University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Enter Neocles and Aspasia.
Neoc.
My dearest father.

Asp.
O! my much-lov'd lord.

Neoc.
Is it then true, that you will choose a life
Of gratitude to Xerxes?

Asp.
Is it true
That you at length have yielded to compassion
For us and for yourself?

Them.
Be silent both,
And calmly hear me—Know ye well the obedience
A father's will requires?

Neoc.
That law is sacred.

Asp.
A tie that nothing can dissolve.

Them.
'Tis well.
I charge you to conceal what I impart
Till all I have determin'd with myself
Shall be mature.

Neoc.
His promise Neocles
Most firmly plights.

Asp.
To this Aspasia swears.

Them.
Sit then; and give me each a proof of courage
In listening to my words.

[sits.
Neoc.
[aside.]
I freeze with terror!

[sits.
Asp.
[aside.]
Alas! I tremble.

[sits.
Them.
Hear me, O! my children,
'Tis the last time we e'er shall speak together:
Till now I've liv'd with glory; if my life
Be still prolong'd, I lose perhaps the fruit
Of every toil—Themistocles must die.

Asp.
What says my father?

Neoc.
O! what thoughts are these?

Them.
The noble Xerxes is my liberal patron,
My country, Greece: to him my gratitude,
To her I owe my truth.—Each duty now
Opposes each: if either I infringe,
Rebellion or ingratitude must stain
Your father's name: by death I may avoid
The dread alternative.—With me I carry
A potent friendly poison—

Asp.
O! my father,
Have you not given but now your word to Xerxes
To meet him at the altar?

Them.
In his presence
The deed must be completed.

Neoc.
But Sebastes
Affirm'd, that at the altar you would take
A solemn oath—

Them.
I know he so believes:
This suits my purpose well; with such a hope
Xerxes prepares to hear me.—I would wish
All Persia to behold the glorious deed;
Would call, to every thought my breast conceals,
To all I feel for Athens and for Xerxes,
As judge and witness, a recording world.

Neoc.
[aside.]
O! wretched, wretched we!

Asp.
Undone Aspasia!

[they weep.
Them.
Ah! children, whence this weakness? Hide from me
Such unavailing grief, nor make me blush
That I'm your father.—You indeed might weep
If e'er Themistocles had fear'd to die.

Asp.
When you are dead, ah! whither shall we fly?

Neoc.
What then remains for us?

Them.
For you remain
The love of virtue, the desire of glory,
The guardian care of Heaven and my example.

Asp.
Alas! my father.

Them.
Hear me: I must leave you,
Alone and orphans, in a foreign land,
Amidst your foes, without the due support
That nature claims; and little yet experienc'd
In all the fickle turns of human life.
And hence (I well foresee) you both must suffer,
And suffer much; but ever bear in mind
You are the children of Themistocles:
Let this suffice; and may your deeds proclaim you
In every trial worthy of the name.
Let the first objects of your thought be honour,
Your country, and that duty which the Gods
Have call'd you to fulfil; and know the mind
In every state can make itself illustrious,
And still employ the choicest gifts of Heaven,
To grace no less the cottage than the throne.
Sink not beneath the weight of adverse fortune:
Evils too great to bear will never last,
And evils we can bear, may be subdued.
Let virtue urge you still to deeds of praise,
And not the recompense.—Abhor the guilt,
And not the punishment; and if your fate
Should e'er impel you to an act unworthy,
One way remains—and learn that way from me.

[rises.
Neoc.
O! do not leave us yet.

[rises.
Asp.
My dearest father!
And shall I never, never see you more?

Them.
[embrace.

[Exit.