University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

JOCASTA, PHILOCTETES.
PHILOCTETES.
Do not avoid me; tremble not, Jocasta;
With confidence behold me; hear, and answer.
Think not that I am come with jealous grief
Rudely to interrupt the new delights
Of thy auspicious marriage. Low reproaches,
And abject sighs, unworthy of us both,
From me expect not. Far from us be driven
The vulgar converse, by soft languor taught
To ordinary lovers. No—A heart
Still with thy image warm'd; nay more, a heart
(If yet thy memory owns the broken ties)
For which thine felt some tenderness, hath learn'd
By thy example not to shew its weakness.

JOCASTA.
Thus souls like ours should think. I ought to lead
The glorious way, or follow thee, my guide.
Yet tho' my heart its dearest wish hath lost,
Union with thee, it well becomes Jocasta,
And much imports, to vindicate her conduct.
My love was thine; but some o'er-ruling power,
Spite of myself, hath always sway'd my fate.
The furious Sphinx, the gods' avenging wrath,
Events well-known, no doubt have reach'd thy ear.
Thou know'st what plagues have burst like lightning on us;
That OEdipus—

PHILOCTETES.
I know he is thy husband;
I know him worthy of that envied lot.
And in defiance of his youth, the realm
Of Thebes, which by his wisdom was preserved,
His deeds heroic, and his many virtues,
But above all, thy choice, have lifted high
This happy prince in the exalted rank
Of most illustrious kings. Ah! why did Fate,
Constant in injuries, to foreign lands
My inconsiderate valour urge away?
If 'twas decreed, the conqueror of the Sphinx
Should vanquish thee, why was I doom'd to wander,
And seek to perish at a distance from thee?
I should not with vain toil have strove to pierce
The subtle trifles, and the mystic sense,
Disguised beneath a cloud of words obscure;
This arm, with double vigour nerv'd by thee,
Inured the sword of victory to wield,
Had cast the monster's head before thy feet.
But now Jocasta is another's conquest;
This bright excess of glory is another's.

JOCASTA.
Thou know'st not yet the scope of thy misfortunes.

PHILOCTETES.
Thee and Alcides lost, what need I fear?

JOCASTA.
Thou tread'st a soil which some revengeful god
Abhorrent views. Contagion all-inflamed
With progress dire announces his fell wrath.
The blood of Laius on our heads descends.
Its fury roused, celestial justice thus
Pursues our steps, thus punishes our guilt,
For the neglected ashes of the king.
To immolate th'assassin on our altars
We are commanded. He hath long been sought.
And now thy name is echoed by the people.
Thou art accused.

PHILOCTETES.
I'm lost in silent wonder.
The very thought of such a crime, binds up
My valour in amaze, and chains my tongue.
Me of this deed of horror!—Me of murther!—
And of thy husband!—Thou canst ne'er believe it.

JOCASTA.