University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Periander walking disordered, Leonidas following.
O my lov'd Master! have I liv'd to see
This sight of woe? Alas! is this to conquer?
Are these the fruits of victory?

Periander.
Away,
Why nam'st thou victory to me, a slave
Subdu'd and tyranniz'd by his worst foes,
His unrelenting passions? Talk of ruine,
And I will hear thee: talk of hopeless misery;
No other strain befits thy master's triumph.

Leonidas.
This is the language of supreme distress,
Impatient of itself. My gracious Lord,
Forgive an old man's talk, who would this moment,
Might his poor life bring back your peace of mind,
With joy resign it.

Periander.
That were to bring back
The darted sun-beam, or recall the flight
Of unreturning time. O no: my soul
Has bid the last farewel to happiness,
To hope itself. And yet I thank thy love,
Indeed I do: but leave me for a while.
I would be private.

Leonidas.
Sir, I dare not leave you—
Forgive these tears—I dare not leave you thus
At variance with your self. I read too plain
The fatal thought that wakens in your bosom.

Periander.
And would'st thou have me live this abject thing?
This slave of folly? For I tell thee blushing,
With shame and strong abhorrence of my self,
I cannot tear that Woman from my soul,
False, faithless as she is—Then I will die.
That just revenge is still within my power.

Leonidas.
O Jealousy! thou merciless destroyer,
More cruel than the grave! what ravages
Does thy wild war make in the noblest bosoms!
Too long, my Lord, you listen to the whispers
Of that domestic foe, that bosom traitor.
For mercy's sake, throw not away so rashly
The jewel of your soul. Some unseen error
Mis-leads you from the truth, and ruins her.
Grant her a moment's audience.

Periander.
I have sworn,
That she shall die.

Leonidas.
Is then her sacred life
Of so small price, to cast her thus away
With blind precipitance? Your Queen, my Lord!
The fairest form, the most exalted mind!
Once so ador'd and lov'd! to whom your soul
Still cleaves with fondness! Can you give her up,
The mother of your darling Polydore,
Unheard, untry'd, to death and infamy?
Can you do this?

Periander.
O Thou! whose eye beholds
And pitys the frail heart of erring man,
Ruler of heaven and earth! or still these passions,
That rage in tempest here: or strike in mercy,
And free me from my pain.—What can I do?
My solemn vow is gone up to high heaven:
And would'st thou have me break it?

Leonidas.
That rash oath
Nor does, nor ought to bind. The Gods refuse it.
Should you, too late, discover she is wrong'd—
Think on it well—O what a life of horrors
Remains for you! I tremble but to name 'em.
The sad and silent meltings of vain sorrow;
The thorn of keen remorse; the sting of love,
Inflam'd by fond reflection, hourly sighing
For what he never, never hopes to find:
With these, late-coming, but no more to leave you,
Despair accurst. Dreadful society!
Yet such will share your day and night, and haunt
Your court, your throne, your solitude, your couch.
Alas, my Lord!

Periander.
O by my soul's strong anguish,
I would most gladly blot out from my thoughts
All memory of past time: I yet would question
The waking evidence of every sense,
To give her back that vertue, those fair beams
That shone on our first loves. Then was I blest
Beyond the race of men, belov'd and loving,
Honour'd and happy; and my name as odor
Pour'd forth, and breathing freshness all around.
O days of dear delight! that I could fix
For ever there, and think no farther on.
I will if possible.

Leonidas.
O happy change!
Confirm this gentle purpose, favouring heaven!
I fly to bring her hither.

Periander.
Stay thee yet.
I would resolve, but cannot. Love and rage
By turns assail me: melt me now to mercy;
Now rouse me to distraction—O my heart!

Leonidas.
Then punish the sole cause of all your pangs.
On the great criminal, on Procles' head
Discharge the fulness of a righteous vengeance,
And justify the Gods. Let the rack tear
The traitor's limbs; and as he howls with anguish,
Extort confession from him of the lyes,
The dark aspersions, that have well nigh ruin'd
Your injur'd, vertuous Queen, and tortur'd you.

Periander.
What hast thou done? O that detested name!
Thou know'st not half my madness—that curst name
Has set my brain on blaze, and call'd up there
Ten thousand furies. Hell! hast thou not heard
What shame and scorn, what vileness and confusion,
He heap'd upon my head—and she the cause!

Leonidas.
Oh heaven, and is this retribution thine?
Must Vertue know, what Vice alone should feel?

Periander.
Forbear, fond man. That heaven thou dar'st accuse,
Just, tho' mysterious, leads us on unerring,
Thro' ways unmark'd, from Guilt to Punishment.
I vow'd, alas! and with strong adjurations
Bound that just vow, to set my country free.
This, to my Father on his bed of death,
Solemn I swore—But, O blind lust of greatness!
Thro' wantonness of will I lightly weigh'd it,
Nor fear'd the hour of terrible account!
That hour is come: and what avails it now
That I, with equal hand and gentle rule,
Have sway'd my people? I am punish'd most,
Where I had bid my soul be most secure
Of happiness for years—Ha! Polydore.

SCENE II.

Polydore, Periander, Leonidas.
Periander.
I said I would be private.

Polydore.
O my father,
Here let me kneel for ever, weep these eyes
To blindness, and ne'er know a thought of comfort.

Periander.
What would my Polydore?

Polydore.
Alas! what means
This common face of woe that meets my sight
Where'er I turn? Even now while happy Corinth
Blazes with triumph; while the neighbouring shores
Resound to heaven her voice of general joy,
The palace is in tears. Her silent courts
Are dark with mourning, as if Death and Ruine,
Not Victory, had fix'd their mansion here.

Periander.
There is a cause, my son, a dreadful one.
But leave me to myself.

Polydore.
Am I then grown
A horror to your eyes? What is my crime,
That thus with alienated look you turn
As from some baleful object? Yet, my father,
Oft have you sworn that in this face you saw,
And lov'd your darling Queen.

Periander.
Away, thy looks,
Thy words distract me.

Polydore.
Whither shall I fly?
Where hide this hated head? My mother too,
As now I left her, pressing full her eyes
With fix'd and earnest mournfulness on mine,
Stream'd into tears: then clasp'd me to her bosom
With such sad passion, such transported tremblings,
As parting lovers that must meet no more.
I beg'd to know the cause. Again she press'd me
With fonder eagerness, and sighing cry'd,
Say to the King, my heart has never err'd.

Periander.
By heaven, my soul melts at the piteous tale.
O Polydore—

SCENE III.

Periander, Polydore, Leonidas, Officer.

My Lord, the prisoner Medon
Attends, and prays admittance to your presence.

Periander.
Ha! Medon! Dost thou dream? Medon alive?
Did I not charge thee strict to cast him forth
That moment to the fury of the people?
How hast thou dar'd to disobey?

Officer.
Dread Sir,
As to his fate I led him pale and trembling;
At sight of the tumultuous croud around,
With utmost instance he requested of me
To save him yet a moment; for he had
Secrets of prime concernment that requir'd
The King's immediate ear. We hardly scap'd
Into the southern tower: th'unnumber'd rabble
With cries and threats demanded forth their foe.
At hazard of my life I ventur'd down,
Sooth'd, flatter'd, promis'd 'em they should have justice.
They are but now dispers'd.

Periander.
Leonidas,
My heart misgives me at that miscreant's name.
But let him enter.

SCENE IV.

Periander, Polydore, Leonidas, Medon.
Medon.
O King! renown'd for gentleness and mercy,
The noblest praise; see prostrate at your feet
A criminal, who comes to merit pardon
By fair discovery of some weighty truths,
That much import your soul's repose and health.

Periander.
Say on: and if thy heart has form'd a hope
Of one hour's after-life, take heed thy tale
Be strictly just to truth.

Medon.
Thus groveling here,
With shame and sharp remorse I own my crime.
Misled by that Usurper, who with me
Now shares the due reward of guilt like ours,
To pleasure him, unhappy that I was!
I told, I know not what of your good Queen.
Would I had perish'd first! for all was false,
And she most innocent.

Periander.
Perdition on thee!
What do I hear?

Medon.
I fill'd Ariston's ears
With monstrous tales, which his plain honesty
Alas, too rashly credited—

Periander.
Ye Gods!
And could your thunder sleep? Pernicious slave,
Hadst thou as many lives as crimes, not one
Should scape my justice—Ah Leonidas,
Was ever such black treachery?—Forgive thee?
Thy doom shall be of signal dread and warning
To all succeeding Minions. Drag him hence,
[to the guards.
And guard him at the peril of your heads.

SCENE V.

Periander, Polydore, Leonidas.
Leonidas.
Amazing villainy!

Periander.
O fly, my son,
Find the poor mourner out, and in my name
Say all that weeping Penitence can plead,
Or Love returning promise. My full heart
Will more than make it good—and may the power
Of soft persuasion wait upon thy lips.

SCENE VI.

Periander, Leonidas.
Periander.
As from enchantment freed, the mists disperse
By which my eyes were held.—That injur'd Fair!
How shall I meet her soft forgiving look,
Whom I so much have wrong'd!

Leonidas.
Thrice happy turn
Of unexpected fate!

Periander.
But let me fly
Into her gentle arms! there lose the horrors
That have distracted me! there lose myself
In love's ecstatic joys!

SCENE VII.

Periander, Leonidas, Ariston.
Periander.
In happy time
Thou com'st, Ariston. We were both deceiv'd;
And I revoke my order—But curst Procles
Shall pay me dear for all.

Ariston.
He has, my Lord:
And the sad tale is terrible. I shrink
But to recount it. Slumbering Conscience rous'd,
And flashing in his face the startling prospect
Of his past life, furious he dash'd his head
Against his prison walls. I found him fallen,
A piteous spectacle! rowling in blood,
Deform'd with pain; for agonizing death
Sate hideous on his brow. Faintly he drew
His parting breath: yet all that breath went forth
In blasphemies, assaulting heaven with curses,
The ravings of despair, for frustrating
His impious purpose on the Queen.

Periander.
How dreadful
This period to a life like his! The hand
Of heaven is greatly just—But O my friends,
These strange events have well nigh overturn'd
This tottering brain. I feel I know not what
Of joy and terror, high amaze and transport,
All blended here, and working in wild tumult.

Leonidas.
'Tis but the motion of a troubled sea,
After sore tempest sinking to a calm.
All will be well, my Lord. Repose and health
Await you in her arms. What bliss is yours?
A second union of your meeting souls!
A better nuptial morn, with love new-rising,
To shine for ever.

SCENE VIII.

Periander, Leonidas, Ariston, Melissa.

O my royal Mistress!
The dews of death are cold upon her brow!

Periander.
What mean thy fatal words?

Melissa.
Falsely accus'd
Of what her soul most loaths, and to despair
By your unkindness urg'd, the Queen alas!
Has drunk a deadly draught.

Periander.
O heaven and earth!
Are these at last my hopes? 'Tis I—O horror!
'Tis I have murder'd her—

SCENE the last.

Scene opening discovers Eurydice sitting, Polydore kneeling by her.
Periander.
Ye righteous Gods!
O give her back to life, and to your justice
I bow this guilty head—What's to be done?
Leonidas, Ariston, fly, my friends,
Call, gather all our sages; bid them try
Their sovereign skill. My crown to him that saves her.

Eurydice.
It cannot be. Already death invades
My shivering bosom. Yet a little moment,
And I shall be with those that rest for ever.
But here in this last awful hour I swear,
By that dread world whither my soul is parting,
I never knew pollution: I am still
Your true and lawful wife.

Periander.
I know thou art,
Thou dying innocence. My fatal blindness,
Destruction on my head! has ruin'd thee.
My life! my soul's best joy! and must I lose thee?
Lose thee for ever?—Wretch! rash fool!—O yet
Forgive my madness.

Eurydice.
Thus, in thy lov'd arms
Each unkind thought is lost. Now I die pleas'd:
Now all is well.—Death! thou art here—

Melissa.
Ah! she expires. The last dim mist swims o'er
Her closing eyes!

Periander.
One moment, thou fair Spirit,
One moment tarry for me—Thus we join,
To part no more—

[he draws his sword to stab himself.
Ariston.
Ah! Sir—

Leonidas.
My Lord, what means
This fatal fury?

Periander.
Cruel men, away.
And would you then detain me longer here
On this loath'd spot, to linger out old age
With darkness and despair! to curse the hour
That gave a murderer birth! Would you, my friends,
Have me live thus?

Ariston.
Ye Gods asswage his grief!

Periander.
These righteous Gods have cast me off for ever.
My broken vow!—O terrible! it hangs,
A bursting thunder, o'er my head. I see—
And tremble at the sight, th'inquiring Judge,
Beyond these heavens, high on his throne of terrors;
His fix'd and dread regard turn'd full upon me!
And look! behold! the Minister of vengeance
But waits his nod to strike me thro' the centre.

Polydore.
Alas! my father—

Periander.
O my son! my son!
I have undone thee too. How dare I look
On that dear face, where thy lost Mother's sweetness
Smiles strong reproach, and charms me into madness?
Then, farewel reason! farewel human converse!
Sun, day, and time, farewel!—All hail despair!
Eternal darkness hail!—Say'st thou I've lost her?
No, no; we will not part. Thus let me press
Her clay-cold lips, thus weep my soul away
On her chaste bosom here. O yet, my love!
My better life! O yet lift up thy eyes!
O speak to me!

Leonidas.
Alas! she hears you not.
The soul is fled for ever.

Periander.
O my Queen!
[he throws himself by the body: the rest stand weeping and silent.
[raising himself up.
Ha! there—save me! 'tis he, the King of terrors!
Lo how the ghastly vision glares upon me
With his fix'd beamless eyes!—What path is this,
Dreary and deep, thro' which he drags me on?
Bless me!—look there—what shivering Forms are these,
Thin as the passing air, that skim around me?
And now th'infernal world hath shut me in!
But see the Furies arm'd! see their fell serpents
That rouse themselves to sting me! Is there none,
No Power to screen me from them?

Leonidas.
Gracious Sir,
Where is that patience—

Periander.
Soft—I see her plain.
Yonder on high she sits amid the Gods,
Who wonder at her charms—And dost thou smile
Upon thy murderer?—Thus let me kneel,
And weeping worship thee—Ha! seest thou there
Yon flaming pool? And what damn'd soul is that,
Rising from the mid deeps, that beckons me?
He wafts me still—By hell, 'tis hated Procles,
The cause of all my ruine!—Traitor, yes,
I come, I fly, to plunge thee deeper still
In this red sea of tortures—O!

Ariston.
He dies!

Polydore.
O matchless horror!

Leonidas.
Bear him gently hence.
Was ever sight like this?—O Jealousy!
This is thy dreadful work. May future times
Learn here thy power, and mark with heedful eyes,
From thy blind rage what mighty mischiefs rise.