University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Arcas to Euribates, who is waiting at the King's Pavilion.
EURIBATES.
Who's there?

Arc.
A Soldier, and a Greek, Euribates.

Eur.
Say what important Care has rais'd you thus
Before the Sun, do the Winds swell our Canvass,
Shall these Confed'rate Kings, whose valiant Bands
Lye here extended on the Strand of Aulis,
Leagu'd against Troy, shall they at last Embark,
And visit like a Storm that Pride of Asia?

Arc.
No, no, all Sleep; the Camp, the Fleet is husht,
Th'imprison'd Winds without a Murmur rest;
And not a Zephyr curls the drowsie Flood.
'Tis a dead Calm.

Eur.
All rest, but Agamemnon;
Distracting Passions rend his mighty Breast,
Alone he sits, alone in yon Pavilion,
Sustains his Grief, his Hands support his Head,
A winking Taper only his Companion;
Which now and then just lifts a quivering Flame,
And darts a melancholly Gleam around:
Thy Heart would bleed to see him. Wert thou sent for?

Arc.
By his Commands, I wait thus early here:
But my Soul feels his Sorrows ere I know 'em.
Say what Afflictions have o'erta'en the King,
Whom I believ'd the happyest of Mankind?
—The Gods with every Blessing crown his Hopes;
A happy Prince, a Father, and a Husband;
He Rules in Peace the fruitful Realm of Argos.
—Does the Desire of Power, Ambition fire him?
Lo, twenty Kings, our Grecian Empire's Chiefs,
Inrol their Royal Names to serve beneath him;
And ask his Conduct in this glorious War,
Their God in Arms, sprung from immortal Jove.

Eur.
Repeat his Glories, sum his Blessings up;
Recount what late he was, and you shall see
From what a height this King of Kings is fall'n.

Arc.
Was; is he not belov'd, rever'd by all?
Achilles courts his Friendship, young Achilles,
The Pride of Oracles, and Boast of Fate,
The Darling of the Gods, their promis'd Hero,
Impatient asks his Daughter Iphigenia,
And vows to light his Bridal Torch at Troy.
—She too, the Joy and Wonder of all Eyes,
Doubly her Father's Joy, lives in his Heart.
I've seen the mighty Monarch drop his Sceptre,
While yet her Infant Years, her Infant Manners,
Foretold her Virtues, and her Beauty's Progress.
I've seen him busily employ'd, and pleas'd
To trifle with his Child; attend her Prattle,
And watch her artless Smiles; then grasp her hard,
And catch her to his Breast; while drops of Joy
Came sudden from his Soul into his Sight,
And all reveal'd the Father.

Eur.
Oh no more!
You touch his Grief—my Heart is torn, to think
That Iphigenia was his Soul's Delight.

Arc.
Is she not still the same? has not his Love
Increas'd ev'n as her Years; is she not still
Dear as his Glory? as his Fame unsully'd?

Eur.
Attend, and you shall hear the mournful Cause.
—You may remember, Arcas, when our Fleets,
Here summon'd by the Winds, hoisted their Canvas,
The flattering Gales blew briskly from our Shores
To distant Troy—while all the chearful Host
Stood eager to Embark, and with loud Shouts
Proclaim'd their Hostile Joy—when suddenly
Some Power unseen recall'd the Breath of Heav'n,
The busie Air was still, the Waters silent,
The flagging Sheet clung to the sturdy Mast,
Our useless Oars weary'd the quiet Deep
In vain; in vain the hardy Seaman toil'd:
Our valiant Cheifs all upward turn'd their Thoughts,
To deprecate the Vengeance of the Gods.
Sage Nestor, Menelaus, wise Ulysses,
Each offer'd at Diana's Silver Shrine
Their private Vows, and begg'd a Wind for Greece;
King Agamemnon last approach'd her Altar,
He bow'd, and paid his Tributary Victim;
When lo; the Flame in a thick Cloud of Smoak
Was choak'd, the Altar rent, the ample Dome
Of the high Temple shook, the frighted Preists
Fled from their Charge—Calchas alone remain'd,
And to the prostrate King, with Horror dumb,
Thus spoke the Virgin Deity's Decree.
“You Arm against proud Troy these Powers in vain,
“Unless a mighty Sacrifice be slain;
“Unless a Daughter, sprung from Helen's Seed,
“On chast Diana's holy Altar bleed.
“Would you recal those Winds the Gods deny,
“Appease the Gods; let Iphigenia die.

Arc.
His Child!

Eur.
The Fondling of his Soul, his Daughter.

Arc.
Immortal Gods! how transient are our Joys!
They only serve to heighten our Misfortunes,
And give our Minds a quicker Sense of Woe.
How did he bear this shock?

Eur.
Ev'n as a Man.
Nature, at once Rebellious to his Will,
Fixt him a Statue on the Marble Pavement,
His Blood congeal'd; a dewy Sweat distill'd
From his pale Face—when thro' a thousand Sighs
His broken Accents burst—with thoughtless Rage
He curs'd his rigid Fate; then hasten'd hither,
Resolving to dismiss the Troops; since that
The Conflict of his Passions racks his Soul.
—Behold him, Arcas; see the King, the Father,
Alternately contending which shall Rule.

Enter Agamemnon from his Pavilion; a Letter in his Hand.
Agam.
The public Policy demands her Life;
Shall I then Sacrifice my Child, or People?
They are my Children too; let private Int'rest,
Let Nature's Call yield to the general Good;
But Nature will return; I am a Man
By human Passions sway'd; I feel her Loss,
And feel it as a Father, not a King.

Arc.
Hail to the King of Kings, great Agamemnon.

Agam.
Yes, she must die; Ulysses has my Word.
Hah; Arcas, do the Gods delight in Blood?

[To Arcas.
Arc.
Too deep Reflection wounds your generous Mind,
High Heav'n may yet Reverse the dire Decree.

Agam.
At first the cunning Statesman sooth'd my Rage,
And gave the Torrent of my Passion way;
But soon the artful Orator appear'd,
He represented me a King, a General:
Will you, said he, grow old, and rust at Home,
In ignominious Ease doat on your Houshold,
Or Reign a King; the Sovereign Lord of Greece?
—Oh I confess—with guilty Shame I own,
Charm'd with my Power, that mighty, sounding Name,
The King of Kings, and General of Greece
Wrought on the haughty Weakness of my Soul.
—Yet more—the Gods in Dreams pursu'd my Mind,
There they reproach'd my sacrilegious Pity,
And threaten'd to Avenge their slighted Altars;
—Thus vanquish'd by the Cunning of Ulysses,
And thus attack'd by Heav'n—Euribates;
Oh Arcas;—I resolv'd my Child should bleed,
I wrote to hasten her Arrival here
On this Pretence, that young Achilles press'd
To wed her here, before he sail'd for Troy.

Arc.
Achilles, fir'd with Love and just Resentment,
Will never tamely see his Mistress bleed.

Eur.
Achilles then was absent from the Camp,
To check a Neighbouring State's increasing Pride.
All thought the War would cost both Blood and Time;
But what can stop th'impetuous Hero's Course?
Achilles fought, and triumph'd, and return'd,
And late last Night rejoin'd our Troops in Aulis.

Arc.
Has he yet heard the fatal Oracle?

Agam.
I dare not tell him what the Gods decree.
On what shall I resolve? inform me, Arcas.
—My Daughter comes; she comes to meet her Father,
Her Father and her Lover—hapless Virgin!
She comes to meet inevitable Fate.
—I mourn not for her Youth, or that my Blood
Glides thro' her Veins—Ah no, my Friend, I mourn
Ten thousand Virtues join'd; our mutual Love,
Her Piety for me—my Tenderness for her.
—No, no, I'll not believe it. Heav'n, thy Justice
Cannot approve this dismal Sacrifice:
Thy Oracles would only tempt my Faith,
And my Obedience would be impious here.

Arc.
Then how will you discharge your solemn Word,
Your Promise to Ulysses, that the Day
She here appear'd the Royal Maid should die?

Agam.
Therefore I sent for thee, my faithful Arcas;
This Charge will both thy Zeal and Prudence prove.
Haste to Mycene, stop my Daughter's coming,
Give Clytemnestra this, and let her know
My Daughter must not yet prepare for Aulis.
Inevitable Death must meet her here;
If she appears, no human Art can save her.
Haste, save her from the Gods, Oh save her from her Father
—Stay Arcas, let not Clytemnestra know;
Hide from my Child and Wife the fatal Secret:
Hurt not their tender Minds with the sad Tale.
Oh, Arcas, I am forc'd to feign Excuses,
Why I revoke those Orders which I gave;
Tell 'em, for so I write, the Son of Peleus,
Achilles, cools, and would defer the Rites
Of Marriage, 'till he comes from Troy victorious.
Tell 'em (so I pretend) the sudden Cause
Of this quick Change, proceeds from a new Mistress:
The fair Eriphile, his Lesbian Captive,
With a new Passion warms the Heroe's Heart.
Euribates, attend him, let him know
What better may be done, what further said.
[Exeunt Eur. and Arcas.
But lo, Achilles and Ulysses entring.

Enter Achilles and Ulysses.
Agam.
That you return, swifter than rapid Fame
[To Achilles.
Can bear your Triumphs on her loaden Wings,
I gratulate the Grecian State, and you
Her growing Hope—Hail Son of mighty Peleus!
All Thessaly is conquer'd or appeas'd,
And Lesbos new to Chains, a Virgin Conquest,
Beholds her youthful, her victorious Lord.

Ach.
Unworthy Victory! they shamed our Arms,
Submitting to their Fears, and left our Valour
An idle Gazer only—yet ere long
A nobler Scene of Glory will appear.
Troy; Troy, with all her haughty Towers shall shake,
And Hector's Check turn white, when he beholds
The loosen'd Winds drive on their promis'd Vengeance
Our fearless Bands—while the divided Waves
Yield to a thousand Prows—But Iphigenia;
She, she's the Warrior's Meed: I thank you, General,
That you prevent my Wishes; there's a Whisper
Runs through the Camp which says, the Queen and Princess
Are on their Journey hither; my full Heart
Receiv'd the welcome News with Joy, with Transport!

Agam.
What said you? that my Daughter and my Wife
Are on their Way to Aulis, to this Shore?

Achil.
To Aulis; wherefore are you thus surpris'd?

Agam.
Good Heav'n, does he too know the fatal Secret?

[To Ulysses aside.
Ulys.
My Lord, the King may justly be surpris'd.
Is this, is this a time for Joy, for Love,
When a dead Sea strikes Horror thro' our Camp,
Diseases waste the Soldier, angry Heav'n
Calls for Atonement, Sacrifice and Prayer?
And will Achilles, will the Son of Thetis,
When every Knee bends to the Gods for Mercy,
Will he alone reproach their pious Sorrow
With ill-tim'd Joys, insult the publick Grief,
And give his Passions scope?—Say, is it fit,
At such a time as this, that Agamemnon
Urge on the publick Fate with Festivals?
—Divine Achilles, yet reflect and feel
Your Country's Grief—And then your Love for her,
Like mine for you, will chide your eager Joy,
And say 'tis out of Season.

Achil.
Wise Declaimer;
The Fields of Troas, and Scamander's Flood,
Shall witness who's the better Greek, Pelides
Or talkative Ulysses—But till then
Load every Altar with a Sacrifice,
Open the bleeding Victim's Breast, there guess
The Reason of your Fears, there search the Cause
Of accidental Ills, and raise new Doubts
With pious Frauds—But, Sir, for me, for me,
Who neither know, nor care to know from Juglers,
My Joys or Fears, let me pursue a Marriage
That neither can concern the Gods nor you.
—Yet think not that inactive I'll consume
My ardent Youth; the Rites of Love perform'd,
Then I'll Imbark for Troy, and think I'm wrong'd
If any Grecian treads that Strand before me.

Agam.
Why should the Gods, if Gods can know no Envy,
Shut up their Seas, imprison all their Winds,
And stop the burning Hero's Course to Asia?
—Yet so it is—Princes, we must retire,
Each with his Royal Host, and break this League;
'Tis vain, 'tis impious to contend, when Heav'n
Declares against us.

Achil.
Ha! what says the King?

Ulys.
What means our Chief? Valiant Atrides speak.

Agam.
Princes, we must retire—Lead off your Troops,
The Winds too long have weary'd out our Wishes,
Abus'd our Hopes—Heaven is the Shield of Troy.
The angry Gods, by numberless Presages,
Forbid our Way to Asia.

Achil.
What Presages?
What Omens shew the Anger of the Gods?

Agam.
For that consult the Gods; their Oracles
Declare your Life's the Price of conquer'd Troy:
Yes, Troy may fall, but the young Son of Thetis,
Achilles, in the very Spring of Youth;
Must pay the Purchase of so dear a Triumph.

Achil.
And must these Kings, assembled to revenge
The Rape of Helen, to revenge your Wrongs,
In shameful Inactivity disband,
While Paris insolently boasts his Flame,
And unchastis'd enjoys your Brother's Wife?

Agam.
Your glorious Heat anticipates the War;
Your Arms have doubly satisfy'd our Wrongs;
When swift, as the blue Fire or Bolt from Heav'n,
They spread their Horrors thro' th'Ægean Sea;
While the swoln Waters roll'd into the Ports
Of trembling Troy, the Wrecks of ruin'd Lesbos,
A ravag'd City and a Captive Beauty,
Have amply well aveng'd the Rape of Helen:
Eriphile, your Pris'ner, vainly strives
To hide her noble Birth, her Silence speaks her:
In sullen Majesty, with Pride she mourns,
Her haughty Grief reveals what it would hide.

Achil.
Your Arts, your Menaces are vain and weak:
'Tis true, the Fates foretold my Mother Goddess,
When she receiv'd a Mortal to her Bed,
Her Son might either chuse, with many Years
A Life inglorious, or Immortal Fame
And Death in blooming Youth.—Shall I descend
To count my Hours by the slow Waste of Sands?
Shall I extinguish all I boast Divine
To save my Father's Part in me?—this Flesh
—Away, away.—Let Oracles be dumb;
'Tis Honour calls, Honour's my Oracle;
The Hero's Soul knows no Command but Glory;
My Life's the Gods, my Honour is my own.
—Why do we vainly vex our selves with Laws
And doubtful Tales from Priests—To Arms, to Arms.
Our Ancestors are Gods, let us pursue
The Paths their Virtue led—shake off this Load,
Plunge into deathless Fame, and rise Immortal.
—Yet Agamemnon, 'tis reserv'd for you;
The Action and the Glory shall be yours,
I only ask the Honour to obey;
Let us prepare for Troy, I'll straight review
The sick'ning Troops,
And with my Presence raise their drooping Spirits.
[Exit Achil.

Agamemnon and Ulysses.
Ulys.
You see he's still resolv'd to sail for Troy.
His eager Heart pants after Arms and Glory;
Thirsty of Fame—We fondly thought his Love
Would hold him back—But Love inflames the Fire,
Provokes and animates his native Ardour.

Agam.
Oh Iphigenia!

Ulys.
Wherefore broke that Sigh?
Do you yet feel the Pangs of strugling Nature?
Call up superior Reason to your Aid,
Exert her Force, and loose this Woman's Weakness.

Agam.
Oh, 'tis a heavy Task, at once to stifle,
With our weak Reason, the strong Throws of Nature!
Must I then see her bleed, and be deny'd
A Sigh; a Groan! I am a Man, Ulysses.

Ulys.
Think Iphigenia is no longer yours;
By solemn Vows devoted to the Gods:
Think, when the Grecians know this Oracle,
And that you (doating on your Child) refus'd
To satisfie the Gods: Whatever Ills,
Whatever Plagues, or Heav'n or Nature sends,
Will all be charg'd on you; the Priests will urge it,
Call you their chosen Curse, their impious Scourge,
Remember too your sacred Honour suffers;
Honour, a Jewel plac'd in Crowns, to light
And animate Mankind to virtuous Glory;
Made to distinguish and adorn Desert.

Agam.
Your Heart, at distance from the Woes I feel,
Appears intrepid—Make my Cause your own.
Suppose your Son Telemachus to bleed,
Behold the fatal Bandage round his Temples,
See the Priest leads him trembling to the Altar;
Your Child now weeps and turns his begging Eyes
On his hard Father—See the fatal Knife
Directed to his Throat—this dreadful Image
Should make you shudder at the Pangs I bear,
And melt your haughty Language into Tears.
—Enough of this—My fatal Word is given,
And if my Daughter comes to Aulis here.
Thus I confirm my Promise—She shall die,

Ulys.
See where the King of Lacedæmon comes,
Your Brother Menelaus comes in haste,
And wears the Weight of Business on his Brow.

Enter Menelaus.
Mene.
Chief among Kings, Atrides, valiant Prince,
All hail!—You have perform'd your sacred Word.
The Queen and Iphigenia both are come:
They had arriv'd before, but that they wander'd,
Lost in those Woods which shade the Strand of Aulis.

Agam.
Hah! what says my Brother?

Mene.
In the Camp,
Your Daughter, and her Mother Clytemnestra,
Receive the welcome Shouts of the glad Soldier;
And with 'em young Eriphile, the Lesbian,
Comes to Sollicit here her Destiny;
And know of our wise Calchas, who's her Father:
I think these Beauties have alarm'd us all,
For every Tongue is busy'd in a Question,
And every Eye is pleas'd with my fair Niece;
Some ask the Reason of their Journey hither;
While others Pray the Gods long to preserve 'em;
But with united Voices they proclaim
Your Name aloud, call you their glorious King,
Their Leader to immortal Fame and Conquest.
Maintain your Character, and let 'em know,
Your People are much dearer than your Child.

Ulys.
He is determin'd now, urge him no farther,
We'll haste to Calchas, and prepare the Altar;
Our Chief declares, the Gods shall be obey'd.

Agam.
The jealous Gods have thus secur'd their Vengeance,
And broke the secret Wheels of my vain Wisdom.
Were I permitted to indulge my Grief,
With Tears they might relieve my swelling Breast;
Hard Fate of Kings, we are but Slaves in Purple,
Expos'd to rigorous Chance, while every Act
Is censur'd and condemn'd by vulgar Tongues,
Besieg'd with Spies—what an oppressive Weight,
Is smother'd Grief; how heavy at the Heart?

Ulys.
I am a Father, Sir; I too confess
The weakness of fond Nature; now I feel
The Blow that shakes you—see, my swimming Eyes
Have catch'd the growing Grief from yours, and shed
Their social Drops in friendly Consort with you;
—Yes, while we may enjoy your mighty Sorrow,
Weep o'er your dying Child—we'll aid your Tears.
—But what will Tears avail? no, let us cease
This helpless Sorrow; let us mourn in Blood,
In Phrigian Blood—Let Hector's swelling Veins
Shed purple Drops—Think on your rising Glory;
Behold our Ships o'er-spread the Hellespont,
And whiten, with their Prows, the foamy Surge!
Behold proud Troy in Flames, her Citizens,
And haughty Priam bending at your Feet;
Helen restor'd, by you restord to Greece;
Our Navy now, crown'd with victorious Garlands,
Triumphant cut their liquid Way to Aulis;
While the bold Trumpets Eccho to the Shores
Of distant Greece, great Agamemnon comes:
Fame will, from Age to Age, deliver down,
And keep alive in her eternal Records,
The never-dying Name of Agamemnon.

Agam.