 | Timoleon |  |
SCENE I.
SCENE, The City of Corinth.Enter Orthagoras, and Æschylus.
Orthagoras.
Yes, Æschylus, we must retire in private;
Retire, where ev'n our Sighs may not be heard:
Complaints are dang'rous, when not back'd with Power;
And Sighs betray us sooner to our Fate.
Æsc.
O Corinth! O my Country! My Heart bleeds
For ev'ry Wound of thine.—Fierce in his Course,
The Usurper, like a raging Pestilence,
Breathes out Destruction, spreads Confusion round,
As if commission'd to destroy Mankind:
Like Death he ranges; Lust and Slaughter wait
His Will; and Desolation follows him.
Ort.
Have we no Hope? Must then this stately?
Corinth, so fam'd for Enmity to Tyrants,
Lye grovelling under one, one Lord alon
Is there no Hand that dares to set us free?
2
Din.
Yes, here's a Hand: 'Tis true, my Friends, it shakes,
With Age it shakes: But in the Cause of Virtue
Each Sinew stiffens, ev'ry Nerve's new-brac'd;
And, strung with wonted Vigour, it can strike
A Tyrant on his Throne.
Ort.
Dinarchus, welcome!
Tho' on the Borders of Eternity:
(For so we meet, so hazardous is Virtue;)
I joy to see thee. Wherefore art thou thus?
Thy Hands thus stain'd with Blood! Whence dost thou come?
Din.
Whence, but from Ruin? Whence, but from Misery?
Ruin pours in on ev'ry Side; and Corinth
One undistinguish'd Scene of Horror lies.
Æsc.
Can there be yet Addition to our Sorrows?
Din.
Flush'd with the Power he basely has usurp'd,
The Tyrant triumphs over Human Nature,
And insolently wantons in her Pains.
Æsc.
But say, Dinarchus, speak! what Son of Honour
Is slaughter'd since, to grace the Sacrifice?
Din.
The Man I lov'd! Companion of my Years!
Together, Hand in Hand, we walk'd from Youth;
Together on the Verge of Life we stood,
Ready to fall.—Cou'd they not stay a little?
Æsc.
Ha! what! Philistus?
Din.
But a Day will come,
Tyrant, it will, and Vengeance will come with it.
Ort.
But speak! where is Philistus? why this Blood?
Din.
Paying my Morning's Visit to my Friend,
I found him with the Fondling of his Life,
Losing his Sorrows in attention to her.
The beauteous Innocence, with filial Care,
Tended her poor, infirm, decrepit Parent,
Studious to soften ev'ry anxious Pain.
O gracious Heav'n! and must such Virtue suffer?
3
Go on! and haste to ease my lab'ring Heart.
Din.
The good old Man wept at the Sight of me;
We mourn'd together o'er our Country's Wrongs,
Her cancell'd Laws, her slaughter'd Magistrates,
And all the various Ills she groans beneath:
When straight, that Butcher of my noble Brother,
Pheron, the bloody, the relentless Pheron,
Assisted by another, like himself,
Enter'd, and seiz'd the lovely Maid, Cleone.
She shriek'd, and call'd her Father—the poor Father
Trembl'd with Age and Fear.—I trembl'd too
For her, for him, and for my Child Eunesia.
The frighted Victim still implor'd for Aid.
Rouz'd at the dear, known Voice, Philistus started,
But Horror and Amazement stopt his Speech.
His suppliant Hands he lifted—but in vain.
Collecting then at once his feeble Rage,
He try'd to grapple with 'em for his Child;
But oh! while Pheron forc'd away Cleone,
The other struck a Poniard to his Heart.
Ort.
Ye Gods! can ye behold, and suffer this?
Din.
The hasty Mischief baffled all Prevention:
However, waking from my Trance, to see
The streaming Coarse dragg'd basely on the Ground,
With Rage and Pity warm'd, I forward sprung,
And stabb'd the base Assassin of my Friend;
He fell; and falling, curs'd the Gods, and dy'd.
Æsc.
If Heav'n assist not, where is Virtue safe?
Din.
Have you a Virgin Daughter? sooth the Tyrant,
Give up the Maid to speedy Violation,
Or bleed the Victim by a Father's Hand.
How, my Eunesia, shall thy aged Father
Shield thee securely from unbounded Power?
Ort.
How raging is the Lust of Blood, and Rapine,
With which Timophanes, this Tyrant, reigns!
Æsc.
Ye gracious Pow'rs! can Man be thus abandon'd,
And not a Thunderbolt to strike him dead?
Arise, and hurl a swift Destruction on him,
And crush him at a Word—this Homicide!
4
By Heav'n, he bears him as he were a God,
And Men were made for him to sport withal!
Æsc.
His Looks betray the Fierceness of his Mind,
Where Lust, Ambition, Pride, and Envy reign,
And seem to struggle for Pre-eminence.
Ort.
Yet Nature, as in Pity to the World,
The younger Brother, great Timoleon form'd
With ev'ry Grace that can adorn a Hero.
He rises eminent in ev'ry Virtue,
As each were singly his peculiar Care.
Din.
That glorious Youth! my Heart bounds at his Name.
The Gods have sure design'd him as a Pattern
For what Man shou'd be; honest, brave, and wise.
So mild, that he scarce knows what Anger is;
So tender, others Miseries are his:
Yet firm, intrepid, in the Day of Battle;
Serene he views it, and directs its Course.
Æsc.
When rash Timophanes, this impious Tyrant,
In the late bloody Conflict with the Argians,
Thoughtless of Danger, plung'd impetuous in
Among the thickest Squadrons, when his Horse,
Untam'd, and fiery, started at the Noise
And Horror of the War, bounded aloft,
And threw him headlong 'midst the hostile Ranks;
When Death on ev'ry Weapon glitter'd round him,
And scarce a Power, beneath a God's, could save him—
Din.
O, had Heav'n then resign'd him to his Fate!
Æsc.
Timoleon, with uncommon Ardor fir'd,
Urg'd by a Brother's Love, and Brother's Danger,
Shot like a Flash of Light'ning to his Aid;
Thro' all the Fury of the Field he rush'd
Resistless, and like Mars, dealt Slaughter round.
Amaz'd, they back retir'd, and kept aloof;
While his fall'n Brother covering with his Shield,
He stood the fearless Mark of all their Darts.
Ort.
'Twas worthy of Timoleon—Gen'rous Youth!
When may we hope to see the Hero come?
Din.
The Treaty with the Argians is concluded,
His Wounds all heal'd, and the next Hour may bring him.
5
Swift as an Eagle to defend her Young,
Home he wou'd fly to save her.—But the Tyrant,
Cunning as Cruel, ev'ry way has try'd
To intercept Timoleon's Knowledge of 'em.
Ort.
Yet, wing'd with Love, he'll haste to celebrate
His Nuptials with your Daughter, whom he loves
With an uncommon Passion—such a Passion!
So tender, that his Life is not so dear.
Din.
She, with excelling Truth, returns his Love;
It breaks thro' all her modest Arts to hide it;
She sighs, she pines, she sickens in his Absence:
And when I ask the Cause of all her Sighs,
The Flame within her Heart flies to her Cheeks,
And, in a Blush, confesses Love the Cause.
Æsc.
So exquisite her Form! 'tis Nature's Pride;
Pleas'd, and surpris'd, ev'n her own Work she views,
Fixing her Standard of Perfection there.
Din.
Beauty she has—yet knows it not her self.
Free from her Sex's Vanity and Pride,
Her Care is to attend her Father's Age,
And sweeten his remaining Hours of Life.
But I, my Friends, shall tire you with my Talk;
'Tis Age's Humour, and you must forgive it.
Æsc.
O thou Almighty! awful, and supreme!
Redress, revenge an injur'd Nation's Wrongs;
With Pity view her violated Laws,
Her trampled Rites, her butcher'd Patriots;
Hear suff'ring Virtue groan beneath Oppression,
Hear, and relieve it! Jove eternal, hear!
Din.
O thou Almighty! awful, and supreme!
Redress, revenge an injur'd Nation's Wrongs;
Show'r down your Curses on the Tyrant's Head!
Arise the Judge, display your Vengeance on him,
Blast all his black Designs, and let him feel
The anxious Pains with which his Country groans.
But hold, my Friends, let us with Patience wait
Timoleon's coming, and the Smiles of Heav'n.
Yet in Timoleon there's a Gleam of Hope,
6
Who long has view'd the Horizon thick with Horror.
[Exeunt.
| Timoleon | |