University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.

—Thessalonica.
A room in the house of Theoxana.
(Enter Theoxana with her two Children.)
Theox.
No—not to-night, my children! 'Twas this night—
Two long, dark years back—that your noble father
Received the tyrant's summons;—and the morrow . . .
But no—why should I cloud your sunny brows
Because my own is dark?—Go to your dance.

Eldest Child.
Thank you, dear mother, we'll not dance to-night.

Second Child.
Pray you forgive us.

Theox.
Go—go—take your mirth.
I'll watch you from this window. How the sun
Pours gold upon the lawn,—and steeps the trees
In floods of golden light!—You pretty May-flies,
Go, wanton in his beams!—and, as your feet
Press the green sod, put in them all your soul;
And for one hour, at least, you shall be happy.

Eldest Child.
Come—come away;—'twill please our mother so.

(The Children go out. Theoxana stands looking at them through the window.)
Theox.
Beautiful children! How their nimble feet
Spring on the velvet turf!—and their bright faces
Sparkle like sunny waters! Kind heavens!—
And I was gay as these;—had foot as light;—
A glance as quick;—a heart all merriment!—
And now—what am I?—

(Enter a Servant.)
Servant.
A messenger from Prince Demetrius
Craves instant audience.

Theox.
Bring him hither quick.
[Exit Servant.
I fear some ill at hand. His wicked brother
Aims at his life;—or the old tyrant—Well—
(Enter a Messenger.)
What is thy business?

Messenger.
Pray excuse my boldness.
This to the noble lady Theoxana
The Prince Demetrius sends;—and this Antigonus,—
(Giving letters)
Whose messenger even at your city gates
I overtook.

Theox.
What dreadful business needs
This double warning?—Generous prince, thine first. (She reads.)

‘My father's fury is at its height. Fly, dear lady:—the
lives of your children are threatened. The bearer of this is
trusty, and may aid in your escape.—Yours—Demetrius.’

My children's lives?—Know you, sir, aught of this?

Messenger.
Nothing, fair lady.

Theox.
Good Antigonus
Clear thou this mystery. (She reads.)


Messenger
(aside).
Some dreadful thing
That scroll does tell her.—Heaven have mercy then!

Theox.
Amen! for man hath none.

Messenger
(aside).
She has o'erheard me
Oh! she is sorely racked.

Theox.
Thou shalt not, tyrant!
While there's a mother's hand to set them free.
Their father thou hast sent into his grave;
And now—but they shall 'scape thee, if there's steel—
Poison,—or choking water,—or steep rock,
That can their souls, and beauteous bodies part.
Ay! tho' this hand should deal the horrid blow.
What's to be done?—Save them,—or with them die!
Good friend, thy name?

Messenger.
Aratus, gentle dame.

Theox.
Ha! 'tis a name owes Philip little thanks.
His wisest, truest friend, of that same name,
The tyrant poisoned, and his son Aratus.

Aratus.
Oh! 'twas a cruel deed!

Theox.
Dost serve the king?

Aratus.
No farther than all subjects serve their king;
My service is to Prince Demetrius.

Theox.
And he reports thee faithful.

Aratus.
The kind prince
Should have none else but such.

Theox.
Wilt serve me truly?

Aratus.
Ay! madam—to the death!

Theox.
I do believe thee;
Thy face is index to a faithful heart.
Then hear, and mark me well. Th' insensate king,
Mad in his hate, hath issued a decree
To seize the children of all those, whose lives
He late took on the scaffold. They will die.
Thus am I now forewarnëd, ere escape
Be hopeless.

Aratus.
Gracious Heavens!

Theox.
Forbear, and hear me.
To Ænéa on the morrow are we bound,
To keep the festival. Go thou with us.
The vessel lies in port, and all's prepared.
There as in wonted sports we pass the day,
Hire thou a bark, as for our home return;
See that 'tis roomy, and provisioned well:—
At deep midnight, when all are locked in sleep,
For some far isle, beyond the tyrant's grasp,
We will put forth. Oh! heaven will fill the sails
To save the innocent.—And yet he died,
That was all truth and honour!—My good friend
Wilt thou so serve me?

Aratus.
To my latest breath!

Theox.
Then haste away, and get thee to thy rest:
At daybreak must thou rise. Take this—nay—take it—
A king refuses not the beggar's mite,
That goes to fill th' exchequer. Be not thou
More haughty than a king.

Aratus.
Most gracious lady—
Command me to the death.

[Exit.
Theox.
Thou shalt not have them, tyrant. With these hands
I'll throw them to the waves; or pierce their hearts
Even with their father's dagger, ere to thee,
Black monster! I surrender them.—Oh Gods!
And they are dancing on the sunny grass,
As joyous as the summer flies about them—
Perhaps as soon to die!—Jove! to thy hands
I do commit them.

[Exit.