPE.
My Looks,
Perhaps, hint Meanings, Prudence shou'd decline
To lend too loud a Tongue to.—but, there are,
Whose Heart speaks Nothing: Yet tells All, by Actions.

POLIPHONTES.
Mark, if I speak not, now, my Heart's true Language.
—Traitor! receive thy Doom

[Drawing his Sword.
MEROPE,
(interposing.)
Strike here, here, Murd'rer!
Menace my Breast; not His.

POLIPHONTES.
Whose Heart speaks, now?

EUMENES.
Now, ye Immortals! not to die, were, not
To triumph.—To be pitied, here! so pitied!
By such a Queen as Merope!—'tis Glory
That every Power beneath a God might envy!

POLIPHONTES.
If you wou'd have him live, confess, Who is he?

MEROPE.
He—is—

EURICLES
(to Ismene.)
Oh! we are lost.

ISMENE.
All, all, is hopeless.

POLIPHONTES.
If he has Right in You, be swift to own him:
Or, lose him by your Silence.

[Offers to kill Eumenes.
MEROPE.
Stay—he is—

POLIPHONTES.
Who? What?—say, quickly.

MEROPE.
He is My Son, Eumenes.

POLIPHONTES,
(starting, and aside.)
'Tis as I fear'd; and all my Schemes are Air.

[Stands pensively fix'd.
EUMENES.
Heav'ns!—Did I hear That, rightly?

MEROPE,
(embracing him.)
Thou art my Son.
Loud in the Face of Men and Ear of Gods,
Cresphontes was thy Father: I attest it:
I tell it, to the Winds: Proclaim it—boast it,
Hear it, Thou Soul of Murder! I have found him:
And, if I lose him, now, whole Heaven shall curse thee.

EUMENES.
I cannot comprehend it!—Yet, I kneel,
To thank you—but for deigning to deceive me.
Bless'd is his Fate, who dies, in such a Dream!

MEROPE.
One Way, thou art deceiv'd.—The Mother's Love
Forgets the Monarch's Danger.—Poliphontes!

POLIPHONTES,
(starting.)
Go on—I meditated—but—speak, Madam.

MEROPE.
Thou now hast wrung, from my affrighted Heart,
The Secret, that oppress'd it. Thou behold'st
Thy King, distress'd, before thee.—Sigh, if thou can'st,
Sigh,—for the Son, Prince, Mother—Fame, and Nature.

POLIPHONTES.
How to resolve will ask some needful Pause.
—Mean while, it shakes my Faith, to trust your Story.
You hear, the young Man's Honesty disclaims
This Greatness, you wou'd lend him.

EUMENES.
Modest Sense
Of my unequal Worth compell'd some Doubting;
But, now, 'tis Truth contestless. Royal Tears
Flow not for pitied Falsehood; and they prove it.

MEROPE.
Tears touch not Hearts of Flint; and I will spare 'em.
Bid your (kneels.)
Pride hear me—for, your Pity cannot.
See me an humble Suppliant, at your Feet,
Now first confessing I can fear your Anger.
This shou'd, beyond all Proof of Tears, convince you,
That Merope's his Mother.—Still, you frown: I forget
My own long Sorrows—all my Wrongs, and Insults:
Smile to the future—and absolve the past.
—Let him but breathe—to reign, were to be wretched;
—Cruel! you answer nothing!—look less dreadful.
Ease my distracted Soul—and speak some Comfort.

EUMENES.
O, Madam! quit that Posture.—My proud Heart
Aspires to keep the Glory you have lent it.
—If I, indeed, was born, to call you Mother,
Why do I see and hear you, not a Queen?
[Raises her.
—Nor think my Soul too haughty:—No Distress
Absolves Dejection: 'Tis the Brave's Prerogative,
To feel, without complaining.
Now!—Strike, Tyrant—
Courage, restrain'd from Act, takes Pride to suffer.

POLIPHONTES,
(to Merope.)
'Tis well. I have, with just Attention, heard;
And, in impartial Silence, weigh'd it, all.
Your Sorrow claims some Right to call for mine:
And his high Spirit charms me.—I take him
[Takes Eumenes by the Hand.
Into my heedful Care; remit his Sentence,
And, if found Yours, adopt him as my Son.

EUMENES.
Yours, said you?—Yours!

MEROPE.
Be patient, good Eumenes.

POLIPHONTES.
You rule his Destiny. You know what Price
I rate his Life at. Smile; and meet my Wishes.
For, may the Gods, conjointly, curse my Reign,
If he survives Refusal of my Prayer!
—Bethink you. In an Hour, I shall expect you;
Where, at the Altar, to th' attesting Powers,
You may proclaim your Choice. That Moment makes him
My Victim, or my Son. 'Till then, farewel.

MEROPE.
You cannot be so cruel.—Leave him, with me.
To see him, might persuade me.

POLIPHONTES.
See him, there:
See him, in Hymen's Temple. Erox, attend him.

[Exeunt.
EUMENES.
Oh, Queen! oh, Mother!
If I, already, dare assume a Right
To call you, by that dear, that awful Name:
Think, nothing, that may misbecome your Glory—
Do, nothing, that may mix Contempt, with mine.
—I leave you to the Care of Heav'n; and die.
Lead me to the Tyrant.