[Page] HEROICK LOVE: A TRAGEDY. As it is Acted at The THEATRE in Little Lincolns-Inn-Fields. Written by the Honourable GEORGE GRANVILLE, Esq
Rectius Iliacum Carmen deducis in Actus,—Hor. de Arte Poeticâ.
Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus.
LONDON: Printed for F. Saunders, in the New-Exchange in the Strand; H. Playford in the Temple-Change, and B. Tooke at the Middle-Temple-Gate, Fleetstreet. 1698.
The Preface.
IT may be necessary to inform the Reader, that after the first Representation of this Play, the Conclusion was altered: Agamemnon is left to continue in a Swoon, and the Scene is clos'd with these few lines spoken by Ulysses, immediately upon the Departure of Chruseis,
Uly. The Ills that Love has done, Love has aton'd,
And Glory calls, to make us full amends.
Look to the King, be that your care Talthybius, (To Tal.
And let all Ages, in this Truth agree
Love never gain'd, a Nobler Victory.
The Reasons for this Alteration were these. The Author was of Opinion, that some might think it more Natural that Agamemnon, (considering the Excess of Love which fills his Character) should upon coming to himself, rather run after his Mistress, than into the Battel: He declares that in the same Circumstance he should have done so himself, and it is a pretty true Observation, [Page] that in the Frame of our Heroes, we commonly draw our own Pictures. Another Reason was Brevity, some having complain'd of the length of that Act. There was indeed such effectual Care taken not to seem tedious to the Audience, that the last Scene may be more properly said to have been Murder'd than Cut, for the Conveniency of Acting, as will evidently appear to the Reader.
Some have objected, that it is unnatural for a Hero to Swoon; those Persons are entreated to inform us of what stuff they take Heroes to be made: Hitherto they have pass'd for Men, and by consequence subject to humane Infirmities. Othello in one of his Agonies of Jeloufie, falls into a Swoon: and indeed in some Cases where the Passion must be presum'd so Violent or so Tender, that words can but faintly represent it, it is then a Beauty to express it in this manner, and by far more Pathetick, than any Speech thô never so Rhetorical. Others have complain'd, that they want to know what becomes afterwards of Agamemnon. They are desir'd to accept of this short reply, That the Author never undertook to [Page] write the Life of Agamemnon. A Tragedy is the Representation of one single particular Action, and not of every Circumstance of a Man's Life: But however, to satisfie their Curiosity, these Persons if they can give themselves the trouble to observe, may find mixt up and down in the Play, either by way of Relation or Prophecy, all the remarkable Passages of the Life of Agamemnon, from the Beginning to the End, not omitting so much as his Forefathers and his Posterity: and what would they have more? It has likewise been objected, that the Characters are too few. Let those Criticks be pleas'd to consider, that a single Action will allow of but few Persons, and a regular Play is confin'd to a single Action: Let them examine what number of Characters the Ancients and all who have written in their Imitation, were wont to introduce, and then let them judge. It may be further observ'd; that whosoever crowds his Play with a Multitude of Persons, will be forc'd to draw his Characters so little, and as it were in miniature, that it will scarce be perceptible there are any Characters at all: for to shew Men at full Length and in just Proportion, requires [Page] room, which can only be found when the Characters are few.
There is indeed one Personage which the Author thinks himself oblig'd to make some Apology for to the Judicious Reader, thô it happens to be the Part which in the Representation meets the loudest Applause; and this is the Character of Briseis, which may seem to some a little overstrain'd, and extended larger than the Life. However he cannot help owning that in his Opinion he verily believes there are many who think full as vainly of themselves; Some Men he is sure he has met with of that Character, but Ladies are Sacred Things, and he would not be thought to suggest the least uncivil Supposition of any of that Sex. To proceed then to give some account of the true Reason of his choice of so extraordinary a Person, the plain Truth of the whole matter is this; Had he form'd her a moving Character, should he have brought her in lamenting her Misfortune and attracting Compassion, this would have prejudic'd the Chief Hero of the Play: for all the Pity which she had excited, must necessarily have rais'd so much Indignation against [Page] him. The Author thus was under a Necessity to represent her in such a manner, that no body might be concern'd, or take any part in her Misfortune, and he therefore chose to make her of a Piece with her Lover; for in reality, her Character is form'd out of his, as presuming and arrogant with her Beauty, as Achilles with the Opinion of his Courage. There was scarce any other way of introducing her without giving occasion for pity, which was absolutely to be avoided; and therefore the Author hopes in such a Case he is pardonable. This Excuse is addrest to the Judicious, the generality of the World needed it not, this being the Part in the Play which found the best Reception. It often indeed happens, that the Audience is best pleas'd where the Author is most out of countenance, and that part of the Performance which the Writer Suspects, the Spectator chiefly approves. When we observe how little notice is taken of the noble and sublime Thoughts and Expressions of Mr. Dryden in Oedipus, and what Applause is given to the Rants and the Fustian of Mr. Lee, what can we say, but that Madmen are only fit to write, when nothing is esteem'd Great and Heroick but what is un-intelligible.
To Mr. GRANVILLE, on his Excellent Tragedy, call'd HEROICK LOVE.
AUspicious Poet, wert thou not my Friend,
How could I envy, what I must commend!
But since 'tis Natures Law in Love and Wit
That Youth shou'd Reign, and with'ring Age submit,
With less regret, those Lawrels I resign,
Which dying on my Brows, revive on thine.
With better Grace an Ancient Chief may yield
The long contended Honours of the Field,
Than venture all his Fortune at a Cast,
And Fight, like Hannibal, to lose at last.
Young Princes Obstinate to win the Prize,
Thô Yearly beaten, Yearly yet they rise:
Old Monarchs though Successful, still in Doubt,
Catch at a Peace; and wisely turn Devout.
Thine be the Lawrel then; thy blooming Age
Can best, if any can, support the Stage:
Which so declines, that shortly we may see,
Players and Plays reduc'd to second Infancy.
Sharp to the World, but thoughtless of Renown,
They Plot not on the Stage, but on the Town,
And in Despair their Empty Pit to fill,
Set up some Foreign Monster in a Bill:
Thus they jog on; still tricking, never thriving;
And Murd'ring Plays, which they miscal Reviving.
Our Sense is Nonsense, through their Pipes convey'd;
Scarce can a Poet know the Play He made;
'Tis so disguis'd in Death: Nor thinks 'tis He
That suffers in the Mangled Tragedy.
Thus Itys first was kill'd, and after dress'd
For his own Sire the Chief Invited Guest.
I say not this of thy successful Scenes;
Where thine was all the Glory, theirs the Gains;
With length of Time, much Judgment, and more Toil,
Not ill they Acted, what they cou'd not spoil:
Their Setting-Sun still shoots a Glim'ring Ray,
Like Ancient Rome, Majestick in decay:
And better gleanings, their worn Soil can boast,
Then the Crab-Vintage of the Neighb'ring Coast.
This difference, yet the judging World will see;
Thou Copiest Homer, and they Copy thee.
JOHN DRYDEN.
PROLOGUE.
HOW hard's the Poet's task, in these our days,
Who such dull Pallates is condemn'd to please,
As Damn all Sense, and only Fustian praise:
Charm'd with Heroick Non-sense, lofty strains,
Not with the Writers, but the Players pains,
And by the Actors Lungs, judge of the Poet's Brains.
Let Scribling Judges, who your Pleasures serve,
Live by your Smiles, or by your Anger starve,
To please you in your vain Fantastick way,
Renounce their Judgment, to secure their Pay:
By written Laws, our Author would be try'd,
And writes as if Athenians should decide,
With Horace and the Stagyrite for Guide.
Applause is welcome, but too dearly bought,
Should we give up one rule, those mighty Masters taught.
Yet some, methinks, I here and there descry
Who may with Ancient Rome and Athens vye;
To whose Tribunal, we submit with Joy:
To them, and only them; for not to wrong ye
'Twould be a shame to please the most among ye.
Chiefly the softer Sex, he hopes to move,
Those tender Judges of Heroick Love:
To that bright Circle, he resigns his Cause,
And if they Smile, he asks no more Applause.
EPILOGUE.
WHat will the Galleries, nay Boxes say?
There's not one Man destroy'd in all our Play.
Murder and Blood have long possess'd the Stage,
And pleas'd the Genius of a Barbarous Age,
But since the Poet's task's the Soul to move,
And with his Objects, make you Grieve or Love,
Surviving Wretches should more pity find
Than they who die, and leave their Woes behind.
On Athen's Stage, when Greece the World gave Law.
Hr sprightly Dames our Agamemnon saw;
They shar'd his Sorrows, did his Fate bemoan,
And always made the Hero's wrongs their own.
But then the World was Gay, and Nature Young,
Mens Passions were more high, and Fancy strong;
Poets could either raise, or make so sad,
That going Home, whole Audiences ran Mad.
In vain we would your colder Hearts inspire,
And blow up Flames, without the Seeds of Fire.
Three thousand Years ago, illustrious Dames
Attended Camps, and gave the Heroes Flames;
Now every Wench; when Batter'd and Decay'd,
To Flanders fled, where straight the Rampant Jade
At once the Colonel serv'd, and the Brigade.
If Poets have the Privilege of Laws
To challenge Juries; who must try their Cause,
To judge of Wit, the Critick be debarr'd,
Who often Damns, what he ne'er saw nor heard;
[Page] Besides, he still to Poets bears a spite,
For never yet was Critick, who could write.
For You, the Viler Rabble of the Pit,
Who want good Nature, tho' you have no Wit,
Maliciously you imitate the Times,
Like Judges try the Men, and not their Crimes;
With No [...]se and Nonsense whom you hate d [...]cry,
And if demanded, give no reason why,
But when no pity can the Torrent stem,
Attaint the Poet, whom you can't condemn.
'Tis on that shining Circle we depend, [To the Ladies.
For You——
Our Poet writes, in gratitude defend:
Of Love and Honour, he a Pattern meant,
And took the bright Ideas, that you lent:
Your Picture drawn, show then the Painter Grace
Who fails, in an inimitable Face.
Persons Names.
| Agamemnon, | King of Argos, General of the Allies at the Siege of Troy; In Love with Chruseis. | Mr. Betterton. |
| Achilles, | General of the Myrmidons. | Mr. Verbruggen. |
| Nestor, | A Graecian-Commander. | Mr. Bowman. |
| Ulysses, | Another Commander of the Greeks. | Mr. Sandford. |
| Patroclus, | The Friend of Achilles. | Mr. Scudemore. |
| Chryses. | High Priest of Phoebus, Father of Chruseis. | Mr. Kynaston. |
| Chalcas, | A Graecian Soothsayer. | Mr. Freeman. |
| Talthybius, and Eurybates, | Captains of the King's Guard. | Mr. Baily. |
| Officers, Guards, and Attendants to the King. |
| Chruseis, | In Love with Agamemnon. | Mrs. Barry. |
| Briseis, | Mistress to Achilles. | Mrs. Bracegirdle |
| Artemis, | A Woman attendant to Chruseis. | Mrs. Prince. |
| Other Women Attendants to Chruseis. |
The Scene is of the Graecian Fleet and Camp before TROY.
[Page 1]Heroick Love.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Agamemnon's Pavillion.
Enter Chryses the Priest, and Chalcas the Soothsayer.
Chr.
SEE him I will, and Must.
Chal.
See him you may, but wait a better time.
Chr.
Chalcas, What time? Whose time shall Chryses wait?
Shall I, who to th'assembled Gods can say,
Let me be heard, And straight they bend their Ears,
And at all Hours, are ready to my Prayers;
Shall I upon a Mortal's Leisure wait?
I say, I will be heard, and now.
Chal.
Forgive me, Holy Chryses, Prince of Prophets;
Thou Oracle, unerring when thy Gods
Enlighten thee to speak their dark Decrees,
But Humane born, retaining Humane frailties,
Your Reason by your Passion is misled;
To temperate Tongues, Unbyass'd by resentment
Trust your Demands; Or failing to persuade
[Page 2] You may provoke. For tho' the King be mild,
Enclin'd to Good, of easie Disposition,
Yet he's of hasty temper, catching Fire,
As the best Natures, are indeed most apt:
Surprize him not, nor work him unprepar'd,
He knows not your arrival yet; Let us begin
By easie steps to lead him to your wish;
And if we fail, then urge what you think fit.
Chr.
Why do we pray for Children? Call 'em Blessings,
And deem the Barren Womb, a Curse? O Marriage!
Unhappy! Most unhappy of all States!
Matching with sorrows, Teeming still with more,
The Vexed Womb, seems to bring forth to Vex,
Producing none but to Disgrace or Ruin
The rash Begetters. Had Hellen never been,
Troy were safe: Or had Chruseis been un-born
Greece had been well reveng'd—O fatal Pair!
Most Mischievous where most Belov'd: Pleasing
And yet Destroying. Not Medusa kills
With her envenom'd Glances, half so sure,
Not Hector's Sword, has cost more Argive lives,
Nor has Achilles's Spear, more Dardans slain,
Than each of these, with her devouring Eyes.
Chal.
Well am I pleas'd to find your Soul thus mov'd,
If you can pity, sure you will redress,
Where Pity rests, there Mercy too will lodge.
These heavy Vengeances that press so sore
Are owing to your Pray'rs, incensing Heaven.
O Chryses, Chryses, Look on yonder Camp,
Behold what heaps of Dead, without one wound;
Behold how like the Dead, the Living look,
So near their End, that they who wait their Friends
To the last Rites are burnt on the same Pile:
The sturdy Greeks, unsinew'd by Diseases,
That firmly went, impressing deep the Ground
[Page 3] On which they trod, with their large lusty strides,
Now scarcely crawl, supported on their Spears:
No Friendly Ray, to shew us to our Tents,
But a dim Red, that overcasts the Sky,
A blood-shot Beam, all dreadful to behold:
Nor march we now, by any other Light
But Funeral Fires.
Chr.
Nought canst thou urge from this
But that the Gods are just.
Chal.
The Gods are just, but they are Merciful,
Were Chryses so, these Woes would have an End.
Chr.
Th'un-injur'd at their ease, forgiveness preach
At second-hand: But all who smart alike,
Forgive alike: Vengeance is Natures debt,
And all who can, will have it strictly paid;
Forgiveness is the Cunning of Revenge,
A wise delay, for want of Pow'r to hurt,
And but Dissimulation at the best;
Had Chalcas lost a Daughter, thus had I urg'd
To him, and he had heard like me.
Chal.
Of all the Attributes, that Jove can boast,
Mercy's the most Divine; and of all Men
The Merciful are pleasing to the Gods.
Let but a Truce be granted, till we know
The King's resolve.
Chr.
No—Not a Moment's respite will I give,
By dangers I'll awake him from delights,
Whom Plagues shall spare, the Merciless sword shall cut,
And who escape the Sword, new Plagues shall reach.
None rate their Love so high, but they will part
When Life's the Price—Why do I dally here
In idle talk? Now, now perhaps, this Moment,
The Sacrilegious Ravisher's at work,
And shall I wait, till his hot fit be done?
Shew me the way, and let me rush upon him—
[Going.
[Page 4] Chal.
Have but an hour's patience, Reverend, Chryses,
[stops him.
Nestor is gone, and with him wise Ulysses,
Achilles too: A Council is conven'd
Where your Demands, will fully be made known;
You shall have Justice.
Chr.
I will have Justice, Chalcas, and look to't,
For once I give your humour way—But know
And mark it well—Chryses must have Justice,
Or Agamemnon perish.
Chal.
Doubt it not Chryses, all will be amended.
But Oh! how much I fear
[Aside.
So much I know he loves!
Exeunt Chryses and Chalcas.
Enter Agamemnon and Chruseis.
Ag.
O my Chruseis, why these alter'd Looks?
Why weeps my Love, whose Smiles are all my Joy?
Those Eyes that wont to dance at my approach,
And sparkle on me with redoubled light
Why veil they now, in Clouds when I draw near?
That charming Voice, that with its chearful sound
So chear'd my Heart, why is its Language sad,
Why broken thus with Sighs? Thy gentle hand
Not to be felt without transporting Joy,
That when I press'd it, answer'd to my touch,
Why feels it now so cold? O tell thy griefs!
If ought there be in Agamemnon's reach
Tho' with the Price of Kingdoms to be bought,
Tho' with the Lives of Millions to be conquer'd,
Let but Chruseis speak, and think it sure.
Chru.
My dearest Lord, you wrong my tender Love,
Possessing you, what is there left to wish?
But ah! who fear to lose what they have got,
May grieve as much, as those who weep for more.
[Page 5] Ag.
Both to your self and me, 'tis much unjust
To fear my Change, or doubt your pow'r to fix.
Arriv'd at Heaven, there's no returning back:
Thy Image, my Chruseis, on my Heart
Lies like a Shield, where every dart that strikes
From any other Eye, bounds swiftly back,
Nor leaves a Dint behind.
Chru.
O happy Hellen!
Who when the Trumpets call, and the loud Voice
Of War, provokes the Soldier from his rest,
Holds fast her Paris, safe embrac'd he lies,
Nor call of Honour, takes him from her Arms;
But I unhappy I—
Ag.
Dismiss that Grief.
The conquering Year's arriv'd, that Troy must fall,
Nine years of fruitless pain, so Fates ordain'd
We should endure; the Tenth rewards our toil.
'Tis come, my Fair, nor shall our slumbers more
Be broke by rude Alarms; But yet a little longer
And all our task is Love: Close cleaving to thy side
No cry, To Arms, shall interrupt again
Our balmy Joys.
Chru.
Still, still I fear.
Ag.
Vain are thy fears Chruseis; but they'r kind.
The Gods are weary of this doubtful strife,
And now will finish it: The Sun nine years
Has rose and set in slaughter, and now turns
His face from Death, and scarce will look abroad,
But Pale and Sad, winks with a feeble Light
Upon our Camp, as sick with Humane blood.
Chru.
Would that were all: But my fore-boding Mind
Says otherwise. Ill omens haunt my steps,
Unquiet thoughts disturb my Nights and Days,
I know not why: And when I meet my Lord,
Some hand unseen, still thrusts me back again,
[Page 6] And chides my haste: If I but lift my Eyes
On yours, some Voice unknown still whispers me,
Take heed Chruseis, those are guilty Looks:
Even in the midst of our transporting bliss,
Where all's devoted to Immortal Love,
In those dear Arms, where none can lie unblest,
The Holy Place where Grief should never enter,
Sacred to Joy, Even there my Tears pursue me,
Flowing uncall'd.
Ag.
Well have I mark'd those Tears,
And chid thy Eyes, which Rapture could not dry.
The Gods are Envious sure of our delights,
Mankind is never happy, but by halves;
For, from that hour since first I saw my Love
The publick Woes are dated: Then began
Feavours to rage, and Plagues that thin our Ranks;
The Lusty Greeks, that wont to march to Battel
With chearful Pace, now drag their sloathful feet.
And but in Flight are nimble.
Heartless our Victims are, and every Bird
Sinister flies—
Chru.
Alas! am I the Cause?
Ag.
Nor You, nor I; Else should we perish too;
In midst of Sickness, we preserve our Health,
In midst of Death we Live: The Guiltless scape.
No, my Chruseis, some kind Pow'r that saw
These Wounds would break my heart, gave thee to heal 'em;
That when returning, driven by those Foes
Whom I was, us'd to drive, Embracing thus
I might forget my Griefs: That what I lose abroad
Might be repaid at home.—Should Troy escape,
Should Argos too be lost, My Kingdoms all
Laid waste, and Scepters wrested from my hand,
Whilst I can hold Chruseis, I'm a Gainer,
Within these Arms, I am a Conquerer still.
[Page 7] Why does my Love not meet my fierce Embrace
With wonted warmth? Why drop thy Snowy Arms
That us'd to clasp me round?—Now by the Gods she Weeps—
What Griefs are yet untold? Thy gentle Heart
Beats at thy Breast, like an imprison'd Bird,
And thy swol'n Eyes, like Clouds that paus'd a while,
Flow faster than before.
Chru.
Ah Prince!
Ag.
Out with it then, give me thy Griefs, Chruseis.
Gru.
My Father—
Ag.
What of him?
Chru.
Is in your Camp arriv'd—
Ag.
He's welcome then.
Fain would I see the Man who gave thee life,
The Parent of my Joy—By Juno and by Pallas
Those Guardians of my Arms, were Phaebus self
Arriv'd, whose Minister he is
That Glorious God, he were not half so welcom,
Nor should receive more Honours from the King.
Chru.
Alas, he seeks not Honours: All his thoughts
Are bent on Heaven, devoted to the Gods,
Thô in his Hand he bears a Golden Scepter,
Thô on his Reverend Head, a Crown he wears
The marks of his high Office, thô to Kings
Equal in Dignity, his humble Mind
Shuns Worldly Pomp—
Ag.
So humble, and a Priest, my Love! That's strange:
Chru.
He comes not here, I know it by my fears,
For Honours, nor for Wealth: for me he comes,
To take me from your Arms, and from your Bosom,
And bear me where I ne'er shall see you more.
Will Agamemnon let him?
Ag.
What Armies brings he with him in his Train,
That, he should think, here, in my very Camp,
To force my Treasure from me?
[Page 8] Chru.
Legions of Gods attend his Pious call,
That shoot with Shafts unseen; And O, perhaps
These Deaths that have already strew'd the Plain
Are owing to his Prayers.
Ag.
—Thy Fears are needless,
What is there to offend him in our Loves?
That from a Captive, you become a Queen,
That Agamemnon, King of mightiest Kings
Is Slave to his Chruseis; That the Man
Whom Princes serve, serve thee.
Chru.
Such Honours might perhaps move other Men,
But Oh! His rigid Virtue, nice, severe,
Allows to Nature nothing.
Ag.
If Honours he contemns, we'll give him Gold,
Wealth he shall have enough to Ransom Kings,
I'll empty all my Treasures at his Feet:
Priests will take Gold: Well may they sell their Daughters.
Who sell their Gods.
Enter Talthybius.
Tal.
The Great Achilles
With Nestor, and the Prince of Ithaca,
Approach your Royal Tent.
Ag.
They sent us word, that somewhat of import
They would reveal, that does concern us much,
Our Honour and our Peace, and would restore
Health to our Soldiers, to our Arms Success.
Retire my Fair, nor vex thy gentle Mind
With needless doubts—Thô Men and Gods conspire
I'll hold thee fast—My Life, my Soul, Farewel.
He leads her to the Door. Exit Chruseis.
Uly.
Health to the King; nor can we wish him better
In Camps where foul Infections seize on all,
And mix without distinction, Base and Noble.
Ach.
Atrides heeds not that; Secure of Love
What tho' the Soldiers die; the Princes murmur;
What tho' Troy stand, so but Chruseis smile;
The publick Griefs are general to all
But Thee; Oh happy Agamemnon!
Ag.
The King of Myrmidons, of all Mankind
Might have spar'd that reproach; for 'tis well known,
Brave as he is, oft when the Trumpet sounds,
He'l loyter——
For a parting Kiss from his Briseis.
Nest.
What cruel woes have Women brought to Greece!
For Empire and for Honour once we fought,
But the New Mode is Women—Cursed Sex!
Of all our Plagues, the Worst! Nor will our Camp
Be free, whilst there's one Woman left.
Ag.
Old Age may make us all thus Cynical,
But Nestor once was Young, and then a Woman
After the tug of a hard Foughten-Field
Past for a Blessing—But to our Business now.
At your request, Achilles, we are met,
First let us sit—,—
They sit. Agamemnon and Achilles in two Chairs of State at the Upper end of the Table: Nestor and Ulysses on each side.
——If you have onght to urge
Of publick Good; Ought that can heal our wounds,
And stay the Vengeance of offended Jove,
[Page 10] Speak freely, Princes,—Agamemnon's heart
Bleeds for his People: If the Gods require
His Life, a Sacrifice to save the rest,
And to atone their Wrath—The King shall die.
Nest.
Well have you vow'd, O King, and I rejoyce
[Rises.
To find such Piety—O Jove confirm it.
Kings above other Mortals are requir'd
To be observant to the Pow'rs divine,
Since on their Actions, Good or Ill, depends
The Publick Peace—O Gods! what crimes are these!
Whose Crimes?
No private Man's, since a whole Nation suffers,
No little fault, the Vengeance is too great;
And much I fear, whoe're th'offender be,
This Criminal is obstinate in Guilt:
For mark it well; these Judgments by degrees
Grew more, and greater daily: The Disease
First on our Cattle seiz'd: The generous Horse
That bore his Rider, safe thrô armed Ranks
Snapping in sunder Darts and Spears, then fell
Unhurt, Untoucht—From Beasts it spread to Men;
The merry Greeks, as at their Cups they sit,
Drop in the midst of Laughter—As some huge Tow'r
At which Men gaze, astonish'd at its strength,
If Waters undermine, and Springs unseen
Sap its foundation, Unawares comes down
And covers with its ruins all the Place,
So look our strong Battalions, and so fall
VVhole Ranks at once, and the Dead lie on heaps.
O Phoebus! Stay thy hand that shoots unseen,
All Pestilence, all Feavours are from thee,
These shafts are thine, restrain thy murdering wrath,
For pious Agamemnon, King of Kings,
Has vow'd to do thee justice.
He sits. Ulysses rises.
[Page 11] Uly.
Great are our Ills: Too grievous to be born
Had we a King less Pious—Kings there are
Who, slaves to their own Wills, regard not Fame,
What, thô their People weep, their Eyes are dry;
What thô they starve, Their Coffers still are full;
Thô Heaven by surest tokens of its wrath
Give warning to repent, They mind not Heaven,
But still go on, and own no Gods but Lust.
Such Kings, are hated here, despis'd hereafter;
Their memory's are curst, the Widows tears
And Orphans wrongs, reveng'd upon their Issue.
What Glories then, O mighty Agamemnon!
What Honours here, what Praise in after-times;
What Love of Men, what Favour of the Gods,
Will crown thy pious deeds, who looking down
With aking heart on thy griev'd Peoples suff [...]ring,
Hast vow'd to give whate're the Gods exact,
Thô dear as Life, to stay their Miseries.
Ag.
Nestor, in Wisdom nearest to the Gods,
By long experience of three Ages taught,
O were thy Strength proportioned to thy Mind,
Achilles would be weak, compar'd to thee,
Could but thy Body, bending under Years,
Act thy high Thoughts, Troy should not stand a Day;
And thou Ulysses, Prince of Ithaca,
Forward in Fight, and fam'd for Stratagem,
Be witnesses to Men, of what I swear.
And thou, O Jove, the giver of all Laws,
[Rises, all rise.
And Phoebus too, who from thy Orb above
Art conscious to what Mortals do, or say;
O Seas, O Earth, and you impartial Pow'rs
Below, who judge and punish Perjury,
Bear an eternal Record of my Oath.
If I have err'd, and not atone my Crime,
[Sits, all sits.
Whatever way the Deities ordain,
[Page 12] If I obey not, as at Aulis once,
When to appease Diana's cruel rage
My Iphigenia was led forth to bleed,
Publick Dishonour, and Domestick strife
Be then my doom—If any other Prince,
Thô Menelaus, Ajax, Diomede,
Or, thô last nam'd, the first of all the Greeks,
Divine Achilles, honour'd as a God,
Be Author of these Plagues, if thrô respect,
Thrô favour, or thrô fear; I spear the Guilty,
On me, and mine, still light this heavy Curse.
Ach.
Then hear Atrides, what the Gods declare,
What they require, and who's the Guilty Man,
'Tis Thou art this Offender—
Ag.
Ha!
Ach.
Nay, Frown not, Son of Atreus, for 'tis true:
Frowns do not fright Achilles, but provoke.
Apollo is th'offended God, and thou
The Criminal—But not for Vows forgot,
Or Hecatombs omitted, come these Plagues,
But for his Priest, who's Daughter's here detain'd
Against his Will—Chryses himself is come
With his Demands, as Legate from high Heaven,
And holy Chalcas, who reads every Page
Of secret Fate, and knows the Hearts of Gods,
More Plagues denounces, till she be restor'd.
Ag.
Chryses and Chalcas are two Lying Priests:
Thou the Fomenter of Eternal Broils;
And this a Plot to vex me.
Nest.
What you have heard, Atrides, is most true,
Such is the Will of Heaven: But grieve not, King,
He comes not empty handed to demand
His Daughter back—The Priest a Ransom brings
As might content—
Ag.
The Avarice of a Priest;
[Page 13] Were I old Nestor, past the Age of Love,
I might sell mine—I scorn this proffer'd Treasure;
My Honour's now concern'd to keep my Love,
Lest the Malicious World, that censures Kings
Like common Men, should say of Agamemnon
That like a sordid Slave, he chang'd for Gold
All that his Soul held dear.
Ach.
But like a sordid Slave to Lusts as vile;
You matter not to sacrifice your Fame,
To brave the Gods with violated Oaths,
To sell your Faith, your Glory, and the Lives
Of Millions, for a Woman.
Ag.
Proud Myrmidon, provoke me not too far,
Upon thy Life no more——
Ach
My Life! Who dares attempt it?
Ag.
Ha! Who dares——
[They rise, and laying their Hands on their Swords stand in a posture of Drawing. Nestor and Ulysses interpose.
Uly.
Take heed Achilles, and respect the King,
Who strike at Kings, repeat the Giants crime,
And strike at Jove.
Nest. to Ag.
You know his temper, Cholerick and Fierce,
Provoke him not, Atrides, 'tis not well:
You that should shew th'Example of good Order,
Whom all the Princes and the Kings of Greece
Have chosen their Leader—For shame, command your self.
Ag.
Unconscionable Men! Must I of all the Greeks,
Must I be robb'd, of what the Chance of War
Has made my Prize? I, only I, debarr'd
Of what to every Centinel's allow'd?
What petty Leader is there in the Camp
Whom I disturb? When, when did I invade
[Page 14] Another's Pleasures?—Nestor, Ulysses, speak,
And Thou, Achilles, Did I ever wrong
You of your Rights? Or with Lascivious rage
Force from your Tents, your Captives? Princes speak,
Why then these wrongs to Me?
Uly.
Not we, Atrides, but th'Immortal Gods—
Nest.
Can Agamemnon, that Religious King,
Who not deny'd his Daughter to the Gods,
Refuse a Stranger and a Captive?
Ach.
Leave, leave him to his Fate, and let Troy stand,
Whom Heaven abandons, Men in vain support.
What harm has Troy done us? Nor came we here
But for his sake, Ungrateful as he is.
My Troops I'll lead from this Infectious Air,
And let him moulder here in Plagues alone.
Ag.
Go when thou wilt; in an unlucky hour
Thou cam'st—And may ill Fate go with thee.
Lead hence thy Myrmidons, to Pthia back,
And plague some other Country with thy Pride:
Or back to Lycomede's Daughters—whence
Ulysses forc'd thee hither, to fulfill
The musty Prophecies of Doating Priests,
That Troy, without thy aid, could not be conquer'd;
There hide thee in thy Woman's Dress again,
And with inhospitable Lust debauch
Some new Deidamia.
Ach.
Had Mars himself said this—
[Lays his hand on his Sword.
Ag.
Keep in thy Rage: We know that thou can'st fight,
I am thy Witness, who have seen thee pierce
The Dardan Ranks—So would Thersites fight
Had he been dipt in Stix: Or had Lame Mulciber
Wrought him a Coat of Arms not to be pierc'd.
What Slave with an invulnerable Skin,
And with impenetrable Armour on,
Would be a Coward?
[Page 15] Ach.
Thus I reply—This Injury's thy last.
[Draws; Nestor and Ulysses hold him.
Ag.
Not so, Achilles, there remains behind
A greater yet—Where are our Guards,
Talthybius and Eurybates—
Nest.
Sheath, sheath your Sword—
The King shall make amends.
Enter Talthybius, Eurybates, and Guard.
Uly.
You were too fierce; and so would you be mov'd
Were your belov'd Briseis threatned.
Ach.
Not all his Guards shall save him—
[They hold him, he struggles
Ag.
Hurt not, but keep that roaring Lion in.
And thou Talthybius, with our choicest Troops
Haste to Achilles Tent, and fetch Briseis;
Kill all that dare resist, 'tis my Command.
Exit Talthybius.
I'll let thee know, by what thy self shalt feel,
What 'tis to part two Lovers.
Ach.
struggling. Thou dar'st not do it—
By the Gods thou dar'st not.
Ag.
Thou turbulent Invader of my Love
Be this thy Punishment, and learn from hence
How to respect Superior Majesty.
Now let him loose, to save
[To the Guard.
His Mistress if he can.
Ach.
Love calls me hence e'er I can take thy Life;
But my next Labour my Revenge shall be,
Tremble, Atrides, that my Hands are free.
Exit Achilles.
Uly.
Oh Gods! What Joy to Priam will this bring,
What Grief to the Achaeans!
[Page 16] Nest.
O Agamemnon! this double Violence—
Ag.
I guess your meaning, Nestor, but intend
Nor Love, nor Violence, to fair Briseis;
Untouch'd with all respect she shall remain
Till I have humbled this Proud Myrmidon.
But O Chruseis!
Love, Piety, and Honour pull at once
All several ways—Nor know I which to follow.
O Jove assist me in this doubtful strife,
And if thou doom'st my Love, Condemn my Life.
Exeunt.
The End of the First Act.
ACT II. SCENE I.
The Scene changes to the Tents of Achilles.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus.
Pat.
FOrgive their Ignorance—
Ach.
Their Ignorance was Cowardice, Patroclus.
I'll hear no more.
The faithful Dog, flies at the Robbers throat
That would break in, to force his Master's treasure;
But Dogs are watchful Servants, true to trust,
Men are the first to prey upon their Lords,
In danger they forsake us, shifting still
From side to side, as they can mend their bargains:
Are these, are these those daring Myrmidons
That threaten Hector with their valiant boasts,
And could they stand Spectators of my wrongs?
With Arms a-cross, behold my rifled Tent,
Nor with drawn Swords, and lifted Spears rush in
To kill the Ravishers—
Pat.
What could such a handful—
Ach.
They should have dy'd, if not enough to Conquer,
Each standing in his Rank, with Shield to Shield,
Have made a Wall, and barr'd the Passage up.
Briseis, O Briseis! art thou lost,
[Page 18] And do I live? And art thou ravish'd from me,
And art thou unreveng'd? O had'st thou dy'd!
Had we been sunder'd by the common Course
Of Mortal things, Necessity and Fate
Th'inevitable doom of will-ful Gods,
Had made these Griefs less painful—Had'st thou been false
And left me—Then I had hated—
For Falshood is a Cure for strongest Passions,
Contempt succeeds, and to Contempt, Aversion:
But thou wert true, our Loves were in the Spring,
And yet we part: A humane Pow'r divides us,
A Man less worthy than my self has forc'd thee,
And I must tamely bear it.
Pat.
The Gods are sparing even to those they love,
And stint their Bounties to the Best of Men:
A Man and never cross'd, would be a God.
Ach.
They should have form'd my Nature then to bear,
They should have made me a tame patient Fool,
If they had meant to exercise my Patience:
But they have cast me in a fiery Mould,
Of wrong Impatient, furious for Revenge.
Why should they tempt us, where our Virtue fails?
Why do they give us frailties, yet expect
That we should act, as free from any Weakness?
If Nature must resist to all attacks,
Why is not Nature fortify'd alike
In every part? Why are we fram'd so brittle,
If we must never break? O had they try'd my Courage!
Had Jove commanded more than Juno bid
The strong Alcides, he had found me proof:
But Patience is the Virtue of an Ass
That trots beneath his burthen and is quiet:
A Man's above it, and I scorn my Load
Which I'll shake off, or perish.
[Page 19] Pat.
Oh Love! Thou bane of the most generous Souls!
Thou doubtful Pleasure! And thou certain Pain!
What Magick's thine, that melts the hardest Hearts?
That fools the wisest Minds? What Art is this
That on so long Experience of all Ages,
So known, so try'd a Traytor should be trusted.
Ach.
Now by th'Immortal Gods, this Rape has pleas'd her;
She willing went, delighted with the Change:
Oh! She could never from her heart forgive
My Rage at Sack'd Lyrnessus; when mounting up
The mighty Wall, thrô Darts, and Stones, and Spears,
I fill'd the Streets with flaughter of her Friends:
Her seven Brothers, at her feet lay dead,
She only scap'd, her wondrous Beauty sav'd her,
And in the midst of Fury, made me tame.
Sleep, sleep ye Ghosts, lie quiet in your Graves;
Briseis has reveng'd your bloody Deaths,
Oh! She has thrust a Dagger in my Heart,
I feel the pois'ned Point, Here, here it sticks;
It tears, and burns, and I shall sleep no more.
Pat.
Suppose her false: And count this mighty Loss,
A Woman! and a Woman you've enjoy'd!
Compose your self, nor let the Great Achilles
Be thus disturb'd about a Trifle.
Ach.
And art thou False, Briseis; art thou false?
Was then thy tenderness thrô Fear, not Love?
And didst thou, like a Serpent, twine about me
Only to sting? And does this Parting please?
O how she clasps Atrides in her Arms!
So she hugg'd me, and with her darting Kisses
Met me half way, as now she meets his Lips.
How close she clings! and how with rapture melts!
Achilles is forgot—Or if remember'd,
'Tis but to curse me for her slaughter'd Brothers.
Pat.
If she is false, she is not worth this care:
If she is true, her Virtue will secure her.
[Page 20] Ach.
No—She is true—By all the Gods she loves me:
Her Vows were just, her Tenderness sincere;
There could be no Deceit in such embraces.
The Joys she felt, were mighty as my own,
I saw it in her Eyes, that dy'd away,
I felt it in her Arms, that claspt me close,
And in the eagerness of every Kiss,
Love could not be dissembled in those Moments.
But what's her Love, her Virtue, or her Truth?
The Ravisher has caught her, she must yield:
O how that Image stings! Now, now he drags her!
His Lustful Arm, strong twisted in her Hair,
In his right hand, with his drawn Sword he threatens;
See! She resists—And with her tender Nails
She tears his Cheeks, and struggles out of breath;
On Heaven she calls, on her Achilles calls,
Help, Help, she crys, I can resist no longer,
The Ravisher's too strong, and Innocence
Too weak for Lust—Help, Help, Achilles, help.
Arm, Arm, Patroclus, let our Squadrons move,
Draw every Sword to save my Ravish'd Love;
Nor leave the slaughter, till the Tyrant lies
Struck to the Ground, and cut to pieces dies.
[Exit Achill
Pat.
Love is a Phrensy that the Gods have sent
To punish Sins; for surest Vengeance meant:
To Love, is to be doom'd in Life to feel
What after Death, the tortur'd meet in Hell:
The Vulture, dipping in Prometheus side
His bloody beak, with his torn Liver dy'd.
Is Love—The Stone that labours up the Hill
Mocking the Labourer's toil, returning still:
Is Love—Those streams where Tantalus is curst
To sit, and never drink with endless thirst,
Those loaden Boughs, that with their burthen bend
To court his taste, and yet escape his hand;
[Page 21] All this is Love: That to dissembled Joys
Invites vain Men, with real griefs destroys.
(Exit Patroclus.
The Scene Changes to Agamemnon's Pavillion.
Enter Agamemnon attended. Nestor, Ulysses. Talthybius; whispering the King.
Ag.
'Tis well Talthybius,—be it your care
To see all fitting Honours paid; we would
Seem Just, not Terrible: And thô our Heart
Be shut to any other Love, Respect
Is every Woman's due—Nestor King of Pyle
What says the Holy Man.
(Exit Talthybius.
Nes.
He'll not be mov'd.
Ag.
But did you press him with your utmost art,
With all that force of Famous Eloquence
As I have heard you when the Squadrons fly
Stop Armies in a Rout; make Cowards turn
And run on certain Death.
Nes.
All that was fit, I said.
Ag.
And did you tell him of my wondrous Love,
How much I grieve, but at this name of parting:
That I'd to Argos send her Crown'd my Queen,
That she should Reign in Clytemnestra's stead,
That I would give him all the Wealth of Greece,
Empty my Coffers, ransack Kingdoms for him—
Nes.
aside.)
Half the price might purchase the whole Sex.
Ag.
And did you Weep, my Nestor, could you Weep
For fad Atrides? Down thy Reverend Cheeks
Flow'd the round drops? Did you add Tears to Words?
[Page 22] Nes.
I wept indeed——
aside.)
For a new Hellen born.
That brings more woes to Greece.
Ag.
Inhuman Priest! Why have the Gods such Servants?
The Gods are Merciful—But Priests are Bloody,
Peevish, Hard-Hearted, Positive and Proud;
Curst obstinate Old Man!
A-part to Ulysses.)
A word Ulysses—Saw you Chruseis?
Uly.
I did as you commanded; and inform'd her
Of this hard decree——I would I had not.
Ag.
Thou art a Judge of Tenderness, Ulysses,
The Fair Penelope, whom thou hast left,
Oft gives thee waking thoughts—Oh! If to part
Thô but to meet again, be such a pain,
What is't to part for ever?
How bore she the surprising Sentence?
Uly.
At first she wept; and as we see the Sun
Shine thrô a shower, so lookt her beauteous Eyes
Casting forth Light and Tears together.
Ag.
You told it not as a thing fixt and certain.
Uly.
Not wholly fixt, but scarce to be avoided.
To Tears succeeded Rage, like claps of Thunder,
And then a Calm—I left her in a Swoon.
Ag.
Oh my torn Heart!
Enter Chruseis.
Chru.
And must we part? Atrides must we part?
And do you say it? Has your Tongue pronounc'd
The Sentence of my Death? Have you consented?
Oh Agamemnon! All my Fears were true,
My hopes were false, built on your faithless Vows;
'Tis scarce an hour, since with your Lips to mine,
Pressing my Body in your eager Arms,
You Swore, and call'd down every God to witness
[Page 23] That nothing ever should divide our Loves,
And the next News is, that we part for ever.
Ag.
What will the Fates do with me!
Chru.
The Greeks, the Greeks will have it; Chalchas has dreamt,
Nestor has made a Speech, Achilles Frownd,
And Mighty Agamemnon must obey!
Has then this Leader of the World in Arms
No will, no reason of his own? Must he
Who Governs all, by every one be Govern'd?
Had Paris thus, Paris, who was no King,
No General, of no Authority,
Had he for a few threats, resign'd his Hellen,
Troy had been free'd from danger: Priam wept,
Cassander Prophesied, and Hector rag'd:
The People cry'd aloud to give her back,
The furious Greeks with Fire and Sword demand her.
Burn, burn, said he, Proud City, Illium fall,
Father, Brothers, Country, perish all,
But still be Hellen mine; My Love be mine.
Has Paris then, more Love than Agamemnon,
More Courage, to look danger in the Face,
Or I less Charms, to make my Lover bold?
Agamemnon stands silent seeming in great distraction of Thought, and looking sometimes steadfastly upon her.
Nest.
Were Agamemnon but a private Man
So might he love; and to a Woman's arms
Resign all other care: Thô that be Weakness.
But for a King, who has the charge of Nations,
Entrusted with the glory of his People,
Of many Kings, confederates in his quarrel,
The Vengeance of the Gods—
[Page 24] Chru.
Why should the Gods be angry at our Loves?
I leave no Husband, no Pollution bring,
I am no Hellen.
Uly.
The Gods are absolute; whate'er they will
Must be obey'd? Nor ought we ask the Cause.
See how he stands distracted with his Thoughts,
This way, and that way, moving in his mind;
Oh! Let him take the Path that honour leads,
And veil those Eyes, that break his heart with doubts.
Chru.
My Glory is offended at his doubts,
Nor shall the Man who had my leave to love
Forsake me till I please. Try all your Arts,
Plot, Plot, Ulysses, and thou, Nestor, tempt him
With all the strength of pow'rful Eloquence,
Join Greeks and Heaven; Ambition, Piety,
Like Gods tugging at the Chain of Jove,
I will oppose my Eyes, and bring him back.
Ag.
Oh Chruseis!
Uly.
Had Iphigenia been thus obstinate,
Our Fleet at Aulis might have anchor'd still.
But she came forth a Victim to the Gods
And chearfully obey'd their cruel call:
Th'assembly wept; She only, she, look'd glad,
And offer'd to the Knife her willing Throat
To save her Father—Can a Mistress be
Less kind and tender than a Daughter?
Chru.
O that the Gods commanded but my death,
How gladly would I die! To Die and Part
Is a less Evil—But to Part and Live
There, there's the Torment—Change, ye Gods, my doom;
Take, take my Life t'attone your bloody wrath;
Come lead me to the Altar, let me bleed;
Is there a single drop within these Veins,
Is there a Limb, that I would leave unmangled,
To give my dearest Agamemnon Joy.
[Agamemnon takes her in his Arms.
[Page 25] Ag.
Live, Live, Chruseis—Live Immortal—Thus
And thus Embrac'd, and be of Life as sure
As it is sure that we will never part.
Nest.
apart to Ulysses.
This Hellen in our Camp
Is worse then her at Troy—O why have Women Beauty,
But as the Syrens Voice? To ruine
All they meet.
Uly.
to Nestor.
Let 'em alone to please themselves a while,
I have a Plot, shall sunder 'em, when most
They think themselves secure.
Chru.
My dear Atrides, may I trust your Love?
Tell me, my King, whilst thus around thy Neck
I throw my Arms, and press thee to my Bosom,
Will you forsake me?
Ag.
Empire and Victory, be all forsaken,
All but Chruseis—Yes, ye partial Powers!
To Plagues add Poverty, Disgrace, and Shame;
Strip me of all my Dignities and Crowns,
Not one of all your Curses will be felt
Whilst I can keep this Blessing. Take, Oh! take
Your Scepters back, and give 'em to my Foes;
Give me but Life, and Love, and my Chruseis,
'Tis all I ask of Heaven.
Nest.
Think of your Oath, Atrides, how you swore—
Chru.
Yes, he has sworn; Be witness Heaven and Earth,
Be witness Sun and Moon, and every Star,
Be witness all ye Gods, that he has sworn:
Is there an hour, either of Night or Day
Free from some Oath, of Everlasting Love?
Think, think on that Atrides.
Ag.
Since perjur'd either way, I'l chuse the best;
Be broke all Oaths, but what I made to thee.
Nest.
Then farewell Troy—'Tis better sailing back
Than stay consuming here with Plagues.
[Page 26] Ag.
And so we will; to Night we will Embark:
Draw-in your Anchors, hoise-up every Sail:
What is this Town, that I should lose one Hour
Of smiling Love to win it? O Chruseis!
Thy tender truth, has mov'd my Soul so much,
I will be deaf, to every call but thine.
Be it your care, Ulysses, to dispose
Our Troops to march.
Uly.
I'll carry no such orders.
Nor would they pay Obedience if I should,
They love your Honour better.
Ag.
Our cause of War, is Scandalous and Mean,
The quarrel of a Bully, for a Jilt.
So many valiant Trojans, as have dy'd
These fertile Fields, for nine Years space with slaughter,
And made the swift Scamander run with blood,
And Menelaus, who in single fight
Struck to the ground, this Ravisher for dead,
Has satisfy'd our Vengeance, and our Honour.
Chru.
Atrides, no. Your Glory must be mine,
Nor can you thus retreat without disgrace.
Believe me, Prince, who lightly weigh their Fame
Make but ill Lovers: Honour's the strongest Ty,
That Chain once broke, there's nothing left to bind.
It is my Pride, that the first Man on Earth
Loves me: Oh Agamemnon keep that Name,
Be glorious still—Send for my Cruel Father,
Thy Love may teach thee Eloquence to move him.
Remember that Chruseis is at stake,
Nor think it mean, to Kneel, to Beg, to Weep;
This be your present Task: I leave you to it,
Adding no more but thus, and note it well.
Be constant in this Tryal of thy Love,
Mine may be next: Fate in each other's hand
[Page 27] Has plac'd a mighty Trust: Be true to thine,
Thy are be Love: And Glory shall be mine.
Exit Chruseis.
Ag.
By Mars, her Father's Spirit mov'd her Tongue,
And his Prophetick Fury shook her Soul.
Nest.
Right Woman still—
Then Foulest, when most Niceness they pretend;
They'l talk of Honour, whilst they'r acting Shame.
Uly.
She brought these Plagues, yet Counsels you to stay;
Can this be Love?
Ag.
Now by the Gods she loves me; Peace, Blasphemers.
Conceptions may like Oracles be dark
To humane search, till by Events explain'd.
Oh! I have faith, for every word she speaks,
And when I leave her, may the Furies seize me.
Enter Chalcas.
Chal.
Hear Agamemnon, all ye Princes hear.
Thus to the Gods, in sacred Synod met
Has Jove pronounc'd—Let not one God be seen
Henceforth to help the Greeks: Our self to day
Will lead the Trojans on, to vengeful Fight:
Mars whets his Sword, and Phoebus keens his Darts,
And the broad Cyclops, forge unerring Bolts;
Juno and Pallas, and the Friends of Greece
In vain implore: But Chidden stand aloof,
Nor dare reply. Yet e'er the Doom be Seal'd,
Or writ by Fate irrevocable down,
If possible, attone this Wrath of Heaven,
Appease the Gods, and send Chruseis back,
The Cause, the cursed Cause of all our Plagues.
Ag.
Prophet, be dumb.
I read thy purpose, and I know thee well,
Thy fatal Voice, ne'er boded good to me:
[Page 28] Brib'd by Achilles still with popular lies,
Devising Prophecies to cross my Will.
Think not that I forget, Seditious Priest,
'Twas thy curst Tongue, pronounc'd my Daughter's Death:
The Gods are Just, and Merciful, and Mild,
Nor made such harsh Demands. 'Twas Priest-craft all.
Chal.
From Heaven these warnings come—O hear me, King!
Be yet advis'd—
Ag.
Not Fate's more fixt: Whate'er the Gods have purpos'd,
My Purpose is immutable as theirs.
Nor think me rash, or obstinate in this;
Debated and Deliberate's my resolve,
Whatever Eloquence can urge or frame
I have fore-thought: And shall I part with love
More precious than my Life, to save my Life?
What Fool would barter Blessings for a Curse?
And Life without Chruseis, is the worst
That Fate can find.
Chal.
But Millions are concern'd.
Ag.
And can they better die than for Chruseis?
The World's a worthless Sacrifice for her
More worth than thousand Worlds. Let Chaos come,
Confusion seize on all, whene'er we part;
Intr'est, Ambition, Piety, Renown,
Pity, and Reason, I have weigh'd 'em all,
But O how light! When Love is in the Scale.
Chal.
If Love with every breath can drive it thus
No more let Glory lodge in Humane breast.
Ag.
The Gods that with unnumber'd Eyes look down
From their high Firmament, all stuck with Lights,
See nothing half so Glorious or so Bright.
Glory, that common Mistress of Mankind,
Courted by all, but by so few possess'd,
For which so many Rivals hourly fall,
Early I saw, was tempted, and enjoy'd.
[Page 29] But Love has led me to new Realms of Bliss,
Where Pleasures blossom with Eternal spring,
Enjoyment's made immortal by desire,
And Joys flow-in on Joys, and Rapture streams:
All other sweets are visionary bliss,
Nothing but Love substantial extasie.
Nest.
Oh! That a Face should thus confound our Reason!
This is meer Wildness, Phrenzie, Raving,—
Lunaticks talk better Sense—If this be Love,
Why then, to Love, is to be Mad, stark Mad.
Chal.
Not for thy self, for thou seem'st pleas'd with ruine:
But for the Lives and Honours of all Greece
Do I emplore—Nestor, Ulysses, join,
Entreat him all.——
Weep Princes for your Glories are at stake,
Weep all ye Soldiers for your Lives condemn'd,
Melt, melt this stubborn King—Oh Agamemnon!
To thee I kneel, thus hanging on thy Robe,
Who never wept or knelt but to the Gods;
Let Pity and let Piety prevail:
Behold in me, their Representative,
The Gods of Greece all prostrate at thy Feet,
To save their Altars that e're Night are doom'd
A prey to Trojan rage.
Uly.
Not for my self, or that I fear to die,
Would I avert these Fates—
Ag.
Gods, 'tis too much! why am I hunted thus?
Let loose my Robe—
O Love! How hard a Fate is thine,
Obtain'd with Trouble, and with Pain preserv'd,
Never at rest.
Re-enter Chruseis.
Haste to my Rescue, my Chruseis come,
O hide me from these Tyrants, in thy Arms,
Thou only bring'st me Peace.
[Page 30] Chal.
She only brings you Ruine.
Nest.
Infamy.
Uly.
Inevitable Fate.
Chru.
I fear'd th'advantage that my absence gave,
Forgive my doubts that bring me back again.
By Gods abandon'd, and Mankind pursu'd;
All, all are Foes to your Chruse is now,
Nothing but Love pleads for me.
Ag.
And Love's enough: What argument so strong?
Absent and Present, thou art still the same,
My Faith's the same—What thô the Hunter flies,
The strucken Stag bleeds on.
Th'impression that thou leav'st upon my Soul
Lies there so deep, so lively, and so full,
That Memory recalls no other Thought
But only Love: And only Love of thee.
Chal.
Chryses will have a better answer—
Ag.
No other will I give—So tell him, Prophet:
O there is wondrous Eloquence in Eyes!
Let him complain, and arm all Heaven against me:
Yet stay—Our self will hear what he demands.
Fain would I reconcile my Love and Fame;
Judge me, ye Powers! I would be justifi'd
In all I do—But come what will—
Gods ye may make us Perish; but not Part.
Give me thy hand.
Thô the Winds beat, and loud the Billows roar,
Firm stands the Rock, Unshaken from the Shoar:
Against my Love, thô Heaven and Earth combine,
So will I cleave to Thee, for Ever thine.
The End of the Second Act.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Enter from one side of the Theatre Agamemnon, attended: From the other Chryses, follow'd by Priests. Trumpets sounding.
Ag.
ART thou that Holy Man, so near the Gods,
Admitted to their Synods, to encline
Their hearts to Men, to represent our Griefs,
And move redress for the afflicted World,
Yet art thy self, obdurate to our Prayers,
Can'st with dry Eyes, behold a Monarch weep,
And preaching Mercy, yet thy self have none?
Chry.
Art thou that King renown'd for pious deeds,
Who from far Argos, to the Dardan Coast
Ha'st led so many Kings to punish Rapes,
Yet art thy self, a Ravisher?
Ag.
Thy Daughter was a Captive of the War,
My liberal Stars made me the precious Gift:
Thy right is lost; by Conquest she is mine.
Chry.
Then as a Captive, I demand her back,
Paying her Ransom, which by right of War
None can refuse.
Ag.
Keep, keep thy sordid Pelf,
The Gleanings of thy Trade by holy Taxes;
Should that bright God, whose Minister thou art,
[Page 32] Who, in his spacious round, from Pole to Pole,
Surveys the hidden Treasures of the deep,
Then lifting up his prying Eyes to Land
Searches the secret bowels of the Earth,
O should he bid me for my lov'd Chruseis
All that his Eye beholds, his Beams create
In that vast Circle, of the girded Globe,
By Mars, it were too little—Priest I tell thee
She is above all Ransom.
Chr.
Then ransomless restore her.
Ag.
Ungrateful Man, are these, are these my thanks?
When by the right of War I might have sold,
As others did, thy Daughter for a Slave,
A Houshold druge to some far distant Land,
I kept her for my self, to be my Queen,
To raise her, as in Beauty, in degree
Superiour to all others of her Sex:
What would thy Pride have more?
Chr.
Consent is free.
I tell thee King thou shalt not force her from me.
Ag.
Have I us'd force? What have I left unsaid?
What have I left unbid to tempt thy Pride,
Or glut thy Sacerdotal avarice?
Will Pow'r and Riches, bend thy stubborn Soul!
Take Argos, and Micene, all I have—
Will Pray'rs and Tears prevail? Behold me Weep.
Will Adoration touch thee? See me Kneel
Thus prostrate at thy Feet, as to the Gods.
Chr.
Were Clytemnestra Dead——
Ag.
Were Clytemnestra Dead! Her doom is seal'd;
Yes, she shall die, she has deserv'd it long.
Whilst I pursue my Brother's wrongs at Troy,
My Brother's Fate has caught me:—
Whilst I Besiege a vile Adulterer here
Adultery is got to my own Bed.
[Page 33] Chr.
How fatal still to thee, and to thy Blood,
Has Beauty ever been! Aeropè first
With foulest Incest stain'd thy Father's Bed;
Thence follow'd Rapin, and avenging Wars,
Murthers, at which th' astonish'd Sun went back,
And turn'd aside, and veil'd his head in Clouds.
Thy Brother was the next; and thou the Third;
Heirs of Adultery: From Sire to Son,
Pollution, like Inheritance, descends
On thy whole Race; Nor wilt thou yet be warn'd.
Curse, Curse the Sex; hate Women and be Wise.
Ag.
Chruseis is a Star, without a spot;
With all her Sex's Charms, without their faults.
Though there are Seas that Rocks and Quicksands hide,
And with impetuous rage toss every Bark,
Are there not Streams that we may safely trust?
Though from each Soil spring forth the deadliest Roots,
Are there not fragrant Flow'rs and wholsom Plants?
Chr.
I came not here to argue, but demand,
Nor am I to be mov'd.
Ag.
Nor I, Proud Priest.—
Oh! give me patience, Heaven! 'Tis well, 'tis well,
Chruseis is thy Daughter, or thy Life
Should pay thy Arrogance—Hence, hence, be gone,
Lest I recal my Mercy—If again
Thou'rt seen returning to my Camp, Thou Diest,
Neither thy Office, nor thy Gods shall save thee.
Chr.
Hear me, Apollo! With thy silver Bow
Shoot these proud Greeks, and double all their Plagues;
And thou, O Jove, when their Battalions face
The Trojan Hosts, prepar'd to join the Battel,
With Lightning and with Thunder singe their Ranks,
Drive 'em before their Foes; Burn, Burn their Ships,
Nor let a Man be seen returning back
To tell the News in Argos.
[Page 34] Ag.
Hence Scrietch-Owl.
My Mortals are a Match for thy best Gods.
Twice has strong Diomed, in single Fight,
Dipp'd in Immortal Nichor his huge Spear,
And driven the God of Combat from the Field.
I dare thy worst, insulting Prophet.
Chr.
The Curse of Curses; May Domestick broils
Never forsake thy House; May that Lewd Couple
Who now Pollute thy Bed, contrive thy Death,
And perish by the Hands that most have wrong'd thee.
Next, May thy Son Orestes, to revenge
Thy fate, Murther his Mother, then run Mad,
By Furies haunted. And as thou hast Robb'd
Me of a Daughter, so may thine be forc'd
Into some Land unknown, to serve a Priest.
I pray the Gods, that this may be the Fate
Of thee and thine; and so I leave thee to it.
[Exit Chryses.
Ag.
Come all these Plagues.—Yet trust me I am mov'd,
And somewhat whispers to my Soul,—Thus it shall be.
The Prophet's Voice, is but the Voice of Fate,
Thus Perish Agamemnon and his Race.
My Children too! In what have they Offended?
From Son to Son shall Vengeances descend,
Guilty and Innocent alike involv'd!
Can this be Justice, Gods.? Why am I Curst
But for my Father's Crimes? Thy [...]stes Incest;
Thy Blasphemies, Oh Atreus! cry aloud
For Judgment still, and bloody Expiation.
Command our Priests do present Sacrifice;
By Prayers the Gods are mov'd.
Forward Eurybates.—
[Exit Agamemnon and Train.
Nes.
'Tis better be a Dog, than be a Man;
Instinct of Nature is the only Guide
Unerring. Vain Light of Reason! Ah how frail!
How hard to be kept in, by steadiest bearers,
Put out by every accidental breath
That Passion blows! I say again Ulysses,
What Fool would be a Man, who had the Choice
Of his own Being? The best, most perfect,
Are so allay'd; the good so mix'd with bad;
Like counterfeited Coin of mingled Metal,
The Noble part's not currant for the Base.
Uly.
What pity 'tis, a Man so Brave, so Just,
Bate but this failing, this one fault of Love;
A Man resembling more the Gods than Men,
Should so be lost.—
Nes.
What hinders us to loose
The fury of the Soldiers on this Woman?
Why tear they not this Author of their Woes
Piecemeal, and hew the Enchantress Limb from Limb?
Uly.
There Nestor, there's the wonder: As at Troy
When Hellen passes through the crowded streets,
Who curs'd her out of sight, strait bless aloud
And cry she's worth the War; Who would not Fight,
Though sure to Dye, to serve such wondrous Beauty?
So when the Fair Chruseis comes in view,
Her Beauty reconciles the most enrag'd;
The Sick, who know they perish for her sake,
Crawl from their Tents, to gaze upon her Face,
And looking on her, feel returns of strength.
Soldiers and Captains throng in Crowds about her,
And with loud Cries, approve their General's Love,
[Page 36] And with one Voice, consent to their own ruin.
To lose the sight of her, seems what they fear
More than the loss of Life or Victory.
Thus desperate are our ills.—
But we will yet retrieve him—
If Human Wit or Artifice can find
A remedy, spite of himself he shall be safe.
Nes.
Vain Boaster of thy Wit! O Flatterer!
Is there in Art a remedy for Love?
For Love thus obstinate!
Uly.
Nestor there is.
Himself has furnisht us the Means, the Ground
Whereon to build—'Tis Jealousy shall do't.
Th' Arrival of Briseis shall effect it,
And with this little spark, I'll light a flame,
Shall purge our Air of all this Love-infection.
Already have I urg'd our fair destroyer,
And vext her mind with sharp anxieties:
I left her pondring, doubtful, and perplext,
And see, she comes—How thoughful!
Let us retire—when this has workt,
The dose shall be repeated.
Nes.
I guess which way thou driv'st: Succeed it Gods!
'Tis our last throw of Fortune.
[Exeunt.
Enter Chruseis, Artemis, and other Women Attendants.
Chru.
Said you so hot and passionate!
Art.
Worse, Madam, worse than I can tell you.
Chru.
And so they parted!
Art.
On such ill terms, better they'd never met.
Chru.
Then farewel all my hopes; And all ye joys
Of Love, for ever—Ah! farewel—
Love, what is Love? state me that question right,
[Page 37] Let me consider—Is it to quench desire,
To follow Nature roving after Sense?
This is self-love, unquiet to possess
For its own ease; the brutal Love of Beasts.
'Tis vile, 'tis shameful, I abhor the thought.
Then what is Love? Stay—let me think again.
Is it to fix our Wishes on one Object?
Pleas'd only when the thing we love is pleas'd;
Partaking of its sorrows, seeking its good;
Desirous more to give than to receive;
Willing to part with all, with Fortune, Life;
Chusing all Miseries, satisfy'd, rejoic'd
With any Ruin that's the means of Safety
To the Man belov'd.—Ay—this is Love,
True Love, Heroick Love: 'Tis Generous, 'tis Divine.
Say, Artemis; think'st thou no Woman yet
Lov'd thus?
Art.
None, Madam,—that I e're heard of.
Chru.
I tell thee then, there will be one e're Night,
Thanks to your kindness, Gods.—But that's a secret.
Why, why am I pick'd out to be the first?
The first,—perhaps, and last.—The Custom is,
From Man to Man to wander with our wishes,
Meeting, and parting, as it seems convenient:
These are call'd happy; these enjoy the Goods
Of Life and Fortune; all the World's their own;
Pleasure's their Mate; their hearts are still at ease.
But have these Virtue? No.—Is Virtue then
Given to make us wretched? Ah! sad Portion,
Fatal to all that have thee! shunn'd on Earth,
Depress'd, and shown but in severest Trials,
Condemn'd to solitude, then shining most
When black Obscurity surrounds—Poor, poor,
But ever beautiful.
[Page 38] Art.
Your thoughts are much disturb'd; you think too much.
Chru.
Could I not think, I were most happy.
But to the purpose—
Something I must resolve, quickly resolve,
For Fate comes on apace, and treads us near.
To stay is to undo the Man I love;
Shall I, shall I do that?
Art.
Ulysses, Madam.
Ulysses Entring.
Chru.
Ha! thou hast rouz'd a thought! no; 'tis impossible:
To doubt's an injury: to suspect a Friend
Is breach of Friendship: Jealousy's a Seed
Sown but in vicious Minds: prone to mistrust,
Because apt to deceive—I'll think no more on't.
Draw near, Ulysses, let me view thee well.
Look up, look on my facè, erect and bold,
That humble Cringe, and that malicious Smile,
Those downcast Eyes betray thy treacherous Soul:
I tell thee, Greek, thou hast a lying look.
My Love's above thy Malice.
Uly.
Far be all Malice from my honest meaning;
But thus unwelcome Truths are still receiv'd:
No Secret have I told, nor idle Rumour,
But publick Certainties.—Briseis Rape
Is now the common talk of every tongue;
But for what end, what purpose;—far be't from me
T' interpret;—such Violence indeed
Looks strange, exceeding strange, to have no meaning.
And thus much may I add, without offence;
When Ladies can foresee approaching Change,
'Tis good to be before-hand with a Lover;
Better to leave than to be left. But you know best;
I advise nothing—He has sworn, say you,
[Page 39] Not to forsake; and having rais'd your hopes
To that degree, 'twere cruel to delude:
Yet I have known many an eager Lover
Protesting Love to death, defying Ruin,
When Reason and all Remedies have fail'd,
Cur'd by another Love. Nothing so common
As Love excluding Love. For just as Poyson
Is expell'd by Poyson; so one Woman
Drives another out. Frown not, nor be displeas'd;
What I suggest, is meant but to forewarn.
Chru.
What you suggest, is false; is false, Ulysses.
Beware the Vengeance of an injur'd Lover:
Not Blasphemy's more hateful to the Gods,
Than to a Lover is his Faith traduc'd.
Uly.
It may be false, and it may not. 'Tis wise to arm
'Gainst every Ill that's barely possible.
You have his Word; the Gods his Oath: he loves you,
And loves he not the Gods? Both ways engag'd;
To part, and not to part. But now we saw him
Doubting and unresolv'd, perplex'd to chuse:
Who once has doubted, may do so again.
And why this other Woman? Why Briseis
Just at this time, just now, the very moment
When Fate pronounc'd your parting? Implies it not
Design of Change? Intention to supply
The space in Love, that Destiny has doom'd?
And seems it not to say,—Take, take her, Gods,
But let me first provide a Successor.
Love, like an eager Gamester, overlooks;
But Reason, an impartial stander-by,
Sees this and more.
Chru.
Reason seems Malice when it comes from thee;
This might have weight from any other mouth.
From men professing treachery and deceit,
Even Truth it self's suspected.—
[Page 40] I know you false, insinuating, sly;
I know Atrides just, and full of honour,
Nor will I doubt his truth.
Uly.
The King is just, and you are just to think it:
Oh 'tis a wondrous proof of strong Esteem,
Not to mistrust a Friend, though there were ground:
And here are grounds, weighty appearances;
I say, in any other man 'twould look suspicious;
That's all—But sure the King is full of honour.
Oaths indeed in Love, differ from other Cases;
They bind, that's true. But as in vanquish'd Towns,
The Conquer'd to the Conqueror takes an Oath:
Yet if another comes, of greater Power,
And drives him out, that former Oath is null'd:
Nor is it Perjury to swear anew,
For who can help his Fate: Just so in Love,
Men swear.—And so observ'd.—'Tis Constancy.
Chru.
Who would be wicked, and yet fear the name;
Excuse their yielding still by pleading Force.
But speak Ulysses, truly if thou canst;
For I would know my danger. You have seen
This Miracle. Report still adds—
And smallest things are magnify'd by Fame.
Is she indeed so dangerous?
Uly.
What Images shall Eloquence prepare,
To paint a Form so perfect and Divine?
Others by slow degrees advance in Love,
And step by step, and leisurely get ground:
We Article with Judgment e're we yield,
Reason rejecting oft, where Fancy's fond.
She, seizes hearts, not waiting for Consent;
Like sudden Death, that snatches unprepar'd;
Like Fire from Heaven, scarce seen so soon as felt.
All other Beauties seem inferior Stars,
At her appearance, vanishing apace;
When e're she mounts, they set.
[Page 41] Chru.
'Tis worth my Pride to brave a Foe so Fair:
Cease, cease, my Eyes to Weep, resume your Pow'r,
Yo [...] Glory in this Battel is concern'd:
Approach thou Rival for my Monarch's heart;
I'll face thy Beauties, with as many more,
With Eyes oppos'd to Eyes, and Charms to Charms,
I'll fight it out, and Combat for his Love,
And let him be inconstant if he can.
Uly.
None who have Eyes but must allow your pow'r;
If she has any equal it is you.
But Fortune holds the Scale for all Events;
Light is the Balance where Desert is weigh'd,
If but a Grain of better Luck's against it.
How many Beauties, scarce regarded pass,
While Thousands with worse Faces gather Crowds?
Beauty it self owes many slaves to Luck.
In dangers imminent, retreats are wise;
And a new Face has strange prevailing Charms.
Chru.
From Cowardice, not Prudence, springs Despair.
Who doubt their Fortune, are not Wise, but Fear.
Uly.
Her's are the Odds, by being Unenjoy'd;
Were there but that, O 'tis a powerful Charm!
Th' Ill-favour'd, and the Ugly, and the Old,
Pass with this Charm, the Charm of being New.
Chru.
I see your snare: The Greeks would have me gone;
The King resists, and you would bait his Eyes
With a new Beauty, to supplant my pow'r:
You counsel flight, lest I should stay and Conquer:
Therefore I'll stay, to add this Triumph more.
Thou plott'st against thy self, Vain, vain, Projector!
My Honour needs no Lessons you can give;
I see my way, and will consult my Fame.
[Page 42] Enter Briseis Guarded and led in Strugling.
Bri.
Let go, ye Slaves, How dare you disobey?
Achilles will not leave me unreveng'd.
How dare you touch with Impious hands what's his?
If not his Wrath that keeps the World in Terror,
Then fear my Frown that makes Achilles tremble.
Uly. to Chruseis.
I must acqaint the King with her arrival;
Forgive the Office, Madam.—
[Exit Ulysses.
Bri.
Loose me, I say.—
Chr.
Stand off, ye Ravishers—And let my Eye
Take a just view of this Imperious Beauty.
Let go your Impious hold—'tis my Command.
They leave her at Liberty, and stand at distance. She comes forward.
Bri.
Whose Voice is this that has more Pow'r than mine?
With shame this freedom I receive, that's ow'd
To any other Frown but to my own.
Chr.
If you'd be absolute, you should have staid
Where you were so—but here 'tis I Command.
Bri.
If here you Reign, thank Fortune for your Pow'r,
That never brought Briseis here till now.
Chr.
Survey me well, and as you look grow Humbler.
Bri.
I have survey'd, and I confess you fair,
I like you well—but like my self much better.
Chr.
Nature this comfort has to none deni'd,
That all are Wits and Beauties to themselves.
Re-enter Ulysses.
Uly.
Thus Agamemnon greets the fair Briseis:
Brightest of Beauties, Hail! Welcome, as once
Chruseis was, e're yet the Curse of Heav'n
[Page 43] Made her and Ruin one—Welcom as Venus,
Would she abandon Troy to side with Greece:
Forgotten be this Day, all sorrows past,
For here are endless Joys—unmarkt the Sun
Now shrowds his Beams—for here are brighter Rays.
Sound, Sound our Trumpets, and our Timbals, Sound
Triumph through all our Camp—for Victory
Not shows a form so Fair.
Chr.
Thou do'st bely him, basely thou bely'st him,
These Words are thine, this Welcome is thy own.
It is the fate of Kings to be so serv'd,
Ill Ministers prophaning thus their Names
With acts unknown to them.
Think not to practice Treason and escape:
Offended Majesty, and injur'd Love
Shall find thee out, and thunder on thy head:
Traytor they shall.
Bri.
I easily believe his Homage true,
Nor thank him for't—but take it as my due.
Chr.
Foolish self flatterer! how my Agamemnon
Will turn to scorn thy sensless Vanity!
Bri.
How I shall triumph to behold thy rage
For a lost Love! not Conquerors delight
In winning Towns and Kingdoms from each other,
More than we Women to take Lovers—
Though fancy may be nice and ti'd to one,
Pride is insatiate and demands a Crowd.
My Beauty, like Achilles, fights at all.
Oh, 'tis a glorious sight! to see the Men
Gazing with Eyes, that glow with Rapture on us,
To hear them cry aloud, Oh Gods how charming!
To have a Train attending up and down,
Watching at every turn to catch a Glance,
Breathing their Wishes after us in sighs:
Oh how we triumph! and with scornful toss
[Page 44] We tread along in State, and look Disdain!
Uly.
aside.]
O sympathy of Mind! well-suited Pair!
Happy Achilles! happy Briseis! two so like,
So much the same; how blest were they to meet!
How firm and lasting must their Passion be!
Strong as self-love! In them 'tis nothing else:
As in a Glass each their own Image sees,
And loving, in each other they enjoy,
And hug their own Reflection—
Chru.
Proportion thy endeavours to thy strength:
To such vain things, no Grief of heart's like this,
To labour to be lik'd, to sue for Praise
With greedy eyes, and still to be deceiv'd:
Go somewhere else to practise thy Designs;
Here like a common thing thou'lt pass along,
And unregarded, scarce attract one Eye.
Uly.
to Briseis.]
Forgive the Anguish of a rival'd Beauty;
When Ladies rail, 'tis Envy, not Dislike.
'Tis plain she fears, by counselling to go,
Nor dares to stand the trial with your Eyes:
Stay and assert your Empire over Man,
Which Heaven design'd, creating you so fair.
Bris.
Wise, wise Ulysses.—I remember well,
Oft I have seen you in Achilles Tent:
For nice Discernment, and deep Wisdom fam'd.
Yes, she would have me go, I see her Cunning;
But I will stay to get her Lovers from her,
And then I'll leave you all, to break your hearts.
I come not like a Conqueror to remain,
I have a better Countrey of my own;
But mean to show the Terror of my Eyes,
To burn, consume, to ravage, and away.
To the Guards.]
Come show me to this King, who waits to dye,
I long to let the killing Arrow fly.
[Page 45] To Chruseis.]
Follow, and witness to thy own Disgrace;
I challenge thee—to meet me on the place.
[Exit Briseis with the Guard.
Uly.
to Chruseis.]
Judge better now of my Advice.
Chr.
Traytor avoid me; from my sight, be gone;
The King shall know thy Malice, and revenge it.
Avoid my sight—
Glory that bid me go, now bids me stay,
To clear my King; that you and all may see,
Rather than live with her, he'll dye with me.
The End of the Third Act.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
Scene changes to the Tents of Achilles.
Enter Achilles and Patroclus.
Ach.
THE Gods have taken Vengeance from our hands,
And seem resolv'd to do our Work alone;
Like sprightly Steeds broke from their Mangers loose,
That toss in Air their Necks, and neigh aloud;
So march the Trojans from behind their Walls:
They clash their Armour, and they shake their Spears,
And with loud Cries provoke the Greeks to Battel.
Pat.
Oh Achilles!
Ach.
Why weeps Patroclus in this hour of Joy?
Vengeance is sure; his Foes upon his Foes
Shall do Achilles right. Rejoice, Rejoice:
O give me Musick; found aloud, Rejoice,
Till every Valley ecchoes back, Rejoice.
Let all our Myrmidons be seen to day,
With Garlands crown'd, as at a Feast of Triumph;
Let Songs of Joy be heard in every Tent;
And like the Corybantes crush the Ground,
Each drumming in his hand a Brazen Cymbal.
Now by the Gods, the Myrmidon that weeps
Today's a Traytor, and shall dye.
[Page 47] Pat.
That Traytor is Patroclus:—Death's my choice,
Rather than live to see my Friends destroy'd.
Ach.
Has then Patroclus any other Friend,
More lov'd than his Achilles? Wouldst thou dye,
Rather than live to see my Wrongs reveng'd?
Pat.
No, by the Gods I'd dye to bring thee Vengeance:
Thy Foes are mine: But let our Wrath be just,
Not brutal. What Wrongs hast thou receiv'd
From any other Greek, but Agamemnon?
And must all perish for the Crimes of one?
Ach.
Perish like dogs: I laugh to see 'em bleed;
Their dying Groans are Musick to my ears;
My Rage makes no distinction: All are Foes,
That to my Foes are Friends.—Away Patroclus,
How canst thou pity them, and yet love me?
Pat.
O Gods! Let never Rage like this possess
Patroclus.
O hard-hearted, cruel Prince,
Thou surely wer't not of a Goddess born,
Nor was the good Aeacides thy Sire:
Sprang from the Sea thou seem'st, begot by Storms,
And thy impenetrable Heart's a Rock.
Ach.
Take heed, Patroclus, lest thy ill-tim'd Pity
Provoke me too; and I forget our Friendship.
Pat.
Forget it, do; and bury in my Breast
Thy bloody Blade: I'll not outlive the day
That brings such foul dishonour to my Countrey.
Think not that I'll stand by, a tame Spectator.
If Greece must fall, then fall Patroclus too.
I'll to the Fight.
Ach.
Now by the Gods thou shalt not;
With my drawn Sword I'll bar the Passage up,
And see what Myrmidon dares help the Greeks.
Pat.
That Myrmidon am I.—Dishonour brand me,
If I not go; or falling on the Point
Of my own Sword, give freedom to my Soul,
[Page 48] That does disdain to live beyond its Honour.
Ach.
Is this thy Love, Patroclus?
Pat.
That I do love thee, well thou know'st, Achilles:
Command me to cut off a Limb, I'll do't.
Let but this Day be past, on which depends
The Safety and the Glory of all Greece;
This Day of such Importance to the Publick,
And then thy private Grudge shall be my own.
To single Fight I'll challenge Agamemnon;
Let us preserve him for our own Revenge.
'Tis base to see a Foe oppress'd with odds;
Make Vengeance sure, but let it then be brave.
Ach.
Thou hast o'recome me; and my Heart, like Wax,
Melts at thy Tears, and can deny thee nothing.
Go then, Patroclus, where thy Glory calls:
And thou alone of all the Greeks be safe.
What mean my eyes by these unusual drops?
No: Thou must stay. Oh! think again, Patroclus.
The good Maenetius, when at Pthia l [...]st
We parted, gave thee, weeping, to my Charge;
Take here, said he, all that my Soul holds dear,
And safe return him, to support my Age.
Well have I kept my Word; behind my Shield
I plac'd thee still; my Body was thy Armour;
Still side by side we fought, and never parted.
My Friend, my-dearest Friend, why wilt thou leave me?
Pat.
At night I'll come all glorious back again,
And fill your Tents with Spoils of slaughter'd Foes.
The Greeks and Trojans that beheld me fight
Beneath your Buckler, shelter'd by your Sword;
And think Patroclus is too weak alone;
Shall see that I can fight without a Guard.
Ach.
Oh cruel Honour! that obliges thee
To go, and me to stay. My Soul till now
[Page 49] Ne're felt such strife; not when I lost Briseis.
Then wilt thou go?
Pat.
O melt me not with so much Tenderness:
My heart that beat but now with Manly Virtue,
Is soften'd like a Woman's.
Ach.
Go then, whilst all thy Courage is upon thee,
But go attended like Achilles Friend;
Take all my Troops, and put my Armour on;
Look like Achilles, like Achilles fight;
Be thou victorious, perish all the rest;
Let Agamemnon, like a beaten Slave,
Fly to his Ships, and there be burnt or drown'd;
Let Fire and Sword all other Greeks destroy,
Till Thou and I, alone, are left to conquer Troy.
Exeunt severally.
The Scene returns to Agamemnon's Pavilion.
Enter Nestor and Ulysses, seeming in discourse with Chruseis.
Nes.
Let but some modest Matron come in view,
How unregarded and unmarkt she goes:
O let her pass, they cry, she's good for nothing.
But let some flanting Minx come prancing by,
All Eyes are on her, and all Necks are bow'd;
Oh how they strive and justle to get nearest!
Hide, hide your Heads, ye Gods, from Mortal Worship,
When such as these, divide our Adorations.
Uly.
It looks more like a Triumph, than a Rape:
To joyful Tunes the merry Timbrels play,
While Captive Queens like Minstrels dance and sing.
Trumpets and Tymbals sound Olympus high;
The Voice of Victory made a Call to Lust:
[Page 50] In graceful Order each Battallon's drawn;
And in the Front our Princes stand in Arms,
Shining with Gold, and nod their stately Plumes,
Saluting as she passes.—Armour that's Proo
To Swords and Spears, and to the Javelins Thrust,
Gives easy Passage to one Glance of hers;
Whilst with disdainful State she treads along,
And looks regardless of such petty Conquest;
None but their King, their General.—But hark!
Again the Trumpets—This way bends the Sound;
Sure she approaches—Madam, will you meet
The Show—It may be worth your Curiosity.
Chr.
D'ye mock me, Greek? Am I become your scorn?
I thank ye, Gods, though Love is mine no more,
Yet Vengeance is.—Ungrateful Man!
And was I kept with so much Form of Truth,
To be but left with greater Infamy!
Forsaken! Oh the disgraceful word! False!
Is he false? No, let him if he dares—
I'll stay, that he may perish.
Exit Chruseis.
Nes.
Nay then we are again outwitted.
Uly.
Is't not in Art to tempt a Woman once
To stray from Wickedness? Or to beguile her
Into good? Are then their Stars so strong,
That they are fated to be mischievous?
Enter Agamemnon attended.
Ag.
Bid Diomed with his Aetolian Horse,
Observe 'em from you Hill.—
[Page 51] To live and conquer is the Noblest Fate,
But the next Glory is a Gallant Death.
Success, O Jove, and Victory are thine,
Fortune is thine; my Honour is my own:
Facing my Doom, with my drawn Sword I'll stand,
Nor turn my Back upon thy wrathful Bolt.
Uly.
Yet might I advise—
Ag.
Still the same Argument.
Thou know'st my Answer.—I am fixt.
I see my Fate, ye Gods, and I accept it;
Life is not worth the Price you ask—To live
With her I love, was my first Wish—My next,
Is to dye with her.
Uly.
But this word more, and I have done.—
Ag.
Spare thy self the pains—Thy words, like Winds
Against an Oak, regardless whistle by;
The Leaves are troubled, but the Root is fix'd.
I say, thou may'st displease, but canst not move.
I am not to be mov'd.
Uly.
Then hear me as an Advocate for Love,
The Friend of Love:—For what so sweet in Love
As Change. If you must love, then love
Like other men: Love like th'Immortal Gods,
Variety; the Luxury of Love.
Ag.
I understand thee not. Trust me, Ulysses,
I fear thy Brain is troubled.
Uly.
Thus I unfold the Riddle.—Briseis Rape
I neither counsell'd nor approv'd; you know it:
Much urg'd, and much provok'd, against your Nature,
Unwilling to all Violence, you did it.
Make the best use of what is past recall;
Take her, and give Chruseis to the Gods:
So shall you love, and be victorious still,
Live and enjoy. Exchanges like to this,
Love does allow and practise every hour.
[Page 52] She's handsome, and a Woman, a kind Woman,
What would you more? And what does Love require,
But beautiful and kind?
Ag.
Far be such wicked Counsellors from Kings:
How dar'st thou, Traytor, tempt my honest heart
To such vile Purposes. When I am false,
Forsake me all that's true. What! parcel Love
Like common Dole, by Scraps, to every Eye
That hungers after Lust! shall I do this?
No. My frank Soul gives largely, all at once,
Nothing by halves. True Love has no Reserves.
Yes, my Chruseis, I am only thine;
Only and all. The Soul that's snatch'd by Death,
Returns no more: Nor will her Eyes give back
The Heart she keeps in her Eternal Chain.
Uly.
Behold Briseis entring—Timely she comes
To end this Argument: her Eyes will plead
More strongly than my Tongue: To them I leave it.
[Exit Ulysses.
Enter Officers and Attendants, Then Briseis.
Agamemnon approaches her, bowing respectfully.
Ag.
Forgive me, Madam—
Bri.
E're thou speak'st, hear me: Thy vain Intent
I easily divine. 'Tis Love thou'dst mention.—
Ag.
With needless Fears—
Bri.
Approach me not—
Perhaps you thought, because I lov'd Achilles,
'Twas possible some other might succeed.
If once some Man, more charming than the rest,
Has found the way to melt a Womans heart,
Strait every Fool presumes to be as welcome.
[Page 53] Ag.
Give me but leave—
Bri.
No; you shall never have my leave to Love.
Or did you think, because your Empire's wider
In Power and Wealth, exceeding my Achilles,
With higher Offers to corrupt my Faith?
Though Hearts for Hearts, uncertainly prevail,
Riches and Power are Baits that never fail:
He makes most progress in a Woman's Breast,
Who Proffers highest, not who Loves her best.
These are the insolent remarks of Men,
With which we know you all arraign our Sex;
But learn to the confusion of thy hopes,
I would not change for Mars,—much less for thee.
Ag.
Think not that I mean—
Bri.
I care not what you mean—Thou dar'st not Greek,
Not for thy life offend Divine Achilles.
When he withdraws his Arm, your Glory sinks,
Achilles is the Pillar of your Cause,
The Prop of Greece, and Terror of the Trojans,
And Thou, without him, Nothing.
Enter Chruseis.
Chr.
Think not I come to interrupt your Joys,
Ungrateful King, I know I am unwelcome:
As willingly as thou hast made this Choice,
So willingly, Chruseis do's confirm it,
Take, Take her, Traitor, Take her to your Arms,
Falsest of Greeks, who are of Men the falsest:
I quit you of all Vows, of all Engagements
Give her my Oaths that you repent you made,
And I repent, that ever I received.
To Briseis.] Nor triumph thou; for were he worth my keeping,
Thou should'st not have him yet: The Gift I make
Is of a thing I scorn.
[Page 54] Bri.
I scorn as much to take it.
Ag.
What means Chruseis?
Chru.
Oh Agamemnon! hadst thou but been true,
Hadst thou been constant but a little longer,
Couldst thou have persever'd, but yet one hour,
My Virtue had prepar'd, for Thee, for Me,
Such proofs of Love, so passionate and noble,
Such Scenes of Glory, delicate and nice,
As had amaz'd Mankind—But thou hast ruin'd all;
O squanderer of Fame! Thy Honour, Mine,
'Tis lost, 'Tis gone, for ever past recal:
A perjur'd Lover, and forsaken Mistress,
Is all the name, that's left for both—
Ag.
Who's perjur'd? who forsaken?
Chru.
Seek not to hide what I have heard, and seen,
Nor be so Vain, to think thy falshood grieves:
My only grief is that I ever lov'd,
To cease to do it, is a pleasure to me.
Hadst thou been true, I had been great, but wretched:
But thou art false, and what I lose in glory,
Will be made up in Ease, for Falshood cures;
A generous Love disdains to harbour Traitors:
My Heart deceiv'd, for want of knowing Thee,
Receiv'd thee in, a Robber, not a Guest,
But on discovery, thus turns thee out,
Unworthy to be there:
Unworthy of good Usage.
Ag.
Have I been false?—By the immortal Gods—
Chru.
Yes, Thou canst swear, and swear, I know it well:
But swear not by the Gods, whom thou hast mockt,
Nor yet to me, who can believe no more:
But swear to her, for she is yet to learn
How well thou canst deceive—O what are Men!
How impiously they play with Perjury!
[Page 55] Traitor, I know the Value of your Oaths,
Ulysses told me—
Ag.
What has Ulysses told you?
Chru.
What I have seen.
Ag.
Ulysses is a Traitor—speak Briseis,
Be thou my Witness—Have I mention'd love?
Bri.
I would not give you leave.
Chru.
Thou art condemn'd—thy Witness has condemn'd thee;
Thou'rt Perjur'd doubly—Perjur'd to us both—
Thou would'st have sworn, would she have heard thee swear,
And now thou would'st recant, because she scorns thee.
Bri.
Though I commanded silence to my self,
And my nice Ear disdain'd to hear thy Love,
Who bids thee make a secret of thy Passion?
My scorn were lost, were not thy love proclaim'd;
To Me be silent, To the World be loud;
Begin by telling her; I give thee leave.
Ag.
To her alone—
Chru.
I'll spare thee the confession.
'Tis a stale story, and I know enough.
Would'st thou then own it? Brave me to my face?
Thou dar'st not — No—Thou art not yet so harden'd.
Why dost thou tremble when I look upon thee?
When thou would'st speak, upon thy falt'ring Tongue,
The Accents dy; All Arguments of guilt!
Thy Colour goes and comes upon thy face,
And thy young treason blushes to be seen.
The Murder'd Body, at the Murdrer's touch
Will bleed afresh: nor can Betrayers bear
The sight of one betray'd, without confusion.
Thou fear'st me still, I read it in thy Eyes,
And in thy Limbs, that scarce support thy Body,
Oh! that I could look thee dead.—
Ag.
My wounded Soul is on its flight—
[Page 56] Bri.
Die quickly then, for I'm in hast to go,
Die at my feet, that I may spurn thee Dead,
To show my scorn—How dar'st thou look
When I am by, on any Face but mine?
Chru.
Look on, look on,—Gaze till thy Eye-Balls burst,
And rowling round thy sight from Charm to Charm,
Survey me all, and then repent thy change.
Gaze till thou'rt mine again; 'till falling down
Low at my Feet, thou do'st expire with shame.
There is a secret struggle in thy Soul,
I see thou would'st return, but 'tis too late;
For know, Atrides, thou behold'st thy last.
He kneels.]
Sink lower, lower, hide thee under ground,
Thou'rt odious to my Eyes, and I can bear
Thy sight no longer.
Ag.
Hear me Chruseis.
Rises.]
Would either hear, both might be satisfy'd.
Ye both have dream'd, and each of ye believes
The Visions of her sleep—would you but hear—
Chru.
Oh that I ne're had heard, nor ever seen;
'Tis past, 'tis past, Atrides, Love's no more,
My Heart is harder now, than once 'twas soft;
Farewell for ever—Yet forgive him, Gods!
Not on his head, but on his faithless Sex
Revenge the Cause of poor abandon'd Truth:
Nor let it be by Famine, or Disease;
Nor yet by Thunder, nor tempestuous Blast;
Nor Fire nor Sword, nor by consuming Wars;
Let us Revenge our selves; commit to us
This mighty Charge—No Vengeance like a Woman's.
Let Falshood punish Falshood: Let Deceit
And Treachery be only Women's Arts.
Henceforth, through rowling Ages, Let there be
Not one Example of a Woman Faithful.
[Page 57] Let all be Hellens, perjur'd Devils all.
Let every Husband, be a noted Cuckold,
Give 'em not Wives to comfort, but to plague:
Let Love be all a trick, and a pretence,
And every Woman be a bosom Serpent.
The Gods have granted—And methinks I read
The Page of Fate, and find it first for ever,
That not a Woman shall be born hereafter
But shall deceive some Man—Debates arise,
Dissentions reign, Pollution be triumphant,
And Jealousies and Jars, Confound the World.
[Exit Chruseis.
Bris.
My Conquest is complete: She flies, she flies,
And has avow'd the triumph of my Eyes.
So may all thrive, who dare my Empire brave,
Like her despair, and be Mankind my Slave.
How pleas'd will be Achilles, when he knows,
My Beauty, has reveng'd him on his Foes:
I go to tell him, nor will be delay'd,
Stir not to stop me—For I'll look thee dead.
[Exit Briseis.
Ag.
Go where I never may behold thee more
Thou Imp of thy Achilles—Like a Child
I struck, and hit my self; I rais'd a storm
And perish in't: the means of my revenge
Has turn'd to my own ruin: And the load
I cast, has weigh'd me after it, and sunk me.
'Tis just ye Gods, your Providence has caught
My foolish Wrath, and my own act of Vengeance
Becomes revenge for him? 'Gainst whom 'twas meant.
[Sees Ulysses entring.
Ar't thou there Traytor? Com'st thou then to watch
The workings of thy Poyson on our Loves?
Safer thou d'st met a Tygress hunting out
The Thief that robb'd her Young—
Ulys.
What I have done—
[Page 58] Ag.
What thou hast done—Undo—Or thou shalt dye—
[Seizes hold of him.
Thou shalt be torn by Horses, rack'd alive
Bury'd quick—I'll have thee hew'd to pieces—
Prometheus Vulture, and Ixion's Wheel
The Stone, the Sieve; The Tortures of the Damn'd
Are but slight pains—Thou shalt be more than damn'd—
Find out Chruseis strait—
[Thrusts him away.
Confess thy Fraud, unravel her mistake,
Convince her of my Love and Innocence:
I fear her Wrath, more than the Wrath of Heaven.
Appease her well—And let me find her gentle—
[Siezes him again.
See this be done—look to't—Away—
[Thrusts him towards the Door.
Why send I him?
On Wings of Love, the Lovers self should fly,
Love has a thousand ways, and all I'll try,
And at her feet, be justify'd or dye.
[Exeunt all.
The End of the Fourth Act.
ACT V. SCENE I.
[The Tent of Achilles.
Achilles and Briseis meeting.
Br.
JOY to Achilles—fly to my embrace
My Hero and my God.
Henceforth no more let any sound of War.
Awake thy rage—My Eyes shall conquer for thee.
Joy to Achilles—Agamemnon dyes,
Chruseis in despair has left the Camp,
Briseis is return'd triumphant back,
Thy Foes are perishing, thy Mistress safe,
I bring thee Glory and Revenge and Love;
Joy to Achilles, everlasting Joy!
Ach.
And is it given me thus agen to hold thee,
Thus to devour thee with a Thousand Kisses
With clasping Arms, embracing and embrac'd
To tast a Thousand Joys—O 'tis illusion all!
The Dream and Vision of distracted thought!
Speak shining Creature, every sense awakes
To find thee out—Art thou indeed Briseis?
Br.
I am, I am Briseis—Believe thy Eyes,
Believe thy touch—No Vision nor a Dream,
But thy Briseis—thine.
I thank you Gods! tho' parting was a pain,
The joy to meet, is ample satisfaction.
[Page 60] Ach.
Art thou the same? In every thing the same?
Answer me that—Ah No!
The stain of violation is upon thee
The ruddy spot, fresh ardent on thy Face.
Curse on that thought!—
Was then the Ravisher so quickly cloy'd?
So hasty to return Pollution back?
Did'st thou resist? Or did'st thou early yield?
Answer agen to that—thus let me Swear thee,
Thus holding up thy hands erect to Heaven:
Met'st thou with willing warmth his brutal lust?
Had'st thou thy share of Bliss? with amourous rage
Improving Joy with Art?—But why do I enquire?
Thy Cheeks are burning with th'Adulterer's mark,
His Print is on thy lips: Thy melted Eyes
Yet glow with languisht luster—Hell and Furies!
Br.
Curse me if I forgive thee such a thought;
Were I like other Women, I should weep
To be thus grosly question'd—But my Soul
Is form'd of sparks, as fiery as thy own.
Thus I confront thy Jealousie with rage,
And meet thy insolence, with wrath as loud.
Thou know'st me, and hast read my inmost Mind,
If after this, thou yet canst have a doubt
If thou canst tell thy self—I can be false,
Thou art not worth my Answer.—
Ach.
I knew thou would'st deny: All Women will.
What have we for your truth, but your ba [...]e words?
The subtle path is trodden without print,
Not the least footstep to be trac't for proof.
But willing or unwilling, 'tis the same:
He has enjoy'd you.—
Br.
No matter if he has—I'll tell thee nothing.
Ach.
O that thou wert a Man?
[Page 61] Br.
O That I were! By Venus I'de chastise thee—
Why was I not a Man? A greater far
Had then been born, and fiercer than Achilles.
Ach.
Answer directly—or by Mars—
Br.
By Mars I swear, and by as many Gods
That nothing will I Answer—Not till I see thee
Croucht on the ground, and crawling on thy knees
Implore forgiveness, for thy vile suspicion.
Guess at the past; I'll tell thee what's to come,
If he has not enjoy'd, be sure, he shall:
Who without reason doubts, deserves that Vengeance,
No Woman is without it—I go, to reap
This fruit of thy offence—And so farewell
[going.
Ach.
Be true or false—Thou art too much to lose,
Nor shalt thou go—
[holds her.
Thy fiery Rage, has spread around my Soul
And Love has caught the flame—
Be what thou wilt—Art thou not heavenly Fair?
Thy Beauty, in this moment's, all my care,
Nothing is certain, but the Joy alone,
Whil'st I possess, I'm sure thou art my own.
[Exeunt.
The Scene changes to Agamemnon's Pavillion. Trumpets sound without. Enter Agamemnon leading Chruseis. Nestor and Ulysses enter from the opposite part of the Stage.
Nes.
[To Agam.]
O stain of Honour! Oh inglorious Prince!
Unworthy Leader of so many Kings,
Have then thy Crimes dispirited thy Soul
That here aloof, thou hid'st thee in thy Tent
When the rang'd Battle calls thee forth to Fight?
But guilt makes Cowards: who with such a load
Of Impious Lust, and willful Perjury
Can Face a Foe, or venture into Danger?
[Page 62] Ag.
If I am guilty 'tis the Fault of Heaven,
That by exacting more than Man can do
Becomes it self unjust—My deeds to day
Shall shame thy words, when thou behold'st me fight.
'Tis peace at Home, my anger'd Love's appeas'd,
And I am ready now for War—The stoutest Hearts
Shall trembling beat, to follow where I lead.
Nes.
Appease the Gods, no matter who beside
Is angry, or displeas'd.
Ag.
Chruseis is appeas'd, nor cares Atrides
Who frowns, when she is kind—One kiss my Love;
The Trumpets call, the Soldier must obey:
These Trojans shall repent e're night, who force
Thy Agamemnon from thy gentle Arms.
And vex our Loves, with such unquiet partings.
Chru.
Yet e'er you go, hear your Chruseis speak:
The Gods alone can tell, who shall return
Of those that go to Battle: Hear me then:
And I am glad to have such Witnesses.
[To Nest. and Ulys.]
Ag.
What would Chruseis say?
Chru.
The danger's terrible that calls you forth,
Who knows but this may be our last Farewel.
Thus then upon my knees, I thank my Lord
For his past goodness—Oh! inspire me Heaven
How to be grateful, and instruct my Soul
How I may give my King, some mark of Love
Equal to his to me.
Ag.
Rise, Rise Chruseis.
This needs not, Love; for I am much thy debtor.
Chru.
No. I will tell, that summing up th'Account
My grateful heart, may reckon its vast debt.
All that I am, my Honour and Life,
I hold but from your bounty.
In a sackt Town, when the licentious Soldier
Spares neither Age, nor Sex: When Slaughters blind
[Page 63] And rages thro' the Streets without distinction;
When Rape is priviledg'd, and Murder free,
You sav'd me from the Fury of the Sword,
You sav'd me from Pollution, rais'd me trembling,
Bad me not fear, and bore me safe from danger.
Nor was this all.—
Ag.
Enough, Enough Chruseis.
You ow'd your Preservation to your self,
Your Beauty was your Guard—what barbarous heart,
O what inhumane hand, could hurt such brightness?
Chru.
My fears renew'd, when Captives set to Sale,
I heard the loud laments of weeping Virgins,
Expos'd to price, and sold to Slavery.
No Royalty nor Beauty was exempt,
But only serv'd to raise the Purchase higher.
Then did my King a second time preserve me,
And set me above Price.
Ag.
And well thou did'st deserve it, my Chruseis.
Not Jove who has the Power of either Globe,
Can say what thou art worth.
Chru.
Beyond my Hopes, unaskt, and unexpecting
Life, Liberty, and Honour you preserv'd,
And undeserving added to my wishes
What more than Life, or Liberty I prize,
Your Love: And tho' you had the Power to force
Your Captives will with surest Violence,
You left me free, t'accept or to refuse,
But who could have refus'd?
Ag.
Thou never wer't my Captive: I was thine
From the first moment that my Eye beheld thee:
I overcame thy Country, but thou me:
What I have done, I did but as a Slave,
The Service of the Conquer'd to the Conqueror,
Mercy was thine, and only thine: My Part
Was but the Duty of a Lover.
[Page 64] Chru.
With patience hear, for nothing will I add,
Nor take from Truth; but state a just account.
My Country lost, when by the right of War,
Nothing was left, that we could call our own,
You profer'd Crowns, would raise me to your Empire:
Your generous Love, agreeing with my Vertue,
Offer'd no terms, that I could blush to hear.
Ag.
What trifling Merchandize are Crowns and Kingdoms
Compar'd to thee—How shall I thank thy goodness
Who would'st accept? Oh! could I give the World,
One kiss of thine, but thus to touch thy Lips,
I were a gainer, by the vast exchange.
Chru.
The kiss you take, is paid by that you give,
The Joy is mutual, and I'm still in debt.
O there's a mighty summ that's yet untold:
To shorten then, and pass a thousand proofs,
All precious, but too numberless to name:
Now when the Gods, grown envious of our Joys,
The Gods that will admit in humane Life
No Raptures like their own, and such were ours,
Now when they turn our Blessings to a Curse,
When every kiss you take, must loose a Battle,
And thousands are Condemn'd, for each Embrace,
When Empire, Victory, and O perhaps
Your precious Life, must all be Sacrific'd
Or your Chruseis left, Then, then my King
When his Friends weep, and unrelenting Gods
Threaten aloud, when Earth and Heaven combine
To part our Loves, and sunder us for ever,
Then Agamemnon constant to his Vows
Renounces Glory, to be true to Love,
And death and shame, prefers with his Chruseis,
To Life, to Conquest and Renown, without her.
O what amends, Ah! how shall I repay
Thy wondrous Truth?
[Page 65] Ag.
Thus my Chruseis, thus—
Embrace me close, and joyn thy Lips to mine:
There's no security in other Joys,
Here happiness is riveted alone,
Here nothing fades, nothing decays; the sweets
Immortal are, and never cease to spring.
Chru.
So loving, and so lov'd, why must we part?
Ag.
Part my Chruseis! 'Tis unkindly fear'd:
I thought thou had'st been satisfy'd, my Love,
No, I can dye, but we will never part.
Chru.
And yet we must: Oh! we must part, Atrides.
There's no defence against the Will of Jove,
No Force can turn, or Policy evade
What Destiny decrees immutable:
Nothing can be, that Fate has doom'd shall not.
Ag.
What means my Love, by these mysterious Words?
Chru.
As one who fears to dye, but is condemn'd,
Still strives to trifle time with idle talk,
And seeks pretences to put off the hour,
So I—But what am I resolving?
As I approach the Precipice's brink
So steep, so terrible appears the depth,
I fear—And yet I must—Who says I must?
Not Agamemnon—He had rather dye,
So had Chruseis: Parting is worse than death
To both—and will to both bring death—
If he must dye, then let him dye embrac'd
As he desires—Now shoot your Lightning Gods!
Whil'st thus I hide him, hit him if you can,
Thus clinging with my Body close to his,
Thus will I cover him—kill me, kill me,
I'll dye to keep him safe—Oh Agamemnon!
Ag.
There is a strange disorder in thy, Thoughts,
Something thou would'st unfold, and know'st not how:
My Soul has caught thy Fears, I tremble too
[Page 66] I know not why—'Tis the first time that e'er
My Courage fail'd me in thy Arms.
Some mighty ill, and sudden sure is coming,
And let it come—Spare but my Love ye Gods
All other ills are nothing.
Chru.
My Head grows giddy—Oh that I were Mad:
Madness brings ease [...] Reason, Reason alone
Feels Sorrow: Folly and Madness are exempt.
No State of humane Life is to be envy'd,
But Lunacy and Folly: None can be happy
Who can feel Pain: To want the Sense to Grieve
Is the best measure of Felioity,
So much are we the Slaves of humane Chance,
And from the Moment of our Births expos'd
To the malignant influence of Stars.
[She stands weeping.
Nes.
This is meer Foolery—Sir will you go?
Enter Talthybius and Eurybates.
Eury.
Where, where's the King?
Ag.
What would thy hast portend?
Eury.
To Arms, to Arms: The Trojans led by Mars
With Hector by his side, surround our Camp;
Who never durst beyond the Scaean Gate
Till now advance, enclose our Trenches round:
We who Besieg'd, are now our selves Besieg'd.
Ag.
Be short: Speak to the purpose: What has past?
Talth.
Divine Sarpedon, Son of Thundering Jove
Began th'Attack: Patroclus stood the Charge,
And slew him with his Spear, Jove looking on.
Eury.
Then fell Patroclus, Slain by Hector's Hand—
Ulys.
Patroclus Slain?
Ag.
He has not left
'Mong all the Greeks, a braver Man behind him.
[Page 67] Nes.
How just is Providence in all its Works!
How swift to overtake us in our Crimes!
Achilles who alone, of all the Greeks
Rejoyc't to day, becomes the deepest Mourner:
None are so hateful to the Gods as those
Who with hard hearts, delight in other's Grief.
Ulys.
'Twere fit his Body were convey'd with speed
To stern Achilles; who sits laughing now,
Waiting the Greeks distress; The sight may move
Revenge, and bring him to the Field.
Ag.
I scorn his little Aid—Talthybius say
What's now a doing?
Talth.
The Trojans are agen drawn off, pausing
Upon their loss; but seem to meditate
Some new Attempt: And all expect
A bloody day.
Ag.
Thou shalt not dye, Patroclus, unreveng'd.
Bid our Battallions draw upon the Plain;
We'll Fight 'em hand to hand, upon the square,
Let Cowards skulk in Trenches, Face to Face
I meet my Foe—Thus I invoke you, Gods,
Asking but this, no more—Stand Neuter.
'Tis time that we were gone—Hast with our Orders.
[Exeunt Talthybius and Eurybates.
[To Chruseis]
It shakes my very Soul, my poor dear Love,To leave thee thus—I go, but to return
Victorious back.
Thus we have parted ost, and met agen,
Much thou would'st grieve; but in this manner never.
[Chru.]
Yes we have parted, and agen we met,
When next we part, 'tis never to meet more.
I am your Murderer by my fatal stay,
For me, the sullen Sun withholds his beams,
And [...]oots these Shafts, and heads 'em all with Plagues:
[Page 68] For me, the Gods withdraw their wonted aids,
For me, they lead the Trojans to the Field,
Shall I consent? And shall I help the Foes
Of Agamemnon? I obstruct the means
Of his deliverance? Will then my Love
Do nothing for my Lord, who would do all
For me? No Agamemnon, no—
For me you must not dye, nor be disgrac't,
Live Agamemnon, live: Be great, be glorious,
While by a voluntary Exile, I
Appease my cruel Father, and his Gods,
And doom my self to save thy Life and Honour.
Ulys.
Oh unexpected turn! O wondrous Virtue!
Glorious resolution! henceforth be styl'd
The Saviour of the Greeks.
Ag.
Peace Sycophant, nor dare to sooth her phrensie:
These thoughts are but the vapours of a Mind
Disturb'd: Reason shall soon dispel the fume,
And disappoint your curst malicious Joy.
[To Chru.]
I know thou can'st not mean, what thou hast said
Yet my Heart pants, and every Nerve is shaken.
Upon my Forehead sits a damp like death,
My Blood runs cold, I feel the Channel freeze,
Scarce will my trembling Limbs, support my Weight,
But shake like Cowards on a day of Battle.
Is this well done Chruseis?
Chru.
Your generous Love, has show'd the way to mine,
Fearing to part, you firmly chuse your Ruin,
Fearing your Ruin, I consent to part:
To part, of every evil is the worst,
All other ills you chuse, but I chuse that,
Love prompting you, to perish for my sake,
Prompts me to keep you safe, whate'er it cost;
Empire and Life, and Glory, are your Victims,
The Joys of Life, and Love it self are mine.
[Page 69] Nes.
Well argu'd still: Pray Heaven she be in earnest.
Ag.
Thy Love is grown a wondrous Sophister:
Such Arguments but ill become thy Faith:
Can'st thou pretend to love me, and yet leave?
No, 'tis impossible in love, to part
With what we love: Confess, confess the truth,
And say thou dost not love; own, own thy Falshood,
Racant thy Vows, or yet resolve to stay.
Chru.
Yes I would stay, were I the only threaten'd,
Were the doom mine, and did the Thunder rowl,
And the blew Lightning shoot alone at me,
I'de chuse to dye like thee, and not to part,
In these dear Arms, I'de wait the stroke of Jove
And perish pleas'd; like thine should be my choice.
For thee, for thee, this Ruin is prepar'd,
Not on my Head, but thine, the Vengeance falls,
And for my sake, my Presence is the cause,
Chruseis is the Murderer of Atrides,
The Cup of Pleasure, is the Bowl of Death,
The Gods have mixt it with the deadliest Poyson,
Nor dare I give thee more.
Ag.
O give it on,
There is such pleasure in the killing draught
'Tis worth the dying for.
Chru.
Be calm, be calm Atrides, think agen,
Consult your reason, and be then convinc'd,
Were your Case mine, you would resolve like me,
You would, you would, you could not see me perish,
And know your self the cause.
Ag.
O Chruseis.
Chru.
Is there a proof in love that you would give
And shall not I? Oh! 'tis a cruel proof,
But it must be, 'tis past, 'tis past recal.
Come back, come back Renown that turn'd away,
Return ye Lawrels, to my Monarch's brow,
[Page 70] Love like a scorching Sun has dry'd ye up,
And burnt your growth, and kist away your sweets,
But Love is now self banisht for your sakes,
With his own hand he cuts his root away,
And leaves you room to spread.
Ag.
O curst estate of Kings! O fatal Glory!
O Victory's dear-bought! Pernicious Greatness!
What must I loose to purchase the vain breath
Of Fools and Sycophants, the Voice of fame!
Oh! what a Jewel must be thrown away
To get a bawble! what substantial pleasures,
How many hours of Love and of content
Are lost and sacrific'd for sensless trifles!
All Heroes are but Lunaticks mis-call'd
That cheat themselves, and part with all that's precious
For Toys and Gew Gawes.
Chru.
The Gods have for themselves alone reserv'd
A quiet state: Kings are their Stewards here
Entrusted with the Conduct of the World:
And like good careful servants, must submit
Their single profit, to the general well-fare.
Had Agamemnon been a private Man,
Some Shepherd, or an humble Villager,
Our Loves had then been happy.
Ag.
Take back your Office, Gods, Your Royal Thraldom;
I'll be your Slave, no longer on these terms:
Here I discharge my-self of Kingly burthen,
Divest my self of Power and Dignities,
Of Crowns and Scepters, your Imperial Loads.
Be constant to thy Word—Thy Agamemnon
Will make himself the thing that thou hast wisht,
A Shepherd, or an humble Villager:
In some far Cave, remote from interruption,
We'll love away our lives; Not the least Dream
Of Glory, shall invade our lone Recess.
[Page 71] These Arms shall be the Circle of my Wishes,
Thy Eyes, the only Lights that I'll adore:
Morning and Night, I'll sacrifice to them,
Be they propitious, let them shine upon me,
I'll own no other Gods.
Chru.
My Virtue shrinks within the close embrace,
O let me fly, I cannot stand the Combat,
Another such, and we are lost for ever.
[Trumpets within.
Hark! Hark! the Trumpets sound, the Clash of Swords.
Draws near, The Gods have given me notice,
The slaughter is renew'd, and every Man
That falls, Chruseis is his Murderer.
Have patience Gods, but yet a little while,
I come, I come, your will shall be fulfill'd,
Give me but time to take one last embrace,
Let me thus rush upon him—
Once more, for my whole life, and then come Death
Come Madness, any thing but Life or sense
My dearest, dearest Agamemnon.
Ag.
Thus will I clasp thee fast, Thus, thus for ever.
In vain, In vain thou'lt struggle to get loose,
Not Men nor Gods shall cut thee from my Arms,
I'll dye, but I will never quit my hold.
Chru.
Thus let us kneel: Thus lockt in my Embrace,
Whil'st I implore the Gods, with this last Pray'r.
Oh all ye Powers! that unrelenting see
These Griefs, and have deny'd our loves your mercy,
Accept the sacrifice that here I make,
The noblest Love, the truest: undefil'd
With the least stain. If ought is due to Virtue
Let the reward of what I do, be his,
And let not me out-live this fatal day.
Depriv'd of Love, upon his precious head
Double all other blessings: Crown his Life
[Page 72] With honours equal to his noble mind,
Let him not pass a day without some triumph,
Let him not have a Foe in Earth or Heaven,
Or if he must have Foes, make e'm his means
Only to come at Glory—Please his Nights and Days
With something new, and every hour be blest,
That the remembrance of his lost Chruseis
May sit more light upon his heart—One kiss,
And then no more, Oh Agamemnon 'tis the last,
Farewell for ever—His Lips are cold,
Speechless and Pale! And on my bosom droops
His Head like a dead weight—Help Princes help
And raise him gently—
[They raise him: He stands supported between 'em: they weeping over him.
O can I see him thus—
And leave him—Yes I must, for should he speak
I could not stir, his Words would root me here.
My Brain is toucht—I feel it—here it is—
At this dead-lift, thou'rt welcome honest Frenzy;
The King shall conquer now, he shall, he shall,
Right shall triumph, the Ravisher shall bleed,
I'll be the Champion, and begin the charge,
Thus at one stroke, I cut off all the Gods,
And leave the Trojans, helpless to themselves,
They run, they run—O cruel Reason, worst of Foes,
Why art thou come agen?
O Nestor! Oh Ulysses! pity me,
Forgive the ills that have already happen'd,
All will be well, the Gods are now appeas'd.
Fight for the King, and when the Battles join,
Do you, your duty, as I have done mine.
[Exit Chruseis.
Ulys.
Scarce was my aking heart, more pierc'd with grief
When from my own Penelope I parted.
[Page 73] [Ag. coming to himself.
The Gods have doom'd in vain, They shall not have her.
Where is Chruseis?
Uly.
Her noble Virtue has obey'd
The cruel call of strong necessity,
And she who would have dy'd to stay, is gone
That you may live.
Ag.
Thou hast done this Ulysses, 'twas thy Plot,
Thou hast been working long against our loves
Thy Life shall answer it—
Uly.
O rob her not of Glories all her own,
Be hers the praise entire, as was the deed.
I hate my self for that I injur'd once
So good, such noble nature—O she is
And to all Ages shall remain
The brightest Pattern of Heroick Love
And perfect Virtue, that the World e're knew.
Nest.
Trust me Atrides, much I grieve your loss,
But Glory waits, to make you full amends.
Ag.
Thus then I draw—Blood shall be shed for tears:
Where Death is to be found, there let me go,
Who gives it, is my Friend, and not my Foe,
Unite, unite ye Dardans and ye Gods,
Despair's undaunted, and defies all Odds,
A [...] me let every Spear and Javelin fly,
I [...] Fight not now to conquer, but to dye.
[Exit Agamemnon. [Flourish of Trumpets.
Nes.
Mark, mark Ulysses, how the Gods preserve
The Men they love, even in their own despight;
They guide us, and we Travell in the Dark;
But when we most despair to hit the way
And least expect, we find ourselves arriv'd.
Uly.
Fate holds the strings, and Men like Children, move
But as they'r led: Success is from above.
The End.
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THE Temple of Death by the Marquess of Normanby. Horace of the Art of Poetry, made English by the Earl of Roscommon. The Duel of the Staggs, by the Honourable Sir Robert Howard. Together with several Poems by the Earl of Rochester and Orrery, Sir Charles Sedly, Sir George Etheridge, the Honourable Mr. Montague, Mr. Granvill, Mr. Dryden, Mr. Chetwood, and Mr. Tate. With several Poems by the Honourable Madam Wharton, in 8vo.
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