University of Virginia Library

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.