University of Virginia Library

SCENE VIII.

Andromache and Cephisa.
Ceph.
I told you, Madam, that, in spight of Greece,
You would o'er-rule the Malice of your Fortune.

Andr.
Alas! Cephisa, what have I obtain'd!
Only a poor, short Respite for my Son.

Ceph.
You have enough approved your Faith to Hector:
To be reluctant still would be a Crime.
He would himself persuade you to comply.

And.
How!—wouldst thou give me Pyrrhus for a Husband?

Ceph.
Think you 'twill please the Ghost of your dead Husband,
That you should sacrifice his Son? Consider,
Pyrrhus once more invites you to a Throne;
Turns all his Power against the Foes of Troy;
Remembers not Achilles was his Father;
Retracts his Conquests, and forgets his Hatred.

Andr.
But how can I forget them! How can I
Forget my Hector, treated with Dishonour;
Deprived of Funeral Rites; and vilely dragged,
A bloody Coarse, about the Walls of Troy?
Can I forget the good old King his Father,
Slain in my Presence; at the Altar slain!
Which vainly for Protection he embraced.
Hast thou forgot that dreadful Night, Cephisa,
When a whole People fell! Methinks I see
Pyrrhus, enraged and breathing Vengeance, enter
Amidst the Glare of burning Palaces:
I see him hew his Passage through my Brothers;
And, bathed in Blood, lay all my Kindred waste.
Think, in this Scene of Horrour, what I suffer'd!
This is the Courtship I receiv'd from Pyrrhus;
And this the Husband thou would'st give me!—No;
We both will perish first! I'll ne'er consent.

Ceph.
Since you resolve Astyanax shall dye,
Haste to the Temple: Bid your Son farewell.
Why do you tremble, Madam?

Andr.
Oh Cephisa!
Thou hast awakened all the Mother in me.
How can I bid Farewell to the dear Child,
The Pledge, the Image of my much-loved Lord!
Alass, I call to mind the fatal Day,
When his too forward Courage led him forth
To seek Achilles.

Ceph.
Oh, the unhappy Hour!
'Twas then Troy fell, and all her Gods forsook her.

Andr.
That Morn, Cephisa! That ill-fated Morn!
My Husband bid thee bring Astyanax;
He took him in his Arms; and, as I wept,
My Wife, my Dear Andromache, said he,
(Heaving with stifled Sighs to see me weep)
What Fortune may attend my Arms, the Gods
Alone can tell: To thee I give the Boy;
Preserve him as the Token of our Loves:
If I should fall, let him not miss his Sire
While thou survivest, but by thy tender Care
Let the Son see, that thou didst love his Father.

Ceph.
And will you throw away a Life so precious?
At once extirpate all the Trojan Line?

Andr.
Inhuman King! What has he done to suffer?
If I neglect your Vows, is he to blame?
Has he reproach'd you with his slaughter'd Kindred?
Can he resent those Ills he does not know?—
But oh! While I deliberate he dies.
No, no, thou must not dye, while I can save thee:
Oh! let me find out Pyrrhus—Oh Cephisa!
Do thou go find him.

Ceph.
What must I say to him?

Andr.
Tell him I love my Son to such Excess—
But dost thou think he means the Child shall dye?
Can Love rejected turn to so much Rage?

Ceph.
Madam, he'll soon be here—Resolve on something.

And.
Well then, assure him—

Ceph.
Madam, of your Love?

Andr.
Alass thou know'st that is not in my Power.
Oh my dead Lord! Oh Priam's Royal House!
Oh my Astyanax! at what a Price
Thy Mother buys thee? Let us go.

Cep.
But whither?
And what does your unsettled Heart resolve?

Andr.
Come my Cephisa, let us go together,
To the sad Monument which I have rais'd
To Hector's Shade; where in their sacred Urn
The Ashes of my Hero lye enclosed,
The dear Remains which I have saved from Troy;
There let me weep, there summon to my Aid,
With pious Rites, my Hector's awful Shade;
Let him be Witness to my Doubts, my Fears,
My agonizing Heart, my flowing Tears:
Oh! may he rise in Pity from his Tomb,
And fix his wretched Son's uncertain Doom.