University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

PHILODAMUS, ERATO.
Philodamus.
Good morrow, my fair child; how dost thou, Erato?

Erato.
Health to my father. What are his commands?

Philodamus.
I have been rating here your brother, child,
Rather more warmly than my manner is.

Erato.
I'm sorry for the occasion; but I see
Your looks are still serene; your brow unruffled:
Mirth more than anger sparkles in your eye.
I think you scarce have giv'n us opportunity
To learn how you look angry.

Philodamus.
Why no, daughter,
For I regard my children as my friends,
As my acquaintance, my society,
Connected by the tend'rest strings of love.
'Tis their affection, 'tis their confidence
I want, and not a formal, cold obedience.
Dread is the seed from which rebellion springs,
And teaches soon to wish a vacant throne.

Erato.
Your milder government has rather chosen
To copy from those happy states, where one
Is rais'd, for the convenience of the whole,
Rather to represent than exercise
The pow'r supreme.

Philodamus.
I'm glad you think so of me.
Well, since I have not sought to reign by terror,
You'll tell me in what light you see Epicrates.

Erato.
So close an union knits him to Philippus,
I see him almost as another brother.

Philodamus.
And pray, this other brother, as you call him,
Has ought particular e'er pass'd between you?

Erato.
No more than general civility,
Th'attention ever paid our sex by yours,
No other than between him and Euphemia.

Philodamus.
Your sentiments?

Erato.
Are as of an acquaintance
That's always entertaining, oft instructive.

Philodamus.
No more?

Erato.
No more.

Philodamus.
Trust me, I'm glad of it.
For when I found that you receiv'd his visits,
And with a kind of caution that imply'd
We would not have the old man find us out,—

Erato.
Will you but give me leave?

Philodamus.
Not till I've done.—
I did inform me of his character;
And find him, as the general run o'th'time,
Wild in his ways, unmaster'd in his temper,
One who has taken in his teeth the bit,
And run away from rule, one whose glib tongue
Distils a dang'rous and infective softness,
Which on the passive and unguarded mind
Works, like a feather dipp'd in pois'nous ointment,
Pleasing while it destroys.—

Erato.
Do but permit me
To tell you, you're most grossly misinform'd.
Some private enemy hath slander'd him,
If worth like his can find an enemy.
Oh that I knew the wretch! Contempt cleave to him!
Nay, common fame, which, as it rolls along,
Licks up each speck and spot of character,
Impatient to produce them to our eyes,
Speaks him of conduct irreproveable.—

Philodamus.
What, ho! my daughter, whither are you running?
And why so warm for any one acquaintance,
However entertaining or instructive?

Erato.
Alas! you shew me to myself at once.
How could I be so ign'rant of my heart!
I blush at my own folly. Oh! my father,
Teach me my erring steps how to retrace.
Command me, and I never see him more.

Philodamus.
This picture have I drawn of thy Epicrates,
As in a mirrour that inverts the truth,
To punish you for not confiding in me.
Start you, my girl, to hear me call him thine?
Why, what a fire has lightned in thy cheek,
And glimmers o'er thy bosom? Yes, my child,
Epicrates is thine, and in an hour
From hence expect to interchange your vows.

Erato.
I do not only start, I tremble too,
Quite giddy at the unexpected change.
'Tis but this instant that I find I love,
The very same you give away my hand.
I look in wonder round me, like a voyager,
Who, quitting his own country late at evening,
Sleeps o'er the easy passage to another,
And wakes to a new people, and new manners,
Where the whole region wears a diff'rent aspect
From that he left.

Philodamus.
As to thy voyage, child,
Be sure it lands thee on a sunshine coast,
Where not a cloud yet lours. But think of this,
That happiness grows not on earth spontaneous.
It is a plant that calls for delicate rearing.
Trifling neglects may chill its tender growth,
And imperceptibly produce that canker
Shall dim the orient tints impress'd by heaven,
And give its fading lustre for a prey
To the harsh worm unkindness. Think this certain,
A necessary consequence, whenever
Familiarity outruns complacency.

Erato.
Fear not my care. But this too quick transition,
This hurrying so abruptly into marriage,
Ere it is whisper'd in Inquiry's ear,
Robs it of its due air of decency.

Philodamus.
I should distress you, were I to assent
To what your modesty would ask for form.
Do you get ready, while I give my orders
How to prepare the feast; not with great pomp,
Yet dignity, because the legate Verres,
Rav'nous as th'eagle on the Roman ensigns,
Is just arriv'd; and 'twould inform his avarice
Where to seek out for prey, should we unfold
All our magnificence to 's greedy eye.
[Exit Philodamus.