University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

—A room in the Palace.
(Enter Philip and Antigonus.)
Philip.
It matters little—she hath made her choice—
Nor will I cross it. Listen to me now.

Antig.
Most anxiously do I your words attend.

Philip.
The axe hath felled the old and gnarlëd trunk:
But there are shoots, that soon will grow to trees
As poisonous as the first. They must be cared for.

Antig.
What means your majesty?

Philip.
That Philip's throne
Shall not be a mere stool for Rome to raise,
Or kick down at her pleasure.—Mark this man;
This haughty Titus. My own son he sets
My opposite;—rash fool! my prudence lauds
In that I sent this flashy boy to Rome,
Ambassador;—says, roundly, that, to him
Was granted what, to me, had been refused,—
So much the Senate loved him! Yes, by Heaven!
And then exhorts me, as a friend—a friend!
Oh! ye great Gods! for every friend like this
Give me a keen sword, and a giant's arm!—
As my true friend exhorts me, once again
To send Demetrius, with a larger train
Of nobles and ambassadors, to Rome;—
Who may our present troubles set at rest,
And spare a war might—hell and furies!—end
With forfeit of my empire!—

Antig.
Dares he so?

Philip.
'Tis written here;—and written on my heart,
In letters all of fire. But, mark me now.
Against the pride and tyranny of Rome
To my last gasp I'll fight:—her foes my friends;
Her friends my foes. All natural ties I'll break
Rather than this new bond. Were my right hand
Grown friend to Rome, I'd have it hewn away.—
Antigonus—Demetrius loves you well.

Antig.
I think he doth.

Philip.
Advise him;—caution him:—
He is my son;—but—if I prove him false—
I'll crush him like an adder.

Antig.
Good my liege!

Philip.
By the Eternal Deities I'll do it!
For less I love my sons, my crown, my life,
Than I hate Rome, and every friend of Rome.

Antig.
Your ear is poisoned 'gainst a noble son,
Who loves you well, and is right true and faithful.
My life upon his loyalty!

Philip.
Enough!
Heaven grant he prove so!—Meantime, that the bed
Where treasons spring, may not o'er-rank become,
I'll have it weeded.—When my just decree
Brought to the death those traitors, I yet left,
In foolish pity, their young rebel broods:—
And they are now eternal orators,
Pleading against me their false fathers' deaths,
When rather, for their own lives,—forfeited,
Yet spared,—should their hourly thanks be mine.
I'll play the fool no longer:—they shall die.—

Antig.
My gracious liege—I pray you . . .

Philip.
Peace—old man!—
I'll have no tiger-cubs, for their smooth skins,
And pretty playful tricks, preserved and reared
Till the grown monsters turn and rend their rearer—
They shall not live!—I've said it.

Antig.
Philip—pause—

Philip.
Old man! I will not hear thee. They shall die!
Give order for't—and presently.

Antig.
No! never!
I say't again,—I will not lend my breath
To such foul guilt! Nay, more,—while I can speak,
I'll tell it to the world,—and point at thee,—
And call thee monster! Yea, by Jove I will!
Rave as thou mayst!

Philip.
Art thou gone mad?—Hence!—fly!
Lest I forget thy grey hairs and long toils.

Antig.
Forget them all, when thou thyself forget'st
To wade again in blood.

Philip.
Thou prating fool!
If I stay longer thine may be the first.
Away—away!—I would not take thy life.
Speak not a word—or I may turn again—
Thou foolish dotard!
[Exit Philip.

Antig.
Thou unhappy—king!

[Exit.