University of Virginia Library

ERIPHILUS
, POLYXENA.
Say, thou beauteous virgin.
If to the presence of the queen of Troy
Thy guidance can conduct my friendly step:
I bring her welcome tidings.

POLYXENA.
Stranger, no.
She shuns each human eye.

ERIPHILUS.
If thou art Polyxena,
As something in my soul doth more than whisper)
O royal maid, permit an unknown youth
One moment's converse. Never till this hour,
Did his heart melt with such soft sympathy.

POLYXENA.
Brief be thy speech, young stranger.

ERIPHILUS.
Hapless princess!
Of sire, of kingdom, liberty bereft!
With scarce a friend to save thee from the scoffs
Of cruel conqu'rors—

POLYXENA.
True, I have no friend.
My sire, my brethren all, have left the sun!
But why shou'd my distress wake in thy breast
These sighs of pity?—hadst thou known the queen—

ERIPHILUS.
I know the iron hand of destiny
Lies heavy on the queen. But wou'd fain hope
My tidings might relume her lamp of life,
Had grief its flame extinguish'd.

POLYXENA.
Vain attempt!
—But say, whence com'st thou, youth, and what thy errand?

ERIPHILUS.
From blest Pæonia's king, sweet maid, I come.
Bear, says Pyrechmes, to the queen of Troy,
And to her peerless daughter, our best greetings.
Inform them that the rugged blasts of fortune
Have firmer in my soul that friendship rooted,
Their virtues planted there. And if the calm
That lulls my court, can blunt the edge of grief,
Tell them my kingdom opens all its gates
To give them entrance.

POLYXENA.
He's a friend indeed!

ERIPHILUS.
Unworthy he to bear the name of king!
Unworthy ev'n to bear the name of man,
Who shares not such distress!—To stop the ears
Of pity to the cries of common misery,
Were a disgrace to nature: but when fate
Frowns on an aged queen—a beauteous princess—
I meant not to offend. Believe me, fair one,
This tongue ne'er learn'd to gloze in flatt'ry's school.

POLYXENA.
I do believe thee. Flattery may fawn,
Lackey the heels of fortune's golden minions,
And kiss the stool of majesty—but, oh!
Can Hecuba, can I, her child, be flatter'd!

ERIPHILUS.
Hear my soul speak!—dear as my own, I hold
Your welfares: nearest to my heart they lie,
Mixt with my own: and, stranger as I seem,
I for your precious lives wou'd pour my blood.
—Thou wonder'st at my words! and my fond heart
Is all on fire to tell thee—but an oath,
A solemn oath, in silence locks my lips,
Till we quit Chersonesus. Quickly therefore
Lead to the queen.

POLYXENA.
Oh! still, I fear, I fear,
Th'attempt were vain! Believe me, gentle youth,
No pow'r on earth can aid her: and in heav'n
No pow'r will aid her! an inhuman wretch
Has murder'd every hope.

ERIPHILUS.
And has no hand
Planted a poniard in the villain's heart?

POLYXENA.
No, he still walks the earth; drinks the pure breath
Of morn; and on his breast the sun of heaven
Darts a warm ray of gladness, as it shone
For him alone—

ERIPHILUS.
Oh name th'inhuman foe—

POLYXENA.
Alas! the fellest rancour of a foe
Patience might bear—but when the open heart,
Unarm'd with caution's or suspicion's shield,
Receives a stab from friendship—nay, from duty—
From filial duty—for oh earth and heav'n!
The villain Polymestor was her son—
Her daughter's husband—

ERIPHILIS.
What, the Thracian king,
Who wedded her Ilione?

POLYXENA.
To him,
Guarded by good Eumelus, at the time
When Troy was first besieg'd, she sent her son,
Her infant Polydore; and with him sent
Treasures of such vast value, as might raise
Another kingdom, shou'd Troy yield to fate.
Tempted by these, the barbarous monster murder'd
His innocent brother.—Oh had you beheld
The queen's dread transports when she first receiv'd
The fatal tidings—

ERIPHILUS.
Fluttering heart be still!

POLYXENA.
Prone on the earth she fell with one deep groan,
Deep as if life went in it. Then, as struck
By some quick impulse, stedfast gaz'd on heav'n
In speechless agony: her bosom heav'd,
She grasp'd her hands, and bursting into tears,
Fell tranc'd into my arms!

ERIPHILUS.
My struggling soul
Will bear no more—thy Polydore, sweet maid—
Hah! whither would my frenzy?

POLYXENA.
What of him?
What of my Polydore? thy words; thy actions;
Thy looks; I've mark'd a mystery in all!
Oh answer me, good youth! say, didst thou know
My Polydore? thou tremblest; thy mild nature
Melts at the mention of that tragic tale.
Alas who knows, but thy fast-flowing eyes
Did see the ruthless dagger rend his breast,
And let out his sweet life! while vainly thou
Didst wish for vengeance on the bloody villain!

ERIPHILUS.
Vengeance shall overtake him. Else were I
As very a slave, sweet maid, as he a villain.

POLYXENA.
Good youth!—and wilt thou purge the groaning earth
Of such a wretch?—

ERIPHILUS.
Else shou'd I blush to live!

POLYXENA.
Then hie thee to the queen. For the blest hope
Of such revenge may rouze her sorrowing soul
To listen to thy suit.—Ah go, and prosper!

ERIPHILUS.
Lead on, lead on.—Now bloody Polymestor,
Tremble I—thy fate approaches—

POLYXENA.
May the spirit
Of my dead Hector march with thee along,
Thrice noble youth! bear a broad shield before thee!
And edge thy mortal sword!—Now to the tent.
For haply ere this time the dewy finger
Of morn has beckon'd from the queen's sad couch
The friendly sleep that crept upon her woe.
And lo she comes;—perhaps 'twere best retire
For a short space. Anon thou may'st return.
Why dost thou tremble? why thus gaze upon her?
Haste, screen thyself behind yon spreading beech.

[Exit Eriphilus.