University of Virginia Library

Scene I.

—A street in Pella.
(Enter Dymas and Meges.)
Dymas.
Assure thyself of this,—Demetrius
Will never,—and I'll give thee reasons for't,—
Sit on his father's throne.

Meges.
But is he not
The idol of the people, and the . . .

Dymas.
Pshaw!
You were the people's idol—so were I—
So any slave, that look'd to wear the crown—
So Cerberus himself, if his foul paws
Were clambering up the throne.

Meges.
But of the troops
He is as much beloved—

Dymas.
The troops?—Oh yes—
They think he'll be their paymaster: no doubt
They love him fiercely,—and would charge hell-gate
If he but winked that way, to prove their love.
But so they will for Perseus, finding him
The treasure-holder; and with love as fierce
To pleasure him, would cut Demetrius
Into invisible atoms.

Meges.
But the king
Loves young Demetrius better.

Dymas.
Not a jot!
Kings have no natural love. He hates them both.
He never loved aught, save his concubines,
Each for a week or so.—He loves himself,—
And power, and what supports his power; and hates
All that might wrest it from him:—of all men,
That man he hates, who, in expectance, sits
Upon his throne, and counts the lingering years
Till the bright crown and sceptre shall change hands.

Meges.
Then his birth
Is of a wedded wife; while Perseus
Springs from a lawless bed.

Dymas.
Tush!—lawless bed!
Will that make dull the sword that Perseus hires?
Or when he pays his soldiers, will the coin
Be worse, or better, that the head it bears
Is bastard, or legitimate? Mark me now:
Demetrius is of heedless, open soul;
Calls things by their right names,—and speaks his mind
On all occasions frankly; tells a knave
He is not virtuous;—praises a good deed,
Tho' done by one on whom the king hath frowned;
Speaks openly of whom he likes, or hates;
Cares not t'offend, so he but take offence,
Whoever be the mark on't: and, with this,
He hath a haughtiness he brought from Rome,—
Whose flatterers blew him up to high conceit
Of his own excellence, that will gender hate
In all he shews it on.

Meges.
But there again,—
Will not the Romans—

Dymas.
Pray you, give me leave—
I'll hear you speak anon. You know me well
To be your friend;—you know me—do you not?

Meges.
In truth I've thought you such.

Dymas.
Be sure I am.
And what I'd move you to, is your own good;
Nought to my profit. That Demetrius
Can never fill the throne, is to my mind
As palpable as is the earth we tread.
If you then to his fortunes tie yourself,
His fall will drag you down.—Why, leave him then,
And pay your court to Perseus, in whose shine
You shall be glorious. You've example for't;
Each day some favourer of Demetrius comes
To stand on Perseus' side: they see the cloud
Peeping above the hills,—and hear the wind
That soon shall blow a storm; and so they run
To speedy shelter under Perseus' roof;
Where you must haste too, or abide its rage;—
And that would grieve me. But I know you wise—
Delay no moment,—come along with me;—
I'll show you to the prince, and—

Meges.
Stay awhile.
That you do mean me well, I will not doubt—

Dymas.
Be sure I do.

Meges.
But yet you counsel ill.

Dymas.
Make that appear, and I'll come o'er to you.

Meges.
Then, first, Demetrius has the people's love.

Dymas.
Ay! for a week,—or four-and-twenty hours.
I've answered that before.

Meges.
The army's too—

Dymas.
Till Perseus shake the gold—I show'd that also.

Meges.
And, of a surety, Philip loves him best;
However you deny it: and, his birth
Being legitimate—

Dymas.
Nay, nay;—all this
Is, like a last year's story, proved a lie.
If you have nothing else but chaff like this,
One breath will scatter it.

Meges.
But hear me, then.
What's Philip's will, or what the people's love,
The army's too,—tho' all were on your side,—
Opposed to haughty Rome? Demetrius
Is loved at Rome, where Philip is despised,
And Perseus hated:—and, rest sure of this—
Rome will have whom she chooses king, or none.
Look here (showing a letter)
, I know that Perseus, in his wiles,
Is tortuous as a serpent; in revenge,
Cool and unhesitating; and goes on
Right to his mark, tho' o'er his father's neck
He tread to reach it:—but, to strive 'gainst Rome,
He lacks the lion's daring, and his strength—
Which would far better stead him. . . . Well, sir—now
What think you of it?

Dymas.
Lend me this scroll,
To use as I think fit,—and your fond hopes
For poor Demetrius are not worth a straw:—
This, shown to Philip, will incense him so
That he'll give instant order for his death,
Or banishment,—or use such other means,
That the reversion of Demetrius' crown
Were, at a drachm, too dear.

Meges.
If that were sure—

Dymas.
'Tis sure as Fate. You owe Demetrius nought—
Let him go down at once: why should you drown
To help a man that cannot keep afloat?
What hath he done for you?

Meges.
Why, that's most true—
Yet he's a noble and frank-hearted prince—
And, if he should succeed—

Dymas.
If—if—why if?
The man that builds his fortunes on that if
Might, for his wisdom, go to batter down
A bulwark'd town with pebbles. Come along;
The king is now in court: he hears to-day
Th' ambassadors from Rome. You'll see anon
On what a ticklish base Demetrius stands;
And how firm-rooted Perseus. As we go,
I'll give you farther reasons—

Meges.
Which I'll weigh;
And afterwards resolve on.

Dymas.
Let's despatch,
For the morn wears.

[Exeunt.