University of Virginia Library

SCENE the Inside of a Temple: At the Upper End an Altar, the holy Fire burning, &c. Iphigenia at the Lower End of the Stage in white, the sacred Fillet round her Head, adorn'd with Flowers, her Hands bound: Agamemnon next his Daughter: Menelaus, Nestor, and Ulysses, on the same side. On the other side, Eriphile, Doris, Arcas, and Euribates, Priests; a Chorus on each side the Altar, and Calchas behind it.
CHORUS.
We Bend, Diana, to thy Shrine,
Spotless Goddess: Power Divine,
All Nature shall with us thy Praises join.

CALCHAS.
You who at the Altar bow,
Waiting for the dreadful Blow,
The fatal Word shall soon be heard.
Diana's Priests, is all prepar'd?

CHORUS.
All's prepar'd.

CALCHAS.
Hence ye Prophane, far hence be gone:
Our sacred Rites are now begun.
Diana's Priests, let this be done.

CHORUS.
All is done.

CALCHAS.
Then let every hallow'd Tongue
Assist us in the solemn Song.

CHORUS.
Behold, Diana, thy Commands we wait;
Thy Power is shown in Iphigenia's Fate.
By her untimely Fate, we learn to know
Nothing but Death is certain here below.

[After the Vocal Musick, a solemn Call by Instrumental Musick to the Altar. Agamemnon leads up Iphigenia, and as he delivers her to Calchas, a sudden Darkness as if the Day were eclips'd; it Thunders and Lightens, and Calchas comes forward, and speaks.
Cal.
Whence, and what mean those inauspicious Omens,
Sinister all, and adverse to our Vows?
The Planet of the Day withdraws his Beams,
And reddens as he sinks; while thro' the Gloom
Pale Meteors dart their subtile Fires: The Gods
In dreadful Thunder speak; the shaking Earth
Is torn with strong Convulsions; Nature trembles.
—Oh, Virgin Goddess of fair Chastity,
Let us again consult thy sacred Oracle.

[Thunder again.
Eri.
Oh Doris, a cold Sweat stands on my Brow
In Beds of Dew; each tortur'd Sinew shakes
With sudden Horror—whence this Agony,
Now when my promis'd Hopes are all in view?
Why do they not perform these bloody Rites?
How slow the Drones proceed—Now Doris, now
Calchas comes forward, now my Rival dies—

Cal.
[Now the Fire on the Altar suddenly breaks into Flame.
[Looking stedfastly on Eriphile.
[Two Priests offer to seize her.

Eri.
Stand off—no nearer, as you love your Safety,
Or I shall die your whiten'd Robes in Crimson.
What? shall the Blood of Hero's be prophan'd
By vulgar Hands?—No! thus I Rob your Altar:
Thus, thus I bleed the Victim of Achilles.
The Son of Thetis strikes the pointed Steel
Thro' that fond Heart, which only liv'd for him.

A noise of Swords without. Enter Achilles, Patroclus, and Officers with Swords drawn.
Achil.
Where are these pious Murtherers, these Priests,
That thirst for Blood, for Blood of Innocents,
And on the Gods impose their barbarous Crimes?
Destroy, Patroclus, cut 'em from the Earth.

Agam.
Restrain your Age—Behold, all gracious Heav'n
Has sav'd our Iphigenia; see, she lives.

[Interposing.
Achil.
Oh my Soul's Joy and Transport! do I hold thee
Once more? And shall I live to call thee mine?
What interposing God redeem'd thy Life?
—What do I see? Eriphile!—and bleeding!

Agam.
The Goddess has reveal'd her Will by Calchas;
Eriphile's the Victim Heav'n demanded.

Eri.
Take, take Libation from the Royal Veins
Of Theseus—Consecrate your nuptial Joys
In Helen's Blood—Hah! my Prophetick Soul
Looks downwards—and behold my rising Vengeance.
I see the cursed House of proud Atrides
Falls by it self—behold, the King of Kings
Bleeds by the Partner of his Bed and Throne.
Now mad Orestes, with his Mother's Blood,
Expiates his Mother's Crime—the Gods pursue him.
Haunt him, ye Furies, seize his guilty Mind,
Let Love, Despair and Love urge him, like me,
To seek Relief from inexpressive Tortures
In an untimely Grave.

[Dies.
Iph.
See, see, my Lord, she dies;
Oh hapless Maid!

Men.
Oh virtuous Iphigenia!
Her Joys are dash'd with Sorrow for her Rival.

Agam.
Oh Prince! oh glorious Youth! this joyful Day,
The Gods have fought the Cause of Love and Virtue;
Receive her then from Agamemnon's Hand,
A just Reward of the most generous Passion.

Achil.
Oh Father! General!—my bounding Heart.
Leaps at the Gift, transported, and inlarg'd;
May this august Alliance never break,
May we pursue the Paths of virtuous Glory,
'Till our great Acts, like Theseus, Hercules,
Or Castor, Lift the Grecian Name to Heav'n.

[Shouts.
Ulys.
Hark! the loud Winds are free, the joyful Sailors
Welcome the springing Breeze, and in glad Shouts
Eccho their Thanks—Away, to Troy, to Troy.

Agam.
Hence let us learn none can be truly happy,
But they who constantly obey the Gods,
Who firm to Virtues Laws, strive to excel
In all her Works, and labour at Perfection.
Oh Virtue, Daughter of Immortal Love!
Bright Image, Representative of Jove;
For thee we pant, to thee with active Fires,
Unclog'd by Flesh, the lab'ring Soul aspires;
There she finds Rest, whatever Lot is given.
A brave Submission raises her to Heaven.