University of Virginia Library

SCENE THE FOURTH.

Demariste, Timoleon.
Timol.
Behold a miracle! He who till now
Was rage itself, who in his fervid breast
Nursed flames more turbulent than those of Ætna,
Already is an adept in the art
Of simulation; and smooths o'er his rage
Now that he learns to batten it with blood.

Dem.
Son, but in this too greatly prejudiced,
Thy mind deceives thee.

Timol.
Ah no! rather thou
Art too much prejudiced; nor wilt thou see
Objects most manifest and most pernicious.
Mother, from thee afar I live; and 'twere,
To make thy judgment sane, needful to thee
To have me always at thy side. I was
Once dear to thee ...

Dem.
And still thou art, believe me ...

Timol.
Thou should'st then love, as much as thou lovest me,
Intrinsic glory. Emulously we
Should try once more to gain it: from my brother
I would remove an everlasting blot:
I love him, far more than myself I love him;
As much as I love thee. Thou hast much power
To work upon his passions; and should'st try
In a resolve to strengthen him, at once
Magnanimous and indispensable ...

Dem.
To become private? ...

Timol.
To become a man
And citizen; to disenthrall himself
From universal hatred; to retrace
Th'ancient forsaken path of real virtue;
To be once more my brother; for as such
Already, I no more acknowledge him.
Mother, in vain thou flatterest thyself:
Here truth, except I bring it, enters not.
Ye live among intimidated slaves:
And though embosomed in the heart of Corinth,
Breathe not its air: here emulously all
Applaud your cruel hardihood: ye hear
Torments call'd justice; frantic outrages,
Suitable punishments; audacious deeds,
Preventive measures.—Leave your guilty dwelling,
And ye shall hear an universal murmur,
Cries, imprecations, menaces, and insults:
Investigate the secret heart of each,
And in the hidden chambers of each breast
Ye shall find hatred, schemes of ruin: all
Have sworn your infamy and massacre;
And in proportion as general fear
Delay the punishment, so much more cruel,
Atrocious, merited, and violent,
Shall it be poured on your devoted heads.

Dem.
Ah son! ... Thou mak'st me tremble ...

Timol.
For yourselves
I always tremble. Do thou then, I pray thee,
Take pity on thyself, on him, and me.
I am so circumstanced, that every ill
That falls on you with added weight is mine:
But, at the same time, every injury
My country bears from you is also mine.
My heart is torn by two discordant feelings;
I am a son, a citizen, and brother:
Beloved names! no one knows how to prize them
More than myself, no one more ardently
Seeks to perform the duties they involve:
Ah! put not to the test which tie o'er me
Is most prevailing. I am born a Grecian;
And thou, a Grecian, understandest me.—
Thou seest me approaching the dire point
Of being your avowed, fierce, mortal foe;
Then yield belief to my remonstrances,
While as a brother, and a son, I speak.

Dem.
Oh! what God speaks in thee? ... I will endeavour
To make thy brother hear me ...

Timol.
Ah! depart
Without delay; exert o'er him thy influence.
If he no more unsheathe his bloody sword,
'Twill be, I hope, in time: to-day thou canst,
And thou alone canst reconcile thy sons;
Live with them joyfully beneath the shelter
Of popular applause;—or disunite,
And lose them, thus, for ever.