The Parricide : Or, Innocence in Distress :: :: University of Virginia Library

Lest I from Justice snatch th'avenging Sword,
And pay thy bloody barb'rous Acts in kind.
My Eyes beheld the Parricide committed!
I from my Window saw the foul Assault
That prov'd thy Brother's Fate!—So Heav'n ordain'd
That I should be its Instrument of Vengeance!
And Racks, and Whips, and Tortures shalt thou prove,
To make thy Death as bitter to thy Soul
As this vile Deed has made a Mother's Life.

Castor.
The Storm must have its way:—Anon, the Wind
Will die into a Calm with gentle Showers.
[Aside.
Ah! Madam, for your own dear Peace of Mind,
Restrain this Gust of Passion.—Hear me speak.—

Harro.
Can all the Eloquence that ever crown'd
The happiest Speaker, and best-tutor'd Mind
Abate the Horror that thy Guilt excites?
Oh, when my Edmund fell, sure Providence
Its Charge neglected, for a Blast like that,
Of Virtue, Nature never felt before.

[Weeps.
Castor.
'Twas Nature's Fault, to that you owe my Crime:
The Whirl of Passion, for a Moment, quell'd
Opposing Reason's Struggles!—Had I thought,
One Minute's Pause had sav'd my Soul this Guilt,
And all my Torment now from sad Remorse.
What will not disappointed Love attempt?
Declare all you who ever felt its Force!
'Twas Ariana's Charms that urg'd my Hand,
'Twas Edmund's flat Repulse to pleaded Passion
Which gave that Hand its Strength!—Oh, had I dy'd,
Pin'd, languish'd Ages in the worst Despair!
I'd do it now, could that recall his Breath.
I ask not yours, and scarcely can I hope
That Heav'n will pardon what myself condemn:
But Years of Penance may perhaps atone.—

Harro.
Not Ages will. There shall the righteous Rod
Be sure to second that of Justice here.
For what unhappy Guilt of mine, ye Pow'rs,

Are all these Loads of Sorrow heap'd upon me?
Devoted to Obedience have I past
Life's tedious Travel, innocent in Will.
Oh! wherefore did I teem with such a Monster?
Whose Spark of Life the fellest Fiend sure struck,
And with the animating Flame infus'd
Its own accursed Nature!—Rive me here
Another everlasting weeping Stone,
(As Poets feign the Grecian Matron turn'd!)
Hence let my Tears an endless Stream supply,
And spread my Sorrows wide as Nature's Bounds,
For gen'ral Horror!—Universal Pity!—
Mine are uncommon Woes!—

[Weeps.
Castor.
Hold yet, my Heart,
And ere you burst, oh! let a Mother know
How ample is thy Flame of filial Love!
Of Social!—What an honest Anguish now
Dissolves thee, for one Act of conscious Guilt!
Tho' sad my Crime, a Parent's Tears shall fall
In pity to my Fate!—And own, how far,
To what a wond'rous Length, by sad Surprize,
A Passion may betray the gentlest Nature.

Harro.
My Edmund had a Soul replete with all
The softest, kindest of his Sex could boast!
With glad Obedience would he ready wait,
And oft' forestall an anxious Parent's Will!
No Wish of mine could hardly gain a Birth,
Before his Duty made Fruition sure!
His Piety abated all my Griefs,
And all my Joys it doubled.—Adeldred!
My widow'd Tears were wip'd away for thee!
His filial Love made ev'n thy Loss be born.
And where's my Comfort now?

[Weeps.
Castor.
Here turn your Eyes,
And see a Son to Duty so devoted!—

Harro.
No, thou wert always wicked and perverse,
No kind of Good was ever found about thee.
O! Adeldred, thy Soul prophetic prov'd,

When, with Paternal Anguish, you pronounc'd
Woes from his unauspicious Dawn of Life.
From Crime to Crime he has succeeded on,
To dire Fraternal Slaughter!—One black Guilt
Remains, thou fiend-like Wretch, for Execution,
To make thee challenge Hell's severest Flame;
And that's to murder me!—Come, draw thy Sword,
And leave no Crime unprov'd that can enhance
Thy Claim to sure Damnation!—Nero yet,
The Roman Monster, has in Guilt outstript thee,
He murder'd Agrippina!—

Castor.
In pity cease,
Or I shall soon believe myself the Wretch
Your fierce Resentment paints me.

Harro.
Urge I ought
That shames a Mother's Voice?—Truth cannot sure.
What kind of Guilt art thou a Stranger to?
Thy First was Disobedience! then Injustice:
Thy brutal Lust next led thee to abuse
An honest Neighbour's Bed: Thy Father's Grief,
For that foul Action, was I fear his Fate.—
O Heav'ns! Remembrance now distracts my Soul
With Terror for my Husband's sudden Death!
That Day, when honest Rage provok'd his Vows
To leave thee to the World as bare of Wealth
As is thy Soul of Virtue! then, that Night,
As by my Side he lay, he breath'd his last,
Unconscious I of Danger! nought appear'd,
No Sign of Treachery: But, oh!—alas!
Who knows what Spells, what Charms, what Drugs might do,
With such an Instrument as thou to urge them!
I feel Conviction flashing on my Mind
That you destroy'd your Father.—

Castor.
Sudden Death's not strange—
My Father fell—Life is a frail Possession!
Many more—all die not of a Fever.—

Harro.
Thy fault'ring Tongue betrays thy guilty Soul!

By Heav'n, I've stumbled on too sad a Truth,
And caught thee unprepar'd for Art's Evasion!
'Tis well:—My Rage were vain, and Tears may fall
For lighter Woes, and Scenes of common Horror;
I am above them now: Collected thus,
I'll see the Sword of Justice take its course,
And then, perhaps, may find myself again
Resolve into a weeping Wife and Mother.
Thence, what few Days my weight of Woes afford
I'll spend, with Heav'n's Permission, to atone
For giving birth to so accurs'd a Monster.

Castor.
'Tis true indeed; she took me unawares!
And Guilt's so sudden Flash o'erset my Reason:
But I must strive to bend her Heart by Pity,
For Vows of Innocence I fear are vain.
[Aside.
I need not ask what now you meditate,
[To her.
It is a Mother's Vengeance on her Son!
Those tender Names should have a softer Link
Than that of Death or Ruin.—'Tis in vain,
I know, to plead my Innocence from Guilt,
Whose very mention quite depriv'd my Soul
Of all its Faculties, and left me mute
In my Defence! So dreadful is the Thought
Of such a Crime to Nature.—Oh! if one
Black Deed has stain'd my Life, am I so lost
To all a Mother's Hopes, that she can think
No Crime too odious to infect my Heart!
Consider, Madam, what you have resolv'd:
My Life is in your Hands for Edmund's Death:
But future Duty will, I hope, dissolve
This Grief for him, and settled Hate to me!
And Comfort then—

Harro.
From thee!—O! name it not,
For thou wert born to give me endless Woe:
But shall—

Castor.
Yet hear—

Harro.
I am not to be mov'd.

Castor.
Behold with me a noble Line extinct!

And shall a Race of Heroes, that so long
Have serv'd their Country with Renown, in me
At last, with so much Infamy expire?
Oh! think you see their Shades all suppliant stand,
And beg their Glories in their Blood may stream,
The Pride and Praise of long succeeding Times.

Harro.
Thro' thee? thro' thee must all those Honours flow?
Thou Complication of all Villanies!
Thou base. Deserter of that noble Track
Your great, and long-renown'd Fore-fathers trod!
Can'st thou ingender ought but Infamy?
Or propagate a Race beyond thyself?
Unless in Guilt!—If Guilt can higher soar.
No; rather let me think that I behold
That venerable Tribe requesting now
I'd nip Dishonour in the first base Shoot
From their illustrious Stem!—And die thou shalt.