University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

SCENE, A FORT.
Enter Araxes and Barzanes, two Scythian Officers, meeting.
Barzanes.
Remembrance cannot match th'unquiet Night,
So loud this Tempest: In my Walk of Guard,
I thought the ruffian Wind would from their Roots
Have torn the sturdiest Trees; with such Convulsions
They shook, and groan'd, and bow'd their Tops to Earth.

Arax.
Our Shores felt most its Rage; and still the Sea
Runs Mountain-high: If those tall lab'ring Barks,
Which by their Bulk and Trim we deem'd of Greece,
By Stress of Weather must put in to Land,
Let them beware, they touch not on this Coast.

Barz.
Why of all Ships, that plow the Euxine Sea,
Are those of Greece alone deny'd our Shelter?

Arax.
Know you not that? Such is Diana's Pleasure,
The Guardian Goddess of our Scythian Empire;
Who, for the Crime of one o'er-daring Man,
Pursues a Nation, unappeas'd and wrathful.

Barz.
Who was this Object of her fatal Spleen?

Arax.
A Name well noted in our Eastern World,
Th'Imperial Agamemnon; whose rash Pride,
Or Levity of Spirit, with wanton Boast
Prompted his Tongue to challenge Skill Divine;
And vie with Dian at th'unerring Bow.
Hence her Resentment grew; and when that Chief
Embark'd with Greece upon the Trojan War,
Their Fleet lay Wind-bound at Eubæan Aulis.
The Seers pronounc'd, no Gale could aid their Course,
'Till Iphigenia, Agamemnon's Daughter,
Should bleed a Sacrifice at Dian's Altar.

Barz.
And fell she so?

Arax.
Reports have varied there.
For some give out, that the relenting Goddess,
In soft Compassion of the Virgin's Youth,
Deign'd to accept a Sacrifice more fit,
And snatch'd her from the horrid Shrine, unseen.

Barz.
A Fate, like this, as oft I've heard it rumour'd,
Attends the beauteous Maid, who, all-unwilling,
Presides the Priestess at our Tauric Shrine.

Arax.
I do remember—But howe'er the Goddess
Spared the young Maid, her Wrath pursued the Sire
For when that Grecian Chief from down-fal'n Troy
Return'd in Conquest to his Argive Throne;
His Queen, resentful for her Daughter lost,
(Butcher'd at Aulis, as Reports avouch'd;)
Buried her Dagger in the Victor's Breast.

Barz.
Horrid Revenge!—But see, the lab'ring Sun,
Climbing Heav'n's Hill, relieves us from our Watch.
What dreadful Noise!

[A Noise as of a Ship striking against Rocks.
Arax.
It came as from the Shore:
Belike, some Ruin of the boist'rous Sea.

Enter Riphæus.
Riph.
A stranger Ship, driv'n by th'unruly Surge,
Is bulg'd against our Rocks: The piercing Cries
Speak, her Distress is great. With best Dispatch
Send down sufficient Force to give them Aid.
My Duty hastes me to inform the King.

[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.

Scene changes to an Apartment in the Palace.
Enter Thoas and Circe attended.
Thoas.
Let Business wait the duller Hours of Life,
This Day is sacred all to Sports and Joy.
'Tis fit that Triumphs should mark out the Time,
Which gave the bright Imperial Circe Birth.

Circe.
These Honours show'r'd in such Profusion on me,
A Subject too unworthy of such Bounties,
Swell up my female Bosom with a Pleasure,
A Pride, that leaves me destitute of Words,
And forces me to pay my Thanks in Blushes.

Thoas.
Not purple Greatness, not th'extended Sway
O'er Scythia's Empire, fill me with such Transport,
As 'tis to lay Dominion at thy Feet;
As, thus indulg'd, to breathe the Vows of Love,
And tell thee, that a heart-sick Monarch sues
To make thee Partner of his Bed and Throne.

Cir.
Alas! you wound me with this kind Excess,
And waken Honour to be deaf to Love.
Time was, when Circe in her Virgin Bloom,
Rich in Dependancies, the Heir of Pow'r,
Might claim, and did aspire to sceptred Greatness.
But now that Pomp is wither'd, and these Charms
Are scanty Dowry for a Monarch's Bed.

Thoas.
Say rather, they are more than Kings can merit;
More than proud Persia, or the out-stretch'd Realms
'Twixt that, and Indus' Shores, have Wealth to purchase.
I know, my Empire is too mean a Price
In Barter for thy Love; and like a Miser,
That sets no Limits to his greedy Wishes,
I must be punish'd for too rash Desires,
And want the Gem I had not Worth to gain.

Cir.
Still you will conquer; but instruct my Heart,
My grateful Heart, o'ercharg'd with mighty Debt,
How not to be injurious, should I yield;
Paying thy Bounties with a Bankrupt's Hand.

Thoas.
All Riches are compriz'd in thy Consent;
But, oh, if yet thou fear'st to stand oblig'd,
Permit me to assert my rigorous Claim;
And, as the Purchase of an unpaid Love,
To play the Tyrant, and usurp thy Beauties.
Enter Riphæus hastily.
Now, whence this haste?

Riph.
—Tall Ships of War, my Liege,
With hostile Preparation make Approach,
And darken all the Strand.—High on their Decks
Embattled Ranks stand thick; and burnish'd Helms,
And glitt'ring Spears, gleam horrid on our Coast.

Thoas.
In an ill Hour these rash Invaders come
To interrupt those Joys, they shall not hinder.
Draw out our Forces, line the Beach with Strength;
And shew 'em, we're prepar'd to meet their Boldness.
[Exit Riphæus.
There let 'em grapple with our hardy Scythians,
While we, my Queen, attend the nobler Business
Of this important Day.

Cir.
O pardon, Sir;
Let Circe rule in this; Lead to your Shores;
We'll baffle Danger ere we think of Joy.
I've now an Int'rest in your Throne and Person,
That longs to shew you what my Art can do
To keep Both safe.

Thoas.
You shall command in all.

[Exit Circe led by Thoas.

SCENE III.

A Port: With a distant Prospect of the Sea, and a Watch-Tower on Rocks.
A Peal of Thunder is heard.
Enter Orestes and Pylades.
Orest.
How instant is this Calm! The howling Winds
Have spent their Rage; the swelling Waves subside;
And all the Wreck of Elements is hush'd.

Pylad.
And yet, but now, how dreadful was the Tempest!
How were we circled with a Night of Clouds!
What Bursts of Thunder fell! What Lightnings flash'd!
While hoarse conflicting Winds, from Pole to Pole,
Rush'd on the Surge, and whirl'd it to the Stars.

Orest.
When Crimes unequal'd tempt the righteous Gods,
'Tis time, their Vengeance should put on a Form
Suiting its Cause.—Behold me, Pylades,
Most like this hideous Storm; lawless, and wild,
As the rude Winds that lash the Sea to Madness:
Clouded with Guilt, that stains the Face of Day;
And braving the sweet Sanctity of Heav'n
With foulest Parricide. For this, the Furies
O'er Sea and Land pursue my wand'ring Steps;
For this, a Mother's pale and bleeding Spectre
Stalks in my Sight, and blasts me with her Wound;
For this, obedient Tempests plow the Main;
And urge Destruction on an impious Son.

Pylad.
Man is the Sport of Fate; and oft Despair,
Blinding with Fears our better Judgment, makes us
Construe the Purpose of the Gods amiss.
Th'Offence, which gives this Rack of Thought, remember,
Had first the Sanction of a God's Command;
And sacred Phœbus bad you strike the Blow.

Orest.
Thence only dawns a feeble Ray of Comfort:
There all my Hopes of Innocence are shelter'd.

Pylad.
O could we turn o'er Fate's eternal Volume,
And trace the Reasons of its dark Decrees,
How might we find the Guilt of buried Fathers
Rise on their Offspring, and in them aveng'd!
How might we find the Hands of guiltless Sons
Made Instruments to scourge their Fathers Trespass!
Had Atreus ne'er transgress'd the Laws of Jove,
Your Sire, perchance, imperial Agamemnon,
Had scap'd the Edge of a domestick Sword;
Nor you been warn'd by Piety, and Heaven,
To do stern Justice on an impious Mother.

Orest.
O Pylades, you paint my Crime too fair,
And touch it with the Pencil of a Friend.
Can I suppose, that Deed was authoriz'd,
When Furies haunt my Soul, Storms wreck my Vessels,
To mark me out the Hatred of the Gods?

Pylad.
Yet, spight of Tempests, have you reach'd the Clime,
To which th'oraculous Command did point.
Did not the awful Voice, in Terms express,
Charge you to seek the Coast of Tauric Scythia,
Diana's Temple there, and thence to bring
Her Statue, which they boast to've dropt from Heav'n?
So should the Tumults of your Soul be calm'd,
And Rest and Joy succeed to both our Labours.

Orest.
We have, indeed, the barbarous Tauri reach'd,
Where Rest eternal shall conclude my Toils.
But I conjure thee in the Name of Friendship,
Now while the favouring Breeze invites thy Sails,
Fly from this savage, this inhuman Coast;
Avoid the Partnership of certain Ruin;
And spare thy Friend the Torture of thy Suff'rings.

Pylad.
What means Orestes? Have we sworn for this,
To stand the dread Events of Fate together,
And shall a Shew of paltry Danger part us?

Orest.
Oh! call it not a Shew, an empty Fear;
Think on the horrid Law that here prevails.
What hapless Grecian, cast on this dire Land,
E'er 'scapes from its inhospitable Shore?
Mistaken Zeal and murth'rous Superstition
Here doom us Victims to the purple Shrine:
Here stern Diana is ador'd in Blood,
And Altars steam alone with human Gore.
Fly, ere the Pomp of Death is drest in Horror;
Ere yet the fatal Chaplet binds thy Brow,
The solemn Hymn is sung, th'unhallow'd Fires
Blaze, or the sacrificing Steel is drawn.

Pylad.
Then, how have you determin'd?

Orest.
Here to die:
A Wretch devoted to th'infernal Gods.

Pylad.
My Breast, as yours, is arm'd; and Death is welcome.

Orest.
No! Thou art destin'd to some whiter Lot:
Remember Iphigenia:—O my Sister!
If she survives, thy Vows have made thee hers,
And thou'rt no longer Master of thy self.

Pylad.
And would'st thou sacrifice the Royal Maid
To him, whose base and abject Heart could stoop
Poorly to leave his Friend alone to perish?

Orest.
Thou hast a Plea t'alledge, that I did order—

Pylad.
What Friendship and Renown must blush t'obey.
O! with what Triumphs would this glorious Flight
Honour the Name of Pylades in Greece!
How would thy zealous Subjects throng the Gates,
To meet this brave Deserter of their Prince!
How would the Royal Guardian of your Throne,
Old Menelaus, with open Arms receive me;
While from behind his beauteous Daughter comes,
The bright Hermione, with streaming Eyes,
And bleeding Heart, t'applaud my gen'rous Care!

Orest.
Ha! there thou hast awak'd a sleeping Torture;
I feel the Pangs shoot through each vital Part;
They sting me to Distraction.—O my Friend!
Reflection doubles ev'ry Pain upon me,
Sets to my View the Image of my Love,
All pale, and languishing, and bath'd in Tears,
Her Youth and Freshness sicklied o'er with Grief,
And sunk in Anguish of her lost Orestes.
O my Hermione! I feel for thee;
Thy Sorrows wake me to a righteous Fear,
And make me wish this hated Life prolong'd.

Pylad.
Now thou'rt again thy self.—And see! Occasion
Calls to defend the Life we wish prolong'd.
[Looking out.
Our Landing is espied; and, as it seems,
An armed Band advances to surprize us.

Orest.
Then all is ended; Fate has wound us in;
And wills us to submit.

Pylad.
Submit! To what?

Orest.
To Custom, and the barb'rous Climate's Law.

Pylad.
We will contest the Justice of that Law:
Force shall oppose their Force.

Orest.
Alas! how vain
Is Opposition, when o'er-match'd with Odds!

Pylad.
Odds are the Exercise of Heroes' Virtues,
And lift them to their own high Rank. Shall we,
Who in the Register of both our Bloods
Boast Gods enroll'd, stand on Equalities;
And weigh the Poise of Danger with the Niceness,
The Fears, and the Distrust of common Mortals?
It is the great Alternative of Valour
To conquer; or, subdued, to die reveng'd.

Enter Barzanes, and Scythians: Orestes and Pylades, drawing their Swords, stand on their Guard.
Barz.
Strangers, submit; and come before our King.

Orest.
Stand off, presumptuous Men, and know your Danger.

Barz.
What means this Rashness? See you not our Numbers?
'Tis Desperation, and not Valour, urges
To try this frantick, and unequal Struggle.

Pylad.
Away, or learn what 'tis to match with Greeks.

Barz.
Yet hold, and spare yourselves the certain Ruin.

Orest.
How insolent th'undaring Villain talks!
Thinks he to prate us into Scythian Fears?
We will no longer parley.

As they are going to engage, Enter Thoas, and Circe, attended.
Thoas.
Hold, coward Slaves! Was it not our Command,
That you should bring these Strangers bound before us?
And could you tremble at such weak Resistance?
Give up your Swords, brave Youths: know, 'tis a King
Now warns you to submit; nor tempt the Shame
Of their inglorious Force.

Pylad.
Boast you the King?
Confess it in the Justice of your Pow'r:
Content your self to lord it o'er your own;
Nor proudly aim to stretch Controul o'er those,
Who are not subject to your Scepter's Sway.
Kings, who impose Commands that are unjust,
Forfeit that Name to wear the Brand of Tyrants.

Thoas.
Am I contemn'd?

Orest.
You are, when you compel us
To do an Act would blast a Grecian's Glory.
Fearless of Death, we ne'er were taught to yield,
But leave that Triumph to your Scythian Baseness.

Thoas.
Now by the vengeful Goddess, whom we worship,
Whose Victims you are doom'd, my Blood is stir'd;
And I grow jealous of their noble Daring.
Hear me, you Slaves.—Disarm, but hurt them not.
[To the Guard.
Their Lives are sacred to th'Infernal Gods,
And Racks shall expiate the Wounds you give them.
Ha! Dastards, stir you not?

[Circe waves her Wand, and the Swords of Orestes and Pylades drop out of their Hands.]
Circe.
What needs the Hazard,
The vain Profusion of your Subjects' Blood,
When, see, the Strangers yield themselves your Captives?

Thoas.
And is it thus you Greeks maintain your Boasts?
Thus drive Invasion back, and foil the Foe?
But this, bright Princess, is your proper Conquest.

Orest.
Immortal Gods! What mean your dreadful Pleasures?
What dire Enchantment works these strange Effects?
Whence is it, that the Sword forsakes my Gripe?
Whence, that my Strength is wither'd, Nerves unbraced,
And Limbs, grown disobedient to the Will,
Forget their Vigour, and their natural Function?
My Feet are fix'd to Earth, my Knees made weak,
And ev'ry Pow'r, but that of Soul, subdued.

Pylad.
In me, alike, the ministerial Organs
Obey the Malice of her baneful Spells;
But oh! remember, how we were forewarn'd;
And let the sacred Caution give us Safety.
This is the Sorc'ress, this the fair Inchanter,
Of whom unerring Phœbus bad beware.
Guard thee but from the Magick of her Eyes,
And all her hellish Charms shall fail to reach us.

Thoas.
Accept our Thanks, great Daughter of the Sun,
Thou worthiest Partner of a Monarch's Bed;
I'm lost in Wonder, while I see thy Skill
Controuling Nature with a Force above her.

Circe.
The Gifts I boast are Servants to your Throne,
And shall be all employ'd to rear its Grandeur.
Come, we unbind the Rigour of our Charm;
But know, your hurtful Pow'rs are circumscribed.
The Gods do this in scorn of Insolence,
And overbearing Courage.—Human Prowess,
Presumption stretching it beyond its Bound,
Swells Man to Giant; who, but for Reproof,
And Curbs to his licentious proud Conceit,
Would soar at Heav'n, and make those Thrones unsafe.

Orest.
Madam, we know your Arts; and you in vain
Would cloak the Demon with this fair Instruction.
Greece is no Stranger to Thessalian Witchcrafts;
And in ourselves we've felt your baneful Pow'r.
We're not to learn, what Mischief swells your Breast,
And Aspicks' Poisons lurk beneath your Tongue.

Thoas.
Ha! Straight, our Guard.—

Circe.
What means my throbbing Heart?
Where is my Pride, that I can brook such Language?

[Aside.
Thoas.
Such Arrogance but ill beseems a Slave.—
Forgive, fair Queen, the Insults of this Greek.
Soon shall his bold, upbraiding Tongue be mute,
And he in Death atone the Railer's Outrage.
Go, lead them to their Dooms;—

Pylad.
—Oh my lov'd Friend!
Was this the Promise of the righteous Gods?

Orest.
It matters not: Death is an easy Task
To Minds resolv'd, and Life's beneath my Care.

[They are led off, guarded.
Circe.
He must not die.
[Aside.
His Gallantry and Mien have caught my Soul:
And I must stop his Fate, or perish with him.
Might I advise,—

Thoas.
Instruct my wishing Heart
What Thought is busy in bright Circe's Mind,
And call your Counsel a Command with Thoas.

Circe.
These Strangers by their Port, and manly Bearing,
Betray the Princely Rank: and being such,
Your Rites might well admit a single Victim;
Nor needs it, Both should die.

Thoas.
Then be it so.
To our fair Priestess we resign their Fate.
Conduct them to the Temple straight, with Charge
That sep'rate they be lodg'd, and guarded there,
Till Lots determine which of them shall bleed;
The other shall be free.

Circe.
Still Fears are active with my doubting Soul:
The Lot may fall on him, who must not die.
Or, grant him safe, he's lost to Love and Me;
And, freed from our inhospitable Bonds,
Will wing his Way for Greece.

Thoas.
The Queen grows thoughtful;
And Care drinks up the Lustre of her Eye.
What Cause of Gloom dares cloud that Brow of Beauty?

[Aside.
Circe.
You took me, Sir, a poor unscepter'd Exile,
Sarmatia's widow'd, titulary Queen;
Chas'd by the Malice of resentful Subjects;
You more than shelter, place me near your Throne:
And Gratitude, the Guest of nobler Hearts,
Makes me, perhaps, too anxious for your State.

Thoas.
Give me your Fears.

Circe.
I scarce can call them Fears:
Let them be rather deem'd unweigh'd Suspicions:
And Dangers magnify from female Weakness.
What if your Priestess, who on all Occasions
With strong Reluctance does her hallow'd Office;
Who holds her Life, at best, on hated Terms,
Detain'd on Force to tend the Goddess' Shrine;
What if she should, being herself a Greek,
On Pity's Motive, or in Hate to you,
Have Int'rest in these Grecian Pris'ners Lives,
And suffer them t'escape your sworn Resentment?

Thoas.
This kind Concern, built on so slight a Ground,
Assures us of the Dearness of your Friendship,
And claims our inmost Trust. Accept this Signet,
With it our Pow'r.—A Guard attend the Queen.
Surround the Temple; watch the doubted Priestess;
Make all, that you suspect, impracticable:
And bind a King more deeply to your Service.
But, oh, the Tribute due to this glad Day
Is yet unpaid, and chides my slacken'd Zeal.
Lead to the Palace:—Brightest Queen, your Hand.
Araxes, see our Will proclaim'd at full.

[Exeunt Thoas, Circe, and Train.

SCENE IV.

A WOOD.
Enter Grecian Sailers.
1. Sail.

I have plow'd this Euxine Sea these twenty
Years, and never saw such a Storm before.

2. Sail.

Pox on't. I have made a hard Shift to keep
all my Limbs together, I'm sure. And now we are
ashore, we look more like a Crew of drown'd Rats,
than of Sailers: Nor have we one Drop of our brave
Greek Wine left us. The Sea hath swallow'd all that
down at one Draught.

1. Sail.

But what's become of our Leaders?

3. Sail.

They are safe on Shore.

2. Sail.

Pylades is looking after some Temple of Venus
to offer up his Vows at, I warrant you. Pox on
all Love-Voyages, I say. They seldom end better.—
What needs a Grecian run the Venture of drowning
for a foreign Mistress, when there are so many Women
in his own Country ready to drown themselves for
Want of Lovers?

1. Sail.

Methinks, Brother, Venus ought to take a
little more Care of her own Votaries.

2d Sail.

Why, what hath Venus to do with your
honourable Lovers?—If We had been running away
with some rich Citizen's Wife, the good Goddess
would have kept the Sea as smooth as her own Bosom.
For, look'ee, Friend, Venus is a wise Goddess, and
knows the Good of her Worshippers better than they
do themselves: She knows, when a Man is sailing to

the Coast of Matrimony, 'tis often better for him to
be drown'd than to arrive at it.

3. Sail.

Ay, if he were to meet with such a Wife as
your piece of Comfort, we grant it: One, that a Man
had better be at Sea in a Storm, than at home in a
Calm with.

2. Sail.

That's too true:—Yet if ever I make another
Voyage, I'll bring her with me, I am resolv'd
on it. And then if a Storm should arise, I should lose
all Fear of my own drowning, in Hopes of seeing her
drown'd.

Enter Pilot.
Pilot.

What, have you forgot our Wreck already,
ye idle Varlets? Have you forgot your Ship, before she
is cold in her Grave, as a Man may say?

2. Sail.

Good Words, Master Pilot: As for our
Ship, rest her Soul, if she be gone: And how she
went, do You and the Storm answer between You.

1. Sail.

Ay, ay: Who should answer for a Ship's
sinking but the Pilot?

3. Sail.

I suppose, you'd have had us weather'd it
upon the Rocks where you steer'd us.

Pilot.

No, you lazy, lubberly Rascals; but I would
have you strive to save what you can, before the Natives
come down upon us.

2. Sail.

Natives! here are no Natives. There's no
Sign of any Houses, but those that the Gods live in; and,
sure, they have too much Piety towards themselves, to
plunder poor Mortals in their Misfortunes.

Pilot.

Sirrah, you'll find that those Temples have Priests
in them, who plunder all Mankind out of Piety; take
nine Parts to themselves, and give the Gods the Tithe.

3. Sail.

Priests! What, are there Priests here as well
as in Greece?

Pilot.

Yes; and where ever there's a Land like this
for 'em to graze in. They're no more to be kept out
of a rich Soil, than Weeds are.

1. Sail.

Well, much good may't do them with their
Plunder.—If they have Power enough with the Gods
to make the Sea refund our Treasure, 'tis more than
we have.

2. Sail.

Nay, that's past a Doubt. The good Moveables
are lost to the right Owners: And it's all one to
us, whether the Priests, or their Gods, the Sea, or
the Devil, have 'em.

Pilot.

How natural is it for a little ill Fortune to
make such cravenly Wretches wicked!—For shame,
come down to the Shore and let us save what we can.
Without the Recovery of our Ship, how do you hope
to be transported back to your Native Country?
Would you lie down and die like fainting Cowards, or
suffer your selves to live here the Slaves of Barbarians?

3. Sail.

The Circumstances are very moving, that's
the Truth on't: But we have no great Courage at undertaking
Labour in vain.

Pilot.

If nothing else could charm you to your Duty,
methinks, those Casks of generous Wine, which now
lie floating to the Shore, should tempt you to preserve
them.

2. Sail.

How! Is there any Hope of our Liquor
surviving? Lead on, Master Pilot. Shew me the delicious
Prospect but of one floating Cask, and I'll recover
it, or sink with it.

Omnes.

Ay, ay, we'll all down to the Shore on that
Promise.

Pilot.

Come on, then; and, if it must be so, your
villanous Debaucheries be the Spur to your Duty.

2. Sail.

Well, well; shew us but the good Liquor,
and then see if you can rail us out of our Affection to
it.

Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Palace. Thoas and Circe discover'd, attended. Singers and Dancers rang'd down each Side of the Stage.
Chorus of Singers.

[After the Song and Dances, Thoas and Circe rise and come forward.]
Thoas.
Break up the Sports:—Your Mind, I see, employed
On weightier Cares, tastes not these idle Pleasures.

Circe.
Indeed, my Bosom is oppress'd with Fears,
That relish Mirth but ill.—Those scatter'd Ships
May brave the Tempest out, and yet invade you.

Thoas.
Let not their impotent Attacks give Fear:
The two presumptious Youths, who wear our Bonds,
Were Spies upon the Weakness of our Throne:
But one shall dearly rue the rash Attempt.
To-morrow's Sun shall see the Victim bleed;
That done, the Pomp of Hymen shall succeed.
Oh, my fair Queen! the promis'd Bliss I claim,
And burn with an unpractis'd Lover's Flame.
Love rages in my Breast; tho' Time has shed
His Marks of Winter, and made hoar my Head:
As Mountains with imbowell'd Sulphur glow,
While their bleak Tops are cover'd o'er with Snow.

[Exeunt.