The Distrest Mother A Tragedy |
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| 2. | SCENE II. |
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 | The Distrest Mother |  |
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SCENE II.
Hermione, Cleone.Herm.
Oh, Cleone, help me!
What have I done? Is Pyrrhus yet alive?
What say'st thou?—Answer me! Where is the King?
Cle.
Madam, I saw the cruel Prince set forward,
Triumphant in his Looks, and full of Joy.
Still, as he walk'd, his ravish'd Eyes were fixt
On the fair Captive; while through shouting Crowds
She pass'd along with a dejected Air,
And seem'd to mourn her Hector to the last.
Herm.
Insulting Tyrant! I shall burst with Rage!—
But say, Cleone, didst thou mark him well?
Was his Brow smooth? Say, did there not appear
Some Shade of Grief? some little Cloud of Sorrow?
Did he not stop? did he not once look back?
Didst thou approach him? Was he not confounded?
Did he not—Oh, be quick! and tell me all!
Cle.
Madam, the Tumult of his Joy admits
No Thought, but Love. Unguarded he marched on
'Midst a promiscuous Throng of Friends and Foes.
His Cares all turn upon Astyanax,
Whom he has lodged within the Cittadel,
Defended by the Strength of all his Guards.
Herm.
Enough!—he dyes!—the Traytor!—where's Orestes?
Cle.
He is in the Temple, with his whole Retinue.
Herm.
Is he still resolute? is he determin'd?
Cle.
Madam, I fear—
Herm.
How!—Is Orestes false?
Does he betray me too!
Cle.
A thousand Doubts
Perplex his Soul, and wound him with Remorse:
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He told me Pyrrhus should not fall ignobly;
Pyrrhus the warlike Son of great Achilles.
He dreads the Censure of the Grecian States;
Of all Mankind: And fears to stain his Honour.
Herm.
Poor, timorous Wretch! 'tis false! he basely fears
To cope with Dangers, and encounter Death:—
'Tis that he fears!—Am I bright Helen's Daughter?
To vindicate her Wrongs all Greece conspired;
For Her Confederate Nations fought, and Kings were slain;
Troy was o'er-thrown, and a whole Empire fell.
My Eyes want Force to raise a Lover's Arm
Against a Tyrant, that has dared to wrong me.
Cle.
Madam, like Helen, trust your Cause to Greece.
Herm.
No! I'll avenge my self! I'll to the Temple;
I'll over-turn the Altar; stab the Priest!
I'll hurl Destruction like a Whirlwind round me!
They must not wed! they must not live! they shall not!
Let me be gone! I have no Time to lose!
Stand off! with-hold me not! I am all Distraction!
Oh Pyrrhus! Tyrant! Traitor! Thou shalt bleed!
| The Distrest Mother | |