University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

Scene I.

—A room in the house of Leontidas.
(Enter Leontidas; and a Boy carrying lights.)
Leon.
Here,—bear these things into my chamber, boy:
Place them beside the door: then come again.
Art sure 'tis Philidas that gives this feast?
Dost know his house?—or who hath told thee so?

Boy.

Oh yes, my lord; I know the house well. My brother
lives with Philidas; and, several days back, he told me of this

feast being toward:—and, but now, in passing, I saw great
lights there, and heard music and rejoicing.

Leon.
Go now, and come again.
[Exit Boy.
What fopperies
Are these for men on whom a state depends!
How can the brain that every night is steep'd
In wine,—and whipp'd to froth by the smart lash
Of hare-brain'd witlings,—be fit counsellor
Where great state interests plead!—This Philidas
Grows hateful to me,—thrusting his soft pity
Between the traitor, and the threaten'd blow:—
He shall be crush'd erelong.—Turn'd reveller too!
And rich,—'tis said. Whence come his funds? And Philip
Hath lost at play thrice his paternal wealth,—
And yet hath princely means.—So Archias hath:
Yet his rare wines,—his ceaseless revellings—
His Tyrian-vested concubines—his jewels—
His gorgeous tapestries,—his gilded halls—
Great Jove!—why 'tis a monarch's state he keeps!
And still he's rich! Oh! I do much suspect
The iron sword of justice hath glanc'd off—
Touching on golden armour!
(Enter the Boy.)
Take these next:—
Dost know what other guests are there to-night?

Boy.

I have not heard their names, my lord. Some dozen
nobles of the city:—and also some ladies of marvellous beauty,
later in the evening, are expected.

Leon.
Women—didst say? What!—women at the feast?

Boy.
Yes, my lord.

Leon.
Here,—take away the rest. Then get thee gone.
Lie like a watchful cat before his door;—
And, when these women enter, bring me word.
I will reward thee. (Exit Boy.)
What! all decency
Laugh'd in the face!—What would the Spartan say,
To hear of women where the Archons feast?
Oh heavens! 'tis monstrous! Is it fit such men
Should fill with me the awful justice seat?—
What do I need of them?—Let them heed well,
Or I will shake them to the dust!—Great Jove!—
But they shall blush,—for, at their folly's height
I'll stand before them, and rebuke them all.

[Exit.

Scene II.

—A hall in the house of Charon. Arms and armour are strewed about the floor.
(Pelopidas—Androclides—Gorgidas—Theopompus —Melon—Cephisidorus—and Democlides are busied putting on their armour. Charon and Clymene are assisting.)
Pelop.
This breast-plate is too small.

Melon.
Try this.

Charon.
Here's one
Might clip a giant in. But use good haste:
The signal is put up that all goes well,
And we must hold us ready.—Will that fit?

Pelop.
Somewhat too wide:—but 'tis the better fault.

Andro.
Thank you, dear lady.

Clymene.
Wherefore do you shake?

Andro.
Oh! ask me not: I have no tongue to-night.
My soul seems coiled up for one desperate spring,
And likes no motion else. If I do shake,
'Tis as some burning mountain, when the fires
Are gathering for a burst.—Thanks, lady—thanks.

Pelop.
And this, you say, the sword Ismenias wore.—

Charon.
The same.

Pelop.
'Tis a rare blade,—and fits my hand.
He still shall wear it,—for his deadliest foe
This night shall be its sheath.

(A loud knocking at the outward gate.)
Cephisi.
What noise is that?

(They pause, and look toward the door.)
Clymene.
Fear nothing, gentlemen: 'tis but some gossip
Who comes to tell me of her morning's head-ache:—
Or that her daughter lost a tooth last night—
Or that her lap-dog's ailing.

(Enter Pherenicus in haste. He stands silent.)
Pelop.
What's amiss?
Why dost not speak?

Pheren.
I fear we are undone!

Pelop.
Then tell us how.—We have our armour on,
And will do something.

Pheren.
Here's a messenger,
Puffing with hot haste—sent from the Polemarchs,
With stern demand that Charon instantly
Do go before them.

(A pause. They look anxiously at one another.)
Pelop.
Does he say the business?

Pheren.
No—and I ask'd him not,—for he look'd strange.

Charon.
Bid him return, and I will follow him.

Pheren.
His order is, he says, most peremptory
Not to return without you. (A pause).


Pelop.
Charon, go—
If we're discover'd—dash the signal-light,
As you pass by it, to the ground.—We're arm'd,
And, seeing that, will forth at once,—and do
What fate will let us.

Gorgidas.
But he may be seiz'd—
Tortur'd—or threaten'd with an instant death
If he reveal not:—what awaits us then?
I would not have him go at all.—Send word
That he is ill, and in his bed.

Charon.
No—no—
Then would they seek me here,—and that were worse.
Suspicion often is a coward cur
That, fairly met—turns tail and slinks away:—
But—run from—may become a furious beast,
And worry you to death. I'll go at once.
The business may be foreign to our fear;—
But, should the worst be true,—my voice in this
Is with Pelopidas,—that, on the instant,
Ere they are well awak'd, ye sally forth,
And strike the tyrants down.—Behold this glass—
(Taking up an hour-glass)
I turn it now.—If, half its sands run out,
I come not back,—delay no moment more:—
Unsheathe your swords, and get about your work.
If I return there needs no signal else.—
Hath this your sanctions?—

Pelop.
I am well content.

Andro.
And I.

Melon.
And I.

Pelop.
Why are you silent, sirs?

(The others whisper. Exit Clymene.)
Theopompus.
It is not, Charon, that we aught misdoubt
Your perfect truth, and zeal—

Charon.
Go on, sir, pray.

Gorgidas.
We all esteem you, sir, most honorable.

Several Choices.
All—all—

Cephis.
And shall be ever bound to you,
As a most noble gentleman.

Charon.
Well, sirs—
I see what scares you. Should they threaten death,
Or show the torture,—I'm too soft a plant
To live in such a tempest,—that's your thought. (A pause.)

I blame you not;—for 'tis well known to all
That I'm no soldier;—never saw a battle:—
And 'tis, too oft, the noise and strut of war
That goes for bravery:—but I have known
As firm a heart in a soft woman's breast
As ever heav'd up mail.—Come to the proof—
He that misdoubts me:—let him thrust his hand
Into this fire with me,—and, if I start,
Or snatch away the first, then trust me not.

Pelop.
No—no—it shall not be—

Several.
We want no proof.

(Enter Clymene hastily, with her little son in her arms.)
Clymene.
You doubt my Charon!—here are hostages,
Myself—and this far dearer— (puts down the child)

When he's false,
Let us not live.—You'll have your vengeance so,—
And we shall 'scape our shame!—Here—take him, sirs—
Take both—and spare us not!—

Charon
(embracing her).
Belov'd Clymene!—
Here, gentlemen,—you have your hostages.

Pelop.
If there's that man in all this company
So vile to take this gage—I cast him off—
And hold him in my hatred!

Andro.
There's no wretch,
Even the worst in Thebes, would stoop to this!

All.
We'll have no hostages.

Several
(together and in succession).
Dear Charon, go.—

Theopompus.
Charon, forgive me if I knew you not.

Charon.
Then, sirs, I have your confidence again?—

All.
For ever, Charon!

Charon.
For these hostages,
They shall remain with you.

Pelop.
No, Charon, no!
Do not degrade us. I'd as soon take pawn
For money lent to my most honor'd friend,
As take your pledge in this.

Andro.
It shall not be—
Remove them, rather, from all reach of harm:—
So, if you perish, may your son yet live
T'avenge his country's wrongs.

Charon.
I thank you—No!
Let us together live, or die. What fate
More glorious could I wish him, than to fall
In such a struggle, where his father falls,
And such a band of friends.—My pretty boy!
Farewell— (embracing him)
farewell!

Boy.
Where are you going, father?

Charon.
Not far, dear boy. I shall be back anon.
Belov'd Clymene! (embracing her)
as the breath to life—
So art thou to my soul! The Gods protect thee! (He kneels.)

Immortal Jove! oh! hear us now!—Our foes
Are tyrannous, and strong;—and bow us down
With misery to the earth!—but let them fall
By our just hands,—and send our country peace!—
Hear us—and give the sign!

(A loud burst of thunder.)
All.
Our prayer is heard!
The Gods are for us!—

Charon.
Oh! all ruling Jove
Our hearts do thank thee!

(He rises.)
Pelop.
Charon—get thee hence—
Or I cannot abide.

Charon.
Kind friends—adieu—
Look to the hour-glass. Give one parting grasp—
(He shakes hands with all.)
Clymene!—one fond kiss—My boy—ah! rogue!
The spring will soon be here, and thou shalt ride.
Now get thee to thy bed. Adieu—adieu!

[Exit.
Pelop.
Are we all arm'd?

Several Voices.
Yes—all—

Pelop.
Let every sword
Leap freely from the scabbard:—every dagger
Be ready for the grasp.—Come, dear Clymene,—
Thou hast a hero for thy lord. Be gay—
All shall go well.—Come, where's our woman's gear?
Time is a race-horse now, and near the goal.
Show us the way.

Clymene.
Bear you the hour-glass, sir,—
And warily—for every dropping sand
May tell a brave man's life.—Come, gentlemen—
A woman fitly may lead warriors on,
Who go to play the woman.

Pelop.
Lead the way.
Bring Charon's armour:—he will need it soon.

Gorgidas.
I have it here, Pelopidas.

[Exeunt omnes.

Scene III.

—A room adjoining the feasting-hall in the house of Philidas.
(Two Servants in waiting enter on the same side.)
1st Servt.

They are coming now. I heard a knocking at
the gate.

2nd Servt.

No—'tis not they. Our master said they were
not expected till much later.

1st Servt.

Then will Archias be so drunk, he will never be
able to look through his brimstone loopholes upon them. His
eyelids will be as heavy as the city-gates; and his strength to
uplift them as if a child should try to shoulder away the
citadel.

2nd Servt.

Faith! 'twixt him and Philip, there will not be
the difference of a drachm's weight. In truth they are all
rascally drunk already.

(Enter Charon with the Messenger.)
Charon.
Go, tell the Archons I await their pleasure.
[Exit a Servant.
You're jovial here to-night. How's Philidas?

Servt.
I thank you, sir—exceeding well.

(Enter, from the feasting-hall, Philip, Archias, and Philidas, followed by the Servant.)
Philidas
(to the Servant).
Go—get you hence,—and wait till you are called.

[Exeunt Servants.
Charon.
Good-even to you, lords;—you find me prompt
T'obey your summons.

Philip.
(to Messenger.)
Sir, you may retire.

[Exit Messenger.
Archias.
Charon,—who are these strangers, lately come
Into the city,—and somewhere conceal'd,—
And countenanc'd by certain citizens?
Philip—I'll not be prompted;—'tis the way:—
If you can question better, so—I've done.

Philip.
Who are these strangers, Charon?

Charon.
Good my lords—
I cannot answer you. I know none such.
I'm an unfrequent stirrer from my home,
And pick up news oft when all Thebes hath lost it.
Who are the men you speak of?—and whence come?
And by whom harbour'd?

Philip.
Nay—We ask you that—
A rumour is abroad that such are here,—
And your name coupled with it.

Charon.
My good lords—
Be not your minds disturb'd with such vain talk.—
Rumour's a subtle wizard, who, from straws,
Or very atoms that our eye scarce notes,
Will pile you up a fortress, mountain-high,
Shall seem to threaten heav'n:—yet—do but touch—
And all is gone!—A word, dropt by a beggar,
He catches up, and multiplies to seem
The shoutings of a host. There is no knave
That lies like Rumour:—for he's like the wind,
Whispering at once into ten thousand chinks,
All glad to catch the whisper: through he glides,
And hastens on,—and to ten thousand more
Whispers the lie ten thousand different ways;—
Oh! trust him not, my lords:—when he speaks truth
He is no longer Rumour.

Archias.
Art thou drunk,
Most noble Charon—that thou talk'st so well?

Charon.
No, Archias,—I'm not drunk.

Archias.
Then, by the Gods!
Thou shalt be:—for I'd love to hear thee speak,
Strengthen'd by liquor;—seeing that, all cold
And dull in sober sense, thou talk'st so well.—
Come in—and get thee drunk.—Didst mark him, Philip?
Rumour—and fortress—beggar—mountain high—
Ten million chinks—and whispers—and what not?
I call that speaking.—Come, and get thee drunk.—
Charon—I'll have thee drunk.

Charon.
Excuse me, sir.
My health is frail. I am forbidden wine.
For those same strangers that you talk about,
'Twere better perhaps not disregarded quite;—
I'll make enquiry—and return anon,
If so 'twill pleasure you.

Philidas.
I'd wager now
'Tis some low fellow that hath got this up
To vex you at the banquet.

Philip.
Very like!
Good Charon, see about it.—Very like!
With this small sting t'avenge the good we did
His brother, friend, or father,—sending him
By a short cut to Pluto's pleasure-ground.
No, Charon—heed it not.—If we should chase
Each gnat that buzzes round us, we should kill
Ourselves with killing.

Archias.
Philip—Philip—hark!
They've struck up a new tune.—I love that tune
Better than wine.—Come in—I will not miss it.
Charon, return—and be a God with us.
We shall be drunk anon.—‘Oh! love and wine.’

(Goes out, singing.)
Philip.
Anon he will be drunk.—Now I am drunk;
And, knowing it, do prove me partly sober.
Charon, good-night.—Anon he will be drunk.
Ha—ha—I like the wag.—Anon—ha—ha—

[Exit.
Philidas.
Charon,—get quickly home, and arm thyself.
Pelopidas must wait some half-hour still.
Bid him take Melon with him. With the rest
Return upon the spur. I'll single out
Some six for the first blow;—'twill be enough.
The others will be near for every chance.—
Thou'st play'd thy part most bravely.—Speak not now,—
But haste away.

Charon.
My sword shall be my tongue.

(Charon goes out, and Philidas returns to the banqueting-room.)
The foregoing scene draws away, and discovers

Scene IV.

—The Banqueting-room.
(Archias—Philip—Philidas—and many Theban Lords lie upon couches beside tables covered with wines and fruits. Two Boys are in waiting to pour out the wine. Music is heard.)
Archias.
Once more—once more.—By Jupiter! once more—
Come—come—again—‘Oh! love and wine.’

(Sings).
Philip.
Are you all sleeping, lords?

Several Voices.
No, Philip—why?

Philip.
Then Archias disturbs you. For my part,—
I'm so well season'd to them,—his best songs
Still set me snoring for a harmony.

Archias.
Thou hast no harmony about thee, Philip.—
Thou'dst rather hear a traitor's wind-pipe squeak,
Pinch'd by a cord,—than hear Apollo sing.

Philip.
If he sings aught like thee. Take off thy wine
In pity to our ears.

Philidas.
Come, my good lords—
You're sluggards at your drink. Here is a wine
Ye have not tasted;—'tis a drink for Gods.
Their nectar's physic to it.

Archias.
Pour it out—
Brim up the goblets:—Fill,—thou rosy knave!
Thou Ganymede to me thy Jupiter!—
Fill to the brim, thou blushing peony!
Leave space but for a fly to stand and sip,
I'll fling a lightning at thee.—Lords—I drink
To the bright goddesses, who from their heaven
Shall visit us to-night.—Are you prepar'd?

Philidas.
The goblets are all crown'd.

Archias.
Then off with them.

All.
To the bright goddesses!—

Philip.
Ah! Philidas!
This is indeed a nectar-mocking drink!
It is not Greek?

Philidas.
No—'tis from Italy.
I've but a stinted measure,—yet enough
For this night's rouse.—Fill up the cups again—
We'll sleep in heav'n to-night.

Philip.
Oh, Jupiter!
Methinks I see thee on thy golden throne!

Archias.
Where—Philip—where?

Philip.
There, Archias—dost not see?
And Juno stands beside;—and Mercury
Holding his cup:—all Thebes might lie within it
Like a huge pearl. Dost not behold?—there—there—

Archias.
No—no!—'tis thou that liest in Thebes—thou'rt drunk. . . . .
Where are the goddesses? Dear Philidas,
Why tarry their bright wings?—Bring round the cups.
Who gives a health?

Philip.
I'll give one, Archias.—
A health to Lentulus, and his three sons!

Archias
(lifting the cup).
To Lentulus and his—Why, they are hang'd!
Were hang'd this morning,—were they not, wise wag?

Philip.
No:—tumbled headlong from the citadel.
But drink their health the same: they were good fellows
To you and me;—come,—drink to the kind friends
Whose talents we inherit.

Archias.
Hold thy tongue!
Thou brainless drunkard!—Dost thou think the rose
Will keep such secrets safe?—Where are the girls?
The goddesses?—Go—fetch them, Philidas—
I drink to them again.

Philip.
And I.

Philidas.
And all. (All drink.)


(A knocking at the outer gate.)
Philidas.
Hark! they are here. I go to welcome them,
And bring them to you. Fill your cups again:
Be jovial, lords.—What, Archias—thou'rt awake
At such a sunrise. I'll be back anon.
See that the cups be fill'd (to the boys).


[Exit.
Archias.
I'll drink no more.
Lords—do not drink again.—'Tis drunkenness
To drink till you are drunk.—‘Oh! love and wine.’

(Sings.)
1st Lord.

'Tis a marvellous piece doubtless. That stag's
head looks almost more natural than Nature herself. And for
the dog close behind his haunches, I will take it on my oath
that I can hear him bark.

2nd Lord.

Now art thou more natural than Nature made
thee, to say thou canst hear a picture bark. But 'tis past controversy,
a most choice work. Methinks I can see the eyes of
that black steed flashing like a torch in a gusty night. Whose
is the work?

3rd Lord.

'Tis done by one Apollo,—a native of Cos,—so
Philidas reports.

1st Lord.

Apelles—Apelles—not Apollo.—What! is all
the world drunken?—Apelles, I tell thee:—a lad of some
eighteen years.—I saw him at work upon that very picture, and
offered him money for it.

2nd Lord.

How much?

1st Lord.

Nay,—that's a secret. But in truth 'twas fifty
drachmas, and yet he refused it.

2nd Lord.

And, had he been dead a few Olympiads, thou
wouldst have offer'd another,—fifty times that sum,—though,
maybe, the picture should be the worse for age and ill-using.—
I see thou art a true patron. Your true patrons let living

artists starve,—and almost starve themselves to encourage
those that are dead. A painting shall never get the true
mellowness till the painter be rotten.

3rd Lord.

And faith, that's partly true!—

2nd Lord.

I have known your staunch patrons to refuse,
at a small price, a new picture that would do honour to any
country,—and yet, almost on the same day, to give a princely
sum for one that had little to recommend it but that the
painter died three hundred years before. This they call
‘patronizing of the art’—but in truth they should call it ‘the
art of patronizing’—Eh—lords?

3rd Lord.
Thou'st hit it on the head. I've seen it oft.

(Enter Philidas.)
Archias.
What! are they not yet here?

Philidas.
Yes—they are come.
But being ladies of true modesty,
They like not that their looks be pored upon
By curious servants—nor their talk o'er-heard.

Philip
(to the Servants).
Get everyone of you away.

[Exeunt Servants and Boys.
Philidas.
And more:—
They make demand that, till themselves consent,
They shall not be uncover'd—nor required
To speak but in a whisper.

Archias.
Show them in,
And let's proceed to judgment.

Philip.
None shall harm them.
I'll be their champion. All of you take heed;—
If any touches them but by their leave,
I'll trip his heels up.

Philidas.
Then I'll bring them in.

[Exit.
Archias.
Wilt thou trip me up?

Philip.
You,—or any man.

Archias.
They are more likely, Philip, to trip thee.
Why, thou'rt so drunk a straw might knock thee down.

Philip.
A straw?—why that's a giant's club, to what
Would serve to lay thee flat.—See that no fly
Be on the wing before thou dare to walk,—
For, if it light on thee, thou canst not stand.
A kitten sneezing in thy face should be
A hurricane to thy top-heavy boat
Would turn keel upmost. Why a mustard seed,
Shot from a baby's dimpled thumb, would knock
Thy drunken head down like a battering-ram!

(Enter Philidas, leading in Androclides—Gorgidas— Charon—Theopompus—Cephisidorus—Democlides —and Pherenicus, disguised like women, with long cloaks, and their heads covered and overshadowed with garlands. —The Lords all rise, and offer seats to them. Philidas takes Androclides to the couch of Archias, which is in the front.)
Philidas.
Now lords, I pray you, of your courtesy,
Be gentle, and not rude. For a short space
I leave you to yourselves.

[Exit.
Archias.
Why, thou art sweeter than a citron grove;
But there's no breath comes through thy perfum'd leaves.

Philip.
Now, lords—fair play.—What would I give to see
That beauteous face in the broad light of day!
That ugly garland sits like night upon it.

(Enter a Servant.)
Archias.
Fellow! what dost thou here?

Servant.

My lord, there is just arrived from Athens a
messenger who hath brought this packet—from your kinsman
and namesake, Archias the High Priest, and—he demands
most importunately that it be instantly read, for that it contains
business of the utmost importance.

Archias
(putting the packet under his pillow).
‘Business to-morrow!’ see the fellow fed,
And bid him come to-morrow.
[Exit Servant.
Loveliest lady—
If that thy voice be sweet as is thy breath,
'Twill drown our ears with heavenly melody.

Philip.
Why dost not answer me? I swear by Jove!

(Re-enter the Servant.)
Archias.
Why—what again?—

Servant.

My lord, the messenger most vehemently demands
that you read the packet without delay; for that a report is
therein given of some dreadful conspiracy. He says 'tis a
most awful business.

Archias.
‘Business to-morrow.’—He's a merry fellow;—
I'm sure he is,—and so commend me to him.—
Tell him I'll make his fortune:—but not now—
‘Business to-morrow!’—What's the fellow's name?

Servt.

'Tis Abas, my lord,—the tailor,—and he entreats
that you will read the packet.—He has spurred all the way
from Athens within these three hours.

Archias.
He's a good fellow—make him drunk as Bacchus.
‘Business to-morrow!’—Tell my worthy friend
The night was made for sleep and jollity.
‘Business to-morrow!’
[Exit Servant.
Is't not so, sweet girl?

(The Servant re-enters, forcibly holding back Abas.)
Servt.
My lord, he will come in—I cannot hold him.

Abas
(without).
My lord—my lord!—your life—the life o' th' state!—

Archias
(staggering up).
Where is my sword?—Thou curs'd ill-manner'd slave!
Bind him, I tell you!—whip him well—old fool!
Drag him to prison!—

(Abas is dragged away—crying out—‘Dreadful plot’— ‘Murderous conspiracy’—etc.)
Archias
(reeling to his couch).
The outrageous ass!—
How he hath flush'd me!—Come, my loveliest,
Take off this odious garland, that shuts up,
Like a dull fog, the beauteous lamps of Heaven.
I am not drunk.—Come—let me see thy face—
I swear to thee I think I know thee—Come—
I' faith I am not drunk!—

(Androclides slowly uncovers his face, and looks on him.)
Archias
(in a terrified, but suppressed tone).
Ha!—who art thou?
What is thy name?—I do not like thy face—
Speak—what's thy name?—
(Androclides shows him a dagger, and points to his own heart.)
Art thou his sister then?—
I did not slay him!—Put thy garland on—
And go away.—Why look'st thou at me so?—
Art thou alive?—or from the charnel-house?
Thou horrid thing!—take off thy burning eyes—
What would'st thou have?—What would'st thou do?—
(Shouting in an agony of terror.)
Help, Philip!—He is come!—Oh! help!

Andro.
(throwing off his cloak and leaping up).
Strike! strike!

(He stabs Archias, who falls dead. At the same moment all the Exiles fling off their garlands and cloaks, and cry ‘Strike!’ Philip is stabbed by Gorgidas —and falls.)
(The Exiles then draw their swords. Charon runs to one door, and Democlides to the other. Cries of ‘Treason!’ ‘Murder!’)
Charon.
Silence, a moment—silence!—hear me speak!

Several Voices.
'Tis Charon—listen to him—

Charon.
Your lives are safe—so you resist us not—
We want no blood.—For this night must you be
Our prisoners:—on the morrow we'll talk more.
Friends—take them hence.
(The Lords are led out by some of the Exiles.)
Now to the market-place!
Epaminondas, with a thousand youths,
Is there already;—and Pelopidas
Hath ere this question'd Leontidas.—
Leave that dead brute, dear Androclides,—come,—
We must away.

Andro.
Oh! thou foul homicide!
I hate thee—for thou'st made me hate myself!—
Would thou hadst died of dropsy—or of plague—
And left my hand unfoul'd!

(Enter Pelopidas, in haste.)
Pelop.
Hath he been here?
The tyrant was gone forth—and hath escap'd me—

Charon.
Escaped?—That must not be!—

Pelop.
I'll hunt him out;
If any hole in Thebes do give him room.
Farewell at present.—To the market-place!—
Ho! gentle Archons—are you there?—I' faith
You seem to love that carrion, Androclides.

The voice of Leontidas is heard without, exclaiming:
Refuse me not—I will go instantly—
Where are these lords—and their vile paramours?
Stand back—I tell ye.

Pelop.
By the great Gods! 'tis he!—Let him come in—
Then guard the door:—but drag these out of sight.

(The bodies are drawn back.)
Leon.
(without).
By heav'ns! I'll cleave thee to the earth!
Give room!
(He enters.)
Shame on you, Archons! feasters with loose women!—
What's this?—Where are the Archons?—Who are ye?
Why are ye silent?—

Pelop.
Your best friends are so—
Why should we talk?—Call Archias,—or Philip,—
They'll answer you from hell—and bid you down.
Look there— (pointing to the bodies.)


Leon.
Ha!—murder?—treason?—What's thy name?—
Villain!—I know thee now!—Foul Democrat!
Is this thy bloody work?—

Pelop.
No—no—'tis theirs—
Mine is with thee.—Black dragon!—'tis thy hour!—
I told thee it should come!—Look at this blade—
Ismenias wore it—

Leon.
Then it was a villain's!—
And doth become thee—coward that thou art!
Thou dar'st not meet me in the open field,
Sword against sword!

Pelop.
As thou Ismenias met'st?—
But thou'rt brave now.—Friends,—to the market-place!
Make proclamation of the tyrant's deaths.—
These take with you,—and bid them wait the third.—
Charon, I'll have no nay:—that man who stirs
To meddle here, shall be no friend of mine.
Get hence—and quick!—

Charon.
Come, Androclides—come—
He'll have his humour.—To the market-place!

(The Exiles go out, with the bodies, leaving Leontidas and Pelopidas alone. Pelopidas locks the doors, and throws the keys out of the window.)
Pelop.
Now, bloody dragon!—sword to sword we meet.
Thy reign is past; thy punishment to come—
Thy grave, or mine, is here—

Leon.
(attacking him).
Then be it thine!

Pelop.
Ha!—what so quick?— (They fight.)


A loud knocking is heard at the door, and voice of Epaminondas exclaims:
Pelopidas,—I charge thee ope the door—
Or I will force it—

Leon.
Let thy good friends in—
Valiant Pelopidas,—they come to help thee.

Pelop.
Dost think so?—Then I'll ope the door. But first
Answer me this—
They fight again. The noise continues, and the door is just giving way, when Pelopidas exclaims:
Nay then—the sport must close.—Take that—and this—
And get thee to thy friends—

(Leontidas falls dead. At that instant the door is burst open, and Epaminondas, with Androclides, Charon, many of the Exiles, and others, rush in.)
Epam.
Madman!—what frenzy's this?—

Pelop.
Not worse than thine
At Mantinea, when I lay for dead,
And thou, against a score of glittering blades,
Didst guard me—

Epam.
Tush! no more of this!—Come on—
The market-place is like sea of heads,
And, if we speed not, there may come a storm.

Andro.
Pelopidas,—the people call for you.

(Shouts are heard without.)
Pelop.
Then some of you bear off this tyrant's corse,
And I'll go with you.—Ha! good Philidas!
(Enter Philidas, and many others.)
Our work has thriven, you see—
(Pointing to the body as it is carried out.)
How have you sped?

Philidas.
Stay not to talk.—I come to fetch you hence.
The prisons are thrown wide—our friends are free—
The city's in a roar—the people call
For their deliverers.—Go, all of you
Link'd in a body, to the market-place.—
Come—come—away—

Pelop.
And, as you go, still shout,
‘The tyrants are o'erthrown—and Thebes is free!’

(Shouts heard without.)
Epam.
Hark! hark! They call for you—Yet list one word.
Three tyrants ye have slain!—see that for these
Ye do not make a thousand!—Now—away—

(As they are going out, Philidas detains Androclides.)
Philidas.
Stay, Androclides.—When they've all pass'd out,
I have a word for thee.

Andro.
They are all gone—
What is it you would say?

Philidas.
There is a friend
Here in the house, whom I would bring to you.
Wait but a moment.

[Exit.
Andro.
Friend?—Oh heav'ns! what friend,
Thou thoughtless Philidas, can move me now
Till I behold my Thulia!—I'll not stay.

(He goes to the door. At that instant the opposite door opens, and Thulia enters. Both stand for a moment motionless: then walk slowly till they meet. They gaze, each in the other's face—then rush together— and the curtain drops.)