 | Timanthes |  |
SCENE, A Garden.
Enter Mathusius and Ismena.
ISMENA.
Yet hear me, sir, nor chide your lov'd Ismena,
If she presume, with unexperienc'd counsel,
To guide a father's thoughts—Alas! I fear
The fond impatience of paternal tenderness
But makes that evil sure, which fortune else
May otherwise dispose.—Has not Demophoon
Dispatch'd some delegates to Delphos' shrine,
Once more to seek a period to the scourge
That hangs each year on our devoted Thrace?
MATHUSIUS.
From thence no comfort springs—This very morn
Arriv'd, they from the sacred tripos brought
This doubtful answer, that the land must groan
Beneath the wrath of heaven, till to himself
Th'offender shall be known, who, guiltless now,
Usurps a prince's right.
ISMENA.
Mysterious all!
MATHUSIUS.
Mean-time destruction with remorseless fury
Hangs o'er my child, the darling of my age!
And shall I then consent—
ISMENA.
Yet recollect
Your wonted fortitude—why should you hope
That, 'midst the weeping maids of Thrace, Ismena
Should stand exempted from the fatal urn?
You plead the king perhaps—
MATHUSIUS.
And just the plea:
Am I, because a subject, less a father?
Apollo wills some virgin, nobly born,
Should stain his altar every year with blood.
Let him recall his daughter, kept at distance
With artful policy—let him expose
Her name in yonder urn, and let him prove
What pangs distract a wretched parent's breast
When his heart trembles, as the priest draws near
The sacred vase, while with a solemn mien
His lips prepare to speak the victim's name.
ISMENA.
Alas! my lord, cast round your eyes, behold
The Thracian court, and mark her proudest nobles
Whose hearts have shudder'd on this awful day
For a child's threaten'd life—'tis true Arsene
The first-born off-spring of his queen Argea,
Resides at distance from Demophoon's palace:
But yet reflect, that, singly to refuse
Ismena's name, will but incense the king:
Let not my danger urge you to expose
Your age to further woe—too much already
He views you with an unpropitious eye.
I dread to think, if now too far provok'd,
What mischief may ensue!
MATHUSIUS.
In vain thou tell'st me
Of wrath or hatred in his breast, while reason
Asserts my cause, and heav'n inspires my thoughts.
Was it for this I taught his arms to conquer,
And bred his son to greatness? Yes, by me
The Scythian foe is vanquish'd; and by me
This eve Timanthes comes in triumph home.
ISMENA.
Timanthes, O! my heart! [aside.]
What says my father,
Is then the prince return'd?
MATHUSIUS.
He is, Ismena,
And comes in happy hour: his generous soul
Disdains not to remember that Mathusius
Taught his young sword to reap in glory's field:
To him I will appeal—he will, with pity,
Behold a parent's sufferings.
ISMENA.
Yet, my father,
Should the brave prince, with sympathizing heart,
Plead vainly with Demophoon, O! forbear
To urge the contest further: hope, the genius
That still has watch'd your years of danger past,
Will guard your age from anguish.
MATHUSIUS.
Cease, Ismena,
To oppose, with fruitless words, my fix'd resolve:
No, if I still must be condemn'd to feel
This anguish of the soul, yon haughty monarch
Shall share with me those fears a father knows,
Nor stand excluded from Mathusius' pangs!
[Exit.
Ismena
alone.
The tempest thickens round! my little back
That, till this hour, has stemm'd life's boisterous wave,
At length, I fear, must sink—Timanthes comes,
He comes with conquest crown'd, but where are now
Ismena's smiles to meet him! Is it thus,
With tears ill-omen'd, with foreboding sighs,
I give him welcome here.
Enter Timanthes.
My life! my lord!
Com'st thou again, preserv'd from danger's field,
To these fond arms!
TIMANTHES.
Yes, 'midst the sterner deeds
Which glory claim'd, thy image, present still,
Sooth'd every toil—And art thou then the same
As when I left thee at the call of honour?
ISMENA.
Canst thou then doubt me! If thy heart, Timanthes,
In the rough shock of war, and clang of arms,
Forgot not softer hours of peace and love,
Think'st thou, Ismena, 'midst these shades, that oft
Have witness'd to our mutual vows, would ever
Cast off remembrance that she once was happy?
TIMANTHES.
Forgive the fondness of o'erflowing love
That wishes still to hear those gentle lips
Breathe their soft vows—How fares my boy Olinthus?
The precious pledge of our connubial joys,
That heaven bestow'd while, distant with thy father,
Four springs renewing since the Thracian grove,
Timanthes march'd against his country's foes?
ISMENA.
Some God, that watches o'er this pledge of love,
Sure crowns his tender age with growing beauty,
Or the fond mother with imagin'd grace
Has deck'd his infancy; his looks already
Assume thy manly sternness; when he smiles,
He's all thyself; and oft as I can steal
A wish'd-for look, I gaze with rapture on him,
And think I view Timanthes, till deceiv'd
With the dear thought, I strain him to my breast,
And in the son embrace the absent father.
TIMANTHES.
What place contains our infant hope! O! lead,
Lead me, Ismena, where these longing eyes
May in his features read a father's likeness,
Or see them blooming with his mother's charms.
ISMENA.
Alas! my lord, awhile suppress these warm
Paternal feelings—some few miles remote,
Sequester'd from the city, on the edge
Of the rude forest, Arcas and Ianthe,
A rustic pair, unconscious of their charge,
Rear his young life—Amidst the observing eyes
That watch a prince's deeds, you must beware,
And but with caution see him—Heav'n allows
To us with scanty hand the parent's joys,
In the soft moments of o'erflowing nature,
To clasp him in our fond endearing arms,
And bless the prattler with the tongue of transport.
TIMANTHES.
By heav'n it shall not be—I'll burst at once
From dark dissimulation's veil—'tis now
The crisis of our fate!
ISMENA.
It is indeed:
To-morrow's sun lights up the solemn day
Of annual sacrifice: Ismena's name
Must stand enroll'd amongst th'elected train
That wait the dreadful chance.
TIMANTHES.
Ismena's name!
ISMENA.
'Tis so decreed,—and think not that I fear
To die for Thrace—no, for her country's sake,
Ismena gladly would embrace her doom.
But Phœbus' words demand a virgin's blood;
Shall I, a wife and mother, dare approach
His sacred altar, an unhallow'd victim?
Thus, if I speak or not, I still am guilty,
My silence heav'n offends, my speech the king.
TIMANTHES.
The king must know the secret of our nuptials:
All, all demands is now—for, O Ismena,
This very hour perhaps Cherinthus brings
A rival to thy love—Cephisa comes;
But now Demophoon urg'd me to receive
The Phrygian princess—but, be witness heav'n!
Not all the cruel policy of courts,
Not the stern mandates of a king and father,
Shall e'er dissolve those tender ties which love
Has form'd, and virtue sanctifies.
ISMENA.
Alas!
What can it all avail! our union publish'd,
Thou know'st the sentence of the law impends
On my devoted head.
TIMANTHES.
A monarch made,
A monarch can revoke the stern decree:
Demophoon, tho' severe, is still a parent,
His kind indulgence shall avert the stroke
That threats Ismena.
ISMENA.
Rather let it come:
Too long, Timanthes, hast thou sacrific'd
Thy glory to Ismena—O! reflect
How ill the name of Thracia's heir agrees
With secret nuptials and clandestine love.
Let me embrace my fate—I die with joy,
Since I, in death, can call Timanthes mine!
TIMANTHES.
O! fortune, wherefore did thy lavish hand
Give my Ismena every charm, yet place
Her virtues in the vale of private life?
But be it so—it rests on me to amend
The partial error—Thrace, some future day,
With joy shall view her partner of my throne.
Farewell, my love, and let this six'd assurance
Dwell in thy mind, and calm thy troubled thoughts:
Timanthes will be ever watchful o'er thee,
And hold thy peace far dearer than his own.
[Exeunt severally.
Enter Mathusius and Ismena.
ISMENA.
Yet hear me, sir, nor chide your lov'd Ismena,
If she presume, with unexperienc'd counsel,
To guide a father's thoughts—Alas! I fear
The fond impatience of paternal tenderness
But makes that evil sure, which fortune else
May otherwise dispose.—Has not Demophoon
Dispatch'd some delegates to Delphos' shrine,
Once more to seek a period to the scourge
That hangs each year on our devoted Thrace?
MATHUSIUS.
From thence no comfort springs—This very morn
Arriv'd, they from the sacred tripos brought
This doubtful answer, that the land must groan
Beneath the wrath of heaven, till to himself
Th'offender shall be known, who, guiltless now,
Usurps a prince's right.
ISMENA.
Mysterious all!
MATHUSIUS.
Mean-time destruction with remorseless fury
Hangs o'er my child, the darling of my age!
And shall I then consent—
ISMENA.
Yet recollect
Your wonted fortitude—why should you hope
That, 'midst the weeping maids of Thrace, Ismena
10
You plead the king perhaps—
MATHUSIUS.
And just the plea:
Am I, because a subject, less a father?
Apollo wills some virgin, nobly born,
Should stain his altar every year with blood.
Let him recall his daughter, kept at distance
With artful policy—let him expose
Her name in yonder urn, and let him prove
What pangs distract a wretched parent's breast
When his heart trembles, as the priest draws near
The sacred vase, while with a solemn mien
His lips prepare to speak the victim's name.
ISMENA.
Alas! my lord, cast round your eyes, behold
The Thracian court, and mark her proudest nobles
Whose hearts have shudder'd on this awful day
For a child's threaten'd life—'tis true Arsene
The first-born off-spring of his queen Argea,
Resides at distance from Demophoon's palace:
But yet reflect, that, singly to refuse
Ismena's name, will but incense the king:
Let not my danger urge you to expose
Your age to further woe—too much already
He views you with an unpropitious eye.
I dread to think, if now too far provok'd,
What mischief may ensue!
MATHUSIUS.
In vain thou tell'st me
Of wrath or hatred in his breast, while reason
Asserts my cause, and heav'n inspires my thoughts.
Was it for this I taught his arms to conquer,
And bred his son to greatness? Yes, by me
11
This eve Timanthes comes in triumph home.
ISMENA.
Timanthes, O! my heart! [aside.]
What says my father,
Is then the prince return'd?
MATHUSIUS.
He is, Ismena,
And comes in happy hour: his generous soul
Disdains not to remember that Mathusius
Taught his young sword to reap in glory's field:
To him I will appeal—he will, with pity,
Behold a parent's sufferings.
ISMENA.
Yet, my father,
Should the brave prince, with sympathizing heart,
Plead vainly with Demophoon, O! forbear
To urge the contest further: hope, the genius
That still has watch'd your years of danger past,
Will guard your age from anguish.
MATHUSIUS.
Cease, Ismena,
To oppose, with fruitless words, my fix'd resolve:
No, if I still must be condemn'd to feel
This anguish of the soul, yon haughty monarch
Shall share with me those fears a father knows,
Nor stand excluded from Mathusius' pangs!
[Exit.
Ismena
alone.
The tempest thickens round! my little back
That, till this hour, has stemm'd life's boisterous wave,
At length, I fear, must sink—Timanthes comes,
He comes with conquest crown'd, but where are now
Ismena's smiles to meet him! Is it thus,
12
I give him welcome here.
Enter Timanthes.
My life! my lord!
Com'st thou again, preserv'd from danger's field,
To these fond arms!
TIMANTHES.
Yes, 'midst the sterner deeds
Which glory claim'd, thy image, present still,
Sooth'd every toil—And art thou then the same
As when I left thee at the call of honour?
ISMENA.
Canst thou then doubt me! If thy heart, Timanthes,
In the rough shock of war, and clang of arms,
Forgot not softer hours of peace and love,
Think'st thou, Ismena, 'midst these shades, that oft
Have witness'd to our mutual vows, would ever
Cast off remembrance that she once was happy?
TIMANTHES.
Forgive the fondness of o'erflowing love
That wishes still to hear those gentle lips
Breathe their soft vows—How fares my boy Olinthus?
The precious pledge of our connubial joys,
That heaven bestow'd while, distant with thy father,
Four springs renewing since the Thracian grove,
Timanthes march'd against his country's foes?
ISMENA.
Some God, that watches o'er this pledge of love,
Sure crowns his tender age with growing beauty,
Or the fond mother with imagin'd grace
Has deck'd his infancy; his looks already
Assume thy manly sternness; when he smiles,
13
A wish'd-for look, I gaze with rapture on him,
And think I view Timanthes, till deceiv'd
With the dear thought, I strain him to my breast,
And in the son embrace the absent father.
TIMANTHES.
What place contains our infant hope! O! lead,
Lead me, Ismena, where these longing eyes
May in his features read a father's likeness,
Or see them blooming with his mother's charms.
ISMENA.
Alas! my lord, awhile suppress these warm
Paternal feelings—some few miles remote,
Sequester'd from the city, on the edge
Of the rude forest, Arcas and Ianthe,
A rustic pair, unconscious of their charge,
Rear his young life—Amidst the observing eyes
That watch a prince's deeds, you must beware,
And but with caution see him—Heav'n allows
To us with scanty hand the parent's joys,
In the soft moments of o'erflowing nature,
To clasp him in our fond endearing arms,
And bless the prattler with the tongue of transport.
TIMANTHES.
By heav'n it shall not be—I'll burst at once
From dark dissimulation's veil—'tis now
The crisis of our fate!
ISMENA.
It is indeed:
To-morrow's sun lights up the solemn day
Of annual sacrifice: Ismena's name
Must stand enroll'd amongst th'elected train
That wait the dreadful chance.
14
Ismena's name!
ISMENA.
'Tis so decreed,—and think not that I fear
To die for Thrace—no, for her country's sake,
Ismena gladly would embrace her doom.
But Phœbus' words demand a virgin's blood;
Shall I, a wife and mother, dare approach
His sacred altar, an unhallow'd victim?
Thus, if I speak or not, I still am guilty,
My silence heav'n offends, my speech the king.
TIMANTHES.
The king must know the secret of our nuptials:
All, all demands is now—for, O Ismena,
This very hour perhaps Cherinthus brings
A rival to thy love—Cephisa comes;
But now Demophoon urg'd me to receive
The Phrygian princess—but, be witness heav'n!
Not all the cruel policy of courts,
Not the stern mandates of a king and father,
Shall e'er dissolve those tender ties which love
Has form'd, and virtue sanctifies.
ISMENA.
Alas!
What can it all avail! our union publish'd,
Thou know'st the sentence of the law impends
On my devoted head.
TIMANTHES.
A monarch made,
A monarch can revoke the stern decree:
Demophoon, tho' severe, is still a parent,
15
That threats Ismena.
ISMENA.
Rather let it come:
Too long, Timanthes, hast thou sacrific'd
Thy glory to Ismena—O! reflect
How ill the name of Thracia's heir agrees
With secret nuptials and clandestine love.
Let me embrace my fate—I die with joy,
Since I, in death, can call Timanthes mine!
TIMANTHES.
O! fortune, wherefore did thy lavish hand
Give my Ismena every charm, yet place
Her virtues in the vale of private life?
But be it so—it rests on me to amend
The partial error—Thrace, some future day,
With joy shall view her partner of my throne.
Farewell, my love, and let this six'd assurance
Dwell in thy mind, and calm thy troubled thoughts:
Timanthes will be ever watchful o'er thee,
And hold thy peace far dearer than his own.
[Exeunt severally.
| Timanthes | |