University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

Amphares and the Ephori with the Officers, &c. The gate of the prison seen at a distance.
First Ephore.
The hour is past.

Second Ephore.
I fear—

Amphares.
Silence. He comes.
I hear the steps of wary treading feet.

Enter a Spartan, Agis following.
Agis.
This way conducts not to Amycla's gate.
Ha! whither dost thou lead me?

Amphares.
To thy death.
The Ephori of Sparta have condemn'd thee.

Agis.
I am betray'd! What mockery is this
Of sacred justice? Lay aside the robes
And ensigns of authority prophan'd:
The pomp of magistracy suits not treason.

Amphares.
The licence of thy tongue affronts the laws,
Whose awful reverence our office guards.

Agis.
Know ye not this, ye guardians of the laws,
The meanest citizen of Lacedæmon
Without free trial cannot be condemn'd;
Much less your king. What law have I transgress'd?
Point out my crime; produce my bold accusers.

Amphares.
Thy crime is tyranny.

Agis.
Is that my crime?
Had Agis been a tyrant, thou had'st been
His fawning slave, thou enemy of freedom.

Amphares.
Behold the stubborn spirit of this man:
He breathes his native arrogance, and still
Insults his judges, and avows his crimes.

Agis.
Who made you judges of the life of Agis?
But you have judg'd: yourselves, and earth, and heaven,
Know how unjustly. To the Gods above,
The sure avengers of a murder'd king,
I make my last appeal. Their messenger
Is on the wing; Lysander comes apace;
And Nemesis directs his righteous sword.

Amphares.
Proceeds this boldness from thy trust in him?
Thy great avenger is, like thee, a captive,
And under the same mortal sentence lies.

Agis.
Ye powers above! Lysander too a captive!
Where was he taken?

Amphares.
In the streets of Sparta,
Clad in the servile garment of a Helot.

Agis.
Alas! alas! Lysander! O my friend!
Thy love for me, thy generous, fearless love,
Has wrought thy fall. For me thou cam'st to Sparta,
And, like the parent bird hov'ring too near
Its captive young, thy noble life is lost!—
Forgive these tears, my country! Agis weeps
For thee. Alas! thy brave defender's gone!
O Lacedæmon, thou art fallen for ever!
Thy bad estate shall every day grow worse;
Successive tyrants shall exhaust thy strength,
Till all thy generous youths have bled in vain;
At last the consummation of thy woes
Shall come upon thee; some ambitious foe
Shall stretch the iron arm of conquest forth,
And grasp thee in the circle of his empire.
My native land, the kingdom of my fathers,
Shall be no more a nation! O my country,
How irretrievable is thy condition!
The Macedonian vulture hovers o'er thee,
Soon to descend, and on thy vitals prey.

Amphares.
Thou may'st delay, perhaps avoid, thy death.
Send forth thy mandate to the royal band,
To halt till further orders.

Agis.
Ha! No more
I trust thee, traitor. Would I had ever been
Thus deaf to thee! No, let the royal band
Revenge their gallant leader and their king.

First Ephore.
Thou tempt'st thy fate.

Agis.
I scorn it. Since my hope
Of Sparta's lost, and my beloved friend
Has perish'd in my cause, why should I live?
In any period of my former days
I rather would have chose to die attempting
The glorious design, which you have ruin'd,
Than live the prince of a degenerate people,
The tame spectator of a falling empire.

First Ephore.
To Reason hearken.

Agis.
Reason bids me die,
As I have liv'd, unalter'd in my love
To Sparta, and unconquer'd in my purpose.
You mean to take advantage of my state,
Without spectator, counsellor, or friend:
You think I dread the stern approach of death,
Because the blooming season of my life
Still promises a long extent of years:
But my forefathers blood is in my veins,
The blood of heroes, and of Spartan kings,
Less only than the Gods. I dare your worst.
And with my dying breath acquit my people.
The people rose; they hearken'd to the voice
Of Liberty, and blest the name of Agis.
But you, the nobles, an inglorious race,
Base as the dastard and unarmed Helots,
With foreign arms and mercenary aid,
Bore down the people, and opprest your prince,
Whom death delivers. Agis shall not see
The last convulsions of expiring Freedom.
For in the first he dies.

Amphares.
We'll hear no more
Of these invectives. Bear him to the place
Of execution. Officers, advance
And do your duty.

Officers.
This is not our duty.

Amphares.
What!

Officers.
Murder of a king is not our duty.

Amphares.
Mutinous slaves! for you I'll find a time.
Sir.

[To Agis.]
Agis.
Touch me not, for uncompell'd I go
To meet my destiny. Weep not for me,
[To an officer.
O! thou whose nature suits not thy employment,
Weep not for me! I would not change conditions
With these bad men. I shall not feel the woes
That thou and all must feel, the woes of Sparta!
O! might my death avail my much-lov'd country,
I'd die as joyful then, as fearless now.

[Exit Agis guarded.
Amphares.
Atone your insolence by prompt obedience,
Or death's your portion.

[To an Officer.
[Exeunt with Agis.
Manet Amphares, &c.
Amphares.
Magistrates of Sparta!
This painful work of necessary justice
Will quickly end the troubles of the state.
Leonidas, who owes his crown to you,
Your faithful zeal and service will reward.

[Exeunt Ephori.
Manet Amphares and the Spartan who entered with Agis.
Amphares.
Haste to the Thracian captain, and require him
To send his prisoner Lysander hither.
[Exit Spartan.
Agis remov'd, and turbulent Lysander,
Like snow along the shore, their army melts.

Enter Messenger from the dungeon.
Messenger.
The executioners refuse their office:
Sacred they hold the person of a king,
A Spartan king descended from the Gods.

Amphares.
Again those fables of the villain priests
Rise up to thwart me. Now, my trusty servant,
Approve thy faith, and win my lasting favour.
Each instant of delay is big with peril
Whilst Agis lives. Let thy good sword fulfil
The sentence of the law, and thy own tongue
Shall name the recompense.

Messenger.
Shall it, my lord?
I am your instrument, and bind myself
By this bold deed still faster to your fortunes.

[Exit.
Amphares.
Ye sons of bold ambition, learn of me:
Trust not the survey of another's eye:
Your dangerous voyage needs a pilot's care
Who never quits the helm.

Enter Spartan.
Spartan.
We are betray'd.
Lysander—

Amphares.
What of him? Speak—faulter not.

Spartan.
Is fled.

Amphares.
Whither! With whom?—Eternal Gods!

Spartan.
The guards have set him free, the open gates
I saw, and ent'ring search'd the empty tower.

Amphares.
That traitor Euxus!—Now let me resolve
And quickly too.

Spartan.
The people are alarm'd,
And gather to their tribes.

Amphares.
Curst be their tribes.
The deed is done already. Yet I have
One pledge of value.

Spartan.
Agesistrata.—

Amphares.
This hour she dies. I've sent a trusty slave
To end her woes. But the Athenian maid,
Her I'll bear off in spite of frowning fortune.
Go to the turret, and conduct her hither.
[Exit Spartan.
Manet Amphares.
Malignant powers! or blind unerring Fate,
This is your work: now you assert your empire.

Enter Messenger.
My lord, the troops of Euxus have revolted.
Rhinalces visited this night each post,
And near Amycla's gate some Thracians met,
Whose leader, question'd, answer'd with his sword.

Amphares.
By heaven and earth, Lysander!—Ha! proceed.

Messenger.
The sudden onset, and the cloud of night
The traitors favour'd; some escap'd our swords,
But many more in the sharp combat fell.

Amphares.
Did their fierce leader fall?

Messenger.
Above the rest
Conspicuous he fought; at him each sword
Was pointed. If he fell not on the spot,
Sure he received wounds that must fatal prove.

Amphares.
Confirm me that, and I will mock at fate.
Command my troops, that in the Forum watch,
To join Rhinalces. I myself will follow.
[Exit Messenger.
Enter Euanthe.
How beautiful she is! Should he survive,
Those charms divine he never shall enjoy.

Euanthe.
Why hast thou call'd me hither to afflict
And torture me with spectacles of woe?
The Gate of the Prison opens, and Amphares's Slave advances.
Eternal powers! Why yawn yon dreadful gates?
And from what horrid deed stalks yonder villain?

Messenger.
Thy orders are obey'd. He lives no more.

Euanthe.
Barbarian monster! hast thou kill'd Lysander?—
But I will not reproach thee, nor complain
To the regardless Gods. My doom is past;
There is one only refuge for Euanthe.
Once more I follow where Lysander leads,
Where murder and Amphares cannot come,
To part us more.

She runs towards th dungeon, Amphares seizes her.
Amphares.
Some other season choose.
There is no leisure now for lamentation.
Forthwith conduct her to th'Arcadian gate:
There with the horsemen wait.

Enter Messenger.
Messenger.
My Lord, my Lord,
The royal band by Thracian Euxus led—

(Shout.)
Amphares.
My enemy prevails.—This way with me.
My steps pursue, or by the Gods of Hell!—

Euanthe.
I will not leave this place. Draw forth thy sword,
And try if death can terrify despair.

Amphares.
Drag her along. (Shout.)

Again!—the foe draws near.

(Shout from the other side, Agis and Liberty.)
Amphares.
I am encompast; yet I'll mar their triumph.

Runs at Euanthe with his sword.
Enter Lysander followed by Rhesus.
Infernal dog, turn and behold Lysander.
Fly, Rhesus, to the king. Traitor accurst!
Exit Rhesus.
Down, down, to Tartarus; there, villain, howl.

[Amphares falls.
Euanthe.
Amazing powers! alive! victorious! Oh!

Lysander.
And have I come to save thee, O Euanthe!
But oh! I fear, I come too late for Agis.
The dungeon-mouth is open.
Enter Rhesus.
Tell me, Rhesus.

Rhesus.
The king is murder'd, in yon vault he lies.

Lysander.
My prince! my friend! thy goodness, and thy virtue,
Thy clemency, thy mildness, have undone thee!
Fatal to nations is the dread example!
Hence monarchs, who with iron sceptre rule,
Will justify their treatment of mankind;
And virtuous princes, born in evil times,
Will hesitate to stem corruption's tide,
Lest they should be like Agis overwhelm'd.

Amphares.
He who preferr'd Lysander to Amphares,
Has paid me with his life. My dying hand
Hath sow'd the seeds of discord and distraction.
Peace ne'er shall dwell in Sparta. Plagues on plagues
Shall rise to curse you, as—

(Dies.)
Lysander.
Thy soul is curst.
There the fell spirit of Amphares fled
In imprecations. Prophet of disasters,
Upon the dismal banks of Acheron,
Amidst the wailing ghosts, still curse thy country,
And end a speech the damn'd will hate to hear.—
Behold the mother of our murder'd king.

Enter Agesistrata and Euxus.
Agesistrata.
Alas! I need not ask the fate of Agis:
Your looks, your silence say, I have no son!
Yet speak to me, for I can hear the worst,
I have been long familiar with affliction;
I am the widow of the sire of Agis.

Lysander.
There lies the bloody author of his death
Slain by my hand.

Agesistrata.
Alas! alas! my son!
Oft has my anxious mind this hour foreseen,
And warn'd thee oft. But thou the danger scorn'd,
When Sparta's glory was the price of peril.
O! son of Jove, great author of our race,
Sustain my soul. For he who was my stay,
My comfort, and my strength, is now no more.
Yet in the path his generous spirit chose,
He fell; and conscious virtue crown'd his fall.

Lysander.
So fell not false Amphares.

Euxus.
And Sandane.

Lysander.
Sandane dead!

Euxus.
And dreadful was her death.
She fled, for refuge from the people's rage,
To the same turret where Amphares' troops
Guarded the queen, whose mantle on the ground
She spied, and wrapt it round her wretched head;
When suddenly a stern assassin came,
And stabb'd her, as that queen whose robe she wore.
Arriving then, I heard her shriek for help,
Implore her country's Gods, with bitter cries,
And, in her agony divulge her crimes.
It was no wonder that she fear'd to die.

Agesistrata.
O guilt! thou'rt worst of all; he knew thee not,
For whom I mourn. Untimely was his fate;
Yet full of high and pleasing thoughts he fell.
Great-hearted Virtue, in its swelling hour,
Scarce feels the blow that strikes at brittle life.
The painful part is mine, in grief to live.
Would I had dy'd for thee, my son! my son!

Euanthe.
Euanthe's tears shall ever flow with yours,
For her protector and her gentle friend.
Mysterious are the counsels of the Gods;
Together Agis and Amphares fall.

Lysander.
The son of Agis lives, his infant years
Require a mother's care. Without delay
Proclaim the son of Agis king of Sparta.
To him, the offspring of my prince ador'd,
Descend the love and faith I bore to Agis.
Ye generous Thracians, who this day have shewn
The matchless worth and honour of your minds,
Henceforth be Spartans. And, ye Spartan youths
Whom Agis lov'd, and for whose rights he died,
Display the spirit of your dear-bought freedom;
With grateful valour guard the hero's son,
And prove that Agis perish'd not in vain.

Agesistrata.
Conduct me, Spartans, to his dear remains.

Lysander.
Forbear awhile yon dismal vault.— Enter Messenger.


Messenger.
My Lord,
The people, headed by the priests of Jove
And Hercules, in long procession come,
Bearing the body of their royal lord,
From that base dungeon to the sculptur'd tomb
Which guards the sacred dust of Sparta's kings.

Enter the Procession with the Body of Agis.
Lysander.
O Destiny supreme!

Euanthe.
O sad remains
Of youth and majesty!

Agesistrata.
My son! my son!
Nature is thwarted here; thou shouldst have borne
Thy aged parent to the silent tomb.

CHORUS.
Mourn, ye sons of Sparta, mourn,
Pour the sad lamenting strain.
Wretched people! Land forlorn!
Mourn the best of princes slain.

Priest of Jupiter.
He fell not as the warrior falls,
Whose breast defends his native walls.
To treason Agis bow'd his head,
And by his guilty subjects bled:
Betray'd by those his mercy spar'd;
Ingratitude was his reward.

CHORUS.
Shame is mix'd with Sparta's woe,
Blood of kings the city stains.
Ever let our sorrows flow,
Shame indelible remains.

Priest of Jupiter.
Yet Agis triumph'd in his fall;
For Virtue triumphs over all:
Great, superior to his fate,
He only griev'd for Sparta's state.
When Jove decrees a nation's doom,
He calls their heroes to the tomb.
Fearless they fall, immortal rise,
And claim the freedom of the skies.

CHORUS.
Agis triumph'd in his fall,
Virtue triumphs over all!
Such a king shall ne'er return:
Our country and ourselves we mourn.

Priest of Hercules.
Agis fell, by fraud o'ercome;
A like was great Alcides' doom.
Yet then most worthy of his sire,
The son of Jove, when wrapt in fire,
Victorious crown'd his labours past:
His noblest labour was the last.

Chorus of all:
Now in peace our hero lies,
Ceas'd his toil, his race is run;
Freedom is the glorious prize
Agis for his people won.