University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Eurydice, Melissa.
Eurydice.
What may this mean? The gloomy band of ruffians,
That bore me hence, vanish'd I know not how.
And hark! no sound, no breath of human voice;
But all around the depth of solitude!
A dumb and death-like stillness! My soul trembles:
And Apprehension peoples the lone void
With fears of horrid form—But what can fate?
What can the wrath of all the Gods inflict
Beyond what I have known?

Melissa.
My gracious Mistress,
This awful moment is perhaps the crisis
Of all your future life. Your guards fled sudden:
And late the neighbouring courts were loud with tumult,
Which dy'd away in slow and sullen murmurs.
Some turn of fate is near. Leonidas
In haste bore hence the king, doubtless to save him
From his dire foe: or at the people's head
Once more to place their sovereign, and restore
You to your former state.

Eurydice.
All otherwise
My thoughts forebode. There is one deadly ill,
Which oh too sure no time, no chance can heal!
And at the dawn of day, just as these lids
Reluctant clos'd to rest, Arpasia's Shade,
My much-lov'd mother, stood confess'd before me,
Pale as the shroud that wound her clay-cold limbs;
Her eyes fix'd on me, still and motionless,
Streaming unreal tears. She groan'd, and thrice
In low, sad murmurs bade me to her tomb,
To meet her there—and there, in death alone,
In the dark grave, can poor Eurydice
Expect repose.

Melissa.
O no; just heaven, I hope,
That sees your innocence, has yet in store
Much bliss and many days of peace for you.

Eurydice.
I know his heart is quite estrang'd, and shut,
For ever shut against the voice of love:
And can my heart survive it? Shall I live
With public infamy? a theme of scorn
To all licentious tongues? Oh! in that thought,
Death's keenest dart has stab'd my soul already;
And what comes after is not worth my fear.

Melissa.
Ha! Madam, this way cast your eyes, and see
What swarms of men; these flying, those pursuing.

Eurydice.
Now, Lord of battles! join thy powerful arm;
Assert the cause of righteousness—But hark!
The thunder of their shouts grows near and loud.
This way the combat turns. By all my hopes,
The Tyrant's party flies. Look, look, Melissa,
Their broken numbers to the fortress bend.

Melissa.
And now with eager speed they climb th'ascent
That leads to us.

Eurydice.
But who is he, Melissa,
That like the God of war, flames foremost yonder?
See his sword lighten, and the foe fly scattering
From his tempestuous arm!—Ha—yes—O heaven!
'Tis he, 'tis he himself, 'tis Periander!
O miracle! He looks again a monarch,
Dreadfully glorious. Throw, ye Powers! your shield
Of providence before him; think on all
His causeless wrongs, and do him justice now.

Melissa.
Ah! Procles comes.

SCENE II.

Procles followed by a party of his guards, Eurydice, Melissa.
Procles.
[to one party.
[to another.

Eurydice.
No, Tyrant: I will die first. Off, base slaves.
Dare ye, dare earth-born peasants violate,
With your rude touch, the majesty of kings?
Ah! heaven—

Procles.
Be quick, nor listen to her raving.

SCENE III.

Eurydice, Procles, Medon, &c.
Medon.
Undone! undone! The postern-gate is seiz'd.
That curst Leonidas—

Procles.
Ha! say'st thou, Medon?

Medon.
By hell, our foes surround us on each hand.
We're taken in the toil.

Procles.
Unequal Powers!
And have you then deceiv'd me? rais'd me high
With traiterous kindness, but to plunge me deeper
In howling desperation? Does the man,
Whom late my foot could spurn, behold my fall?
And fall I thus? my great ambition dash'd?
My love unsatisfy'd? Shall he yet revel
In her fond arms, and hear her curse my name?
No. Spite of heaven my ruine shall be glorious,
A pomp of horrors. I will make this day
For ever mournful to his aking heart.
Yes, he shall weep in blood amid the shouts
Of victory. One blow destroys his triumph,
And levels him at once to my destruction.

[he draws a dagger.
Eurydice.
Strike, Tyrant, and compleat thy monstrous crimes.
See, thou pale coward, see a woman braves
Thy guilty dagger.

Procles.
Ha! what's this I feel?
A shivering dew of horror sweats all o'er me!
Some Power invisible arrests my arm!
It is heaven's secret hand—But shall I lose
This only moment? No: be strong my heart;
Be shut against all human thoughts, and scorn
These warnings of thy hostile Gods—'Tis done.

SCENE IV.

Polydore and soldiers, Procles, Eurydice, Leonidas, &c.
Polydore
pushing back Procles with his lance.
No, traitor, murderer, no. Heaven is more just
Than to permit a life so much its care
To fall by thy vile hand. Secure the Tyrant.
[to his soldiers.
My mother!

Eurydice.
O my son!

Polydore.
Transporting joy!

Eurydice.
O ecstacy! and do I see thy face?
And do I hold thee in my trembling arms?
Thou darling of my love! thou early heroe!
O thou hast sav'd us all!

Polydore.
This, this is triumph!
And I can ask of bounteous heaven no more.
Was ever joy so full? This feeble arm,
O pride to think! has sav'd the sacred lives
From whom I drew my own.

Eurydice.
And is this possible?
What shall I say?—But language all is poor
To speak the tender yearnings of my soul.
O Polydore! did ever parents know
Such transports as do thine? Did ever son
Deserve so well of parents?—Good Leonidas,
I saw thee not before; indeed I could not:
My eyes, my soul, were so close fix'd on him.
But say, redouble this day's bliss, and say,
Whence this amazing change?

Leonidas.
My royal Mistress,
The Gods have done this. One half of the fleet,
As led by their peculiar hand, escap'd
Yesterday's ruinous storm, and with the dawn
Enter'd the port unseen; their secret landing
Befriended by the morn's wide-hovering mists.
Instant, inform'd of his great father's fate,
Your Polydore, this gallant royal youth,
Pour'd forth his eager troops; and at their head,
Swift as heaven's darted fire, flew towards Corinth,
Which open'd wide her arms to take him in.
His fortune speaks the rest.

Eurydice.
O sovereign Goodness!
Be thine the praise: this is thy wonderous work.
The King, how was he sav'd?

Leonidas.
Struck with this danger,
The Tyrant had to present death devoted
His sacred head. I counsel'd, and prevail'd
(Procles still thought me his) in bonds to hold him
As our sure pledge of safety, should success
Desert our arms. The following moment saw him
Free from his chains, and foremost in the fight—
And hark! these joyous strains proclaim his triumph.

Eurydice.
Retire, my son; I would not meet him here.

SCENE V.

Periander attended, Leonidas, Ariston, Procles, Medon.
Periander
aside.
She flies!—Thou coward, Guilt!—but hence that thought.
[advancing towards Procles.
At length the measure of thy crimes is full:
Thy high-plum'd pride lies humbled in the dust;
And awful Justice comes, array'd in terrors,
To make enquiry for the guilt that swells
Thy black account—But I will check my heart,
Nor learn of thee to triumph o'er the fallen.
Bear him to prison.

Procles.
Yet, I will be free,
And soon beyond thy power. Knowing the worst,
I laugh at all to come.

Periander
to Medon.
For thee, thou vile one,
Thou pander to thy Master's lusts, thou sycophant,
(The most pernicious present angry heaven
Can make to princes whom it means to blind,
And ruin beyond mercy) thy just doom
Is instant. Spurn this slave into the streets.
The furious people, whom his earth-born pride
Has trampled on, and numerous rapines beggar'd,
Will find th'oppressor out, and as they tear
His guilty limbs, think all their wrongs o'er-paid.

SCENE VI.

Periander, Leonidas, Ariston.
Periander.
Leonidas, my father and preserver,
Rise to my arms. By heaven the joy that smiles
Upon thy brow adds brightness to the morn.
This wonderous revolution of my fate,
This change that gives me back my crown and name,
Rejoices me yet less, than that I owe
The gift to thee.

Leonidas.
O sacred Sir, forbear.
The transport to behold you thus again
Is great reward. Now your old man can say
He has not liv'd in vain. Ye bounteous Powers!
Dismiss me now in peace; for I have seen
My Master blest!

Periander.
No recompence can equal
Such matchless goodness. But I will repay thee
A way more pleasing to a soul like thine,
By running still in debt to all thy vertues.
Thou know'st th'unhappy, envy'd state of kings;
How perilous the height so near to heaven,
Ten thousand ways expos'd: here to the lust
Of lawless will; there to the darker ruine
Of venal flattery. Be near me still.
Thy life has roll'd thro' all the various round
Of human chance: and years of hoary thought,
Cool and unpassionate, have taught thee wisdom.
Be still my guide, and save me from the snares
That thus beset me; save me from myself.

Leonidas.
My heart can only answer to this goodness
By silent gratitude and joy—But, Sir,
Forgive me if I say, another care
Demands your present thought.

Periander
aside.
Fatal remembrance!
At once inflam'd my smother'd rage burns up
With fiercer blaze. He must not know the purpose
With which my bosom labours.
[to him.
Yes, my friend,
Of that we'll talk anon; but now I wish
An hour of privacy.—Ariston, stay,

SCENE VII.

Periander, Ariston.
Periander.
Thus far have I repress'd the storm within me;
Held down its furious heavings: but they now
Shall have full flow. I am once more a king.
My foe is in my hand, and breathes this air
But till I doom him dead: yet is not he
So curst, so ruin'd as his conqueror!

Ariston.
What do I hear, my Lord?

Periander.
Ah! good Ariston,
The horrors of thy tale were true. She has,
She has betray'd me.

Ariston.
Since the Queen is fallen,
There is no trust in woman—

Periander.
Nor no hope
For wretched Periander. Not the grave
Can hide me now from scorn: not length of days
Will wear out this. O never-dying shame!
Worlds yet unfound will hear it: and where'er
The guilty tale is told, my fate will raise
Base mirth, or baser pity.

Ariston.
Could the Queen
Stoop to a thought of Procles? False fond sex!
Unfix'd by reason, ever wandering wild,
As Fancy whirls, from folly on to folly,
From vanity to vice. My gracious Lord,
She is beneath your anger. Cast her out
From all your soul, and be yourself again.
Resume that reason, Sir—

Periander.
Away: can reason
Arrest the whirlwind's wing? or quench the forest,
Struck by the hand of Jove, when all its woods
In one broad conflagration blaze to heaven?
'Tis reason makes me wretched; for it tells me
How shameful this mad conflict of my passions:
But does that still their uproar? Here, Ariston,
Works the wild storm that reason cannot calm.
I must, I will have ease.

Ariston.
You may; but oh!
The remedy is dreadful, and will give you
Swoonings and mortal agonies. I tremble
To mention it; but such your soul's deep malady,
No gentler cure can bring the health you want.
Her death, my Lord—

Periander.
Ha! death—my soul shrinks back
From the dread image. How! for ever lose her!
My queen! my wife! behold those eyes no more
That were the light of mine! no longer hear
That voice whose every sound was harmony!
Of power to sooth tumultuous Rage, and heal
The wounded heart of Anguish—Can it be?
O misery! why, why is this?

Ariston.
Alas!
You love her still, my Lord, and know it not.

Periander.
Ye Gods, why am I thus? driven to and fro
By every blast that blows?—It is too true.
A traiterous softness steals o'er my just rage,
And melts me to the dotage of low pity.
O thou mean heart! Is she not false? And I,
Shall I sit down with tame dishonour? take
Pollution to my arms? grow vilely old,
A tale for drunkards in their wine? the mirth
Of midnight libertines, when they recount
Their triumphs o'er base women? No: she dies.
I tear her from my breast, tho' the life-stream
Should issue with her. Hear me then, Ariston,
Do thou prepare a secret draught of death,
Of power most swift and baneful; and be ready
Upon my fatal summons.

Ariston.
Spare me, Sir;
I like not this employ.

Periander.
It must be thine.
I have no friend in whom to trust but thee:
And she shall die—But think'st thou, good Ariston,
I should not hear her first?

Ariston.
Hear her, my Lord?
Would you then have her live?

Periander.
No; were my fate
Involv'd in hers, she should not live. But still
Something within me crys that I should hear her.
It is not, can't be love. 'Tis my revenge,
All direful now, that would enjoy her tears,
Her lying oaths of innocence, her new
And added perjuries: then sink her down
To the dark world, with all her crimes upon her.

Ariston.
You see not, Sir, the danger of that meeting.
Is your heart proof against the powerful charm
Of beauty soften'd into sighs, and melting
With the mild languor of imploring eyes,
More winning now, and shedding gentler beams
Thro' showers of sorrow. Think you here behold her,
The kneeling charmer lovely in her tears,
Pleading for pity, sinking at your feet,
And dying by your frown.

Periander.
Art thou my friend?
O merciless! why dost thou raise before me
This dangerous image? 'Tis not to be borne.
My brain turns round with madness. O ye Powers!
Why am I not at quiet? Why is life
Forc'd on the wretch who strongly begs to die,
In bitterness of soul? who asks no more
But the grave's shade and silence, there at last
To sleep for ever, nameless and forgotten?

Ariston.
Alas for pity! I will talk no more
On this distressful theme.

Periander.
Ariston, stay.
Spite of these tears, spite of this fond distraction,
It shall be done. A king may live unhappy
But not with loss of honour unreveng'd.
'Twas mad to think of this. I will not trust
My eyes against the witchcraft of her charms.
Then summon all thy firmness, O my Soul!
And dare to be accurst; since thy sad choice
Is shame, or misery. I am resolv'd.
Ye Gods who watch o'er the chaste marriage-bed!
Thou Stygian Jove! and all ye Powers infernal!
Behold, I kneel as in your awful presence.
By that invisible, that dreaded Lake,
Th'irrevocable oath that binds even you,
Here I pronounce, and seal her doom of death.

SCENE VIII.

Eurydice, Periander, Ariston.
Eurydice kneels to Periander, who after looking on her some time with emotion, flings away without speaking.
Eurydice
alone.
[rising.