University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Hermione and Cleone.
Her.
Well, I'll be rul'd, Cleone: I will see him;
I have told Pylades, that he may bring him.
But, trust me, were I left to my own Thoughts,
I should forbid him yet.

Cle.
And why forbid him?
Is he not, Madam, still the same Orestes?
Orestes, whose Return you oft have wish'd?
The Man, whose Sufferings you so oft lamented,
And often prais'd his Constancy and Love?

Her.
That Love, that Constancy, so ill requited,
Upbraids me to my self: I blush to think,
How I have us'd him; and would shun his Presence.
What will be my Confusion, when he sees me
Neglected, and forsaken, like himself?
Will he not say, Is this the scornful Maid;
The proud Hermione, that tyranniz'd
In Sparta's Court? And triumph'd in her Charms?
Her Insolence at last is well repaid.
I cannot bear the Thought.

Cle.
You wrong your self
With unbecoming Fears. He knows too well
Your Beauty and your Worth. Your Lover comes not
To offer Insults; but repeat his Vows,
And breath his ardent Passion at your Feet.
But, Madam, what's your Royal Father's Will?
What Orders do your Letters bring from Sparta?

Her.
His Orders are, if Pyrrhus still delay
The Nuptials, and refuse to Sacrifice
This Trojan Boy; I should with speed embark,
And with their Embassy return to Greece.

Cle.
What would you more? Orestes comes in time
To save your Honour. Pyrrhus cools apace:
Prevent his Falshood; and forsake him first.
I know you hate him: You have told me so.

Her.
Hate him? My injur'd Honour bids me hate him:
The ungrateful Man! to whom I fondly gave
My Virgin Heart; the Man I loved so dearly;
The Man, I doated on! Oh, my Cleone!
How is it possible I should not hate him?

Cle.
Then give him over, Madam. Quit his Court;
And with Orestes—

Her.
No! I must have time
To work up all my Rage! To meditate
A Parting, full of Horrour! My Revenge
Will be but too much quicken'd by the Traitour.

Cle.
Do you then wait new Insults? New Affronts?
To draw you from your Father! Then to leave you!
In his own Court to leave you,—for a Captive!
If Pyrrhus can provoke you, he has done it.

Her.
Why dost thou heighten my Distress? I fear
To search out my own Thoughts, and sound my Heart.
Be blind to what thou seest: Believe me cured:
Flatter my Weakness; tell me I have conquer'd:
Think, that my injur'd Soul is set against him
And do thy best to make me think so too.

Cleo.
Why would you loiter here, then?

Her.
Let us fly!
Let us be gone! I leave him to his Captive
Let him go kneel and supplicate his Slave.
Let us be gone!—But, what if he repent?
What, if the perjur'd Prince again submit,
And sue for Pardon? What, if he renew
His former Vows?—But, oh the faithless Man!
He slights me! drives me to Extreams!—However,
I'll stay, Cleone, to perplex their Loves:
I'll stay, till, by an open Breach of Contract,
I make him hateful to the Greeks. Already
Their Vengeance have I drawn upon the Son:
Their second Embassy shall claim the Mother:
I will redouble all my Griefs upon her!

Cle.
Ah, Madam, whither does your Rage transport you?
Andromache, alas, is Innocent!
A Woman plung'd in Sorrow; dead to Love:
And, when she thinks of Pyrrhus, 'tis with Horrour.

Her.
Would I had done so too!—He had not, then,
Betray'd my easie Faith.—But I, alas!
Discover'd all the Fondness of my Soul;
I made no Secret of my Passion to him:
Nor thought it dangerous to be sincere.
My Eyes, my Tongue, my Actions spoke my Heart.

Cle.
Well might you speak, without Reserve, to one
Engag'd to you by solemn Oaths and Treaties.

Her.
His Ardour too was an Excuse to mine:
With other Eyes he saw me then!—Cleone,
Thou may'st remember, everything conspired
To favour him: My Father's Wrongs avenged;
The Greeks triumphant; Fleets of Trojan Spoils;
His mighty Sire's, his own Immortal Fame;
His eager Love;—All, all conspired against me!
—But I have done:—I'll think no more of Pyrrhus.
Orestes wants not Merit: And he loves me.
My Gratitude, my Honour, both plead for him:
And, if I've Power o'er my own Heart, 'tis his.

Cle.
Madam, he comes—

Her.
Alas! I did not think
He was so near!—I wish I might not see him!

SCENE II.

Hermione, Cleone, and Orestes.
Her.
How am I to interpret, Sir, this Visit?
Is it a Compliment of Form, or Love?

Orest.
Madam, you know my Weakness. 'Tis my Fate
To Love, unpity'd: To desire to see you;
And still to swear each time shall be the last.
My Passion breaks through my repeated Oaths;
And every time I visit you, I am perjur'd.
Even now, I find my Wounds all bleed afresh:
I blush to own it; but I know no Cure.
I call the Gods to Witness, I have try'd
Whatever Man could do, (but try'd in vain)
To wear you from my Mind. Through stormy Seas,
And savage Climes, in a whole Year of Absence,
I courted Dangers, and I long'd for Death,

Her.
Why will you, Prince, indulge this mournful Tale?
It ill becomes the Ambassadour of Greece
To talk of Dying, and of Love. Remember
The Kings you represent: Shall their Revenge
Be disappointed by your ill-timed Passion?
Discharge your Embassy: 'Tis not Orestes
The Greeks desire should dye.

Orest.
My Embassy
Is at an End: For Pyrrhus has refused
To give up Hector's Son. Some hidden Power
Protects the Boy.

Her.
Faithless, ungrateful Man!

[Aside.
Orest.
I now prepare for Greece. But, ere I go,
Would hear my final Doom pronounc'd by you.
What do I say?—I do already hear it!
My Doom is fixt: I read it in your Eyes.

Her.
Will you then still despair? Be still suspicious?
What have I done? Wherein have I been cruel?
'Tis true, you find me in the Court of Pyrrhus:
But, 'twas my Royal Father sent me hither.
And who can tell, but I have shared your Griefs?
Have I ne'er wept in secret? Never wish'd
To see Orestes?—

Orest.
Wish'd to see Orestes!—
Oh Joy! Oh Extasie! My Soul's intranced!
Oh charming Princess! Oh transcendent Maid!
My utmost Wish!—Thus, thus let me express
My boundless Thanks!—I never was unhappy.—
Am I Orestes?—

Her.
You are Orestes:
The same unalter'd, generous, faithful Lover;
The Prince, whom I esteem; whom I lament;
And whom I fain would teach my Heart to love!

Orest.
Ay, there it is!—I have but your Esteem;
While Pyrrhus has your Heart!—

Her.
Believe me, Prince,
Were you as Pyrrhus, I should hate you!—

Orest.
No!—
I should be blest! I should be lov'd as he is!—
Yet all this while I dye by your Disdain;
While he neglects your Charms, and courts another.

Her.
And who has told you, Prince, that I am neglected?
Has Pyrrhus said—(Oh, I shall grow distracted!)
Has Pyrrhus told you so?—Or is it you,
Who think thus meanly of me?—Sir, perhaps,
All do not judge like you.—

Orest.
Madam, go on!
Insult me still: I am us'd to bear your Scorn.

Her.
Why am I told how Pyrrhus loves or hates?
—Go, Prince, and arm the Greeks against the Rebel:
Let them lay waste his Country; raze his Towns;
Destroy his Fleets; his Palaces;—Himself!—
Go, Prince; and tell me then how much I love him.

Orest.
To hasten his Destruction, come your self;
And work your Royal Father to his Ruin.

Her.
Mean while he weds Andromache!

Orest.
Ah, Princess!
What is't I hear?

Her.
What Infamy for Greece,
If he shou'd wed a Phrygian, and a Captive!

Orest.
Is this your Hatred, Madam?—'Tis in vain
You hide your Passion; every Thing betrays it:
Your Looks, your Speech, your Anger, nay your Silence;
Your Love appears in All; your secret Flame
Breaks out the more, the more you would conceal it.

Her.
Your Jealousie perverts my Meaning still,
And wrests each Circumstance to your Disquiet:
My very Hate is construed into Fondness.

Orest.
Impute my Fears, if groundless, to my Love.

Her.
Then hear me, Prince. Obedience to a Father
First brought me hither; and the same Obedience
Detains me here, 'till Pyrrhus drive me hence;
Or my offended Father shall recall me.
Tell this proud King, that Menelaüs scorns
To match his Daughter with a Foe of Greece:
Bid him resign Astyanax, or me.
If he persists to guard the hostile Boy,
Hermione embarks with you for Sparta.

SCENE III.

Orestes
, alone.

SCENE IV.

Orestes, Pyrrhus and Phœnix.
Pyr.
I was in Pain to find you, Prince. My warm,
Ungovern'd Temper would not let me weigh
The Importance of your Embassy; and hear
You argue for my Good.—I was to blame.
I since have poised your Reasons: And I thank
My good Allies: Their Care deserves my Thanks.
You have convinced me, that the Weal of Greece,
My Father's Honour, and my own Repose
Demand, that Hector's Race should be destroy'd.
I shall deliver up Astyanax;
And you, your self, shall bear the Victim hence.

Orest.
If you approve it, Sir, and are content
To spill the Blood of a defenceless Child;
The offended Greeks, no doubt, will be appeas'd.

Pyr.
Closer to strain the Knot of our Alliance,
I have determin'd to espouse Hermione.
You come in time to grace our Nuptial Rites:
In you the Kings of Greece will all be present;
And you have Right to personate her Father,
As his Ambassadour and Brother's Son.
Go, Prince, renew your Visit; tell Hermione,
To-Morrow I receive her from your Hands.

Orest.
[aside.]
O Change of Fortune! Oh undone Orestes!

SCENE V.

Pyrrhus and Phœnix.
Pyr.
Well, Phœnix! Am I still a Slave to Love?
What thinkest thou now? Am I my self again?

Phœn.
Sir, This is something; this discovers Pyrrhus;
Shews all the Hero: Now you are your self!
The Son! the Rival of the great Achilles!
Greece will applaud you; and the World confess,
Pyrrhus has conquer'd Troy a second Time!

Pyr.
Nay, Phœnix, now I but begin to triumph:
I never was a Conquerour 'till now!
Believe me, a whole Host, a War of Foes
May sooner be subdued, than Love. O, Phœnix!
What Ruin have I shunn'd? The Greeks, enraged,
Hung o'er me, like a gathering Storm; and soon
Had burst in Thunder on my Head; while I
Abandon'd Duty, Empire, Honour, All,
To please a thankless Woman!—One kind Look
Had quite undone me!

Phœn.
O, my Royal Master!
The Gods, in Favour to you, made her cruel.

Pyr.
Thou sawest with how much Scorn she treated me!
When I permitted her to see her Son,
I hoped it might have work'd her to my Wishes.
I went to see the mournful Interview,
And found her bathed in Tears, and lost in Passion.
Wild with Distress, a Thousand Times she call'd
On Hector's Name: And when I spoke in Comfort,
And promis'd my Protection to her Son;
She kiss'd the Boy; and call'd again on Hector:
Then strain'd him in her Arms; and cry'd, 'Tis he!
'Tis he himself! his Eyes, his every Feature!
His very Frown, and his stern Look already!
'Tis he! 'Tis my loved Lord, whom I embrace!—
Does she then think, that I preserve the Boy,
To sooth and keep alive her Flame for Hector?

Phœn.
No doubt, she does; and thinks you favour'd in it.
But let her go, for an ungrateful Woman!

Pyr.
I know the Thoughts of her proud, stubborn Heart:
Vain of her Charms, and insolent in Beauty,
She mocks my Rage; and, when it threatens loudest,
Expects, 'twill soon be humbled into Love.
But we shall change our Parts: And she shall find,
I can be deaf, like her; and steel my Heart!
She is Hector's Widow; I Achilles' Son:
Pyrrhus is born to hate Andromache!

Phœn.
My Royal Master, talk of her no more:
I do not like this Anger. Your Hermione
Should now engross your Thoughts. 'Tis time to see her:
'Tis time, you should prepare the Nuptial Rites;
And not relye upon a Rival's Care:
It may be dangerous.

Pyr.
But tell me, Phœnix;
Doest thou not think, the proud Andromache
Will be enraged, when I shall wed the Princess?

Phœn.
Why does Andromache still haunt your Thoughts?
What is't to you, be she enraged or pleas'd?
Let her Name perish: Think of her no more!

Pyr.
No, Phœnix!—I have been too gentle with her:
I have check'd my Wrath, and stifled my Resentments:
She knows not yet to what degree I hate her.
Let us return:—I'll brave her to her Face:
I'll give my Anger it's free Course against her.
Thou shalt see, Phœnix, how I'll break her Pride!

Phœn.
Oh, go not, Sir!—There's Ruin in her Eyes!
You do not know your Strength: You'll fall before her,
Adore her Beauty, and revive her Scorn.

Pyr.
That were indeed a most unmanly Weakness!
Thou dost not know me, Phœnix!

Phœn.
Ah, my Prince!
You still are strugling in the Toils of Love.

Pyr.
Can'st thou then think, I love this Woman still?
One who repays my Passion with Disdain!
A Stranger, Captive, friendless and forlorn;
She and her darling Son within my Power;
His Life a Forfeit to the Greeks: Yet I
Preserve her Son; would take her to my Throne;
Would fight her Battels, and avenge her Wrongs;
And all this while she treats me as her Foe!

Phœn.
You have it in your Power to be revenged.

Pyr.
Yes;—and I'll shew my Power!—I'll give her Cause
To hate me! her Astyanax shall die!—
What Tears will then be shed! How will she then
In bitterness of Heart reproach my Name!
Then, to compleat her Woes, will I espouse
Hermione:—'Twill stab her to the Heart!

Phœn.
Alas, you threaten, like a Lover, still!

Pyr.
Phœnix, excuse this Struggle of my Soul:
'Tis the last Effort of expiring Love.

Phœn.
Then hasten, Sir, to see the Spartan Princess;
And turn the Bent of your Desires on her.

Pyr.
Oh, 'tis a heavy Task to conquer Love!
And wean the Soul from her accustom'd Fondness.
But, come:—A long Farewel to Hector's Widow.
'Tis with a secret Pleasure I look back,
And see the many Dangers I have pass'd.
The Merchant thus, in dreadful Tempests tost,
Thrown by the Waves on some unlook'd-for Coast;
Oft turns, and sees, with a delighted Eye,
'Midst Rocks and Shelves the broken Billows fly:
And, while the outragious Winds the Deep deform,
Smiles on the Tumult, and enjoys the Storm.