 | Callirrhoë |  |
Scene III.
—The Market Place. Cleitophon, Megillus Acephalus, Machaon, Emathion, citizens.Machaon.
Idle i' the market-place! 'Tis no time for
talk. We must all work. Our wealth in dead cannot
be counted, so fast and faster does Plague's impress give
them currency.
1st Cit.
Ay, but the elders meet. Peace. Peace!
He continues—
Cleitophon.
For all along the way my course was choked
With issue—thick as concourse, when the crowd
Of black'ning corpses. Men cried out to me:
“You who have wisdom, dwelling near the gods,
Learn if neglected hecatomb or rite,
In ignorance polluted, is revenged
By this strange glare of sanguine ulcerous death,
That sudden paints our bodies, burns, and spreads,
And, heating as it travels onward, lights
A raging furnace, till the chilly gust
Of death creep after and put out the flame.
Help us, and we—
2nd Cit.
No oration—no periods!
Acephalus.
Already the corpses drop like birds on
the snows of Scythia.
3rd Cit.
And death feeds the flames as an eagle her
eaglets.
Cleitophon.
Woe to us! 'Tis the forsaken shrine of
Artemis, the withered flowers stretched on the dusty
marble, that hath wrought this evil.
Acephalus.
Fire-brands! Flint, wood, flame! To
the temple of the Barbarian! Burn, kill, ravage!
Megillus.
Now it may just be that the fault is not in
the place of your condemnation, that you're beating the
grass while the snake's yonder. I would say that the
new god may be a god; and then where are we,—aye,
and the fruit too! I'm for the Bromian!
4th Cit.
Evœ! I'll straight home, chaplet my brow
and—
Machaon.
Be your own corpse-adorner. He falls.
him hence.
4th Cit.
Carrion for the flames!
[Exit Mac. with Cit.
Cleitophon.
My words are the streak of light on the
dial-plate of council; they mark the course of the time
most expressly.
[Re-enter Machaon.]
Machaon.
[to Emath.]
You dog me like an avenger.
How now?
Emathion.
Machaon, I am sick.
Machaon.
As the girl turned pale when Hymen on
his marriage-day fell from his house much hurt. Keep
from the north side the town, where the wind blows,
and you'll live to in-urn us.
Emathion.
Oh, it blows ill all quarters.
Megillus.
I've heard it told, by whom I know not, in
an impersonal whisper as it were, that Cephalus' tall
daughter refused the love of the Bacchic priest, knocked
it flat with the hand of her scorn, and 'twas hinted the
city is plagued for this behaviour.
Acephalus.
Then let us give her to his desire! We'll
not die that she may pick lovers.
Cleitophon.
The maid is of my kin, devout and chaste.
I'll not have her infamously espoused. He's a brown
vine-pole.
[Enter Demophile.]
Demophile
[to Emath.].
Nephele prays you come to her.
sorely hurt the little thing in catching it. Come!
Machaon.
Dost hear, Megillus?
Megillus.
Business, business!
[Exit.
Emathion.
Don't touch me; go away!
Machaon.
His light orbs are black, eclipsed with
panic, and he's white as ass's milk. Go, forward, nurse.
[exit Demophile]
Emathion must protect the threatened
honour of his sister. Music!
[Enter Astynous and a band of revellers.]
Astynous.
Hail, friends! Death is a glutton we've
sworn to pamper with a honeyed dish. We cram us
with pleasure to sweeten its gullet. Ivy and ribbons!
'Tis a rare garnish! My bride was snatched from the
marriage chamber, a pleasant morsel! I'll not be behind
her in flavour when I'm swallowed up. Give me a
cymbal! Who'll join us—dance—sing—shout! Strike
up, comrades!
Till we make a feast—not ours!
[Exit with revellers.
1st Cit.
Choicest bullocks, wide-streaming wine, let
us kill and pour before heaven, and call on Artemis for
help.
2nd Cit.
Nay, let us confess the Bromian with groans
and orgies.
Machaon.
My good friends, counsel is hydra-headed,
'tis authority alone hath unity of brain-power. Seek ye
the voice of the godhead that fulfils the oaks of Dodona.
An oracle, an oracle!
2nd Cit.
'Tis wisely spoken; but the way is long.
Pestilence keeps not Time's tardy paces. The city will
be still ere we receive the message.
Cleitophon.
Ye are deaf to my words, so 'twere best
to seek the Holy Oracle.
Emathion
[to Mac.].
Methinks I cannot breathe again
till I get beyond the gate.
Machaon
[pointing to Emath.].
Here is a windy-heeled
messenger—Hermes-shod. Two years ago his
feet swept the way to Dodona; he knows each turn of
the road, each ford, bridge, and bye-path.
Emathion.
I'll go to the very tether of my life to
serve you.
2nd Cit.
Spoken like a patriot.
1st Cit.
'Tis settled, he goes.
Acephalus.
At once. No leave-takings!
Emathion.
Now.
[Re-enter Demophile.]
Demophile
[to Emath.].
You've stayed too long. She's
quite still. But your father lies and asks for you as he
grips at his vitals.
Emathion.
Is it the plague?
Demophile.
I should think it is the plague, if you
were to see his face, hot as the dog-star.
Emathion
[gasping].
No more—go away!
[to Mac.]
Have you anything to smell?
Machaon.
Here's a sweet burnt herb for you.
Emathion.
I can't go to my father. I've promised to
father taught me to love my country.
Demophile.
Very well. You've a milky look for a
patriot. There will nowhere be a father for you when
you return, you'll be an orphan. I'll get some healthy
woman from a clean house to put a little food in a scrip
for you. An' to think he'll be an oprhan!
[Going.
Emathion.
Nurse, say I love him—let him know that
I love him. And say, nurse, that I was bound to my
country. Poor old father, say that his pangs torture me.
Say that you saw me go—now.
[Exit.
All.
Zeus be our helper!
1st Cit.
A noble youth!
2nd Cit.
He slew nature at the foot of his country.
He's the boast of Calydon for beauty.
Machaon.
There's suffusion in the eye of that man's
judgment—though the boy's loveliness captivates. His
golden head is perfect as Cytherea's apple.—What is it,
my good nurse?
Demophile.
Ægle is restless—
Machaon.
What! your dear child that makes such
trim wreaths?
Demophile.
Her lap was full o' white violets that
kept twitching off.
Machaon.
I'll with you.—Disperse, friends. Plague,
like the wolf, loves a flock. Scatter yourselves, and let
confidence rule your pulses.
[Exeunt omnes.
| Callirrhoë | |