University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Eurydice, Melissa.
Melissa.
This chearless morning rises slow and sad.
The frowning heavens are black with stormy clouds;
And, o'er the deep, a hovering night of fogs
Lies dark and motionless.

Eurydice.
That mournful face
Of nature is less gloomy than my soul:
All there is darkness and dismay. Ah me!
Was ever night, Melissa, like the last?
A night of many terrors, many deaths!
How has my soul out-liv'd it? But, great Gods!
Can mortal strength, can human vertue bear
What Periander feels? In one day's course
Wreck'd, made a captive, sunk into a dungeon,
To die or live as his curst foe decrees!
Distraction's in the thought. And what can I
To save his sacred life?
[After a pause.
Ha! is it heaven
That darts this sudden light into my soul?
This glimpse of dawning hope?—It shall be try'd.
Yes, yes, ye Powers! my life and fame shall both
Be offer'd up to save his dearer life.

Melissa.
Alas, what mean you, Madam?

Eurydice.
Mean, Melissa?
To do a noble justice on myself;
A deed for which, in nations yet unborn,
Chaste wives and matrons shall renown my name.
I have wrong'd my husband greatly, and I mean
Ample atonement of my guilty weakness.
Go then, Melissa—

Melissa.
Whither must I go?
I tremble at your words.

Eurydice.
Yet it sticks here,
This fatal purpose. Can I leave behind me
A doubtful name, insulted, wounded, torn
By cruel Calumny? I can; I dare
Throw off the woman, and be deaf to all
Those nicer female fears that call so loud,
Importunate, and urging me to live
Till I may clear my truth from all surmize.
Go then, and in my name—'Tis worse than death
To utter it—but go, inform the Tyrant,
So Periander lives, and is set free,
I yield me to his wish.

Melissa.
Forbid it heaven!

Eurydice.
Thou faithful vertuous maid! Know then my last,
My fix'd resolve. By this I mean to amuse
His brutal hopes, and save me from his violence,
Till Periander is beyond his reach.
Then, if he still dare urge his impious purpose,
A dagger sets me free. This arm at last
Shall do me right on him, myself, or both.

SCENE II.

Eurydice, Leonidas.
Eurydice.
Leonidas!

Leonidas.
Ah Madam!

Eurydice.
Dare I ask
Where Periander is—ah where indeed?
Chain'd in a dungeon's airless depth, amid
Foul damps, and lonesome darkness! Oh that thought
Draws blood from my torn heart.

Leonidas.
Justice divine!
In thy great day of visitation, mark
This man of blood. O let him feel the hand
He dares to disbelieve. To all his counsels
Send forth, in thy just wrath, that fatal Spirit
Of error and illusion, that foreruns
The fall of guilty kings.
Ere morning-dawn,
Soft to the dismal dungeon's mouth I stole,
Where, by the glimmerings of a dying lamp
I saw my great unhappy Master laid
On the cold earth along—

Eurydice.
O hide the sad
The fatal image from me. The dire thought
Will run me into madness.

Leonidas.
Yet even there,
Where pale Dismay, the prisoner's drear associate,
Sits ever sad and sleepless, he could rest.
Superior to the cruel fate that crush'd him,
He slept as deep as Indolence on down.
These eyes beheld it: and I would not break
His wish'd repose, but fix'd in silent wonder,
Stood weeping o'er the sight.

Eurydice.
Ah me! my life
Flows out at every word: What's to be done?

Leonidas.
Madam, I set my all at stake for him.
Old as I am, and broken with the load
Of threescore years, what is a life like mine,
But as it may be useful to my Master?
Already the sad people know his fate:
And I, by faithful hands, will try to rouze
Their pity first, and next their rage. No hour,
No moment shall be lost.

Eurydice.
Thou good old man!
What words can speak thy worth? Fair loyalty
And faith inviolate, which seem'd quite lost
Among mankind, live in thy vertuous bosom.

Leonidas.
No more of this, my Queen. Might I but see
This haughty Tyrant, in some guilty hour
Of insolence and riot, when his pride
Plumes all her vainest wishes, hurl'd at once
To ruine unforeseen; my labours then,
My services were greatly over-paid.

Eurydice.
Heaven hear thy pious wish. I too the while,
To save my husband's life, have been contriving—

Leonidas.
Madam, the Tyrant—I will find another
More favourable moment.

SCENE III.

Procles, Medon, Leonidas.
Procles.
Hold thy self
Prepar'd, Leonidas: I must employ thee
In an affair of weight.
[Leonidas withdraws.
Methinks I droop
With more than wonted heaviness of heart.
But I will shake it off, and to the winds
Give every thought of care. 'Tis only fondness,
And fancy sick with hope. Eurydice
Bends to my wishes: and, in her, I hope
That heaven imagin'd, that sole bliss, which yet
My search could never meet.

Medon.
It moves my wonder
To see your love thus wedded to one bosom:
While all around bright crouds of rival beauties
Practise each art of charming, look, and talk,
And live for you alone.

Procles.
Alas, my friend,
Poor is the triumph over hearts like these:
This hour they pleases us, and the next they pall.
But to subdue the pride that scorns to yield;
To fill th'unwilling breast with sighs and longings,
With all the soft distraction of fond love,
Even while it strives against th'invading victor,
And wonders at the change; that, that is conquest!
The plume of pleasure! and from her alone
A glory to be won.

Medon.
Well, may you find
In this proud fair one that enchants you thus,
Whate'er Imagination's fondest eye
Beholds in rapturous vision; or young Love
In all his wantonness of power can give.
But yet, forgive your servant's forward zeal,
Mean you to keep the promise you have made her?

Procles.
I do.

Medon.
How Sir! what set her husband free?

Procles.
I mean no less.

Medon.
Your pardon, Sir: 'tis well.
But have you calmly weigh'd in reason's scale
The certain consequence? Set free your rival!
A soul made furious with his mighty wrongs;
Boiling with hate, rage, jealousy, revenge;
With the full-gather'd storm of deadly passions!
The Gods forbid it, Sir—And all to dry
A froward woman's tears!

Procles.
No, no, my friend;
Nor liberty nor life shall long be his:
I never meant him either; but my faith
Is pass'd to set him free. By that alone
The haughty Queen was overcome: and I
Will keep th'illusive promise to her ear,
But break it to her hope.

Medon.
As how, my Lord?

Procles.
Such inbred enmity my soul bears his
As Nature does to ruine; to the grave,
Where the whole man descends to rise no more.
Hear then what I intend. Thou know'st the fortress,
That guards our frontier on the Theban side.
That way our foe must pass; but thou shalt first
Post thither on the spur with wary speed:
And with a chosen band, drawn from the fort,
Way-lay him on the farther hill, close couch'd
In the deep covert of those pendant woods,
That shade the path below.

Medon.
Conclude it done.
Sleep shall not know my eyes, till his are clos'd
In everlasting night. As to his prison
I waited him, he call'd me minion, slave,
A traitor's parasite, the base-soul'd minister
Of his loose pleasures: and I will repay him,
For each opprobrious name, a mortal stab.
Yes, he shall feel his fate. Insult and taunt,
Embittering every blow, shall mock his pangs,
And give him sevenfold death.

Procles.
So, now to try
This Periander thoroughly. Go, Medon,
Command him hither.

SCENE IV.

Procles
alone.
No. I cannot bear
His last night's haughty look and untam'd spirit.
It baffles my revenge, and I still miss
My noblest triumph; for I meant to bend him
To base dejection, and to feast my scorn
With his pale cheek and supplicating eye.
But I will hunt this pride thro' each recess,
Each closer folding of the soul, till I
Have sunk him to my wish.—Thou Jealousy!
Almighty tyrant of the human mind,
Who canst at will unsettle the calm brain,
O'erturn the seated heart, and shake the man
Thro' all his frame with tempest and distraction;
Rise to my present aid: call up thy Powers,
Thy furious fears, thy blasts of dreadful passion,
Thy whips, snakes, mortal stings, thy host of horrors;
Rouse thy whole war against him, and compleat
My purpos'd vengeance.—But he comes to prove it.

SCENE V.

Periander, Procles, Medon, Guards.
Procles
advancing.
I have to talk with thee. Thy life, thou know'st,
Depends upon my will—

Periander.
And therefore I
Am weary of the load. But let the Gods,
Who thus dispense our fates, account for them,
And vindicate their justice.

Procles.
Be more calm.
The noble mind meets every chance of fortune,
Unruffled and serene. I, tho' thy foe,
Perhaps may mean thee good.

Periander.
Such good the Tyger,
Hungry for death and slaughter, means his prey.
But know my soul receives with equal scorn
Thy hate and hollow love. I am not fallen
By thy superior sword, or nobler deed:
It was the guilt of fate!

Procles.
Call we it so.
At least 'tis well thou must of force acknowledge
Thy crown, thy liberty, thy life and death,
Hang on my nod. I can dispose of all
As likes me best.

Periander.
Ha! dost thou boast of that?
But thou wilt never know how poor a purchase
Is power and empire gain'd for vertue lost.

Procles.
And yet, methinks, I read the difference plain
In thee and me. Thy vertue and these bonds
I weigh in equal scale against the crown
And sceptre of fair Corinth: and while these,
The glorious aim of each great heart that dares
Beyond the narrow sphere of earth-born spirits;
While these are mine, I envy not thy tribe
A sound, an empty name.

Periander.
It joys my soul
To find the man, who bears me mortal hate,
At war too with the Gods. 'Tis great revenge!
Had not vain fortune made thee blind, the thought
Would change thy purple to the mourner's sack-cloath.
What are thy glorious acts?—Thou hast undone
A woman, weak and worthless.—Yes, ye Powers!
This heroe, this fair warrior, well deserv'd
To fill my vacant seat: he won it nobly!
Dissembling, perjury, the coward's arms—
With these he fought his vertuous way to empire.
Thou seest I know thee.

Procles.
Dost thou preach to me
The pedant-maxims of those sons of earth,
Whom the gross vulgar fondly title wise?
Slaves, who to shades and solitude condemn'd,
Pine there with all-shun'd Penury and Scorn.
A monarch is above them, and takes counsel
Of his unbounded will, and high ambition,
That counts the world his own. I ever held thee
My foe, my deadly bane: and against such,
Force, fraud, all arts, are lawful. I have won,
And mean to wear thy crown. Thou may'st the while
Seek some vile cell out, and grow poorly old
Amid the talking tribe of moralists.

Periander.
Thro' this false face of arrogance, I read
Thy heart of real terror and dismay.
Hence all these coward-boasts. The truly brave,
Invincible to pride and fortune's flattery,
Know neither fear, nor insult.—But I would not,
As thou surmizest, dream out useless life
In Sloth's unactive couch. Nay I could tell thee,
That tho' I shun thy shameful ways of conquest;
Still heaven-born glory, won by vertuous deeds,
Has been my fair pursuit: still would I seek her
In toils of war, and in the nobler field
Of justice, peace, and mercy.

Procles.
My soul longs
To prove thy highest daring, and to meet thee
Amid the din and peril of the battle.
Thy life is in thy hand: thou art no longer
Our prisoner. This moment sets thee free.

Periander.
How!—but thou dare'st not—Could I find thee there,
In open day, and honourable arms,
Opposing war to war, as monarchs should;
I would forgive thee all, my crown usurp'd,
These slave-like bonds—But that fair hope is vain.
The fears that haunt thy soul—

Procles.
Strike off his fetters.
[to Medon.
Haste, find Leonidas. Bid him prepare
To guard the prisoner to our kingdom's frontier.
There he shall leave him free to chuse what course
His fancy most affects.

Periander.
What means all this?
Dares Guilt then be so brave? and dost thou free
The man whom act of thine shall never win
To owe thee aught but deep and deadly hate?

Procles.
Go, see my orders instantly perform'd.

[Medon and Guards retire.
Periander
aside.
And is it so—I shudder with my fears.
Say, tell me first to what is Periander
Indebted for this freedom?

Procles.
Well it may
Surprize thy hope: 'twas what I never meant thee.
But that fond woman who enslaves my soul
To all her wishes, and still pitys thee,
With idle blandishments extorted from me
A solemn vow to set thee free.

Periander.
Confusion!

Procles.
Thus I, against my better mind, release
My mortal enemy. But let it speak
The greatness of my love: and what dull husband,
Thro' all recorded time, e'er gave such proof
Of matchless fondness?

Periander.
Plagues! perdition! hell!
Damn'd, damn'd adultress!—Villain, slave, 'tis false:
Thou ly'st—What thee! O curse—

Procles.
At last 'tis done.

SCENE VI.

Periander
alone.
Have I then liv'd to this? to this confusion?
My foe, the man on earth my soul most loaths,
Rejoices over me: and she—even she
Hath join'd his triumph!—Off, away, be gone
Love, manhood, reason—Come, ye sister-Furies!
Daughters of hate and hell! arise, inflame
My murderous purpose; pour into my veins
Your gall, your scorpion-fellness, your keen horrors
That sting to madness; till my burning vengeance
Hath her full draught of blood—
[Walking with a disturb'd motion.
But how! where am I?
O this poor brain! ten thousand shapes of fury
Are whirling there, and reason is no more.
Him! him! a caitif black with every vice!
Debase herself to him!—the thought is hell!
Well, well—and I, how have I doated on her
Whole years of fondness! cherish'd, pleas'd, adorn'd her
With all that love can give—Yet she has done this!
Confusion on my folly—Ha! she comes.
Down, down tempestuous soul: let me be dumb,
And hide this shameful conflict that unmans me.

SCENE VII.

Eurydice, Periander.
Eurydice
aside.
He must not know my secret fatal purpose,
That I am fix'd to die; lest his great soul
Refuse a life so dearly sav'd—And now
All Powers that pity human kind assist me
In this important hour!
[to him.
O Periander—
And is it thus we meet again!

Periander
aside.
Ha! see,
She comes prepar'd. By hell, she weeps a lye.
My rage will leap all bounds.

Eurydice.
My Lord, my love,
I know you look on me as on the cause,
The fatal cause of all your ills; too true:
That guilt is mine—O would to heaven this head
Had been laid low in earth ere that sad hour!
Why did I shrink at ruine? why not bear
All pangs, all horrors of besieging famine?
Alas! my love—But your false faithless subjects
To what have they reduc'd us?

Periander.
No; not they:
Thou vile one, thou alone hast made me wretched.
Thou! thou! whom I had treasur'd in my bosom,
As my life's jewel—thou hast heap'd upon me,
On this poor head, contempt and foul dishonour.

Eurydice.
Just Gods! what means my Lord?

Periander.
Mean!—dost thou ask?

Eurydice.
Heaven! has the Traitor then—

Periander.
Ha! does that gaul thee?
Perdition! shall I stab—But what? shall she,
A woman, shake my soul's firm temper thus?
I will be dumb. Yet no—Yes he, thy minion,
The base one, has repaid thy broken faith
With equal perfidy: has loudly boasted
To heaven, and earth, and me, how vile thou art
Shame! death! distraction!—I too am become
A proverb of reproach, a tale, a word
For ribbald Scorn to mock at.

Eurydice
aside.
O dire error!
Fatal mistake! Now am I lost indeed.
But be it so: what is my life and fame
To saving him?

Periander
aside.
See! guilt has struck her dumb.

Eurydice.
My lord, my only love, by holy faith
I never was disloyal. Rags and penury,
Disease and death, shock not my apprehension
Like that detested crime—I dare no more.
O fly, my love; haste from this fatal place,
And leave me to my fate. O save your life,
While yet 'tis in your power.

Periander.
My life! away.
And hast thou vilely barter'd for that life
Thy truth, and my fair fame? By yon blest heaven,
I could have borne all woes that Wretchedness
Groans under; age, affliction, pining anguish:
And borne them like a man. I could have smil'd
At fortune's keenest rancor—But to know
My self deceiv'd in thee! there, there I sink!
There manhood, reason die!

Eurydice.
O ye just Powers!
Were ever woes like mine? What are the whips,
Rack, engines, all that murderous Cruelty
Hath yet contriv'd—what are they all to this?
This infamy that kills the soul itself?
Yet I will bear even this.
Then here, by weeping, bleeding love I beg you,
With streaming eyes, haste from this fatal place.
The Tyrant may recall his word: and then—
I cannot utter more.

Periander.
And thou can'st weep?
Thou crocodile! These false, these lying tears
Are daggers here. I go—But dost thou hope
Thy mean dissimulation hides thee from me?
Thou hast dishonour'd, ruin'd me; and now
My sight is hateful to thee.
[returning.
But say, tell me
How have I merited these wrongs of thee?
What was my crime? Can all-bestowing Love
Do more than mine for thee?—When I call back
The days that are no more! Thou wert my all
Of happiness: my soul ne'er knew a joy
That was not thine: my doating fondness lull'd
Its hopes, its fears, its wishes, in thy bosom.
O heaven and earth!—and yet—Eurydice—
Thou could'st forsake me!

[weeps.
Eurydice.
Oh this is too much!
Heaven knows I would have dy'd to save thy life:
But we will perish both, both die together.
Thy tears distract me; I will tell thee all.

Periander.
Curse on this weakness. I could tear these eyes
From forth their orbs—Thou exquisite deceiver!
Hence, lest this arm should do a deed of shame,
And stain me with thy blood.

Eurydice.
O but one moment,
For mercy's sake, allow me one short moment.

Periander.
No. In the sight of all-beholding Jove,
Here I renounce thee. What a slave to folly,
To thy curst arts has Periander liv'd!

Eurydice.
O cruel! cruel! hast thou cast me out
For ever from thy heart? By all our loves;
By the dear pledge of our unspotted flames,
Grant me one moment.
[kneels.
Here will I hang; grow to thy knees—Yes, spurn me;
Drag this bare bleeding bosom on the ground;
Yes, use me as the vilest slave—but hear me.

Periander.
Away, away.

Eurydice.
Then strike me dead at once.
Look here, my love; I shrink not from the blow.

Periander.
That were poor vengeance. No; I meditate
A nobler sacrifice—
[alarm of trumpets.
Ha! what is this?
[alarm again.
Th'alarm is urgent, big with war and dread.
I am the sport of fortune.

SCENE VIII.

Periander, Eurydice, Melissa.
Melissa.
O! my Lord,
Some wonderous birth of fate is sure disclosing.
Procles calls out to arms: his guards swarm round him,
Haste in each step, and fear in every eye.
This way too Medon speeds, and in his train
A gloomy band of soldiers.

Periander.
Let him come.
Death has no terrors, when to live is shame.

SCENE IX.

Periander, Eurydice, Melissa,
Medon at the head of one party who hurry the Queen off the stage, Leonidas at the head of another who remove the King.
Medon.
Be quick, secure the Queen.

Eurydice.
What mean'st thou, ruffian?
Must we then part?—Farewel, my Lord, for ever.

Periander.
Thou too, Leonidas!—nay then—

SCENE X.

Leonidas
alone.
O Jove!
Eternal and supreme, whose nod controuls
The fate of empires; whose almighty hand
Sustains the weak, and raises vertue fallen,
Now to this royal sufferer deal thy mercy:
Aid his just arms, and teach mankind to know
That sovereign justice sways the world below.