University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter Agamemnon and Clytemnestra.
Clyt.
Yes, we prepar'd, my Lord, to leave the Camp,
The Camp and false Achilles; Iphigenia
Felt all the Pangs, that ever lovesick Maid
Receiv'd from faithless Man—her Noble Heart
Yet struggled to conceal th'unworthy Flame;
But Sighs, and secret Tears, and sudden Blushes
Reveal'd the sad Disorder of her Mind.
—When the young Hero, wondring at our Flight,
And her Resentment, fell upon his Knees,
And fir'd with just Disdain, to hear his Love
Prophan'd; Confirm'd it with the warmest Vows,
And press'd the sacred Rites might be perform'd,
This very Day perform'd—To your Pavilion
He bends his Course, the Marriage must be now,
That will for ever silence base Reports.

Agam.
Enough! I do believe Achilles true.
Well—We'll perform this Marriage instantly.
Calchas shall join their Hands before the Gods:
But be you absent from this nuptial Sacrifice,
And leave to me alone the sacred Care.

Clyt.
My Lord, I cannot justifie my Absence;
I must be there; behold the pleasing Pomp
With Transport, see the blissful Union made,
And give the blushing Bride to her fond Lover.

Agam.
You're now not in the Palace of Atrides,
But in a Camp—

Clyt.
A Camp where you Command,
Where Asia's Fate depends upon your Arms,
Where the great Son of Thetis calls you Father:
What Pomp, what Splendor, what Magnificence
Can Atreus' Palace give exceeding this?

Agam.
Now in the Name of those Immortal Gods,
Who gave us Being, from whose Race we spring,
Grant my Request; Do not attend this Marriage.
I have my Reasons why you shou'd be absent.

Clyt.
How can you rob me of the pleasing Sight?
Why shou'd you blush to see your Clytemnestra
Give Agamemnon's Daughter to Achilles?

Agam.
I hop'd I might prevail by mild Persuasion;
But since the Force of Reason stirs you not.
Know 'tis my Will you come not to the Altar.
'Tis my Command; reply not, but obey.
[Exit Agam

Clytemnestra
alone.
Why shou'd the King detain me from the Altar?
Am I unworthy, since this Dignity,
To share his Honours and partake his Glory?
Or does he fear his new unsettled Rule,
And dares I not shew the Grecians Helen's Sister?
Does he for this avoid me? 'tis unjust
He shou'd reflect my Sister's Shame on me,
But 'tis his Will, and therefore I obey.
Behold Achilles; see th'impatient Bridegroom.

Enter Achilles,
Achil.
All things succeed, and answer to our Hopes.
Madam, the King is satisfy'd—He knows,
He sees, he trusts the Transports of my Love:
And when I wou'd have spoke to clear my Honour
He clos'd me in his Arms, and call'd me Son.
The Camp is all in Joy; Did you not hear
What Blessings have attended you to Aulis?

Clyt.
Is there a Blessing dearer to my Soul,
Than what I now enjoy in this Alliance?

Achil.

Enter Iphigenia, Eriphile, Doris and Ægina.
Achil.
to Iph.
Oh thou my future Happiness and Life,
Illustrious Maid, let us attend the Priest;
There, in the Presence of th'auspicious Gods,
Profess eternal Unity and Love.

Iph.
Before we tye this ever-hallow'd Knot,
I hope the Queen will suffer me to ask
A Pledge of all your promis'd Faith and Love.
—I here present before you a young Princess,
Heaven on her Face imprints her Royal Birth,
Her Eyes have all her Days been wet with Tears.
You know her Miseries, she's yours by Conquest;
Ev'n I my self, transported with blind Rage,
This Morning added to her many Griefs;
What can I less than by my readiest Aid
Repair the Wrongs she suffered from my Words?
She is your Captive, Sir, I ask her Freedom:
Begin this happy Day to bless Mankind.

Eri.
Her Cunning wou'd remove me from his Presence.
Oh counterfeited Love!—Oh female Friendship!

[Aside.
Iphi.
The Hero does not only draw his Sword
To tame and conquer a Rebellious World,
But like the Gods, whose mighty Stamp he bears,
To succour and relieve th'Unfortunate.

Eri.
My Burthen is too great for Life to bear.
My Lord, at Lesbos I became your Slave;
'Tis too too much to load me thus with Sorrow.
The Torments that I here endure are more,
Are more than Words can tell, or Tears express.

Achil.
How Madam! tho' Captivity's a Burthen—

Erip.
Cou'd you Impose on me a harder Law,
Than thus to make my Eyes mournful Spectators
Of all my cruel Foes Felicity?
Where-e'er I look I see a numerous Host,
Prepar'd with Fire and Sword to sack my Country:
This Marriage too strengthens your strict Alliance,
And makes our Fate inevitably certain.
Permit me then, at distance from the Camp,
At distance from this hated Camp and you,
To seek some melancholy lone Retreat,
Ever unfortunate, ever unknown.

Achil.
Enough, fair Princess; Follow to the Altar.
There, in the sight of the whole Grecian Army,
I'll give thee, beauteous Pris'ner, Liberty.
That happy Moment which for ever joins
My Hand and Heart to Royal Iphigenia,
Shall be the happy Moment of your Freedom.

[As they are going Arcas meets 'em.
Arc.
All things are ready for the pious Pomp:
The King awaits his Daughter at the Altar.
I—in his Name demand her—rather, Madam,
[To Clyt.
Let me implore your Royal Aid against him.

Cly.
What say'st thou, Arcas? wherefore dost thou kneel?

Arc.
You only can defend her.

[To Achil.
Achil.
Against whom?
And whom should I defend? Collect thy Spirits,
And speak th'important Message fully to us.

Arc.
I name and I accuse him with Regret;
Yet while I cou'd I kept his fatal Secret:
But now my Love, my Duty bids me speak.
—The Knife, the Fillet, and the Pyle are ready;
Stern Calchas stands prepar'd to give the Blow,
While on each side the busie Priests attend,
To mix the sacred Wine with flowing Blood—

Clyt.
Why dost thou Pause?—explain thy self, good Arcas.

Achil.
Whatever 'tis, speak boldly; fear not, Soldier.

Arc.
You are her Lover, Sir—and you her Mother—
Oh Save, Preserve the Princess from her Father.

Clyt.
What dost thou say? Preserve her from her Father?

Achil.
What shou'd we fear from Agamemnon, Arcas?

Arc.
He now attends Diana's holy Shrine,
And now, ev'n now, expects the Virgin Sacrifice?

Achil.
Whom wou'd he Sacrifice?

[Pointing to Iph.
Clyt.
His Child!

Iph.
My Father!

Eri.
Just Heav'n, what do I hear? Oh Doris, Doris,
A glimm'ring Dawn of Happiness strikes thro'
The Gloom of my Despair!—My Rival dies!

[Aside.
Achil.
What frantick Rage arms him against his Child?
Thy Story, Arcas, chills my Blood with Horror.

Arc.
The Priests cry out, the Grecian Empire's Weal,
And the whole Fate of Troy, depend on this:
Our Oracles by Calchas loudly call
For Iphigenia's Blood; the Gods demand her.

Iph.
Ye Righteous Gods, what is my Crime unknown?

Clyt.
I now no longer wonder that the King
Forbad me to approach these sacred Rites.

Eri.
Haste, let us fly before 'em to the Altar:
We'll see this dreadful pleasing Sacrifice!
[Aside to Doris.
What tho' the Son of Thetis ne'er be mine,
The most Consummate Joy my Soul can taste,
Will be to see her forc'd from her fond Hero.

Iph.
Are these our marriage Rites, Oh my Achilles!

Arc.
The People think, as first the King declar'd,
Our Altars were adorn'd to grace your Nuptials.

Clyt.
My Lord, thus low before your Feet I fall:
Oh let our Tears provoke your ready Aid:
She is your Bride; with pleasing Haste she came
From Argos, to receive her promis'd Hero.
With Tears of Joy you met her fond Embraces:
And will her Godlike Master tamely see
The Darling of his Soul torn from his Arms?
Shall she Embrace their Shrines with Suppliant Hands,
And vainly beg the rigid Gods for Mercy?
Oh Sir, you are her only Hope, her Help,
Her Father, Husband, Altar, and her God.
Oh save, defend her from the bloody Priest.
You do, you will: I see you feel our Wrongs.
I'll instantly attend their horrid Pomp,
And know what Oracle has thus proclaim'd
My Daughter's Fate; Guard her till I return.
If nothing can divert the fatal Blow,
The Cruel King shall see me perish with her

[Exit.
Iphigenia and Achilles.
Achil.
The Horror of this dreadful Incident
Had struck me dumb and motionless; I saw
Your Royal Mother bending at my Feet,
And begging with her Tears my speedy Aid.
—Who has more Interest in your Life than I?
Shall Iphigenia bleed, and Thetis' Son
With Unconcern behold the Butcher Priest
Bath'd in his Mistress Blood?—No, Madam, No:
Repose your self—I'll answer for a Life
Much dearer than my own—Your Happiness
Is interwoven, struck into my Being,
'Tis mingled with the vital Stream that rolls
Thro' all this Frame—But I'll revenge my Wrongs.
'Tis not enough that I defend my Love,
No! the Contrivers of this bloody Stratagem,
Who durst thus arm my Name against your Life,
Shall dearly pay the Purchase of their Fraud.

[Is going.
Iph.
Oh stay, my Lord, and deign to hear me speak.

Achil.
Inhuman Agamemnon! was not I
Prepar'd to vindicate your Sister's Wrongs?
Why this Affront to me? this cruel Outrage?
I first of all the Princes gave this Man,
This barbarous Man, my Suffrage to command:
I Nam'd him Chief of all the Twenty Kings
Who rival'd him in Empire—Yes, I rais'd,
I first created him this God on Earth,
And now he levels all his Bolts at me.

Iph.
Consider yet, my Lord, that Agamemnon—

Achil.
My Love, my Anger and my just Disdain
Call loudly for Revenge—Oh Iphigenia!
Had I remain'd one Moment more in Lesbos,
Who cou'd have sav'd thee from their bloody Rage?
In vain thou wou'dst have sought thy Husband here;
For thy Inhuman Father, not content
To violate the Laws of Love and Nature,
Cloath'd and disguis'd his savage Purposes
With the soft Name of Marriage—As my Bride,
He wou'd have led you to the pompous Altar.
—Gods! I'll be satisfy'd—My Name's abus'd,
The Grecian Princes shall command Redress,
And heal my wounded, my insulted Honour.

Iph.
Alas! if once you lov'd, you wou'd restrain
These unkind Words, and ere you speak, reflect,
This Barbarous, this Inhuman, Cruel Man,
Whate'er he is besides, is still my Father.

Achil.
No, he has forfeited that pious Name;
He's your Assassin now, your Murtherer.

Iph.
'Tis with the utmost Pain you wound my Soul,
When thus you call him Cruel and Unkind.
And wherefore is he Cruel? Why Unkind?
Do not his Groans incessantly proclaim
The weighty Grief that loads his suffering Mind?
What Father thus wou'd lose a Child he lov'd?
Oh, I beheld the Tears stream down his Cheeks,
When first he found he cou'd not save my Life.
—Accuse him not, till you have heard his Reasons.
Add not, to all the Horrors of this Day,
The Loss of your Alliance—Agamemnon
Will satisfie your Doubts—When I am dead,
Your Friendship may continue, to reform
And bless Mankind; If Iphigenia's Memory
Raises a pious Sigh, or kind Reflection,
'Twill be a grateful Tribute to her Love.

Achil.
How, Madam! then, amidst these Dangers round you,
Your Fears are only least you shou'd Offend
This Cruel Man! What can I call him less,
Who thus demands your unoffending Life?
And when I would oppose my timely Hand
To stop his Rage—his Quiet, his Repose,
Is all your Care! Oh Rigid and Unkind,
Both to your self and me—Oh Iphigenia,
Does faithful Love merit this cold Return?

Iph.
Injurious Man, can you suspect my Love?
How brightly has it shone? how have I prov'd It?
You saw me now receive the dreadful Summons
To sudden Death, unshaken and resolv'd.
Say, did my Eyes drop one reluctant Tear?
Have I yet murmur'd out a Sigh, or trembled?
—Yet when the News of your Inconstancy
Arriv'd, it planted Daggers in my Heart.
To what a height did my Despair arise?
And when I found you true, what were my Joys?
'Tis therefore, therefore 'tis the Angry Gods
Devoted me to Dye; I fondly thought
(So greatly, so excessively I lov'd)
Immortal Happiness below my Wish.

Achil.
Oh thou kind tender Partner of my Life,
Live for my sake—let me Petition thee
To save my Love—My Soul is bound in thine.

Enter Clytemnestra and Ægina.
Clyt.
All's lost, my Lord, without your timely Aid;
The King with care avoids and fears my Presence;
He has refus'd to see or hear me speak;
The Guards, by his particular Command,
Surround the Altar, and defend each Avenue.

Achil.
'Tis well—this stubborn King rules absolute.
Madam, Atrides shall both see and hear me;
I'll open you a Passage through his Guards.

[Achilles leading off Clytemnestra.
Iph.
Yet stay, Achilles: what would you attempt?
Oh whither would your generous Passion drive you?

Achil.
Whate'er you ask against your self is vain;
We must oppose you, to protect your Life.

Clyt.
What wouldst thou, Iphigenia! say, my Child.

Iph.
Restrain the Passion of a furious Lover;
Let not my Father and Achilles meet.
Achilles, full of Fire and deep Resentment,
Will aggravate his Sorrows with Reproaches.
My Father's justly jealous of his Power,
And full of Heat—No; let us gently try
By softer Means to work upon his Soul;
He'll come himself, surpriz'd at my delay,
To lead me, to conduct me to the Altar.
Then he'll behold an oppress'd Mother's Grief;
I know he'll feel our Sorrows, and remit
The fatal Sentence of offended Heav'n.
—Yet should he still pursue, with Constancy,
The dire Decrees above—Oh my Achilles,
I'll ask;—what, yet I never did intend,
I'll ask, with Tears, my Life—I'll strive to pay
The mighty Debt I owe, and live for you.

Achil.
Go, plead thy moving Cause, thou suffering Maid,
Recal his Reason, his Humanity,
His Love, his Duty; say 'tis my Request,
For yours, for my Repose, and for his own.
—But if our Words succeed not, we must Act.
Madam, I wholly am dispos'd to serve you,
[To Clyt.
Let me conduct you to your own Apartment.
Your Daughter shall not die, you have my Word,
Her sacred Life is guarded by my Sword;
The Subtle Priests shall find, her Destiny
Is not in them, nor in their Gods, but me.

[Exeunt.