The Distrest Mother A Tragedy |
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| 6. | SCENE VI. |
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 | The Distrest Mother |  |
SCENE VI.
Pyrrhus, Andromache, Phœnix and Cephisa.Pyr.
Where is the Princess?—Did you not inform me,
Hermione was here?
[To Phœnix..
Phœn.
I thought so, Sir.
And.
Thou seest, what mighty Power my Eyes have on him!
[To Cephisa.
Pry.
What says she, Phœnix?
And.
I have no Hope left!
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Let us be gone:—Hermione expects you.
Ceph.
What do you, Madam?—Break this sullen Silence.
Andr.
My Child's already promised!—
Ceph.
But not given.
Andr.
No! no!—my Tears are vain! His Doom is fixt!
Pyr.
See, if she deigns to cast one Look upon us!
Proud Woman!
Andr.
I provoke him by my Presence.
Let us retire.
Pyr.
Come let us satisfie
The Greeks; and give them up this Phrygian Boy.
Andr.
Ah, Sir, recall those Words!—What have you said!
If you give up my Son, Oh give up me!—
You, who so many-Times have sworn me Friendship;
Oh Heavens!—will you not look with Pity on me?
Is there no Hope? Is there no Room for Pardon?
Pyr.
Phœnix will answer you:—My Word is past.
Andr.
You, who would brave so many Dangers for me.
Pyr.
I was your Lover then: I now am free.
To favour you, I might have spared his Life:
But you would ne'er vouchsafe to ask it of me.
Now 'tis too late.
Andr.
Ah, Sir, you understand
My Tears, my Wishes, which I durst not utter,
Afraid of a Repulse. Oh, Sir, excuse
The Pride of Royal Blood, that checks my Soul,
And knows not how to be importunate.
You know, alas! I was not born to kneel,
To sue for Pity, and to own a Master.
Pyr.
No! in your heart you curse me! you disdain
My generous Flame, and scorn to be obliged!
This very Son, this Darling of your Soul,
Would be less dear, did I preserve him for you.
Your Anger, your Aversion fall on me;
You hate me more than the whole League of Grece:
But, I shall leave you to your great Resentments.
Let us go, Phœnix, and appease the Greeks.
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Then let me dye! And let me go to Hector!
Ceph.
But, Madam—
Andr.
What can I do more? The Tyrant
Sees my Distraction, and insults my Tears!
[To Cephisa.]
—Behold how low you have reduced a Queen!
These Eyes have seen my Country laid in Ashes;
My Kindred fall in War; my Father slain;
My Husband dragged in his own Blood; My Son
Condemned to Bondage; and my self a Slave.
Yet, in the midst of these unheard-of Woes,
'Twas some Relief to find my self your Captive;
And that my Son, derived from ancient Kings,
Since he must serve, had Pyrrhus for his Master.
When Priam kneeled, the great Achilles wept:
I hoped I should not find his Son less noble:
I thought the Brave were still the most compassionate.
Oh, do not, Sir, divide me from my Child!—
If he must dye—
Pyr.
Phœnix, withdraw a while.
| The Distrest Mother | |