University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Enter Jocasta, Olympa, and Alcander.
JOCASTA.
Sure, my Olympa, Heaven's afflicting Hand
Will ne'er withdraw its Rage; these Eyes are doom'd
The constant Outlets of a Sea of Sorrow.
If by kind Chance one Moment of Repose
Relieves my tortur'd Thoughts, reviv'd Distress
Returns as constant as revolving Light;
Sleep only shuts my Eyes to rack my Soul
With new Ideas of Eternal Woe.
But let 'em be for ever, ever clos'd,
Rather than wink at such enormous Crimes!
But are they yet engag'd?—

Alcan.
From off the Tower,
I saw 'em in a dire Battalia rang'd;
I saw the martial Steel advanc'd in Air,
I saw it dart around its glittering Horror.
The bold Eteocles, with Sword in Hand,
March'd in the Van, and breathing Death and Blood,
Shew'd his victorious Troops the Path for Slaughter.

Joc.
'Tis as I fear'd, Olympa; let me haste
And stop this Scene of Fratricide. Ye Gods,
Will these relentless Brothers never end
Their impious Combat? Do I call 'em Sons,
Yet have not Power t'arrest their guilty Swords,
And awe them into Amity? I will
Or soon disjoin, or perish by their Rage.
Why dost thou lend thy Beams, O God of Day,
To shine on Murther, and assist their Crimes?
And can'st thou see what we are forc'd to see
Unpitying, unalarm'd? Alas, alas,
These things are Prodigies no more; the Blood of Laius
Has made 'em common, and diminish'd Wonder.
Unshock'd thou may'st indeed survey these Scenes
Of filial Crimes, they but succeed in course
To their detested Parents monstrous Guilt.
Did they not spring from an incestuous Bed?
To cease these Contests, and be virtuous Men,
They must degenerate, and belye their Race.
Enter Antigona.
Alas, my Daughter, are you come to share
The dreadful News?

Ant.
Already have I heard
The fierce Alarms, and tremble for th' Event.

Joc.
Then let us go, my dear Antigona,
Let's go and stop the now descending Swords:
Let's go and try with all the Eloquence
Of Eyes, Laments, and Tears, if they'll withstand
The warm Entreaties of their kneeling Kindred:
If in their Height of Villany they'll take
The Blood of those who plead to save their own.

Ant.
Madam, 'tis now the Time, behold the King.

Enter Eteocles and Creon.
Joc.
Help me, Olympa, swelling Grief o'erwhelms me.

Eteoc.
Whence, Madam, do these Agonies proceed?

Joc.
My Son, my Son, what spotted o'er with Blood!
Your Brother's! Ah! Or is it not your own?

Eteoc.
No, Madam, neither's.
As yet I have not met with Polynices:
For Skirmishes, the Shadows of a War,
Have only pass'd between us. The Argives
Sent from their Camp a large Detachment forth,
Whose Orders were to lie before our Walls,
Close us within, or else dispute our Passage.
I level'd 'em all prostrate on the Dust,
And made 'em bite the Ground, and fretting die.
Theirs is the Blood that caus'd your Fears for me.

Joc.
But whence is your Design to head your Army?
What's this new Motion that so much alarms me?

Eteoc.
Madam, 'tis time to rouze the Lion now,
To draw the Sword in earnest, and in Blood
To plead my Cause, till Fate resolves to fix
This much-disputed Crown upon my Head,
And bids me reign unrival'd and alone;
And now 'tis Glory lost to tarry here:
I've been too tame to screen my self with Walls;
I'm all on fire, and burn to meet my Foe,
Keen for the Field, and resolute for Blood.
Yes, Polynices shall repent his Taunt,
When to my Theban Troops, with haughty Scorn,
He loudly ridicul'd this lurking Fight;
Told 'em I gave to Slaughter those that crown'd me,
The People, whom the Dread of Famine seiz'd,
By Whispers of my Cowardice, betray'd,
They credited too well the vile Reproach.
They saw, with Curses and regretting Hearts,
The Royal Dignity bestow'd on one
Unable to support the tott'ring Weight.
This day my Sword shall undeceive the Thebans,
This hostile Brother, with his fierce Allies,
Shall, or draw off from our insulted Walls,
Or dye them with his Blood the next Assault.

Joc.
Heav'ns, Heav'ns forbid so dire a Victory!
Thebes would not see such execrable Conquests.
Think not, O think not she will owe her Safety
To Methods so abhor'd, continu'd War
Would be less dreadful to her Sons than Peace
Bought by the Guilt of such detested Terms.
And has a Crown such Charms that you would stab
The Heart of Nature to attain it, wade
To dear-bought Empire thro' a Sea of Blood?
A Brother's Blood too? If 'tis Honour spurs you
To give your Country the expected Peace,
'Tis in your Breast t'approve yourself her Patron;
Be great without th' Assistance of a Crime:
Content your Brother, and securely reign.

Eteoc.
What call you reigning? to forgo my Crown,
And to present my Rival with a Throne,
Which People, Blood and Fate assign'd my Lot?

Joc.
You know, my Son, that Blood and Justice both
Have shar'd the Crown to him as well as you.
For wretched Oedipus, in Life's last Scene,
Ordain'd, that each alternately should wield
The Scepter for a Year: Both were his Heirs,
And since he had but one Estate to leave you,
He order'd that you both should thus be Kings.
To these Conditions each of you subscrib'd;
Your Lot was first to mount the Throne: you did:
Without Regret he waited till your Year
Of Empire was expir'd: and will you now
With-hold th' allotted Scepter from his Hand?

Eteoc.
No, Madam, no, his Thoughts of Crowns and Empire
Are but Chimæras, golden Vapours, born
Of sickly Dreams, or issu'd from the Moon,
That plays upon the Brain, and figures Diadems.
Thebes is resolv'd to shake off his Pretence;
And when th' ambitious Boy first claim'd her Throne,
'Twas Thebes, and not Eteocles that check'd
His Arrogance, and spurn'd the Strippling off.
Has she not Reason for her Caution, Grounds
To dread his future Tyranny when King,
Who, whilst a Subject, is esteem'd her Scourge,
And arms against her Famine and the Sword?

Joc.
Who first provok'd his Vengeance? Yet allow him
But the Succession that he claims by Right,
And he may prove his Country's Blessing.

Eteoc.
Yes,
Thebes must expect vast Blessings from a King,
Who would ascend her Throne by foreign Troops,
Greedy Allies, and mercenary Aid,
Bought by the Mortgage of his future Empire:
Has he not farther ty'd a Gordian Knot
Insoluble as Fate with open Foes?
When Argos' King admitted Theban Blood
To join with his in Hymenæal Rites,
The Prospect that he had, was Thebes in Ashes.
Love! 'Twas not Love kindl'd the Nuptial Torch,
But some Tisiphone that furnish'd Flame
And Sulphur, and attended 'em to Bed.
Thebes, to avoid his Chains, assign'd her Crown
To me, and if I violate my Word,
Impute the Fault to her who forc'd the Breach.

Joc.
Base and ungrateful, proud and impious Heart!
Own, own it rather, 'tis the Diadem
That dazzles and allures your guilty Eyes.
But I mistake, 'tis not the Dignity,
But an Ambition to be greatly wicked,
That makes you thus inexorable: see,
Since you delight in heaping Crime on Crime,
A double Parricide is offer'd you;
Glut, glut your Malice in your Brother's Blood,
And if that proves too little for your Thirst,
Compleat the Feast with mine: you then will meet
No Obstacle, no Rival to the Throne;
You'll shine alone inimitably black,
And stand the foremost in th' infernal Annals.

Eteoc.
Well then, your Counsel is, I must, to prove
My Country's Patriot, be my Brother's Slave.

Joc.
O Heavens! How much you wrong my just Design!
I ask not that you abdicate the Throne;
No, no, maintain it with eternal Honour
To Thebes, and to yourself: But if you bear
The least Compassion for a Mother's Woes,
Vouchsafe my Tears this Boon, and deign t' admit
Your Brother Partner in th' Imperial Sway.
If Fame be all your Search, you purchase here
Substantial Glory, and unmatch'd Renown.
This noble Condescension in the Eye
Of wondring Nations, leaves the lessen'd Crown
No Lustre to adorn your Partner's Head.
Th' applauding People will forget the Gods,
To pay their Thanks to you; your Brother then
Thus vanquish'd, thus oblig'd, with equal Envy
Will view your Virtues as your Empire now.

Enter Attalus.
Eteoc.
Soldier, I read Confusion in your Looks.

Att.
Your Majesty's Departure sets the Town
In th' utmost Anguish; Thebes is drown'd in Tears.
Despair and Horror rage thro' every Quarter:
The Troops and Citizens that guard the Ramparts
Stand motionless as Statues at the News.

Eteoc.
I'll go and hush th' imaginary Feud,
And calm their Fears. Now, Madam, to the Army:
Yet in Obedience to your Will, I grant
That Polynices come with Safety to you.
The Queen supplies my Absence in Command:
Creon, let Artaban attend my Mother,
And execute her Orders.

[Exit.
Cre.
What, Madam, have your rash Suggestions done?
And would you force a Conqueror to yield?
This Counsel is all Ruin.

Joc.
Creon, no:
This Counsel only can restore to Thebes
The Calm her harrass'd Sons have wish'd so long.

Cre.
What, when ten thousand added Troops recruit
Our smiling Cause; what now, when every God
Seems to present the Laurel to his Brow,
When Conquest courts him, would you have the King
Transfer the proffer'd Blessing to another?

Joc.
Blessing! Oh monstrous Statesman! canst thou count
A Conquest back'd with such a Train of Crimes,
As must attend Eteocles' Success,
A Blessing? Creon, Oh! when Brothers war,
Not to employ a reconciling Arm,
Is to be guilty of the Deaths their Rage
Points at each other's Hearts, and murder both.
You're his best valu'd Friend, and can you worse
Repay that Trust, or can you wrong him more
Than thus fomenting his ambitious Heat,
To grasp at Laurels that will taint his Name,
And sink him into Infamy for ever?

Cre.
Their Rage is too far gone.

Joc.
It may be calm'd.

Cre.
They both would reign.

Joc.
Why then they both shall reign.

Cre.
Impossible! This fatal Legacy
By which these rival Brothers claim the Crown,
Confounds the Nature of all Government.
That Nation that beholds two Partner-Kings
Mount her divided Throne, foresees with Horror
A dreadful Age of Tyranny and Blood;
Like Planets that shoot thwart th' affrighted Sky,
And fiercely mingle their contending Beams,
They shake that Empire that they war to sway.
The annual Reign which this Prescription bounds,
Augments the Violence 'twas made to check.

Joc.
They'll rather strive by emulous Designs
To win their Subjects to a willing Yoke.
O Creon, think your Projects vanish all,
Vanish they will; this Peace your Malice thwarts,
If it succeeds, will shew you as you are,
And fix you deeper in the People's Hate.
My Sons with just Resentment will perceive
Who widen'd their Divisions, see those Arts
Those crooked Counsels that have kept their Swords
So long unsheath'd in struggling for a Crown,
Your Politicks have plann'd to make your own.
By that too near Affinity of Blood
Which joins you to my Sons, you see but two,
Two Lives to distance your ambitious Hopes:
And Creon 's Statesman qualify'd enough
To shorten such a Prospect.

Cre.
These unjust,
Causeless Suspicions wound not in the least
A Mind so strong in Innocence as mine.
If you accuse me of Ambition, 'tis
Ambition to preserve my Sovereign's Love:
Ambition to maintain him on that Throne
To which your Fears suggested, I aspir'd:
If this be urg'd against me, as a Crime,
I plead this Instant guilty, and confess
There's not a greater Criminal in Thebes.

Joc.
O perfect Master of Hypocrisy!
The Wreck of Princes, and the Bane of Courts.
Howe'er thy Boastings of dissembl'd Love,
That Veil of rankest Falshood, may abuse
The blinded King, Jocasta wants not Eyes
To trace thro' all the Windings of thy Arts,
And see Betrayer thro' the vile Disguise.

[Exit.
Cre.
Whate'er these Transports of your Mother's Rage
Would urge against my Loyalty, I hope
The fair Antigona bears milder Thoughts.

Ant.
If as a Parent, her loud Grief upbraids
With Justice him that sets her Sons in Arms,
Believe you, Creon, that a Sister's Breast
Should be less anxious for her Brother's Fate?
You are a Father, Father to a Son
As brave as faithful to the weaker Cause
Of Polynices: Will you then foment
A War that keeps his Virtue still your Foe?

Cre.
I ought to make Distinction, I confess,
Betwixt the Son and Foe: He stands against me
Rebellious and undutiful in Arms.
But I have stronger Reasons for my Hate:
Reasons for lasting Hate; and Oh! I wish
That all would hate him equal to his Father.

Ant.
Are you then deaf to all that Nature pleads?

Cre.
The more I ought to love the Son, the more
I hate the Criminal.

Ant.
And should a Father thus
Harbour Resentment that admits no Bounds?

Cre.
And should a Lady be so wondrous good
In interceeding in a Rebel's Cause?

Ant.
His Innocence engag'd me on his side.

Cre.
I know what makes him innocent with you.

Ant.
And I, what renders you as much abhor'd.
Creon, I know the publick Interest shares
But little of your Breast, there is a Fire
Beyond the Patriot's Zeal, that keeps your Son
So distant from your Heart, I know and scorn it;
And 'tis your Prudence to conceal your Flame.

Cre.
I will conceal it, Madam: farther still
My Absence shall oblige this favourite Son
With an Occasion to repay with Thanks
The kind Concerns you shew'd on his Behalf.

[Exit.
Oly.
To what an Height his Insolence arose!

Ant.
His Pride and Insolence retort upon him.
For if the Theban Miseries have reach'd
The Notice of the Stars, the Peace will make
Amends for all, and give us full Revenge.
And Oh, ye Gods, if an unspotted Flame
Meets with regard above, restore, restore
My Life, my Soul, my Phocias to my Love.
Why did I drive him from me, wherefore cause
That Absence I deplore? Alas, alas,
How Custom makes us Tyrants to ourselves!

[Exeunt.