The Distrest Mother A Tragedy |
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| 7. | SCENE VII. |
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 | The Distrest Mother |  |
SCENE VII.
Pyrrhus and Andromache.Pyr.
Rise, Madam.—Yet you may preserve your Son.
I find, whenever I provoke your Tears,
I furnish you with Arms against my self.
I thought my Hatred fixt, before I saw you.
Oh, turn your Eyes upon me, while I speak!
And see, if you discover in my Looks
An angry Judge, or an obdurate Foe.
Why will you force me to desert your Cause?
In your Son's Name I beg we may be Friends:
Let me intreat you to secure his Life!
Must I turn Suppliant for him? Think, Oh think,
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I know the Ties I break; the Foes I arm:
I wrong Hermonie; I send her hence;
And with her Diadem I bind your Brows.
Consider well; for, 'tis of Moment to you!
Chuse to be wretched, Madam, or a Queen.
My Soul, consumed with a whole Year's Despair,
Can bear no longer these perplexing Doubts.
Enough of Sighs, and Tears, and Threats I have try'd.
I know, if I am deprived of you, I die:
But, oh, I die, if I wait longer for you!
I leave you to your Thoughts. When I return,
We'll to the Temple: There you'll find your Son;
And there be crown'd, or give him up for ever.
| The Distrest Mother | |