 | Orestes |  |
SCENE I.
SCENE, A Vault in the Temple.Enter Hermione and Iphigenia.
Hermione.
Sure, the blest Gods, by thy Discov'ry wrought,
Dear Iphigenia, point out high Events
Purpos'd in Fate, and mark the rip'ning Blessings.—
You're not to learn by what Command I came,
And know the Motives of my willing Voyage.
What more induc'd, for Truth becomes our Sex,
Was to decline a Tyrant-Lover's Suit;
The fierce Achilles' Son, the haughty Pyrrhus;
Who, pluming on my Father's free Consent,
Join'd to his Services in Troy subdued,
Sollicits not my Love; but, rudely boist'rous,
Demands me as I were the Prize of Arms,
And came a Captive to his forc'd Embrace.
Iphig.
Does he not know, your Hand and Faith are giv'n
To young Orestes, my Imperial Brother?
Does he not fear, the gallant Youth, return'd,
Shall ask strict Justice for his Bed usurp'd;
And dearly punish the intended Rape?
Herm.
Alas! Fear dwells not in Pelides' Race;
Rapine, and War, and Violence, and Rage,
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Then,—how should poor Orestes find Revenge,
Who to himself is lost? his noble Sense
Wild and untun'd; his Reason quite dislodg'd;
And ev'ry tranquil Faculty of Soul
The Prey to Frenzy, and imagin'd Horrors?
There, there, Hermione is again undone:—
His Fever, spreading like th'infectious Plague,
Burns thro' my Veins, and drives me into Madness.
Iphig.
Fear not, dear Maid, but when this Slumber leaves him,
The Rage of his Distemper will be quench'd.
Thus ever, when the Fit of sudden Frenzy
With horrid Forms has harass'd his hurt Mind,
Spent with the Toil and Agonies of Thought,
His languid Limbs sink down into Repose;
And wounded Nature's heal'd by that sweet Balm.
Herm.
Perchance, he will not know me.
Iphig.
Do not doubt,
But your good Beauties, like the sov'reign Sun,
Shall call each scatter'd Ray of straggling Sense
Back to its Sphere; pour Day upon his Soul;
And drive those ugly Phantoms of Despair,
That hang, and brood, o'er his benighted Mind.
Now, all his Senses, late so wildly tost,
Are lull'd to Rest; sweet as those Infants' Slumbers,
When in their Dreams, as fonder Mothers think,
They see Elysium dawn, and smile with Transport.
Herm.
You saving Gods! If we are worth your Care,
Let all the medicinal Pow'rs of Sleep
Be doubled in his Cure!—Ye Spirits of Health,
Breathe Restauration on its honied Dews;
Chase ev'ry Image of fantastick Horror;
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Iphig.
Fear not, dear Princess; but to my Apartment
Retire awhile:—Our gen'ral Safety calls me
To high Concerns: Ere yet the circling Hour
Strikes on the Bell of Night, I'll seek you there;
And wait to lead you to your lov'd Orestes.
[Leads Hermione to the Scene, and returns.
Now Fate be busy! Prosper me, ye Gods,
And aid the glorious Enterprize of Virtue!
[Exit Iphigenia at the opposite Side.
| Orestes | |