University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

SCENE, An Apartment in the Palace. Thoas discover'd at a Table. Tapers burning.
Thoas.
The Season asks Repose; but watchful Cares
Barr Slumber from my Eyes.—What Pangs are these,
That rankle in my Breast? Are they of Love,
Or Jealousy for Passion ill-repaid?
Which e'er the Source, Enjoyment and Revenge
Must be the Cure:—but, first, to be reveng'd.—
The am'rous Queen burns for our destin'd Victim;
And may again with Magick Wiles attempt
To snatch him from the Shrine.—Prevent that Fear:
Cut off its Object, and the Passion dies.—
Why should I hazard, what may be ensur'd?
My Fate cries out, This Interval is mine:
And, either way, our Goddess Rites are paid;
Whether the solemn sacrificing Steel,
Or my more secret Dagger, drink his Blood.
—It shall be so.—While Night and Silence reign,
I'll steal, and execute my own Revenge.
Grecian, I come: Thy Genius must be strong,
And watchful, if he ward this Blow of Justice.
[Exit Thoas.

[[SCENE II.]]

SCENE changes to the Vault of the Temple.
Enter Circe.
Cir.
What inward Torments tear that doting Wretch,
Who still burns on, yet finds her Flame unanswer'd!
O Love! unequal God! at whose dread Shrine
We breathe the Off'rings of our faithful Hearts
With pure Devotion; be not ever deaf,
And unauspicious to thy Suppliant's Pray'rs.
If thou would'st stand a Deity revered
In Circe's Soul, yet bow this stubborn Youth;
And make him feel the Influence of thy Sway.—
Once more I'll prove him.—Why, the Guard remov'd,
And the wide Dome still as the Cave of Sleep?
What mean this Solitude, and careless Watch?
But Solitude and Stillness aid my Purpose.

[Goes in, as to Orestes's Cell.
Enter Thoas.
Thoas.
The Temple-Lamps blaze thro' the vaulted Isles;
Keep back your Tapers, and presume no farther;
But, there, at distance wait our coming forth.—
All's hush, and still:—The Superstitious Train
Of droning Priests, that think the Goddess' Wrath
Is cancell'd by her Statue duly cleans'd,
On the Sea-shore extend their formal Rites,
And are not yet return'd.—Then, to thy Work.
The Cell stands open:—You dread Spirits, that wait
Unseen, yet ready at stern Murther's Call,
Come, and make strong my Arm with righteous Vengeance.
[As he is going in,
Enter Circe.
Death to my Hopes, the Queen!—This covert Visit,
Contriv'd at this dead Hour, needs no expounding.
Licentious Woman!—Does the Captive Greek
Yet listen to the Lure, yet stoop to Love?

Circe.
Dissembling Tyrant! am I thus insulted?
Where is the Captive?

Thoas.
These are new Refinements,
New Arts, to save your Cheek the conscious Blush.
You have not seen him then?

Circe.
Provoking Man!
Who know'st thy mean Suspicions have withdrawn him
Safe from my View, and triumph'st in th'Exploit!

Thoas.
Make me the Messenger of your Commands;
To tell this haughty Slave, a sighing Queen
Waits to be heard;—for now I go to seek him.

Circe.
Ha!—

[Shewing a Dagger.
Thoas.
Start you?—Can Sarmatia's banish'd Queen,
Whose daring Hand was traded young in Blood,
Shrink back with Horror at a night-drawn Dagger?

Circe.
Well may I shrink with Horror, to behold
The Sanctity of Empire thus prophan'd;
To see thee thus, with an unsceptred Hand,
Stalk like the mortal Genius of Revenge,
The stealthy Minister of lurking Death,
And Mischiefs, that abhor the Eye of Day.

Thoas.
Say rather, thou didst start with conscious Dread,
While Mem'ry, faithful to record foul Deeds,
Presented this a Dagger to thy Mind;
Reflecting on thee thine own murth'ring Image;
When, at dead Night, thou didst, thus badly arm'd,
Steal on thy sleeping Lord's unguarded Hour,
And plunge the Weapon in his kingly Breast.

Circe.
Mean, and ill-judging Wretch! It suits thy Tongue
T'adopt the Slanders of licentious Crouds;
And make their envious Calumnies thine own.
Had the Sarmatian been like thee, a base
Unmeritable Man, his Want of Worth
Had made me glory in that Stroke of Justice;
His People's Praise had crown'd the great Atchievement;
Had sanctified the horrid Name of Murther,
And call'd his Death a publick Sacrifice.

Thoas.
Oh, unexampled Outrage! Yet, I thank thee;
I thank thee, that thou tak'st this wondr'ous Pains
To wake me from the Lethargy of Dotage.
I see thee now stript of that Glare of Charms,
In which my too uncautious Love had deck'd thee.
Thy Siren's Face assumes the Gorgon's Fierceness:
And that alluring Voice, which late I thought
Sweet as the Tune of Morn-saluting Lark,
Sounds harsh, and fatal as the Mandrake's Groan.

Circe.
This fierce Intemperance, that strives to wear
The Form of Hate, is but th'ungovern'd Rage
Of a fond Heart o'er-charg'd with jealous Transports:
I know my Pow'r, and triumph in the Knowledge.

Barz.
[within.]
Where is the King?

Attend.
He will not be disturb'd.

Barz.
My Business cries aloud for instant Audience,
And warrants my Approach.

Enter Barzanes, with his Sword drawn.
Thoas.
Presumptious Slave!
Whence this wild Haste, and why thy Weapon drawn?

Barz.
Your Scythians, mighty Sir, drawn by Command
To guard your Shores against the Grecian Vessels,
Astonish'd at Events, all stand aghast,
And motionless as Things devoid of Soul.
Your Presence only can recal their Spirits,
Or All is lost.

Thoas.
Astonisht at Events!
What mean the feeble superstitious Cowards?

Barz.
Too sure, the subtle Priests have given these Fears.
They, and the Priestess, all abett the Foe;
Have borne our Statue, and your Captives, off;
And bought their Welcome to the Grecians' Side.

Circe.
The Captive 'scap'd! O my distracted Soul!
For this has Circe strain'd her magick Arts,
Rack'd ev'ry Spell, and task'd each aiding Pow'r?

Thoas.
The Priestess, said'st thou? Oh, the treach'rous Sex!
What! circumvented by a peevish Girl!
Proclaim it round our Bands, the gallant Chief,
That brings her back, shall taste our richest Favour.

Barz.
The wondr'ing Croud swarm round her on the Beach,
And, aw'd with Rev'rence of her Form and Office,
Drink in her Words, gaze on the Grecian Pair,
Neglectful of their Charge, and dead to Arms.

Circe.
Yet, Thoas, take me Partner in Revenge:
Draw out your Strengths, man ev'ry Ship of Battle,
And Circe shall outdo th'united War.

Thoas.
Perfidious Woman, no: The Gods are angry
That I have given thee Refuge, and begin
To visit me with Plagues for that Presumption.—
I'll trust no longer to thy hellish Arts,
But fall, or prosper, in my single Virtue.

[Exeunt Thoas and Barzanes.
Circe.
Go, and thy own Perverseness work thy Ruin!
But the lov'd Prince,—th'Infernal Gods pronounc'd,
Unless I loos'd his Bonds, should take his Flight.—
But shall it be? Love cannot brook the Thought,
Nor Life support such fatal Disappointment.
Ye Pow'rs, that still have waited on my Charms,
Ere yet he climbs the Bark, make void his Purpose:
Or sink th'Ungrateful in the whelming Wave.
—Why do I pause? Prevention must have Wings:
Earth, Sea, and Air obey my great Command;
And all their Terrors shall assist my Vengeance.
[Exit Circe.

[[SCENE III.]]

SCENE changes to a Wood. An Alarm.
Enter Thoas attended.
Thoas.
Heav'ns! with what Rage these daring Greeks rush on!
Aw'd at their Force, our dastard Scythians fly,
Like tim'rous Doves before the stooping Eagle.
Hence to the Citadel: Command, they send
Fresh Succours down, and join us at the Port.

[Exeunt.
Enter Hermione.
Herm.
How has the Darkness of the Night undone me!
How has the rushing Torrent of the War
Snatch'd from my Side the fierce, impetuous Prince!
If Danger meets him in the darksome Fray,
What then avails it that the Scythians fly?
Seek him I must thro' all the Paths of Death:
The dreadful Clash of Arms on ev'ry Side
Affrights my Ear: Heav'n guard me from the Foe!
Whichever Way I bend, the Hazard's equal.

[As she is going,
Enter Circe.
Circe.
Ha! Who art thou, that dar'st at this wild Hour,
Spight of thy feeble Sex, alone, unguarded,
Mix in the War, and tread the Rounds of Danger?

Herm.
What shall I say, or how avoid her Fury?

Circe.
Now, by the Pangs that swell my jealous Heart,
'Tis she, the blooming Greek, whose hated Form
Th'infernal Pow'rs so late in Vision shew'd me.—
Disast'rous Maid, abandon'd by the Fates,
Curse that ungovern'd Frenzy brought thee hither,
To vie with Circe in unequal Charms;
And, knowing now thy Rival, know thy Danger.

Herm.
How Resolution labours in my Breast,
To get above my Fears!—

Circe.
Thou can'st not palliate
Thy Arrogance of Love, therefore be dumb:
But if thou wilt atone for this bold Crime,
Swear by thy Country's Gods, whom most thou fear'st,
To quit all Int'rest in Orestes' Heart,
And, tho' he seek thy Bed, to shun his Arms.

Herm.
Forbid it, Heav'n!—

Circe.
Nay, do not dally with me:
My Moments are too precious now for trifling:
Swear, or this Poniard drinks thy hated Blood.

Herm.
Inhuman Murth'ress! sate thy barb'rous Rage.
I feel new Vigour shoot thro' ev'ry Vein;
And Death, in all the ugliest Shapes of Torture,
Could not now force me to abjure my Love.
No, I defy thy Threats.

Circe.
Die then, fond Wretch.

Herm.
Save me, ye virtuous Gods! Kind Mercy, save me!—

[As Circe pursues her with a Dagger,
Enter Orestes and his Party.
Orest.
What Voice of shrill Distress assail'd my Ear?
Ha! My Hermione! Do I once more hold thee?

[Embracing.
Herm.
Thanks to the Gods—O save me from her Fury.

Orest.
Sorc'ress, avaunt! Pernicious, sly Seducer!
How dar'st thou, now the Sword of War is drawn,
Encounter thus my Rage?

Circe.
What means my Love?
My watchful Art is busy in thy Care.
Time is our own: Now, whilst the Scythian Tyrant,
Thoughtless of high Events that swell my Soul,
Plies the dull Task of Arms, my winged Carr
Safe, and untrac'd, thro' Fields of Air shall bear us
To vernal Groves, and Bow'rs of blooming Pleasure.
Why art thou mute?

[Approaching him.
Orest.
Avaunt, once more I warn thee:
And, ere thy magic Wiles, thy plotted Mischiefs
Rise fresh to Mem'ry, fly: nor tempt my Soul
To stain a Soldier's Blade with female Slaughter.

Circe.
Vain Braggart! I despise thy empty Rage.
Too plain I see the Cause of thy Neglect,
Thy shameful Perfidy, and alter'd Vows;
Licentious, perjur'd Man!—Thou can'st not hurt me;
I'm charm'd in Art above thy feeble Fury;
Art, that shall exercise itself in Vengeance
On thee, on her, thy Friend, and boasted Sister.
[Exit Circe.

Orest.
Shame to thy Sex, and Virtue! Frontless Woman!—
But well she warns me: In that fatal Moment
When thou wert sever'd from me, wild with Fears,
I ran and left my Sister and my Friend,
Who now may need our Aid.

Herm.
Let's seek them out:
Where most the sprightly Din of Arms is heard,
There shall the noble Pylades be found,
Lab'ring for Love, for Friendship, and for Glory.

Orest.
But oh! too much art Thou expos'd to Danger.
Let me secure Thee from these dreadful Hazards,
Then with intrepid Heart, steel'd in thy Safety,
With rival Force I'll rush into the War;
And emulate my noble Friend's Renown.

Herm.
No, Thou and only Thou shalt be my Shield,
Firm by thy Side, I'll tempt the rough Encounter,
And share the Chance of ev'ry singing Dart.

Enter Grecian Captain.
Capt.
O fatal Chance of Arms! Your gallant Friend,
And Sister, by the Scythian Force o'er-powr'd,
Are Both made Captives to the haughty Tyrant.

Orest.
Too fatally the Sorc'ress then prevails:
My Sister and my Friend in shameful Bonds!
Injurious Fate, where will thy Malice end?

Herm.
This is no Time for Plaints: Resume the Hero:
Fly, instant, to redeem our Captive Friends.
My Spartan Bands, till now reserv'd for Aid,
Fresh for the Field, wait but the Signal giv'n,
To pour Destruction on these abject Scythians.
Each Moment's now an Age.—

Orest.
Heroic Maid!
O my fair Warrior, come, beneath thy Banners,
With thy auspicious Aid, I'll wage this War;
And Vict'ry must succeed, where thou direct'st it.

[Exeunt.

[[SCENE IV.]]

SCENE changes to an open Wood.
Enter Thoas, and his Party; with Pylades and Iphigenia Prisoners.
Thoas.
The Heav'n's are just:—Look not in vain for Rescue,
Thou fugitive Traitress!—Could not thy Defender,
That boist'rous Youth, protect thee from our Force,
And hop'st thou yet, fond Girl, to 'scape my Hands?

Iphig.
I have no Hope: Death is the utmost Bound
Of all my Wishes:—Use a Conqu'ror's Right;
Indulge thy Tyrant Rage, and kill me here.

Thoas.
Be sure, thou hast not long to wish for Death,
In Retribution to my injur'd Throne.
Survey the fatal Havock of thy Treasons,
My Subjects slain, our hallow'd Altar rob'd;
Then ask thy conscious Soul what Dues of Vengeance
Thy double Crime demands.

Pylad.
Th'imputed Crime
In her was justified by Nature's Laws,
By righteous Nature; and her Treason, Virtue.
If Thou art wrong'd, shew Justice in thy Vengeance;
'Twas I provok'd those Wrongs. On Me thy Subjects
May wreak their Hate, and satisfy Resentment.
But if Thou think to touch her sacred Life,
The Pow'rs, that make such Innocence their Care,
Shall show'r their fiercest Indignation down;
And dearly punish the unhallow'd Daring.

Thoas.
Lies the Debate of Right and Wrong with Thee,
Proud Youth, who art the Captive of our Arms?
Dar'st thou in Bonds prescribe my Terms of Justice,
And deem with Threats to give thy Conqu'ror Law?
That boasted Innocence the Pow'rs should guard,
Is, as thou see'st, giv'n up by their Displeasure:
And the Decision of her Fate and thine
Now rests in me, and waits as I determine.

Pylad.
Tyrant,—

Iphig.
O Prince, provoke not farther Rage:
We must submit: and if the wrathful Gods
Have doom'd it so, Death cannot give me Fear.

Pylad.
Think not, bright Maid, Darkness and poor Surprize
Shall cast the Issue of thy better Fate:
[Trumpets at a Distance.
Hark, Tyrant, hark:—Our Grecian Trumpet sounds
A nearer Blast, and breathes the sprightly Charge.
Our scatter'd Greeks are rallied in the Field,
My noble Friend is lab'ring for our Rescue,
And Destiny obeys his prosp'rous Sword.
They come.

Thoas.
Retire our Pris'ners: guard them well.
Look out, and see what new Alarm is this.

Enter Orestes and his Party.
Orest.
Tyrant, give back my Friends:—My gallant Foll'wers,
There lies our Chase: Renown and Jove befriend us!

[Orestes sets on Thoas, and drives him off. A Wheeling Fight seen thro' the Wood, in which Pylades and Iphigenia are rescued. After the Fight,

[[SCENE V.]]

SCENE changes to another Part of the Wood.
Enter Orestes, Hermione, Pylades, Iphigenia, and Greeks.
Pylad.
My brave Deliv'rer! O what Thanks, what Praise,
Can speak this glorious Rescue!

Orest.
Peace, my Friend:
Fortune would chide us, should we lose these Moments.
The Field is ours: Now haste we to our Ships,
And, while the Goddess smiles, make sure our Flight.

[Exeunt.
Enter Thoas, Barzanes, and Scythians.
Thoas.
Curse on my own weak Arm, and weaker Scythians!
And sink those treacherous Barks, that turn'd their Sterns,
And left us to sustain th'unequal War!
Shall I be baffled by such puny Force?
Command our Vessels to the Harbour's Mouth;
Hang Beacons out: drain all our Forts for Aid:
My Kingdom on the Hazard:—Death, or Conquest!

[Exeunt Thoas and Barzanes severally.

[[SCENE VI.]]

SCENE changes to the Port.
Enter Circe, attended with Women.
Circe.
What sullen Gods yet disappoint my Charms?
The Seas are calm, the Moon serenely shines,
Help, Pow'rs of Hell, to blot the Face of Nature!
Earth, from your hidden Gulfs pour Floods of Flame:
Ye pent-up Winds, burst your confining Caves,
And raise a Wall of Waters to the Skies!
[A Ship appears here under Sail.
Wake, ye hoarse Thunders, split their Keels of Oak!
Ye sulph'rous Lightnings, burn their outspread Sails!
Hear, Spirits of Mischief, hear my dreaded Voice:
Let Uproar loose; bid the big Tempest roar:
Tis well:—'This is a Pomp becoming Circe.
[Thunder; a Shower of Fire.
Ha! See, they drive before th'obedient Wind,
And the lewd Sea spreads wide her liquid Bosom.—
My Magic fails, and Hell grows deaf.—Despair,
Thou Demon of the World, be present to me!
And oh! thou Sun, once thought my boasted Sire,
I here disclaim thy pure, eternal Essence:
I would derive all from my mortal Mother;
Be mortal all;—for Life's become my Curse.
—Yet, let me not expire like common Wretches,
Unmark'd and fading in ignoble Silence.
Awake, Confusion, while I give this Blow.
[Stabs herself.
Let Nature feel it; let my dying Groans
Ride on the Storm, and with Convulsions shake her!
O that the loosen'd Globe would now dissolve,
And Order sicken with one vast Destruction!

Enter Thoas.
Thoas.
The Fates mock all the Efforts of my Arms.
'Tis plain, the Gods are factious on the Side
Of Iphigenia and her princely Brother:
Their Sufferings have been great: and oft 'tis found,
There is a secret Merit in Distress,
That at a Season reconciles the World;
And draws Opinion to befriend the Cause.
Ha! the Queen!—
Weltring in Blood, and grov'ling on the Earth?
Quick, seek out Aid.

Circe.
O Sir, all Aid is vain.
I feel the courted Foe make keen Dispatch.
Yet, ere I die, forgive a hapless Queen,
Whom Love's resistless Passion has undone.
A Woman's Hand atones a Woman's Crime.

[Dies.
Thoas.
There fled her furious Spirit.—What Pity 'tis,
The Virtues of the Mind match'd not her Form!
'Tis the Gods doing, who still make our Passions
The Instruments to scourge our proper Ills.
How safe, and virtuous to revere their Dictates!
These Greeks, 'tis said, obey'd divine Command;
And prosper in it—From these high Events
I'll learn to think, howe'er Misfortunes wound
Our inward Peace, and seeming Plagues surround;
Upright of Soul, while We the Heav'ns obey,
Blessings, tho' late, shall our worst Toils repay.