 | Agamemnon |  |
SCENE I.
Clytemnestra sitting in a disconsolate Posture, and her Attendant.Attendant.
O Clytemnestra! O my royal Mistress!
Can then no Comfort sooth your Woes a while?
E'er since that flaming Signal of sackt Troy,
That Signal fix'd and promis'd by the King,
Was seen some Nights ago, nor Food has pass'd
Your loathing Lips, nor Sleep has bless'd your Eyes.
Or if, perhaps, a transient Slumber hush'd
Your Sighs a moment, and restrain'd your Tears;
Sudden, you, starting wildly, would exclaim
2
Sure, 'tis too much, my Queen.
Clytemnestra.
Away! away!
Since my lost State admits of no Relief,
To that sad Comfort of the Wretched leave me,
To yield me to my Sorrows.
Attendant.
Hear me, Madam,
Once the dear Burden of these aged Arms!
My tender Care from Life's first opening Bud!
My Joy! my Glory! hear your faithful Servant,
And let me add your Friend.—In Reason's Eye,
That never judges on a partial View,
Far less than your Misfortune is your Guilt.—
Your Guilt—Forgive me, 'tis too harsh a Word,
For what deserves Compassion more than Blame.
I know the treacherous ways by which you sunk,
From pleasing Peace, to these unhappy Fears,
This anxious Tumult.—
Clytemnestra.
Hide me from the View!
All Comfort is in vain.—Away!
Attendant.
Allow me,
To plead your injur'd Cause against yourself.
To plead your injur'd Cause against yourself.
When Agamemnon led the Greeks to Troy,
And left you, Madam, for the Pomp of War;
Left you the Pride of Greece, in full-blown Beauty,
The kindest Mother, and the fondest Wife;
If Fame says true, for Trojan Captives left you—
But that apart.—How did he leave you, say?
Afflicted, outrag'd, as a Queen and Mother,
Betray'd to Aulis with your first-born Hope,
The blooming Iphigenia, under Feint
Of her immediate Marriage to Achilles;
And there no sooner at the wind-bound Fleet
Arriv'd, but you beheld her spotless Blood
Stream on the sully'd Altar of Diana,
The Price of Winds, of a dear-purchas'd Gale,
To bear them on to Troy. Thus pierc'd with Grief,
Then fir'd by turns to Rage, almost to Vengeance,
At an ambitious cruel haughty Husband;
While all your Passions were together mix'd,
And ready for a Change; was you not left
In a submissive soothing Lover's power,
Ordain'd your Partner in the sovereign Rule
O'er Argos and Mycenæ, but to you
As pliant still as Agamemnon stately?
And left you, Madam, for the Pomp of War;
Left you the Pride of Greece, in full-blown Beauty,
The kindest Mother, and the fondest Wife;
If Fame says true, for Trojan Captives left you—
But that apart.—How did he leave you, say?
Afflicted, outrag'd, as a Queen and Mother,
Betray'd to Aulis with your first-born Hope,
The blooming Iphigenia, under Feint
Of her immediate Marriage to Achilles;
And there no sooner at the wind-bound Fleet
Arriv'd, but you beheld her spotless Blood
3
The Price of Winds, of a dear-purchas'd Gale,
To bear them on to Troy. Thus pierc'd with Grief,
Then fir'd by turns to Rage, almost to Vengeance,
At an ambitious cruel haughty Husband;
While all your Passions were together mix'd,
And ready for a Change; was you not left
In a submissive soothing Lover's power,
Ordain'd your Partner in the sovereign Rule
O'er Argos and Mycenæ, but to you
As pliant still as Agamemnon stately?
Clytemnestra
, rising.
Alas! too true! You touch the Source of Woe.
Why did you leave me, barbarous Agamemnon?
Why leave me weeping o'er a murder'd Daughter?
Why helpless leave me to a troubled Mind?
Ah! why yourself betray me to a Lover?
What Arts Egisthus us'd too well I know;
All that can softly steal, or gayly charm,
The Heart of Woman—Hence, dear sad Ideas!
Destroyers hence! And dare you tempt me still,
Perfidious Syrens! in that very moment
When your false Charms have wreckt my Peace for ever?
Oh, Nature! wherefore, Nature, are we form'd
One Contradiction? the continual Sport
Of fighting Powers? Oh! wherefore hast thou sown
Such War within us, such unequal Conflict,
Between slow Reason and impetuous Passion?
Passion resistless hurries us away,
Ere lingering Reason to our Aid can come,
And to upbraid us then it only serves.
Tormentor, cease!
Attendant.
You wrong yourself too much.
Think, Madam, how for Years you baffled Love:
Nor could Egisthus, tho' he touch'd your Heart,
Tho' many a midnight Tear, and secret Sigh,
To me, and me alone, disclos'd the Pangs,
4
With all his Arts, his Love, Submission, Charms,
O'ercome the struggling Purpose of your Soul;
Till Melisander, to a desart Isle,
He banish'd from your Ear.
Clytemnestra.
Ah Melisander!
Given to the Beasts a Prey, or wilder Famine;
Ah perish'd Friend! serene directing Light,
By Agamemnon left to guide my Councils;
Whom every Science every Muse adorn'd,
While the good honest Heart enrich'd them all;
Oh hadst thou still remain'd, then I, this Day,
Had been as glorious as I now am wretched!
There breathes a felt Divinity in Virtue,
In candid unassuming generous Virtue,
Whose very Silence speaks; and which inspires,
Without proud formal Lessons, a Disdain
Of mean injurious Vice. But lost with him,
With Melisander, Reason, Honour, Pride,
Truth, sound Advice, my better Genius fled;
I friendless, flatter'd, importun'd and charm'd
Was left alone with all-seducing Love;
Love to the Future blind, each sober Thought
Each Consequence despising, scorning all,
Save what it's own enchanting Dreams suggest.
What could I do?—Away! Self-flattering Guilt!
I should have thought, when Honour once is sully'd,
Not weeping Mercy's Tears can wash it clean;
And that one Blot on mine diffus'd a Stain
O'er the proud Honour of a wedded King,
And o'er my Children's, my poor blameless Children's!
Whose Cheeks will kindle at their Mother's Name!
I should have thought—Would I could think no more!
To think is Torture!
Attendant.
What avails it, Madam—
5
O Melisander! If the Dead could hear,
I would invoke thy friendly Influence now,
Would wish thee present in this Hour of Trouble.
Perhaps there is in Wisdom, gentle Wisdom,
That knows our Frailties, therefore can forgive,
Some healing Comfort for a guilty Mind,
Some Power to charm it into Peace again,
And bid it smile anew with right Affections.
No! fruitless Wish!—It cannot, cannot be!
Egisthus, who may henceforth give me Laws,
Dread of Discovery, that worst Tyrant, Shame,
And my own conscious blotted Heart forbid it,
Forbid Retreat—
Attendant.
Madam, behold the Man,
Who, then upon the Watch, observ'd the Signal
Of conquer'd Troy, and now attends your Orders
To give a full Account of what he saw.
| Agamemnon | |