University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The scene a rocky coast, terminated by a view of the ocean.
Periander
alone.
[letting himself fall against the rock.

SCENE II.

Periander, Leonidas.
Leonidas.
This way a distant sound alarm'd my ear.
Broken it seem'd to be; the voice of mourning,
And deep distress. Methought it rose just here,
From these deaf-sounding cliffs. But all is still!
Save the hoarse deep yet working from the storm.
Some Power direct my steps where I may find,
By this faint moon-light, my lov'd Master's corpse,
To save his sacred reliques from the rage
Of brutish tyranny.—Ha! what art thou?
A man, or fear-form'd Shadow of the night?

Periander.
Leonidas!

Leonidas.
The same. But speak again.

Periander.
Leonidas!

Leonidas.
Ha! can it be, ye Powers!
My royal Lord?

Periander
coming forward.
A wretch that has no name.

Leonidas.
Oh all ye Gods! may I believe my senses?
'Tis he! my Prince!—Just heaven to thee I kneel,
And thus adore thy gracious providence.
'Tis most amazing!

Periander.
Rise, Leonidas.
I am beneath thy care. Thou seest me here
The last of men, cast off by all good Powers;
Sav'd from the deep to be more lost on shore.

Leonidas.
My king and master, tho' my heart bleeds in me
With all your mighty ills, I must again
Bless that good heaven whose providence has sav'd you.
'Tis great! 'tis wonderous all! But how, oh how
Have you escap'd the Tyrant's jealous search?
His guards with strict survey rang'd every cliff,
And hollow of these rocks.

Periander.
I'll tell thee then.
We were in sight of Corinth, when at once
Broad darkness hid the sky: at once the winds
Roar'd with mad bluster o'er us, and the seas
In rowling mountains rose. A storm so fierce,
So big with ruine, baffled our best skill.
Despair struck every heart. The ship ran round
In giddy whirls, and bulg'd on some hid rock.
O dismal moment! still methinks I hear
The general, dying scream of multitudes
Just drowning in th'abyss. How poor a thing
Is a King then, Leonidas! I grasp'd
A floating wreck, the big sea roaring round me,
And bursting o'er my head; but, bury'd deep
Beneath the whelming tide, at once I lost
The light of heaven and life. A wave it seems
Lodg'd me within a cavern's secret depth,
Near yon tall mountain.

Leonidas.
Miracle of fate!
Sure God's immediate hand conducted it,
Severely merciful.—How shall I tell
What pangs, what agonies of soul I felt
At sight of your sad wreck?—But, Sir, the Prince,
What of his fate?

Periander.
I know not what to think:
But to be mine, it seems, is to be wretched.
Half of my fleet, yet riding in the port,
I left to his command, but with strict charge
To sail a few hours after. 'Twere in vain
To tell thee now the reason of my order.
This storm, I fear, may have surpriz'd him too,
Unhappy boy!

Leonidas.
Your own escape, my Lord,
So full of wonder, and beyond all hope,
Inclines me to strong faith that heaven is still
Concern'd for your affairs.—But to behold you,
So late the first and happiest of mankind,
Alone and wandering here at the dead hour;
No roof, but heaven's high cope to shelter you;
No couch, but this unhospitable earth
To rest your brine-drench'd limbs—it kills my heart.
Curse on the Tyrant!

Periander.
Prithee think me not
So poorly soul'd to stoop beneath the pressure
Of Fortune's hand. That were to merit it.
But there is still behind—O death to honour!
One crushing blow that lays me low indeed!
That sinks me in the dust!

Leonidas.
What do I hear!
Your words amaze me.

Periander.
How, Leonidas!
Surely thou art no stranger to my thought.
Procles—Eurydice—Wilt thou not speak
To save my shame. Say, tell me what thou know'st
Of that bad woman.

Leonidas.
With such watchful care
The Tyrant's trusted spies observe her steps,
That till this fatal evening, when by order
Of Procles, I inform'd her of your death,
I have not seen her once.

Periander.
Just what I fear'd.
That guilty secresy was well contriv'd
To cover crimes too foul for honest eyes,
And heaven's fair light to see. None, none but Procles
Could gain admittance: and to him my gates,
My fortress, nay my bed it self was open!

Leonidas.
O wrong her not, my Lord. Had you but seen
With what convulsive pangs of heart-felt anguish,
What bleeding agonies, she heard the tale
Of your imagin'd death, your soul would melt
In pity of her woes. This Procles too
Call'd down each Power of heaven to witness for him,
He meant her fair. Hers was the common cause
Of kings, he said; whose place and honour bound 'em
To scourge rebellion, in whatever shape,
Wherever found. And then what was her state?
Death in his ghastliest form, devouring famine,
Hung instant o'er her head. O think of this,
And add not to her wrongs.

Periander.
Ha! wrong her, say'st thou?
Answer me: has she not entail'd disgrace,
And vileness on my name? Has she not made me
The laughter of my foe, the scoff of Procles?
O curse! is there in all the wrath of heaven
A plague, a ruine, like that infamy!
Wrong her—I am too well inform'd of all;
Too certain of the blushful stain that cleaves
To me and mine for ever!

Leonidas.
Ah, my Lord,
By all good Powers, by your eternal quiet,
I beg you hear me—

Periander.
I have heard too much,
Too much, just Gods! to hope for quiet more.
Those fates inexorable, that pursue
My life with utmost rigor, would not spare me
The knowledge of my shame. From my best friend
Blushing I learnt it—But hast thou e'er felt
That heart of anguish stab'd by murderous fears,
And shuddering with ten thousand mortal thoughts!
That tempest of the soul that knows no calm;
Tossing from love to hate, from doubt to rage,
To raving agony!

Leonidas.
Alas! my Lord,
Trust me, I weep to hear so sad a tale.

Periander.
I'll tell thee all; for oh! my soul is full,
And must have vent. My aking memory,
Still fruitful to my torture, brings again
Those days, those months of horror I have known.
Abandon'd to distraction, I renounc'd
The commerce of mankind. I sought to vent
My ravings in the wildness of the woods;
To hide my shame in their profoundest night.
The morn still brought it back: the midnight-shade
Could not conceal it. Her lone echoes groan'd
Unceasing with my pangs: and her sad ghosts,
Forbid to rest even in the grave, in me
Beheld a soul more lost, more curst, than they.

Leonidas.
O Sir, no more—

Periander.
When I call'd back past time,
Life's vernal season, the soft hours of peace
And unsuspecting love; our growing joys
In rearing one lov'd son; that heaven of bliss
Which princes seldom find, and was all ours;
My soul dy'd in me. Solitary, wild,
I wept, I groan'd, in bitterness of heart.
But when curst Procles flash'd on my remembrance,
My known, my deadly foe—that he of all,
That he had made her vile! 'twas then, 'tis now
Rage, fury, madness.—You at last arrous'd me
To thoughts of vengeance. With all speed I sail'd,
Feeding my frenzy with the gloomy joy
Of stabbing the betrayer in her arms;
Of plunging both to hell—but this curst storm!
These treacherous waves!

Leonidas.
Ye Gods! what have I heard!
Alas! alas! all waves, all storms are calms
To Jealousy. O my lov'd Lord, beware
Of that destroyer, that self-torturing fiend,
Who loves his pain, and feeds the cruel cares
That prey upon his life; whose frantic eye
Is ever open, ever prying round
For what he dreads to find. By all most dear
And inward to my soul, I think the Queen
As pure as Truth herself. This is, by heaven,
Some dark-laid treachery, the crime of Procles.

Periander.
Of Procles, say'st thou?

Leonidas.
Oh you know him not.
Lust and ambition are not all his guilt.
But now's no time, my Lord,
For farther talk. I tremble for your life.
This place is hostile ground: and Danger here
May find us out, tho' shrouded round with night.
Hence let us fly, where I may lodge you safe
In some obscure retreat; till pitying heaven
Unravel this perplexity of ills,
And point us what to do.

Periander.
Thou good old man!
By heaven, thy matchless honesty and truth
Half reconcile me to disgrace and ruine.
Yet blushing let me tell thee all my folly—
Might I but see Eurydice.—Nay start not:
I know 'tis base. I know she is beneath
My coolest scorn. I hate and curse this weakness.
Yet let me see her—If she still has kept
Her faith inviolate; fallen as I am,
My ruine will be light. If otherwise,
To know the worst will be soft soothing ease
To this hot hell of doubt.

Leonidas.
I wish you, Sir,
To weigh the certain peril that attends
This rash adventure. Should, which heaven avert,
Should Procles' guards discover you, oh think
What must ensue! Think, in your fate, the Queen
And Prince both ruin'd!

Periander.
But my Genius prompts.
Fate calls; and I must on. No face of danger
Can be so dreadful as the vultur-thoughts
That gnaw my heart-strings. But we both are safe.
The moon you see is down: and this mean babit
Hides me from all suspicion. Who will dream
Of finding Periander in this russet?
This, when the storm first rose, I threw around me;
That if I perish'd in it, and my corpse
Were cast ashore, at least my vulgar fate
Might ever rest unknown—But hark what sounds?

Leonidas.
Thus that curst Tyrant revels out the night
In triumph o'er your ruine.—Let me think.
Yes; it may be. Now Riot rules the hour,
And all good order is relax'd: we may
Pass on unquestion'd. Come, my gracious Lord,
This way our path lies. May some friendly God
Walk with us, and throw tenfold darkness round.

SCENE III.

Eurydice
alone.
O night of ruine, horror, and despair!
Walks there beneath thy universal shade
A wretch like me undone? All-ruling Gods!
Why have I liv'd to this? Why was my crime
Visited on the guiltless head? on him
For whom my soul would have met death with joy?
Where shall I turn my eyes? What hope remains
To misery like mine? Oh! I am lost
Beyond the hand of heaven to save me now.
Leonidas returns not—

SCENE IV.

Eurydice, Melissa.
Melissa.
Gracious Gods
Defend my royal Mistress! As I watch'd
Without for good Leonidas, this moment
I saw the Tyrant cross the lower court,
Preceded by his Minion: as new risen
From the mad midnight's feast; his wanton robe
Loose-flowing from behind, and on his head
A festal wreath of roses—Ah! he's here.

SCENE V.

Procles, Eurydice, Melissa, Medon.
Procles.
Hail young-ey'd God of wine! parent of joys!
Frolic, and full of thee (while the cold sons
Of Temperance, the fools of thought and care,
Lie stretch'd in sober slumbers) we, the few
Of purer flame, exalt each living hour
With pleasures ever new.—Eurydice!
Thou queen of souls! thou rapture of my vows!
What means this pensive mood? O quench not thus
In fruitless tears those eyes, that wont to smile
With all Love's sweetness, all his dewy beams,
Diffusing life around thee.

Eurydice.
Hence, thou tyrant,
And leave me to my sorrows. Ills like mine
Would draw remorse and reverence from the savage,
Who howls with midnight wolves amid the desart
In quest of horrid prey. What then art thou?
Whose brutal rage adds bitterness to woe,
And anguish to the breaking heart!

Procles.
'Tis well.
Yet have a care: my temper but ill brooks
Upbraiding now. Be wise, and timely seize
The minute of good fortune, that by me
Invites thee to be blest.

Eurydice.
Talk'st thou of bliss?
Thou bane of all my happiness! Cast back,
Cast back thy guilty eyes, and view the crimes
Thy soul stands charg'd with: view my bleeding wrongs,
Insult, imprisonment, dishonour, ruine!
All, all this guilt is thine—but heaven will find thee.
Those Gods whom thou hast proudly set at nought,
Will call thee to a dreadful reckoning.

Procles.
No.
The Gods and I are friends: they crown my cause
With their best favour. Come, be thou too mine,
And imitate the great example set thee.

Eurydice.
Thou vain and blind in soul! The righteous Gods,
Oft, in their anger, cloathe the worst of men
With all the pride of fond prosperity,
To make his fall more terrible.

Procles.
Confusion!
Still wayward and perverse!—Off then this tameness,
These supple, fawning arts. By all th'impatience
That goads my soul, I will not flatter more.
Know thou art in my power, and—

Eurydice.
Tyrant, no.
I scorn thy base unmanly threats—Ah heaven!
Dost thou look calmly on?—But be it so.
This friendly dagger sets me free.

[attempting to stab herself.
Procles.
Ha! what,
What means thy frantic passion? This is wildness,
Th'extravagance of female wilfulness.
It must not be: you shall be gently forc'd
To live, and to be happy.

SCENE VI.

Eurydice, Procles, an Officer, &c.
Officer.
Sir, forgive
This rude intrusion. What I bring imports
Your present ear. As now I walk'd the round
Of this wide fort, where the steep-winding path
Ends at the northern gate, I spy'd a stranger,
Who sought to lie conceal'd. Forthwith I rous'd
The nearest watch; and, ere he was aware,
Surrounded him at once. His sullen silence,
And hands oft rais'd to heaven with earnest action,
Convince me he is of no common note.

Eurydice
aside.
My soul! what dost thou hear?

Procles.
'Tis well. I thank thee.
Haste, see him brought before us.

SCENE VII.

Periander guarded, Eurydice, Procles, &c.
Eurydice
aside.
Oh ye Powers!

Periander
aside.
Ha! poison to my eyes!

Procles.
I know him not.
His dress is poor, and speaks him of the vulgar.
He seems to labour with some stormy thought,
That deeply shakes his frame. What art thou? say
Why at this hour of silence lingring here?
Ha! speak, resolve me; or the rack shall tear
Confession from thy pangs.

Periander
aside.
Fate, thou hast caught me!
But all is equal now.
[to him.
Then see before thee
The man on earth whom thou hast injur'd most.
If guilt can know remorse, what must thou feel
At sight of Periander?

Procles.
Periander!

Eurydice.
Now, now, we both are ruin'd.

Procles.
Heaven, I thank thee.
I form'd but one supreme, one crowning wish,
And thou hast heard it! This is more than triumph!

Eurydice.
O! my lov'd Lord—

Periander.
Thou canst no more betray me,
For thee, my soul still unsubdu'd and free,
Disdains to parle with thine.

Procles.
Yet thou art fallen
Beneath my wrath, the vassal of my nod,
To be chastis'd for mirth—Guards, drag him hence,
And plunge him in the dungeon's depth.

Periander.
Away,
Unkingly boaster. Can prosperity
Debase thee to the cowardice of insult?
Thy brutal manners well revenge me on thee:
They shew thee as thou art—My nobler part,
Th'immortal mind, thy madness cannot reach:
Thy whips and racks can there impress no wound.
And for this weary carcass in thy power,
It is beneath my care. Lead to my dungeon.
Chains, scourges, torture, all that Nature feels,
Or fears abhorrent, cannot shock my thought
Like thy loath'd sight, and that vile Woman's. On.

SCENE VIII.

Eurydice, Procles, Melissa, Medon.
Eurydice.
My lord, my husband, stay—Oh hear me! hear me—
Shame! rage! distraction!—Cruel tyrant, off.
I'll follow him to death.

Procles.
No. By the joys
That swell my soaring thought, you shall not scape me.
Revenge and love combine to crown this night
With matchless bliss.

Eurydice.
Inhuman! hast thou eyes?
Hast thou a heart? and cannot all this wreck
Of ruin'd majesty, ruin'd by thee,
Move one relenting thought, and wake thy pity?
He feels not what I say: repeated crimes
Have savag'd his remorseless soul.—Hear then,
Almighty Jove! behold, and judge the cause
Of Periander! number all his wrongs
In plagues, in horrors—

Procles.
Ha! by hell, this raving
But wings his fate. Since thy fond folly weds thee
To ruine with this rival, know he dies;
This very night he dies. Thro' him I mean
To wound thy heart indeed. Thou shalt behold him
When the rack stretches strong his rending joints,
Bursts all his veins, and hunts the flying soul
Thro' every limb. Then, when convulsive agony
Grins hideous in his face, mangled and bleeding,
In the last throes of death, thou shalt behold him.

Eurydice.
It is not to be borne! My life dies in me
At the destroying thought—Ah stay thee, Procles—
Assist me, pitying heaven!—See then, behold me
Thus prostrate at thy feet. If thou hast not
Renounc'd all manhood, feeling, and remorse,
Spare me his life; save only that: all else,
His crown, his throne be thine.

Procles.
Off, let me go.
Thy words are lost in air.

Eurydice.
Nay hear me, Procles.
As is thy hope in heaven's forgiving goodness,
Shut not thy heart against the cry of misery.
Banish us any whither; drive us out
To shame, want, beggary, to every woe
That most embitters life—I yet will bless thee,
Forget my crying wrongs, and own thee merciful.

Procles
aside, and pausing.
This woman fools my rage—but to resolve.
No—yes: it shall be so. Rise then, and learn
Thy triumph o'er my soul. Yes he shall live,
This Periander whom I deadly hate.
Nay more, he shall be free. Leonidas,
With such safe conduct as thyself shalt name,
Attends him to our kingdom's farthest limit.
This, in the sight of Jove the supreme Lord,
I swear to do; so thou at last consent
To meet my love—Ha! what! and dost thou frown?
Weigh well what I propose; for on my soul,
His life, or death, awaits thy next resolve.

SCENE IX.

Eurydice, Melissa.
Eurydice.
Then kill me first—He's gone! and now, ye Gods,
Is there among the wretched one so lost,
So curst as I? O scene of matchless woes!
O Periander! wert thou sav'd for this?
Ye holy Powers in heaven! to whom belongs
The fate of vertue, and redress of wrongs,
Assist, inspire me how to save his life;
Or to th'unhappy husband join the wife.