 | Timoleon |  |
SCENE THE SECOND.
Demariste, Timophanes, Echilus.Dem.
My son, all Corinth with thy name resounds,
But diversely. Yet is it to my heart
A flattering consciousness that I'm thy mother.
Thou wert the champion of thy country; thence
I, on the other hand, lament to hear
That thou'rt suspected of equivocal,
And private views: it grieves me, that in Corinth,
One citizen, though wrongfully, should hate thee.
For thee am I too anxious.
Tim.
Oh, my mother,
Less would'st thou love me, if thy fears were less.
I venture to confront a glorious danger:
But such are the discordant obligations
On us imposed; a lady, thou should'st fear,
And I should challenge fear.
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It pleases me
This thy audacious military pride:
I deem myself no private citizen;
But mother of two heroes, one of whom
Were more than requisite to raise me far
Above each Grecian mother. Every wish
Were now accomplished, could Timoleon act
With thee in concert, and attemper, thus,
With his strong sense, “the mettle of thy spirits.”
Tim.
Perhaps in his heart Timoleon hitherto
From me dissents not; but the transient hate
Which ever misinterprets the designs
Of those who dare to innovate, he shuns;
And meanwhile leaves me in the perilous lists
To toil alone.
Ech.
In this thou art deceived;
Already have I told thee so: thy schemes
He disapproves; far less, if he did not,
The number of thy foes.
Dem.
Thou speakest well;
For this I came. Timoleon is in years
Alone not equal to thyself, canst thou
Disdain to have him then in all thy schemes
Thy coadjutor? His amenity
Is fitted to controul thy eager rashness.
Fatherless children I already see,
Afflicted widows, mothers destitute,
Cast towards me their discontented looks;
On me, as on the cause of all their woes.
Many by thee have fallen: if rightfully,
Why does thy brother blame thee for it? Why,
If wrongfully, dost thou thus act? In Corinth
The greatest virtue, not the greatest power,
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Upon the terrible footsteps of my sons
Let tears be shed, but be they tears of foes;
And let the citizens exult with joy
On your beloved steps; let me receive
Their benedictions that I am your mother.
Tim.
Yes, in the camp where valour only gains
Precedency, the first place to ourselves
We ourselves give: within the idle walls
Of a divided city, envy, arm'd
With calumny and fraud, the chiefest place,
To those who have a claim to it, denies.
'Tis indispensable, too certainly!
That we endure, prelusive to long joy,
Transient distress, would we exterminate
This deadly serpent; and whoe'er does this
Must look for glory after long endurance.
That in proportion as I merit glory,
My brother feels for me less love, I grieve.
Dem.
Vile and invidious thoughts in him? ...
Tim.
I think not;
But yet ...
Ech.
But yet, no lofty enterprize
Thou e'er canst consummate, if strenuously
With heart and hand he aid thee not.
Tim.
From this
Who hinders him? I have entreated him
A thousand times: averse he always seemed.
My coadjutor I disdain him not;
But I endure him not my interrupter.
Dem.
Can I a peril patiently behold,
To which thou'rt liable by him unshared;
Or see thee gain an undivided triumph?
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Which for a long time now no more he deems
The dwelling of his brother or his mother,
Bring him to us. Or he shall be convinced
By us, or we by him; so that to-day
One thought alone, one object, and one will
To Demariste and her sons, be law.
| Timoleon | |