University of Virginia Library

Act II.

Scene I.

TALTHIBIUS, and CHORUS of old Trojans.
Talthibius.
How long in Port the Greeks still wind-bound are!
When War they seek, or for their Homes prepare!

CHORUS.
The Cause declare them and their Fleet detains,
What God it is that their Return restrains.

Talthibius.
Amazement strikes my Soul; a trembling Cold
Palsies my Joynts. Prodigious Truths when told
Are hardly credited; yet these, these Eyes
Were Witnesses: And now the Sun's uprise
New gilt the Mountain tops, and Eastern Light
Had clearly vanquish'd the whole Hoast of Night;
When on a sudden the sore-shaken Ground,
Breath'd from its Centre a strange bellowing Sound:
Woods bow'd their Heads, the sacred Grove with loud
Cracks rung, like Thunder breaking through a Cloud;
Stones from cleft Ida's Quarries fell: Nor shook
The Earth alone; the Sea with Terrour strook,
Th'Approach of her Achilles felt, and laid
Her swelling Waves. Th'Earth yawning then display'd
Her immense Caves, and from the Depths of Night
Open'd a Passage to Ætherial Light:
The Tomb disburd'ning, whence the Ghost arose
Of great Achilles; Such when Thracian Foes
(The Prelude to thy Fates, Troy!) he o'erthrew,
And the white hair'd Neptunian Cycnus slew.
Or when in heat of Fight, with strenuous Force
Through Troops he charg'd, and stopp'd the Rivers Course
With slaughter'd Carcasses, while Xanthus Tide,
Seeking a Passage through, did slowly glide.
Or such when Victor trailing by the Heels
Hector and Troy, born on triumphant Wheels.
Then with this Voice of Anger fills the Coast:
Go, go, ye lingring Greeks, and rob our Ghost
Of its due Honours; weigh ingrateful! weigh
Your Anchors, through our Seas to make your way.
'Twas not with Trifles Greece did satisfie
Achilles Anger, nor a Price less high
Shall she now pay. Polyxena be wed
T'our Ashes; and her Blood let Pyrrhus shed.
This said, he shrouds himself in Night, and sinks
To Hell again: the Earth together shrinks,
Closing her gaping Clefts; the quiet Main
Becalmed lies; the Winds their Rage restrain,
The smooth Seas move with gentle Murmurings,
And Triton thence the Hymeneal sings.

Scene II.

PYRRHUS, AGAMEMNON.
Pyrrhus.
When home you thought to sail, full Fraught with Joy,
Achilles fell; by whose sole Arm fell Troy.
Whose all-o'er-mastering Valour soon repaid
The loss of that Delay which Scyros made,
And Lesbos, that divides th'Ægean Flood;
For Troy's Fall doubtful still, he absent, stood.
Should you now haste to satisfie his Will,
Yet were it tardy Satisfaction still.
Now every Chief his proper Share hath took;
For less Reward can so much Virtue look?
Merits he nothing? Who, when (charg'd to shun
Wars Hazards) his Life's Course he might have run
In peaceful Quiet beyond Nestor's Years;
Yet slighting his Disguise and Mothers Fears,
He himself Man, by assum'd Arms, confest.
When Telephus with barbarous Pride represt
Our Entrance into Mysia, his yet rude
Hand in that Prince's Blood he first imbru'd.
Who felt with what a force the same could wound,
Yet in his Cure, that no less gentle found.
Thebes and Eetion by his Arms pursu'd,
Both fell; his State and he at once subdu'd.
The small Lyrnessus Mountain-seated Tow'rs,
He with like Slaughter level'd by his Pow'rs.
Enobled by fair Briseis Captive made.
He Chryse, cause of kingly Difference, laid
In her own Ruins. Tenedos renown'd
By Fame, and Cilla rich in fertile Ground
To Phœbus sacred, whose fat Pastures fed
Large Thracian Flocks, by him were vanquished.
What? And those Lands through which Caycus flows;
Whose Streams augment by Spring-dissolved Snows.
These so great Slaughters, Nations mighty dread,
Like Whirlwinds through so many Cities spread,
Which might have been anothers closing Fame,
Were but his Marches Actions; thus he came:
And in so many glorious Conquests shar'd
The Spoils of War, while lie for War prepar'd.
Though we his other Merits should refrain;
Were not this One sufficient? Hector slain!
He Ilium conquer'd; 'twas but sack'd by you.
Our Parents noble Praises we'll pursue,
And his brave Acts, for which that Praise is due.
Who knows not Hector, in his Fathers Sight;
In's Unkles, Memnon, fell by him in Fight?
Whose Death his Parents Cheeks with Sorrow pal'd,
And morning's rosie Looks in Mourning veil'd.
Himself abhor'd the fatal Precedent,
And learn'd, that Sons of Gods were not exempt
From Death. Penthesilea too, of all
Our Fears the last, did by his Valour fall.
A Virgin then might but his Due be thought,
Though even from Argos or Mycenæ brought,
Priz'd you his Merits justly: Can you move
A Doubt yet, or refuse his Will t'approve?
Think you 'tis Cruelty to Peleus Son
To offer Priam's Daughter? When your own
A Sacrifice to Helena was made?
For what even Precedent allows, we plead.

Agamemnon.

Pyrrhus.
Shall then Achilles Ghost due Honours want?

Agamemnon.
Dues it shall have, and every Tongue shall chant
His Praise; and Lands unknown resound his Fame,
And celebrate the Glory of his Name.
If yet his Ashes nought but Blood can ease,
Let that of slaughter'd Herds his Ghost appease.
But let not Blood be spilt to be bewail'd,
By wretched Mothers: How ye Gods prevail'd,
Or whence did this inhumane Custom rise,
Of making Man to Man a Sacrifice!
Think but what Hate would to thy Sire accrue,
Should such dire Rites be to his Honour due.

Pyrrhus.
Thou insolently haughty in Success,
As fearfully dejected in Distress!
Tyrant o'er Kings! Does new-sprung Love infest
Yet once again with sudden Flames thy Breast?
Does Agamemnon think that he shall still
Thus wrong Achilles? No; know Pyrrhus will,
Or see this Victim offer'd to his Grave,
Or else a greater, worthier Victim have:
This Sword here thinks it does too long abstain
From Royal Blood, and Priam's Ghost would fain
Have a King's bear it company.

Agamemnon.
'Tis true;
The greatest Praise that is to Pyrrhus due,
Is that he murder'd Priam, whom his Sire
Spar'd when his Suppliant.

Pyrrhus.
'Tis Truth entire;
We know't: that They who were my Father's Foes
Were forc'd to be his Suppliant; you 'mongst those.
But Priam was the stouter of the Two,
He came in Person to petition; You
Not yet so valiant as to supplicate,
Like a tame Coward, chose to delegate
Ajax and Ithacus to make your Prayer,
Whilst you lay sculking, and kept close for fear.

Agamemnon.
But your brave Father fear'd not, 'tis confest,
He 'mongst fir'd Ships, and slaughter'd Greeks could rest
Secure; unmindful of his Charge; and run
Upon his Lute nimble Division.

Pyrrhus.
Yet was great Hector, who your Arms despis'd,
At sound but of his Lute with sear surpriz'd.
And in the midst of Terrour and Dismay
His Navy yet in peaceful Quiet lay.

Agamemnon.
Yes, the same Navy Priam durst to board.

Pyrrhus.
“'Tis kingly to a King Life to afford.

Agamemnon.
Then why a King did you deprive of Breath?

Pyrrhus.
“There's Mercy sometimes shewn in giving Death.

Agamemnon.
So you'd in Mercy sacrifice a Maid?

Pyrrhus.
And such a Sacrifice can you dissuade,
Who offer'd your own Child?

Agamemnon.
“Their Kingdom's Good
“Kings should prefer before their Childrens Blood.

Pyrrhus.
Forbid a Captive's Death no Law e'er did.

Agamemnon.
“What the Law does not, is by Shame forbid.

Pyrrhus.
“What likes, is lawful, by all Victors thought.

Agamemnon.
The more your Licence, to will less you ought.

Pyrrhus.
'Fore these thus vant'st thou, who by Pyrrhus are
Freed from the Bondage of a Ten Years War?

Agamemnon.
Breeds Scyrus such high Blood?

Pyrrhus.
Scyrus which knows
No Brothers Sins.

Agamemnon.
Which strait'ning Seas inclose.

Pyrrhus.
Yes, Seas that owe us a relation;
Indeed Thyestes noble House w' have known,
Great Atreus too.

Agamemnon.
Out thou Girls Bastard Brat,
Got by Achilles, when scarce Man.

Pyrrhus.
By that
Achilles, who to the whole World ally'd
Enjoys the Honours of the Deifi'd,
Who can a Claim to Seas by Thetis move,
To Hell by Æacus, to Heav'n by Jove.

Agamemnon.
Yes, he who fell by Paris feeble Hand.

Pyrrhus.
Whom yet not any of the Gods durst stand
In open fight.

Agamemnon.
Sir, I could rule your Tongue,
And give your Boldness due Correction;
But that this Sword of ours knows how to spare
E'en Captives: Let the Gods Interpreter,
Calchas, be call'd, and what the Fates command
By him, to that we willingly will stand.

[Enter Calchas.
Agamemnon.
Thou Sacred Minister, who loos'dst the Bar
Which stop'd the Grecian Navy, and the War;
Whose Art unlocks the Heavens, expounds their Laws,
And from Beasts Entrails, Thunder, Comets, draws
The sure Presages of ensuing Fate;
Whose Words we purchas'd at so dear a Rate,
Now here declare what 'tis the Gods intend:
And this our Strife, let thy grave Counsel end.

Calchas.
The usual means, Fates of Return afford
The Greeks. To th'Tomb of the Thessalian Lord
The Virgin must be sacrific'd; so drest
As Grecian Brides are at their Nuptial Feast,
And, Pyrrhus, wedded to thy Sire by thee,
With these due Rites shall she espoused be.
Yet is not this our Fleets sole Remora.
More noble Blood than thine, Polyxena,
The Fates require. Great Hector's only Son
From some high Turret must be headlong thrown;
So have the Gods decreed he should be slain.
Then may your conquering Navy plough the Main.

CHORUS.
Is it a Truth? or Fiction blinds
Our fearful Minds?
That when to Earth we Bodies give,
Souls yet do live?
That when the Wife hath clos'd with Cries
The Husband's Eyes,
When the last fatal Day of Light
Hath spoil'd our Sight,
And when to Dust and Ashes turn'd
Our Bones are urn'd;
Souls stand yet in no need at all
Of Funeral.
But that a longer Life with Pain
They still retain?
Or dye we quite? Nor ought we have
Survives the Grave?
When like to Smoak immix'd with Skies,
The Spirit flies.
And Funeral Tapers are apply'd
To th'naked Side.
Whate'er Sol rising does disclose,
Or setting shows;
Whate'er the Sea with flowing Waves
Or ebbing laves;
Old Time, that moves with winged pace,
Doth soon deface.
With the same Swiftness the Signs rowl
Round, round the Pole,
With the same Course Day's Ruler steers
The fleeting Years;
With the same Speed th'oblique-pac'd Moon
Does wheeling run:
We all are hurried to our Fates,
Our Lives last Dates;
And when we reach the Stygian Shore,
Are then no more.
As Smoak, which springs from Fire, is soon
Dispers'd and gone;
Or Clouds which we but now beheld,
By Winds dispel'd;
The Spirit, which informs this Clay,
So fleets away.
Nothing is after Death; and this
Too, Nothing is:
The Gaol, or the extreamest space
Of a swift Race.
The Covetous their Hopes forbear,
The Sad their Fear.
Ask'st thou, whene'er thou com'st to dye,
Where thou shalt lye?
Where lye th'unborn. Away Time rakes us,
Then Chaos takes us.
Death's Individual; like kind
To Body or Mind.
Whate'er of Tænarus they sing,
And Hell's fierce King,
How Cerberus still guards the Port
O'th' Stygian Court,
All are but idle Rumours found,
And empty Sound;
Like the vain Fears of Melancholy
Dreams, and fabulous Folly.