University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

—Another room in the House of Dymas.
(Demetrius and Janira are seated on couches.)
Dem.
'Tis yet two hours of midnight, my sweet love;—
Go to thy bed,—and steep those tender limbs
In balmy sleep awhile.

Jan.
I could not sleep.

Dem.
Nay but, sweet girl,—the cold moist air of night,
On bodies unrefreshed by wholesome rest,
Oft strikes diseases like a pestilence;
But, to the limbs that gentle sleep hath fed,
'Tis as a cooling, and a strengthening bath,
Pleasant and healthful.—Prithee my sweet—WIFE.

Jan.
Nay then, sweet lord, by that name first conjured,
I cannot say thee nay. Good-night—good-night.

Dem.
Good-night, Janira; and kind dreams be thine.
An hour past midnight will our horses wait.
Give to your women charge of watchfulness;
For now is time more precious than fine gold;—
And we must not be spendthrifts. Sweet—good-night.

Jan.
I wish to-morrow were but come and past.
Something lies heavy here. Good-night.

Dem.
Good-night:
And, after this good-night, a long—long life
Of days and nights as good.—One kiss, sweet love.
[Exit Janira.
What is this dark foreboding that comes o'er me?
I do not think we ever shall meet more.—
And yet no cause I know.—I'll call her back—
Yet why?—What shall I say?—Oh! I'm the fool
Of sickly fantasy!

(Enter Dymas.)
Dymas.
How now, my lord?
Why you look cloudy as December night,—
And 'tis with you May morning.—Nay—be glad—
Such sombre brow, upon your marriage night,
Suits ill as doleful snow in merry June.
Where is the princess?

Dem.
Gone to her repose.

Dymas.
Why she is wise; and 'twere in us more wisdom
To snatch an hour or two of wholesome sleep;
The nights are chill.

Dem.
But we have much to speak of.

Dymas.
You are not fit for it. The length of way
Will give us leisure more than we can fill.
Such talk will then our over-fulness ease;—
Now—rob us of our little. Come, sweet prince.
With one full measure let us drown black care;
Then seek for merry dreams. I'll fill your cup.
(Pouring out the poisoned wine.)
Nay—nay—no drooping on your wedding night.

Dem.
(taking the cup).
Dear Dymas, I am even as a child,
And thou my gentle nurse.—Are there, dost think,
Foretokenings given us of unformed events?—
Dark shadowings on the soul, of coming ills?

Dymas.
Pshaw! 'tis mere foolery. Drink—drink it off.

Dem.
Dost think 'tis so?

Dymas.
Nought else.

Dem.
But I have seen,—
Long ere the tempest came, when not a breath
Was in the silent air,—the deep sea waves
Rolling laboriously,—and ever then
I marked the storm did follow: and, ere rain,
Or snow comes down, doth not the wind make moan,
Foretelling dreariness?—bees leave the flowers,
Feeling the storm that yet is far away:—
And so perhaps . . . thou smilest—

Dymas.
Drink—drink—drink—

Dem.
(sipping).
What wine is this?

Dymas.
'Tis good—is't not?

Dem.
Most rich.
'Tis Chios—no?—

Dymas.
You have a delicate taste.
But drain it off.

Dem.
Would I'd a prophet's eye!

Dymas.
Why? my good lord.—What is't you'd wish to see?

Dem.
I know not.—Gentle friend—thy health (he drinks)
.—Good-night.
Go to thy bed. I'll stretch me on this couch:
But not, I think, to sleep. (He lies down.)


Dymas.
Good-night, my lord.
(Aside)
Yes—you'll sleep soundly. With no prophet's eye,
I can see that.

[Exit.
Dem.
(half raising himself).
Ha! ha!—my heart! my heart!
How's this?—Janira—my sweet wife—Oh come—
Come to me—I am cold— (Falls back.)

Ah! me—'tis—death! (He dies.)


(A noise heard without.)
(Enter a Servant.)
Servant.
My lord—my lord—lord Dymas—

Dymas
(entering at another door).
What's this noise?

Servt.
The king, my lord, in furious haste is here;
And calls for you, and for the prince—

Dymas.
Soft—soft—
The prince you see is sleeping. Close the door.
(Noise increases.)
I'll hasten to his majesty.—Good heavens!

Philip
(without).
Where is the traitor? Where's my hapless son?

Dymas.
What means this fury?

(Philip bursts in, followed by Antigonus, and several of his Guards.)
Philip.
Traitor! Where's my son?
(He rushes to the couch.)
Demetrius!—my dear boy!—awake!—awake!—
He'll wake no more! The bloodhounds have their prey!
(He starts up and seizes Dymas.)
Oh! thou most damnëd villain of the earth!
What hast thou done?

Dymas.
Dismiss your train, my liege,
Ere we speak farther.

Philip.
Thou foul dog of hell!
I have no speech for thee. Get home! get home!
(Stabbing him twice.)
Earth cannot hold thee longer.

Dymas.
Help! help! Oh!
Murdered! Oh foully murdered!

Philip.
Murderer!
Foul! hideous murderer!

Antigonus.
My gracious liege!
Was this not rash?

Philip.
Away! away! away!
Rash?—rash?—what's rash?—See! look what they have done!
He's dead!—my boy is dead!—They made me do it!

Antig.
You, Philip?—you?—

Philip.
Aye! me!—me—Philip—

Antig.
No!
You are distraught to say so!

Philip.
Oh! they lied
So cunningly;—dropped to my very heart
Such rancorous poison;—painted him all o'er
So like a hell-thing, that—But there's one left:
I'll have revenge—I'll make the villain know
What 'tis to drive a doting father mad—
I'll have him seized—I'll have him—Oh! my boy!

(He falls on the body of Demetrius.)
(Janira enters hastily, her hair dishevelled.)
Jan.
What dreadful larum's this?—Ha! murder here?
Lord Dymas murdered?

Antig.
Gentle lady—nay—
Look not around you—go away at once—
This is no business,—and no place for you—

Jan.
The king?—Unhand me, sir—

Antig.
Beseech you, lady!

Jan.
Off—off—old man! They've killed my husband too—
Villain—let go! Help! murder! help! help! help!
Ha—ha—ha—ha—

(She laughs and falls senseless in the arms of Antigonus.)
Philip.
What frantic voice is that?
I thought she had been dead—and all her children.
I'm glad it was a dream.—No more of deaths—
I'll have no deaths within my kingdom: no—
No man shall die—I'll have an edict for it.—
Who's this?—who's this?—ha! he is dead! dead! dead!
Open thine eyes, my boy.—Nay, but one word—
Speak but one word—speak—I command thee—speak—
Dost disobey me?—Ha! he's dead! he's dead!
I'll creep into his grave—and lie with him—
He may awake—such things have been ere now—
I do believe he will awake again.—
Here—bear him to his bed—and make no noise—
Come, fellows—stir—and one of you bring here
My camp-cloak, for I'll watch myself to-night.
I know he will awake;—he will—he will.

[Exeunt Philip, and Guards bearing the corpse.
Antig.
Unhappy king! he never will wake more!
Would thou couldst sleep as sound!— (looking on Janira)
poor blighted flower!
It were a merciful stroke to crush thee now:—
For thou wilt wither day by day,—the worm
Gnawing thy heart out.—Oh! the mockery
Foul death puts on us,—shewing a ripe cheek,
And eyes of crystal brightness, while, within,
Lurks black corruption!

(Enter Archo, and another female, hastily.)
Archo.
Help! my lady's dead!

Antig.
Silence, fond girl! she hath but swooned.

Archo.
Oh no!
She's dead—she's dead! dear lady!

Antig.
Cease this noise—
And bear her to her chamber. Watch by her;
And with some slumbrous drug compel her sleep,
For, waking, she will rave. Go—speak no more.
(The females bear out Janira.)
Thou wretched clod that, for thine own base ends,
Didst put the dagger in the father's hand
Against his innocent son—thou hast thy due;
A stern, and fearful payment. Fare thee well.
Now to the wretched, mad, and guilty king.
Oh! my poor country! hapless Macedon!
Of foreign wars, domestic feuds, the prey,—
Who shall protect thee now?—

[Exit.
(An opposite door is gently opened, and Perseus partly enters, speaking softly.)
Perseus.
Hist! Dymas—hist!—He's gone.—What means all this?
I'm sure 'twas Philip's voice.—What horrid rage
Hath seized him now?

Dymas.
Oh me!

Perseus.
Whose voice is that?
(He enters with a light, treading softly.)
Here's some-one wounded—Dymas! is it thou?
Bleeding to death!—Who did this horrid deed?
Let me bind up thy wound—speak, if thou canst—
What damnëd hand hath done this thing?

Dymas.
Oh! me!
I die!—Thy father did it—

Perseus.
Ha!—the tyrant?

Dymas.
Haste—fly.—He seeks for thee—I cannot speak—
All is found out—Demetrius—is—dead!—

Perseus.
What! hast thou crushed him?—

Dymas.
Great Gods! forgive me!
Give me thy hand—Oh Gods!—Oh! Gods! (He dies.)


Perseus.
He's gone!
All his ambition,—all his glittering hopes—
Sunk—lost—in ever-during darkness quenched—
Even like the rapid, and eye-dazzling lightning,
That, for a space, doth seem to fire the heavens,
Making earth tremble, and the stars go out—
Then from his sky-path shoots into a bog,
And sleeps with rottenness!—Well, Dymas, well;—
I little thought thou'dst teach me moralize.
Thou'rt dead,—but I will make thee still my friend:
I'll show thee to the soldiers, thus carved up
By gentle Philip;—and it shall go hard
But thy eclipse shall make my beams more bright.
But no delay: the purchase of one hour
May be a diadem;—each minute then
Rates as a precious gem, and cries, dispatch,
Perseus—King Perseus! Rome—and Victory!

[Exit.