University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

—A room in the house of Archias.
(Enter Archias, followed by Menon.)
Archias.
Tell Philip I'll be with him in an hour.
I'm wearied, and must rest ere I go forth.
And bring more lights;—and throw some cedar-wood
Upon the fire:—the night is wet and dark.

Menon.
Lights ho! It is, my lord, an awful night!
Did you see aught i' th' street, my lord?

Archias.
No, Menon.
What should I see?

Menon.
Some of our fellows tell
Of ghastly things abroad.

Archias.
What things?

Menon.
My lord—
You'll laugh, or else be angry.

Archias.
Tell thy tale;
Or I'll be angry now.

Menon.
They say, my lord,
That many, long since dead, were seen to-night:
Bodies that wanted heads:—and some with throats
Pinch'd where the cord had strangled them: and some . . .

Archias.
Peace, fool! Thou hast a body, but no head:
Yet no one makes a wonder of thee.—Here—
(Lights and fuel are brought in).
Bring round the couch before the fire. And Menon—
I'll taste the Cretan wine that came to-day
From Bias. Let me have the crystal bowl;
It shows the sparkling best: (aside)
and minds me too
Of Thoön's wife—who thought that price enough
To buy her husband's safety—till she learn'd
To pay in better coin. (Aloud)
Actor is dead.

Menon.
I thought, my lord, his sentence had been changed.

Archias.
It was. His wife and niece both sued to me,
And I had sworn to save him: but too late;
He was found dead in prison—starved to death.
Hath any one been here from Chromius?

Menon.
There's one, my lord, hath waited these four hours.

Archias.
Who is he?

Menon.
'Tis an aged man, my lord;
Grey-headed,—a tall man, but bent with years,
And very feeble. He's done nought but weep.

Archias.
And you've wept, too, for sympathy, no doubt!
Sweet, tender-hearted chick! 'Tis his old father,—
A proper messenger!—Bid him get home.
Say Chromius dies to-morrow, before noon;
Such is the law:—but let his daughter come
Betimes i' th' morning, and I'll talk with her
Touching her father's pardon.—Now get hence,
And let me alone.
[Exit Menon.
Come, little dove,—
I'll ope thy cage, and let thee forth awhile,
To strut and flutter till thy plumes are pluck'd;
And that shall be erelong.
(He unlocks and opens a door.)
Dear Thulia—
Sweet lady,—I would speak with you.—She sleeps;
Or will not answer me.—How the winds shriek!
And Jove is thundering overhead!—What now!

(Menon enters with wine, etc.)
Menon.
My lord, you call'd for wine.

Archias.
Then set it down.
And come no more till I shall summon you.

Menon.
There is a man below, my lord, who asks
To see you instantly.

Archias.
I'll see no man!
This is the plague of office;—night and day,
To be the bell for every fool to ring.
To-morrow let him call.

Menon.
I told him so,
And said you were abroad: at which he laugh'd,
And swore I lied with a right modest face,
For he had seen you enter.

Archias.
What's his name?
Whence is he?—what's his business?

Menon.
He'll say nought,
But that he comes from Athens, and goes back
By day-break.

Archias.
Ha! from Athens? A low man
Is he?—broad-shoulder'd?—beetle-brow'd?

Menon.
The same.
A most ill-favoured man. You will not see him?

Archias.
Yes, Menon. Bring him in. He comes with news
From certain friends, and must be seen to-night.
[Exit Menon.
Now, Androclides—dost thou walk the earth?—
Or glide amid the shades? Oh! what small line
Divides the now, from the hereafter!—Hark!—
His foot is on the stair:—ere I count nine
It will be told me he is dead—or lives:—
Yet 'twixt the healthful breath, and the last sigh,
Perhaps was scantier space.—Well—well—what news?

(Enter a Murderer.)
Murderer.
'Tis done;—look here!—up to the handle red!

(Shewing a dagger.)
Archias.
Ha!—yes—it is so—put it by—

Murderer.
My lord,
You do not fear to look at—

Archias.
Is he dead?

Murderer.
Dead as my dagger's handle.

Archias.
Did he die
At once? or linger from the stroke?

Murderer.
Why, hark—
'Twas in the night I struck him; at his door.
He fell against it, and the noise brought forth
His servants in alarm. I could not stay
To ask them if the job were to my mind,—
But from the stroke—'twas somewhere nigh the heart—
He must have died o' th'instant—aye, my lord,
Before the blade came out.

Archias.
Here—here—thy wages—
There are a thousand drachms:—leave off this trade,
And get a better.—Quit the house at once,
And speak to no one.

Murderer.
It would please me well
To have a better trade; yet this should do,—
Full work'd,—and at such wages. Thanks, my lord—
I will obey your wish. My lord, good-night.
A thousand drachms!

[Exit.
Archias.
Well!—how is't with me now?—I have sought this!
Why should I shake to hear it?—I'm a fool!—
What's in his death that it should scare me more
Than that of scores each day?—Yon murderer,—
Fresh from the deed,—and with the gory steel
Wrapp'd in his bosom,—gave me a ‘good-night’
As calm as the just man who leaves his child,
Bidding it trust in Heaven.—I'll shake off this.
What if I call his wife, and tell it her,—
And so get rid on't?—I will do't—Great Jove!
(He goes towards the door. Loud thunder is heard, and the room is bright with the lightning.)
Why art thou angry? (He looks out.)
All the heaven is fire!
And the winds howl and shriek as they were mad.
I cannot do't to-night: and yet I will;—
For she must hear it; and, the sooner told,
The sooner shall it work to my intents.—
What noise is that?—By heav'ns! 'tis she—she sings—
Oh! God! it is the song her husband loved
Of his first wooing her by the sea-shore,—
And on the way to Corinth.—Not to-night:—
I cannot tell it her to-night!—Yet must:
The ill that we put off doth ever grow,
Like an untended wound, to worse disease.
I would this thing were yet to do.—'Tis done!—
I cannot turn time back,—or I would be
An infant now; and free of this.—Menon—
(Enter Menon.)
The door is barr'd within;—she will not speak.
Let her be told that I have news from Athens,
If she will come to hear it.

Menon.
There have been
Two messengers from Philip,—whom I told
You were retir'd,—but would be with him soon.
And now, my lord, he hath sent Philidas,
With positive command to bring you off.
He feasts to-night, and hath some Georgian nymphs
Just come—and you must see them.

Archias.
I'm not well,
But yet I'll visit him. Where's Philidas?

Menon.
In the gilt chamber.

Archias.
Beg him wait awhile
And I'll attend him.
[Exit Menon.
Philip's in a roar
Of jollity,—and yet to-day he lost
Five talents at the games;—and two old friends
Hath he impeach'd, to make those talents good
Out of their broken fortunes.
And Leontidas,—a strict, sober man,—
That worshippeth the Gods—and keepeth free
From wine, and women, and all sweet excess—
He's in his quiet bed,—his prayers put up—
His conscience easy:—yet his word to-day,
Sent to their death three aged harmless men,
Whom we had wish'd to spare! Why then shall I,
Who have but slain the enemy that stood
'Tween me and Heaven, be thus remorseful?—Hence!
Thou idle idiot Conscience! I will be
Thy fool no longer.—Hark!—she comes!—Good wine,
Give me thy potent spirit,—for my own
Is weaker than an infant's. (He drinks eagerly.)

'Twas not she—
She will not come.—I do not feel this wine,—
My heart is cold, and trembling.—Here is some
Of fiercer ardour,—I will rouse this coward
Or burn him in his hole.—
(He drinks again, long and eagerly.)
Ha!—now I feel it.
Beautiful liquor! how thy nimble spirit
Glances through every vein and nerve!—Brave wine!
Thou'rt the soul's sunshine!—All, but now, was dark,
Dark as the grave!—I could have slunk away,
And hid in charnel-houses.—Now, I'm bold—
Light-hearted,—jovial—fit for Philip's rouse—
What care I if he's murder'd? (Loud thunder.)

Roar away—
Big, blust'ring Jove,—till thou art hoarse—I care not:
(Enter Thulia.)
He said he struck him to the heart—

Thulia.
Who's murder'd?

Archias.
Ha! lady—are you come?—'Tis very kind!—
(Pours out wine.)
Sit now, I pray you.

Thulia.
Sir, you sent for me,
To tell some news from Athens. How's my lord?—

Archias.
Lady—I pledge you. (Drinks.)


Thulia.
For soft pity's sake
Tell me—I beg you,—is my lord in health?
I heard you, as I enter'd, talk of murder—
For God's love, speak!—Why do you look so wild?

(He drinks again.)
Archias.
Who heard me talk of murder?

Thulia.
I, my lord.
You said ‘he struck him to the heart.’

Archias.
'Tis false!
I had no hand in't.—Pour me out some wine,
And we'll be merry.—What's a murder now?—
Why, everybody's murder'd!—Sweet-lipp'd wench!
Thou'lt have a better husband soon than he—
Ha—ha—I pledge thee—

(He raises the bowl to drink. Thulia starts forward, and grasps his arm.)
Thulia.
Monster! hell dog!—speak,
Who has been murder'd?—Say it is not he—

Archias.
Why—who is murder'd now?—Give me some wine.

Thulia.
Beast! thou shalt drink no more till thou hast spoke.
Doth Androclides live?

Archias.
Ha—ha—you jest—
Why—he's been dead this month!—stabb'd to the heart,—
I' th' street—I saw the dagger—
(Thulia starts back, in speechless horror. Archias reels, and throws himself on a couch.)
Give me wine.—
Philip—I will not drink again.—Ha—ha—
Thou'lt tell his wife on't:—'twas at his own door—
Where be the Georgians?—Fill another bowl—
Dost know where he was buried?—Ha—ha—ha—
(To Thulia)
Philip's a changeful wag,—thou shalt be mine—
Aye—aye—that pleases thee.—But listen here.—
There's been a horrid murder somewhere—
[Thulia returns to her chamber.
Menon!
Menon—I say—I will go home.

(Enter Menon.)
Menon.
My lord?

Archias.
I will go home this instant.—Philip's drunk,
And gone to bed—and all his Georgians too—
I will not stay—

Menon.
My lord, you are not well.—
Philip hath not been here,—nor you with him:—
But he expects you. Philidas is come,
And waits to take you.—Shall I put him off—
And say you are not well?

Archias.
Ha!—is it so?—
Then I've been dreaming.—Go—call Philidas,
And I'll to Philip's revel—and we'll roar
[Exit Menon.
Till we fright back that thunder.—Philidas
(Enter Philidas.)
Come—we'll be merry.—Is the litter there?—
I cannot walk in such a burning sun—
Where are we going?—

Philidas.
Why, to Philip's revel.
But, Archias, you've been revelling already.

Archias.
I think so.—Is it common, when we're dead,
To ask our friends to drink with us?

Philidas.
How? how?—

Archias.
Why, Philip's murder'd:—here's been one to tell me.—
And now he bids me sup with him.—Mad wag!

Philidas
(going to the door).
Menon, call your fellows—get your lord
To bed, and let him rest an hour.—My lord,
Philip, o' th' sudden, is unwell,—and begs
You will not come to-night.—

Archias.
Ha—ha!—mad fellow!
He knows they stabb'd him to the heart!—Ha—ha—
Will Androclides ask me too,—I wonder:—
Pah!—I'll not sup with him!—Leave me to sleep.

Philidas
(to Menon).
Get him to bed.

Menon.
He will not now be moved:—
He often slumbers thus.

Philidas.
Then leave him here.
[Exit Menon.
A cobbler had been fined for getting drunk;—
Aye, by a drunken magistrate—I've seen it.
And now for Philip. How he'll stare to hear
That he is stabb'd to th' heart!—Heav'ns!—what a beast!

[Exit.
(Thulia enters, wildly, with a dagger in her hand. She stands over the couch ready to strike.)
Thulia.
Foul murderer!—tyrant!—'tis thy latest sleep!
Thou wilt awake in hell!—
(She attempts to strike,—but starts back in horror.)
Oh! horrible!
Am I not mad?—Is this the gentle breast
That would have wept to see a sparrow die,—
And now with murtherous weapon comes to sink
A soul to endless tortures?—Androclides—
Thou'rt in Elysium—he sent thee there.—
Monster! fiend! miscreant!—But I will not curse;
Nor foul me with his blood—Sweet Heaven! have pity!—
And let me not be mad!—He may repent:—
I'll pray for him and me.

(She throws away the dagger, and kneels down.)