University of Virginia Library

[[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.