HECUBA, A TRAGEDY. As it is Acted at the THEATRE ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE.
Rectius
Iliacum
carmen deducis in Actus
Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus.
LONDON: Printed for R. and J. DODSLEY, in Pall-mall. MDCCLXII. [Price One Shilling and Six-pence.]
TO THOMAS BARRETT,
Esq
THE FOLLOWING TRAGEDY IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS OBLIGED, AND VERY AFFECTIONATE, HUMBLE SERVANT, The AUTHOR.
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IT may perhaps be necessary to acquaint the reader, that the author has ventured to make Polydore a person of the Drama, on the authority of Hyginus, a Greek grammarian, who tells us in one of his fables, that Ilione, by a feigned murder, deceived Polymestor, and preserved her brother's life.
PROLOGUE.
Written by Mr. LLOYD.
And spoken by Mr. GARRICK.
A Grecian bard, two thousand years ago,
Plan'd this sad fable, of illustrious woe;
Waken'd each soft emotion of the breast,
And call'd forth tears, that would not be supprest.
Yet, O ye mighty sirs, of judgement chaste,
Who, lacking genius, have a deal of taste,
Can you forgive our modern ancient piece,
Which brings no chorus, tho' it comes from Greece;
Kind social chorus, which all humours meets,
And sings and dances, up and down the streets.
— Oh! might true taste in these unclassic days,
Revive the Grecian fashions, with their plays!
Then rais'd on stilts, our player's would stalk and rage,
And at three steps, stride o'er a modern stage;
Each gesture then would boast unusual charms,
From lengthen'd legs, stuff'd body, sprawling arms!
Your critic eye would then no pigmies see,
But buskin's make a giant, ev'n of
Me.
No features then the poet's mind would trace,
But one blank vizor blot out all the face.
O! glorious times, when actors thus could strike
Expressive, inexpressive, all alike!
Less change of face, than in our Punch they saw,
For Punch can roll his eyes, and wag his jaw;
With one set glare they mouth'd the rumbling verse,
Our
Gog
and
Magog
look not half so fierce!
Yet tho' depriv'd of instruments like these,
Nature, perhaps, may find a way to please;
Which, wheresoe'er she glows with genuine flame,
In
Greece,
in
Rome,
in
England,
is the same.
Of raillery then, ye modern wits beware,
Nor damn the Grecian poet, for the player.
Theirs was the skill, with honest help of art,
To win by just degrees, the yielding heart.
What if our Shakespear claims the magic throne,
And in one instant makes us all his own,
They differ only, in the point of view,
For Shakespear's nature, was their nature too.
Dramatis Personae.
MEN.
ULYSSES,
Mr. DAVIES.
ERIPHILUS,
Mr. HOLLAND.
MELANTHUS,
Mr. HAVARD.
TALTHYBIUS,
Mr. CASTLE.
LYCUS,
Mr. ACKMAN.
CRATANDER,
Mr. MOODY.
PAEONIAN,
Mr. FOX.
OFFICER,
Mr. SCRASE.
WOMEN.
HECUBA,
Mrs. PRITCHARD.
POLYXENA,
Miss BRIDE.
SICEA,
Miss HIPPISLY.
VIRGINS, GUARDS, &c.
SCENE, CHERSONESUS.
HECUBA A TRAGEDY▪
ACT I.
ULYSSES, TALTHYBIU
▪
WHAT—when the peace, the future fa
Greece,
Hang on th' event, does Nestor thus advise?
Thou must mistake him, herald.
With due defere
He hears Ulysses' counsel; yet compassion
Prompts him to listen to Pyrechmes' suit,
And yield up Hecuba.
Compassion!—weakness!
Meer womanish weakness! call it nothing bett
I feel a crimson blush burn on my cheek
E'vn at the thought. Was it for this, dread I
We led our Argives to Scamander's banks
To toil ten tedious years? was it for this,
You crown'd those toils with conquest? oh for pity,
Send thy sage spirit to direct our councils,
That veer as passion drives. See where our sails
Stand bent at Chersonesus, to transport
Us and our spoils to Greece: and shall we leave
The noblest, most important part behind,
The queen of Troy and her young dangerous daughter,
Because Pyrechmes bids? What is Pyrechmes,
That Greece in her full glory fears his frown?
Greece has more cause to fear a future foe.
Yes, from releas'd Polyxena may spring
New Hectors, arm'd to wreak revenge hereafter,
And send our sons to people Pluto's realms.
By force, I must detain her, or by fraud:
For my own sake I must: for on Ulysses
The shame, the weakness, want of policy,
All fall upon Ulysses.
Yet the queen's
Distressful state—
Talthybius, do not think,
That ten long years of bloodshed stop up here
The passages to pity. No, the groans
Of reverend, wretched age, the tears that gush
From the sad eyes of supplicating beauty,
Wou'd melt my heart too at less dangerous times:
But now — back herald to the king; inform him —
Yet stay. — Have these ambassadors with Nestor
Held private conference?
Young Eriphilus
Enter'd his tent at day-break. Till which time,
With Iphitus alone has he confer'd.
That lowring leader of a Trojan troop,
Just ripe for a revolt?
He, royal sir,
The queen's chief oracle — as for Melanthus —
Aye, what of him? what know'st thou of Melanthus?
Nothing. He shuns all converse, and seems rapt
In melancholy musings.
Yes, th' old man
Seems close and crafty; bears himself a loof;
Keeps his young charge, as 'twere, beneath his wing.
I do not like that caution: it means mischief.
Else wherefore ventur'd not the youth alone?
What needed this grey-bearded monitor
To help him pay the ransom? — Say to Nestor,
I'll meet him at his tent.
Exit Tal.
My doubts were just!
Danger doth lurk beneath the hoary locks
Of this Melanthus. There's some secret plot —
'Tis scarce engender'd yet; and prudence bids
We crush the dang'rous birth. Yes, if the wizard
I've conjur'd up, wave skilfully his wand,
The princess shall be fetter'd with a charm
Faster than his fond efforts can undo.
And for the queen — why, let the queen go free.
It harms not us: her barren womb no more
Shall teem with Trojan pests: and such an act
May smooth the roughness of our enterprize,
And calm Pyrechmes. True, we fear him not;
Yet policy forbids us to despise
Ev'n a weak foe, till we recruit our pow'rs,
Thin'd by a ten years siege.
OFFICER, ULYSSES.
At great Achilles' tomb, Calchas, dread sir,
Awaits your royal will.
Exit.
I follow thee. —
Aye, now I will inspire that holy seer
With counsel, that from his prophetic mouth
Shall seem heav'n's voice. — But first let me assail
This boy — ambassador. And therefore come I
To the queen's tent. Open he seems and free:
And from his shallow mind my art may draw
The dangerous schemes of his grave monitor,
And do the chiefs rich service. — He approaches.
But with him the old man. I will withdraw
Till a fit time, and muse on some device
To lure this youngling from his tutor's beck.
Exit.
ERIPHILUS, MELANTHUS, AETHRON.
Here doth my guidance end. Behold the place
Where all the live-long day the royal captives
Pour forth their piteous plaints. That little tent,
Spread in the darksom gloom of yon lone beech,
Contains all Troy.
Thanks for thy conduct, soldier.
Yet sure it needed not. This far-off station,
These interrupted bursts of female sorrow,
Proclaim it the queen's dwelling. There she lies,
The daughter of affliction! whelm'd with woes
So vast, humanity trembles to think her
Of its own species.
From the book of fate,
Jove's equal hand to every mortal man
Deals his due portion; be it bliss or woe.
Think not I mean to check thy noble nature:
Thou too art born a man; and as thou art,
Thy soul perforce must melt at human sufferings.
But learn, dear youth, with reverential awe
To kiss heav'n's ministring rod.
Oh good Melanthus,
Cast but a thought on that illustrious scene
Which once was Troy. Where now her menacing bulwarks?
Rich palaces, proud tow'rs that propt the skies?
Where her intrepid heroes, reverend seers?
All, all are fall'n. Ev'n godlike Priam's fallen,
The good old king. Death's ruthless scythe has swept him,
Amid the general carnage, to the tomb;
Him and his numerous race. But oh ye pow'rs,
If I'm ordain'd to save these royal captives—
If I am sent your aweful delegate
To counteract their fate—they shall be free.
I feel they shall. I come heav'n's minister,
And glory in the sacred embassy.
Hear me Eriphilus—
Do not repress
His noble ardor. Here at Chersonesus
The Greeks but stay to raise Achilles' tomb.
That finish'd, the first favoring wind transports
Their fleet to Greece. Go then, illustrious strangers,
Go, like two guardian gods, and sooth their souls.
Exit.
I go.—come on, Melanthus; my soul burns
To tell the joyful tidings.
Yet bethink thee,
When at Achilles' tomb thou didst unfold
Pyrechmes' will, did Hecuba's redemption
Meet a full promise? Thy impetuous zeal,
Ev'n in the cause of virtue, makes me tremble.
Oh temper it, dear youth. Think on the perils
That lurk around thee on this dreadful isle.
There's not a Greek but, were thy secret known,
Wears for thy life a dagger.
I'll be calm.
Soon shalt thou find I will.—But shou'd Atrides
Refuse the ransom—by th' immortal pow'rs,
Distress like Hecuba's—
The queen's distress
Sinks in my heart as deep as thine, which prompts
My steadiest caution. Trust me, this compliance
With each rash impulse, howsoe'er disguis'd
In friendship's or in virtue's specious form,
Is but mean incense to our own fond passions.
Then calmly to the tent. Back from the port
I shall return, before thou hast dispatch'd
Thy business with the queen. Be quick, be cautious,
Be secret too.—Remember thou hast sworn.
Exit.
I have. And pow'rful must the pang be found,
That scorn my soul the secret doth extort.
ULYSSES, ERIPHILUS.
Well hast thou sped, brave youth. Soon as the tomb,
Rais'd by our chiefs to great Achilles' shade,
Is finish'd, thou shalt tender to Troy's queen
The first, best gift of Jove, her liberty.
Thanks to the Greeks, the queen will soon be free.
The princess too thy happy hand leads forth
To gay Paeonia's court. Her eyes will dart
New lustre 'mid the charms that glitter there,
In beauty's brilliant circle.
Every tongue
Grows rapturous in her praise; speaks her most fair.
Yet not more fair than wise; more wise than virtuous.
The pow'rs of love and wisdom seem to vie,
Which most shou'd deck her minion.
Blest the youth,
Who cou'd inspire a heart like hers with love!
Oh blest indeed, if there be such a youth,
Whose peerless qualities—
Sometimes 'tis seen,
That modest worth shrinks from the proffer'd bliss
Which the soul inly pines for. That's false shame.
There is a time when merit may step forth,
And claim its due reward.
Surely there is.
Then fear not, gallant youth, that thy mild virtues
Want pow'r to draw from her enchanting eyes
A favoring smile on thee.
On me? good heavens,
A favoring smile on me!
And wherefore not?
Large is her worth; but she's of mortal mould.
And know, that on this sublunary scene
Perfection dwells not. Nature's purest ore
Bears some alloy: nay even yon glorious sun,
Whose quick'ning beams all nature animate,
Oft sends forth barren droughts and purple deaths.
But she, the princess —
Think'st thou she enjoys
A sole exemption from a general fate?
Yes, virtue white as hers —
The whitest virtue
'Scapes not unblemish'd. Envy's baleful breath
Soils ev'n the snow that circles Dian's heart:
What wonder therefore, shou'd it brand the princess?
Oh heavens, for what?
For that she was accomplice
With Paris in the murder of Achilles,
Ev'n at the sacred shrine, where her base tongue
Plighted the full assurance of her faith.
Infernal falsehood!
How — this bold behaviour
I'll suits thy humble birth.
I am to blame—
But were the villain here, whose sland'rous tongue
Thus wounds my honor —
Wounds your honor?—yours?—
Did I say mine? it was too proud a word.
Yet—virtue's is the general cause; 'tis mine;
'Tis yours, oh king; and each affront it bears
Wounds both our honors, and demands revenge.
Polyxena's no murd'rer.—
But should Pyrrhus
Credit the babling rumour; where were then
Thy embassy, young man? might not revenge
Devote her virgin beauties to the bed
Of a vile slave?
By heav'n he dares not! —
Dares not?
Is he a king, and dares he prostitute
A subject's virtue? for she's now his subject.
She is his slave, and not his subject, youth.
Is he a man, and dares he do a deed
Humanity must shudder but to hear!
Yet duty to his father's rev'rend shade
May prompt him to confine the captive princess,
Till the doubt's clear'd.—Or haply she may gain
Permission to depart, so the queen stays
A hostage in her stead. And what imports it,
Where Hecuba dreams out her few last hours?
Ye pow'rs, imports it not to the poor queen,
Who tends her sick'ning age? what pious hands
Pay the last dismal office to her shade;
Wash her pale corse, and in the hallow'd urn
Her sacred ashes close?
Much do I love
Thy mild humanity, that thus can melt
At even a stranger's woe: for hardly cou'd'st thou
Shew tend'rer feelings for a Trojan's fate,
Wert thou of Trojan birth.—How now, Talthybius?
TALTHYBIUS, ULYSSES, ERIPHILUS.
Great Agamemnon, and the Grecian chiefs
Intreat your royal presence.
At my tent
To Eriphilus.
Meet me anon; and do not fear success.
But yet take heed, young man: be not too sure;
For danger loves to lurk close by the side
Of negligent security. Repeat
Thy suit no more, till the due rites are done
To great Achilles. Importunity
Creates suspicion. Know, thou can'st not act
With too much caution: ev'n the surest step
May lose its footing on this slippery world.
Exit Uly, and Tal.
False coz'ning Greek!—But, ah! what fairy vision
Breaks on m' enchanted sight?—it comes upon me;
The floating form of some divinity,
That tends this mansion!
ERIPHILUS, POLYXENA.
Say, thou beauteous virgin.
If to the presence of the queen of Troy
Thy guidance can conduct my friendly step:
I bring her welcome tidings.
Stranger, no.
She shuns each human eye.
If thou art Polyxena,
As something in my soul doth more than whisper)
O royal maid, permit an unknown youth
One moment's converse. Never till this hour,
Did his heart melt with such soft sympathy.
Brief be thy speech, young stranger.
Hapless princess!
Of fire, of kingdom, liberty bereft!
With scarce a friend to save thee from the scoffs
Of cruel conqu'rors —
True, I have no friend.
My fire, my brethren all, have left the sun!
But why shou'd my distress wake in thy breast
These sighs of pity?—hadst thou known the queen—
I know the iron hand of destiny
Lies heavy on the queen. But wou'd fain hope
My tidings might relume her lamp of life,
Had grief its flame extinguish'd.
Vain attempt!
—But say, whence com'st thou, youth, and what thy errand?
From blest Paeonia's king, sweet maid, I come.
Bear, says Pyrechmes, to the queen of Troy,
And to her peerless daughter, our best greetings.
Inform them that the rugged blasts of fortune
Have firmer in my soul that friendship rooted,
Their virtues planted there. And if the calm
That lulls my court, can blunt the edge of grief,
Tell them my kingdom opens all its gates
To give them entrance.
He's a friend indeed!
Unworthy he to bear the name of king!
Unworthy ev'n to bear the name of man,
Who shares not such distress!—To stop the ears
Of pity to the cries of common misery,
Were a disgrace to nature: but when fate
Frowns on an aged queen—a beauteous princess—
I meant not to offend. Believe me, fair one,
This tongue ne'er learn'd to gloze in flatt'ry's school.
I do believe thee. Flattery may fawn,
Lackey the heels of fortune's golden minions,
And kiss the stool of majesty—but, oh!
Can Hecuba, can I, her child, be flatter'd!
Hear my soul speak!—dear as my own, I hold
Your welfares: nearest to my heart they lie,
Mixt with my own: and, stranger as I seem,
I for your precious lives wou'd pour my blood.
—Thou wonder'st at my words! and my fond heart
Is all on fire to tell thee—but an oath,
A solemn oath, in silence locks my lips,
Till we quit Chersonesus. Quickly therefore
Lead to the queen.
Oh! still, I fear, I fear,
Th' attempt were vain! Believe me, gentle youth,
No pow'r on earth can aid her: and in heav'n
No pow'r will aid her! an inhuman wretch
Has murder'd every hope.
And has no hand
Planted a poniard in the villain's heart?
No, he still walks the earth; drinks the pure breath
Of morn; and on his breast the sun of heaven
Darts a warm ray of gladness, as it shone
For him alone—
Oh name th' inhuman foe—
Alas! the fellest rancour of a foe
Patience might bear—but when the open heart,
Unarm'd with caution's or suspicion's shield,
Receives a stab from friendship—nay, from duty—
From filial duty—for oh earth and heav'n!
The villain Polymestor was her son—
Her daughter's husband —
What, the Thracian king,
Who wedded her Ilione?
To him,
Guarded by good Eumelus, at the time
When Troy was first besieg'd, she sent her son,
Her infant Polydore; and with him sent
Treasures of such vast value, as might raise
Another kingdom, shou'd Troy yield to fate.
Tempted by these, the barbarous monster murder'd
His innocent brother.—Oh had you beheld
The queen's dread transports when she first receiv'd
The fatal tidings—
Fluttering heart be still!
Prone on the earth she fell with one deep groan,
Deep as if life went in it. Then, as struck
By some quick impulse, stedfast gaz'd on heav'n
In speechless agony: her bosom heav'd,
She grasp'd her hands, and bursting into tears,
Fell tranc'd into my arms!
My struggling soul
Will bear no more—thy Polydore, sweet maid—
Hah! whither would my frenzy?
What of him?
What of my Polydore? thy words; thy actions;
Thy looks; I've mark'd a mystery in all!
Oh answer me, good youth! say, didst thou know
My Polydore? thou tremblest; thy mild nature
Melts at the mention of that tragic tale.
Alas who knows, but thy fast-flowing eyes
Did see the ruthless dagger rend his breast,
And let out his sweet life! while vainly thou
Didst wish for vengeance on the bloody villain!
Vengeance shall overtake him. Else were I
As very a slave, sweet maid, as he a villain.
Good youth!—and wilt thou purge the groaning earth
Of such a wretch?—
Else shou'd I blush to live!
Then hie thee to the queen. For the blest hope
Of such revenge may rouze her sorrowing soul
To listen to thy suit.—Ah go, and prosper!
Lead on, lead on.—Now bloody Polymestor,
Tremble!—thy fate approaches—
May the spirit
Of my dead Hector march with thee along,
Thrice noble youth! bear a broad shield before thee!
And edge thy mortal sword!—Now to the tent.
For haply ere this time the dewy finger
Of morn has beckon'd from the queen's sad couch
The friendly sleep that crept upon her woe.
And lo she comes;—perhaps 'twere best retire
For a short space. Anon thou may'st return.
Why dost thou tremble? why thus gaze upon her?
Haste, screen thyself behind yon spreading beech.
Exit Eriphilus.
HECUBA, SIGEA, VIRGINS.
Lend, virgins, lend your aid. A little onward
Lead from the tent. Support your queen; support
Your fellow-slave!—Oh! dearer far to me,
To Polyxena.
Than life, than liberty! child of my heart,
What have I seen!—all cheering light of heaven:
And thou, tremendous night! why these dread visions
That rouze me from my couch, and chill my breast
With fearful drops like these!—thou sable mother
Of dusky-pinion'd dreams! my soul abhors
The ominous phantom. Thrice it stalk'd before me
A terrible spectre! stern Achilles' ghost!
His ghost!
It stopt; and pointed at its wound.
Then grinn'd a horrid smile, and disappear'd!
'Tis the meer coinage of a troubled mind.
But then, my virgins, then—oh! wou'd to heav'n
Sage Helenus were here, whose piercing eye
Doth look into futurity's dark womb—
Methought, Sigea, a gaunt ravening wolf
Did from my bosom tear with bloody tooth
A milk-white hind!—ye ever gracious gods,
Protect my dearest child!
The gracious gods
Will for thy sake protect me. Trust their care,
And give these visions to the passing wind.
Ev'n now, by their permission, is arriv'd
A stranger, with good tidings. Does it please you
To hear his errand?
No, I'll not be seen,
Not speak, Polyxena. A stranger-eye
Will but insult my woe. Here let me sit,
And ponder on my Polydore and Death.
ERIPHILUS, HECUBA, POLYXENA, SIGEA, &c.
Heart-piercing sight! How deep has sorrow dug
Its furrows on that venerable brow!
My pow'rs all lose their functions at her presence.
Oh at this sad, this tender hour of trial,
Aid me some pitying god.
Unmanner'd stranger,
Whence this intrusion?
Think not, honor'd queen,
That my unbidden presence violates
Thy sanctity of sorrow. I but claim
The privilege of mild humanity
To wipe the tears of virtue.
Lead me hence
For ever, from all eyes.
This blessed end
Draws me to Chersonesus; and I bring
Most welcome tidings.
What have I to do
With welcome tidings?—Pray ye lead me hence.
I will retire.
And wilt thou not vouchsafe
A moment's audience? well he knows thy wrongs;
And kindly comes to mingle with thy grief
His social tears; and to revenge thy wrongs.
He from Paeonia comes—
To bring thee freedom,
From good Pyrechmes.
Say'st thou, youth? Pyrechmes?
I knew him well. He was my Priam's friend.
Thou seest my memory's sound. The good old king!
I hope he lives most happy!—as I think,
He never had a child!
His only child
Died in the womb: and all the father's fondness,
His charitable friendship show'rs on me.
From him I come, not rudely to restrain
Thy grief, but give its tide a freer flow.
Tis nature's kind relief to her poor children.
She bids affliction weep away its woe.
Friend, (if I yet can call one mortal friend)
Be not deceived. Nor let the good Pyrechmes,
Thy sovereign, be deceived. Indeed I wou'd not
Your kindness shou'd misdeem poor Hecuba
An object fit for pity. Generous youth,
I'll tell thee what I will not tell the Greeks!
But shou'd it ever 'scape thee —
It shall never.
But your heart will not suffer you to speak.
The tear starts in your eye. Repress the secret
Till happier times permit.
Till happier times!
Oh rest on hope; that heav'n-born champion
Which ne'er forsakes the virtuous; but in perils
Lends confidence, and leads them unappall'd
Ev'n to the gates of death.
She heeds thee not.
But I will watch the first calm interval:
For now her mind seems hurrying thro' the waste
Of desolate despair, too fast to mark
Compassion's call. — Ah see!
The dreadful gods,
Who, in their ireful mood, have turn'd me forth
This terrible example to mankind,
Doubtless have cause! wretched mortality
Believes, and trembles; but perforce must yield.
I yield me too; I bow to your dread wills!
Yet when my mind, with scrutiny severe,
Tries, judges a long life of fourscore years,
And finds no crime but what dares look at pardon;
Forgive, forgive me, if my bursting heart
Wishes that Hecuba had ne'er been born!
Oh yet try friendship's pow'r; it's precious balm,
Oft tho' it fails to cure, yet ever calms
The rage of sorrow's wounds. Oh 'tis a ray
Can melt the sable gloom of deep despair
Into the milder shade of melancholy.
I prithee leave me, youth. — My mind's disturb'd
Thine eye doth burden me. It looks too deep
Into the secret sorrow of my soul.
There's something in thy gesture — in thy mien!
I prithee, leave me youth. My mind's disturb'd
Vast are thy woes: yet shall sweet liberty
Lighten the load. Then suffer my blest hand
Swift to conduct thee to Paeonia's court.
See'st thou that urn?
Alas —
That little urn,
Is it not large enough for my few ashes?
Why wou'd'st thou bear this mockery of a queen
To gay Paeonia's court? I can die here.
Wou'd'st thou die here a slave? wou'd'st thou bequeath
To hostile hands the venerable relicks
Of royal Priam? Heav'ns, can Hector's mother
Rest undisturb'd beneath the horrid gloom
Of dire Achilles' shrine?
Distracting thought!
Oh hear the voice of Heav'n, in this good youth,
Inviting thee to peace.
Tho' thy own life
Has lost it's value, heav'ns, can Hecuba
See that fair flower thus droop its languid head?
Oh save the princess, save thy only child,
From pining grief that preys upon her youth!
My dearest child. —
Quit but this horrid isle,
And I'm thy sad associate in despair;
Chuse life or death!
Thy death? my daughter's death?
Dry, dry thy tears: I will no more provoke them.
I'll go with thee, my child, to good Pyrechmes.
There in the social sweets of friendly converse,
Lose each sad moment; save when thou and I
Sometime retire beneath the pensive gloom
Of some sequester'd poplar; there we'll sit,
And talk together o'er the buried virtues
Of some lov'd friend.—Lead then, ingenuous youth,
Whoe'er thou art; lead us where social peace
Sits smiling at the hospitable board
Of good Pyrechmes.
Oh that blest resolve
Drives hence despair: and makes the sun shine on me
With a sweet gracious eye.
Back to your tent,
Please you, retire awhile. To Agamemnon
I'll haste; lay down the ransom; and with joy
Lead you to liberty.
For thy reward,
May he who sits on high, in thunder thron'd,
Pour from his um those blessings upon thee,
That never more must visit my sad heart.
Exeunt.
End of the First
ACT.
ACT II.
HECUBA, VIRGINS.
THANKS, gentle virgin. This sweet-breathing bank
Shall ease thee of thy load. Yes, Hecuba
Shall lay her woes awhile on nature's lap,
And try to sooth her soul —
Kind heav'n, who sent this youth, hath will'd it so,
Mark'd you his mien my virgin? seem'd he not
A messenger of heav'n, sent to conduct
Troy's poor remains, the mother and the child,
To a safe harbour from the storms of fate?
Enter an ATTENDANT.
What means this breathless haste? Thou dost not speak.
Horror is in thine eyes, death on thy cheeks.
Say, wherefore — why is this?
Enter another ATTENDANT.
Oh thou, whose woes
No child of sorrow ever felt and liv'd!
How shall I speak the tidings? — Calchas, Calchas,
To curst Achilles' shrine oh he has doom'd —
Doom'd me the victim?
Thou art not the victim!
Stay, I command thee, stay.
Enter MELANTHUS.
This moment fly,
Fly to the temple. Fall before the altar
Invoke each pow'r above; each pow'r below.
Speak, tell me. Ease my agonizing soul!
With a firm heart prepare thee then, oh queen,
To hear the dreadful tale. Achilles' ghost,
Ev'n in the realms of death thirsting for blood,
Demands thy daughter's life —What, not one word:
Speak, wretched queen; the heart that feels such pangs
Must give them vent, or break.
It will not break.
Oh wou'd to heav'n it cou'd! what, not one child
Enter POLYXENA.
Alas, Polyxena!
Oh ill-star'd maid!
Turn not thine eyes away; weep not for me;
Oh wretched mother of a wretched race!
I've heard it all! the low'ring storm of fate
Bursts on thy head, and whelms thee with despair.
Thou hast no friend on earth! thou hast no child,
To tend thy widow'd age, and close thine eyes!
Weep not for me. I weep not my own fate.
I shall rest quiet with the shades below.
Thee, only thee I mourn. For thee my eyes
Pour these sad tears, that else unmov'd cou'd see
The dagger lifted up to shed my blood.
Enter ULYSSES and Guards.
Shield me, sweet pow'rs! — close, closer to my breast —
Thy pardon, queen. With sympathizing soul
I come the mournful messenger of death.
Pyrrhus performs the solemn sacrifice
To his dread fire; and now demands the princess.
Oh summon that firm fortitude, which triumphs
O'er nature's weakness. Painful is the struggle
In a fond mother's breast. —
Am I a mother!
Oh insupportable! I was a mother.
'Twas the sole comfort left my widow'd age.
But what the furies in their wrath had spar'd,
These human fiends tear from me.
Calmly hear me.
Think, if the chance of war —
Heav'n's! was my daughter
Achilles' murderer? She never wrong'd him.
No, if he thirsts for blood, 'tis Helen's blood:
He fought for Helen, he for Helen died.
Yet think a moment. Shall we wear the laurels
Won with his life, and cast a cold contempt
On his dead ashes? —What, if Agamemnon
Once more shou'd call to arms? Wou'd the brave soldiers
Rouze at his voice, and rush on fate, to share
Th'inglorious treatment of their valiant dead!
Patience, sweet heav'n! — What, must ye tear to pieces
Humanity? Be murd'rers to display
Your guilty gratitude?
Oh Hecuba,
Let not thy rage provoke a potent victor!
No, I will not provoke a potent victor.
I'll check these foolish transports of despair.
See, my rage melts to miserable tears.
I'll but remind him of that hour, when Helen
Discern'd him thro' a vagrant's dark disguise,
And to Troy's queen disclos'd the daring treason.
I'll but remind him how his rev'rend age
Soften'd my soul, and sav'd his forfeit life.
No time shall from my grateful memory raze
That moment when I clasp'd thy royal knees—
Lo, in my turn, thus prostrate on the ground
I clasp thy royal knees.—By thy good genius!
The guardian god, who from thy natal hour
Chac'd the black influence of my baleful star,
Have mercy on my age! spare my dear child!
As I preserv'd thy life, preserve thou hers!
There's blood enough of mine already shed!
Spare my dear child! in thy last hour of anguish
That action shall sit smiling on thy soul,
Shall gild the trophies of thy honor'd tomb.
Oh spare her, spare her! so may thy dear queen
Ne'er feel the pangs I feel!
Much I regard
Th' unhappy princess; gratitude and pity
Prompt me to save her. But till she's devoted
To great Achilles' shrine, no fav'ring wind
Shall from this island loose our fast-bound fleet.
Thus spoke his mighty shade; at the dread menace,
Calchas pronounc'd her doom. Vain then were pray'rs;
Vain ev'ry mortal aid.
Do not abuse
A victor's pow'r. Great as thou art, oh king,
Remember thou'rt a man. Tell, tell the Greeks,
Honor wou'd bleed to see weak helpless women
Murder'd before their altars by that fury
Which spar'd them in the battle's bloody horrors.
Plead, plead with all thy pow'rs my poor child's cause,
Oh plead the widow's cause!
See thro' yon camp
Hundreds of hoary matrons; some thy equals
In misery: as many youthful brides
Wailing their murder'd lords. Think on their fate,
And calmly bear thy own. Greece owes her glory
To the high rev'rence paid her buried heroes.
This last great duty Troy despis'd, and lo,
Her tow'rs are tumbled!
My dear child, my pray'rs
Are pour'd in vain. Speak thou, thy tender age
Perhaps has pow'r to move him: speak whate'er
The love of thy dear mother's life inspires.
Fall at his knees: tell this hard-hearted prince,
He is a father, he too has a child!
Nay turn not from me, prince; fear not my pray'rs,
I follow thee to death. For what has life
To wake in me a wish? Me, who was born
Daughter of Priam, Phrygia's wealthy king,
And destin'd by my birth to kingly spousals?
Once 'mid my virgin troop of beauteous Trojans
I sat almost a goddess: now behold me
Sunk into a vile slave. Then welcome, Death.
Oh Hecuba, my queen, my mother, do not,
In pity, do not melt me thus. Oh! rather
Strengthen my weakness: bid me bear my fame
Unblemish'd to the tomb; bid stern Ulysses
Lead me to sacrifice.
She's my sole hope.
While to my heart I clasp her youth, the wounds
My murder'd lord, my murder'd children made,
Stream not so fast.
Guards—
Wou'd'st thou give indeed
A grateful sacrifice? lo, here the victim!
I'm Paris' mother; lead me to the tomb.
'Twas Paris kill'd Achilles; murder me!
Thy daughter's blood, not thine, his shade demands.
Shed mine with hers, and glut his barb'rous ghost.
Rash queen, retire —
Oh reverence her white hairs!
Pity the pangs that wring a mother's heart!
Behold I follow thee.—Oh! Hecuba,
Oh! thou from whose fond breast I drew my life—
Grief holds her dumb.
No eye again shall see us
Mix our fond souls. Oh! mother most rever'd,
Farewell.—Bright God of day, resign'd I quit
Thy sov'rain lamp. — Shed there thy beams of comfort
Ex. Ul. Pol. guards.
Oh wretched queen. —
Oh mistress most ador'd. ——
See, she recovers. —
Wherefore do you cast
After a pause.
Such fearful looks on me? think ye the loss
Of one poor child sharpens the rav'ning beak
That gnaws my ulcer'd heart! —
I pray ye count my numerous progeny,
And tell me where they are. — Cast not on me
Such fearful looks. Ye shall not see a tear.
I will not struggle with th' opposeless might
Of stern necessity. Now to my breast
Comes resolution unappall'd by nature:
No more a mother now, but queen of Troy.
Or if — great Hector's mother. — Hector's gone!
His spirit was too noble to stay here.
And my Polyxena, my dear, last child,
— My last! — my last, Sigea! — my last child!
Oh in thy bosom let me hide my tears!
Yes, they are tears!
Oh yet a little longer
Bear up against this storm; and I'll impart
Tidings may kindle in thy sinking soul
A spark of comfort.
This to Hecuba!
Shall she know comfort? — prithee, mock me not.
Alass distraction will not come to give it!
Runs out, Virgins, &c.
Oh miserable queen. — Is this the mistress
Of wealthy Phrygia? this th' imperial consort
Of royal Priam? —
TALTHYBIUS, MELANTHUS.
Nay, boldly do thy bidding. The poor wretch,
Like Hecuba, who outlives every hope,
Has outliv'd every fear. Pause not, but speak.
Thus to Melanthus speaks Atrides; Soon
As Pyrrhus has perform'd the sacrifice,
The queen has our full licence to depart
Unransom'd to Paeonia.
Exit.
That revives
My drooping expectations. She shall go.
Yes, with Eriphilus the queen shall go,
Who will make up to her a daughter's loss.
But wherefore is he absent? these dire horrors
Made me unmindful of my precious charge,
The only prop of Troy.—How fares the queen?
SIGEA, MELANTHUS.
Nothing can harm her further.
Heaven forbid!
She is not dead!—
Once her sad soul seem'd past
The goal of life; and happy had she been,
Had it no more return'd.
But she recover'd —
She did. And had'st thou seen what these eyes saw —
Solemn and mute, her folded hands close clasp'd
Despair to her sad heart. Once her child's name
Broke forth; and once she cast a casual glance
On her dear statue. At the sight she started;
Her pale lips trembled, her distorted mien,
Chang'd with the violent conflict, gave sad signs
Of desperation; keenest curses then
'Gainst the vile king she pour'd, tore her white hairs,
And call'd them pitiless gods.—A sight so horrid
I cou'd not bear; but hither ran to vent
The anguish of my heart.—Oh heav'ns, see there!
She comes — despair and madness in her looks!
HECUBA, SIGEA, MELANTHUS.
I live! I breathe! my cumber'd soul still drags
Mortality's vile clog! 'tis the same world!
'Tis the same sun that saw the ruthless dagger
Plung'd in her heart! and yet th' infernal deed
Eclips'd not the bright orb: still, still it shines!
Still throws its flaring beams thro' my weak brain!
— Earth will not yawn to hide me! I must stand
Still as I do, on its detested surface;
The scorn, the sport of an insulting world!
— They shall not hear me groan—I'll choak these sighs!
I'll seem as all were peace! no Grecian eye
Shall pry into these mighty realms of woe,
And see how vast they are!
Oh speak to her!
Speak, good Melanthus. Some way try to calm
This tempest in her soul.
Dire is the doom
Thy destiny decrees. Yet 'mid thy grief,
Oh hear me hapless queen!
Why, what art thou?
Say, didst thou feel for her a mother's pang?
Ah, didst thou feel for her a mother's joy!
She never milk'd thy breast! else stead of tears,
And womanish sighs, thy voice, to terror turn'd,
Had rouz'd Alecto from the depth of hell
To blast her murderer! Oh he derides
This impotence of rage. Ye vengeful bolts,
Hurl'd on the light'ning's blaze thro' the red air,
To atoms shatter him.—Or me, dread gods,
Bear me to the curst wretch! weak tho' I am,
I am a mother: and the feebleness
Of fourscore years, inspir'd by wrongs like mine,
May sink his guilty soul!
As safely might'st thou
Approach the tiger's den. The sword of Pyrrhus
That strikes the life of thy Polyxena,
Stands drawn for Hecuba.
Here let him sheath it!
But yet he will not. 'Twere a friendly blow.
'Twou'd kill remembrance, stifle painful thought,
And make me of a piece with this dull clod!
— Now I am curs'd with sense!—but I will go!
Something I'll do—Away old man, away.
Thy blood runs cold—thy bosom never burn'd
With royal fire—Where's the Paeonian youth?
Fly, find him. Bid him rush on their curst rites —
Snatch her from fate—
For heaven's sake hold—
Stand off—
As thou regard'st thy everlasting peace —
For know, shou'd thy rash rage destroy this youth,
Thy present pangs are poor to the fierce horrors
That then will seize thy soul.
Eternal pow'rs!
What mean'st thou?
Summon all thy fortitude;
While to thy wond'ring ears my tongue unfolds—
— No more—no more—
CRATANDER, HECUBA, MELANTHUS, &c.
Polyxena, thy daughter—
Barbarous man,
How dar'st thou triumph at despair like mine!
Let not thy anger—
Tho' in this bad world
Virtue may weep beneath the scourge of vice,
Woe on his soul who dares deride such tears.
Wretch, there are terrible gods!
I am not, queen,
The wretch thou think'st me. Tho' I rev'rence gods
Averse from Troy, yet nature in my heart
A spark hath lighted of humanity,
That shines for every mortal in distress.
If never enemy worse tidings bring
He merits not thy wrath.—Thy daughter lives.
Lives!
The guards scarce had born her from thy tent
To yonder narrow pass, when from a copse
Of thick-set thorns, that climb the sloping bank,
Sudden, with furious shout, and clashing sabres,
Forth rush'd a desperate band of bold Paeonians,
Led by Eriphilus. Full thro' the midst
Dauntless he mow'd his way. The Grecian bands
Confounded, scarce unsheath'd their swords, and fell
The victims of his valour.
For these tidings
Take my soul's dearest thanks. But my poor daughter!
Whither cou'd she betake her?
The bold youth,
Swift as the bird of Jove, flew to her rescue,
And bore her off triumphant tow'rds the port
Where his ships anchor. But before my eyes
Lost sight of them, a troop of light-armed Greeks,
Who view'd the routed guards, pursued their flight.
I saw them sink the hill that overhangs
The Hellespont: yet sure they came too late
To overtake their speed. These tidings, queen,
Mov'd by the touch of nature, ev'n a foe
Imparts to thee with joy.
Exit.
Oh joy indeed!
Blest be that godlike youth!—Ah quickly tell me,
Who, what he is. Unfold the wond'rous secret
That my soul burns to know.—Why dost thou kneel?
Oh royal queen!
Who is this more than friend,
This brother to my child?
This brother?
Tell me.
And my last pray'rs shall draw down blessings on him!
Yes, bless him, bless him!—For he is her brother.
He is thy Polydore, whom I preserv'd
From Polymestor.
Hecuba faints.
Oh what hast thou done!
Where is he? My dear Polydore restor'd
Recovering
To life and me? Impossible! my heart
Wants pow'r to credit thee. And yet—and yet—
Can falsehood lurk beneath those silver hairs?
It never can. No, I do credit thee,
Whoe'er thou art, old man.
Now, queen, behold me.
And if thou still can'st doubt Eumelus' truth —
Eumelus! —
This shall witness.
Gives a wreath.
Heav'nly pow'rs!
'Tis he. It is Eumelus! Ah this token
Beyond ten thousand proofs confirms the truth.
'Tis the same wreath that bound his infant brow,
The work of my own hands.—Where is my boy?
Bring me my Polydore. — All-gracious heav'n,
How 'scap'd he Polymestor? What good god
Preserv'd his precious life? Tell, tell me all,
And turn me mad with joy.
Some other time
Thou shalt know all; know how Ilione
Deceiv'd the cruel king. Now calm thy transport,
The least word may undo thee. Let the secret—
But see he comes. — Ah no, with other looks
This hateful harbinger of wrath approaches!
— By heav'ns, it is Ulysses!
Let him come.
Now I defy his malice.
To your tent.
Oh see him not. His cursed wiles will draw
The fatal secret from you.
He has seen me.
I cannot now retire. — Fly to the field;
To my dear children fly! — regard not me.
Thy presence will add vigour to their valour;
Shoot a new soul thro' ev'ry soldier's breast.
No. To your tent will I retire: there wait
Th' event of this dread conference.
Fear me not.
Piercing as are his eyes, they cannot dive
Into my soul. There smother'd lies the secret.
Quick then repress thy joys, repress thy fears. —
This dreadful hour must prove thee more than woman.
Exit.
ULYSSES, HECUBA, SIGEA, Guards.
Well may the fearful blood forsake thy cheeks
At our approach. Rash queen! to perpetrate
An act, whose sole conception in the mind
Were guilt against the gods. Yet wou'd I hope
My counsel from th' uplifted arm of vengeance
Might still withdraw thee. Hear it, and obey.
Recall the princess.
Hah!
Bid that bold youth
Surrender.
What, pronounce my daughter's doom
With my own tongue!
Such prompt submission, queen,
Will 'vail thee more with Pyrrhus' rigid virtue
Than thrice the force of this fool-hardy boy.
Presume not she'll escape. Let not thy soul
Soar on that air-blown hope; 'twill burst, and drop thee
Deeper into despair. Nay, had she reach'd
Paeonia's palace, still she cou'd not 'scape.
Think'st thou Pyrechmes will defy the force
Of our embattled hosts? provoke their fury
To waste his kingdom's wealth? and urge Atrides
To drag her from the temple to the tomb?
Hast thou a child, and can thy cruel tongue
With such keen accents wound a parent's ear?
Am I to blame if nature bids me love,
Dear as myself, the offspring of my blood?
Therefore I counsel thus. I wou'd make sound
Thy daughter's sickly life. But when wou'd passion
Hearken to reason's voice? Take thy own bent,
But tremble at th' event. Her breathless corse,
That might lie decent on the funeral pile,
May feed the famish'd vultures.
Barbarous man.
But yet ye will not — butchers as ye are
Ye will not, dare not do so dire a deed,
As the good gods wou'd shudder to behold.
Thy madness does the deed, that sets at nought
Our salutary counsel; which pursued
Might end thy woes; might move the gallant Pyrrhus
To sooth his sire with a new sacrifice;
— Perhaps Eriphilus —
Eriphilus!
Yes, he may bleed thy daughter's substitute.
Oh horror!
Hah —
For heav'n's sake, be yourself.
Aside to Hecuba.
Beware, beware.
What — murder the poor youth,
Who for my daughter's life did risk his own!
Forbid it honour! — If his youthful fire
Urg'd him too far, oh let his youth plead for him.
The passions at that season snatch the reins
From reason's feeble hand! th' impetuous blood
Then flows not with that equal temperature,
As when it holds its slow and languid course
Thro' the cold veins of age.
Death is the doom
For sacrilege.
Alas I'll die to save
His noble life!
Indeed! —
Yes — the strong ties
Of gratitude and friendship —
Strong indeed,
Stronger than nature's ties with thee they seem.
To save his noble life thyself wou'dst die:
Wou'dst give thy child to death;—to save a youth,
An unknown youth?—Who is he? Strange conjectures
Do open on my mind. —What is his name?
His extract, country, what?—Hah! these emotions
Now by sage Pallas, he is some vile Trojan,
Who hid in this disguise —
ULYSSES, EUMELUS, HECUBA, SIGEA.
Insolent man,
Who thus uncall'd break'st on our privacy.
Retire.—Yet stay. Thou didst consort him hither.
Thou art a partner in his perfidy;
Th' accomplice of this youth; and thou shalt share
His punishment. Traitor, I see the treason
Thy cunning wou'd conceal.
Ill do thy words
Become the sacred character I bear.
I am no traitor, king.
What art thou then?
Melanthus. —
Guardian to that hapless youth,
Whom I alas — but on my knees, Ulysses —
Oh queen, let not thy gratitude compell thee
To ought unworthy of thy royal self.
Fear not his life; the laws of nations guard it.
No law can guard the sacrilegious villain.
—Bid Licias, when they seize Eriphilus,
To drag him to that altar he profan'd.
Forbear forbear. —
Disclose the trait'rous plot.
Oh spare his youth —
Thou, only thou, can'st spare him.
Instant disclose the treason. 'Scape he cannot.
Our troops have rush'd between him and his ships.
Ere this he's captive. Speak, or death's his doom.
Oh gracious gods —
Return; and in your tent
Reason will recollect its scatter'd pow'rs.
Guards. —
Hold — and I will tell —
What can'st thou tell?
— Unhappy queen, retire.
Do thou retire;
Or —
Hear then —
OFFICER, ULYSSES, HECUBA, &c.
Royal sir, the bold Paeonians
Have beat our soldiers backward to the tent.
Shouting.
Hark their loud shouts. —
Call forth the guards. —
Enter another OFFICER.
Oh king.
Scarce do our faithful followers make a stand
'Gainst the fierce onset of that fiery youth.
Without quick reinforcement he'll bear off
The princess.
Guard that traitor to the tomb.
Eumelus
carried off.
Follow me to the field.
Exit
Ulysses
with guards.
Heard you, Sigea?
They live — they live — both live — was ever mother
So exquisitely blest? 'tis not illusion.
The brightest pow'rs of rich imagination
Ne'er form'd a dream like this. My dear, dear children!
These eyes shall see, these arms again shall clasp you
Close to my heart. —Hear then, immortal Juno!
And thou, Troy's deadliest foe, tremendous Pallas,
Suspend your wrath! oh let a nation's blood
Quench your fell fury! think on my poor children,
Sent ere their hour to night's eternal gloom,
Dread Pallas think! and o'er my daughter's life
Oh spread the terror of thy seven-fold aegis!
Save her! and save the only hope of Troy,
My Polydore! oh save my life in theirs!
Exit.
End of the Second ACT.
ACT III. A Tower.
Enter GREEK OFFICER and Guard.
GUard well your prisoner: 'tis the king's command
He stirs not from this tow'r. See, he approaches.
This way with me, and further I'll inform thee.
Enter POLYDORE and a PAEONIAN.
'Tis a short race, my friend, but do not grieve.
Fair fame runs with me to the mortal goal.
And by yon golden god, 'tis far more noble.
To blaze the meteor of an hour, and vanish,
Than shine whole ages an inglorious star
On the world's drowzy eye. And oh be witness,
Daemons of death, who struck my shiver'd sword,
I yielded not ignobly. My firm arm
Fo
ght to the last to save Polyxena,
And I have sav'd her. — Hah! what thing of blood
With clinking chains stalks towards us?
LYCUS, POLYDORE, PAEONIAN.
Lycus prisoner?
Mang'ed and bleeding thus?
'Tis my life's blood
ed for Polyxena, but shed in vain.
They have not forc'd her back?—
Thou noble youth,
Hear what I've life to utter. — Near the ships
A secret band of Greeks unwarily
Rush'd on us. Front oppos'd to front we stood:
Fierce Eurycles bore onwards: five bold soldiers
Sunk in the fury of his mortal sword:
Cover'd at length with wounds, he fell to earth;
When to the altar they bore off the Princess;
And ere this time the bloody deed is done.
Thy wounds demand relief. — Farewel, farewel.
Exit Lycus.
Oh prince —
Be gone. —
Exit Paeonian.
Oh destiny, thy dealings
Urge me to rush into the house of death,
My last, best friend. Polyxena's free spirit
Stops and looks back on me with pitying eyes;
Points me to where unhappy souls find peace.
— Loosen from thy foundation, ponderous arch,
And crush the wretch who cannot find a sword
To end him. — Open earth, and bury me
Deep in thy monstrous womb.—And wilt thou not?
Then thus perforce against thy stony breast
I dash me. —
EUMELUS, POLYDORE.
Heav'ns guard my prince—
Eumelus! — Ah that look —
Whence com'st thou?
From the tomb. —Spare me the rest.
Nay speak. I guess thy errand.—I'm prepar'd.
I'll listen still as night —
The Greecian host,
Circling the tomb, in solemn silence stood.
Pyrrhus, high on the front, the royal victim
Plac'd with due reverence; a selected band
Of Grecian youth follow'd with pensive pace.
While with slow hand, crown'd to the brim, he pour'd
A golden goblet to his father's ghost.
Then waving thrice his arm, the priest proclaim'd
Silence.—A death-like silence still'd the shore.
When Pyrrhus thus. "Oh father most rever'd!
Receive this due libation to thy shade.
This pure immaculate stream of virgin's blood,
Rise, son of Peleus, to our vows propitious,
Rise and receive! thy son's, the army's offering.
Unmoor the fleet; and to our longing eyes
Restore our country?"—Every soldier echoed
"Restore our country."—Sudden then his hand
Unsheath'd the fatal sword.
Oh barbarous villain!
But cou'd he? dar'd he? dar'd the murd'rer strike?
How look'd the guilty savage when he met
The eye of such celestial innocence?
Fell not the trembling faulchion? No, that hand
Which shed the life-blood of Polyxena,
Still reek'd with Priam's gore.—Where was thy sword?
What coward-palsey thy old arm unnerv'd?
I was not there. I cou'd not burst these bonds:
Cou'd not with these vile chains dash him to atoms.
Fate bound me fast; fate fear'd I shou'd unfix
Its curst decree, and ransom innocent blood!
Let patience moderate thy rage. The princess
Died —
Died! —And dost thou talk of moderation?
Died! —And dost think this heart shall ever treat
With patience more? —I prithee draw thy sword,
That sword, old man, which spar'd th' accursed Pyrrhus,
And strike it here. That sword will give me patience.
I pity, not upbraid thee. Yet I hop'd,
When thou shou'dst hear with what a steddy eye,
What decent dignity she look'd on death,
Drest in the aweful pomp of sacrifice;
That the last acts which crown'd her close of life,
And drew a sigh from every hostile heart,
Might mitigate thy anguish.
My lov'd friend!
Nothing can mitigate, nothing can sharpen
The anguish of my mind: Yet I'll hear all:
That her last words may sink into my soul;
That her last look may languish in my eyes;
That inexpressive look, when fugitive life
Dropt its lost colours.—That I now might see her,
Wan as she is, and cold! Oh there's a tender,
A melancholy charm, which death's pale touch
Casts o'er the features of the face we love.
Give, give me all, each look, each word relate.
Pyrrhus unsheath'd the sword—Quick at the sight,
The youth approach'd.—She saw, and thus she spake.
Heroes of Greece! You who in ashes laid
My conquer'd country! Let no hand profane
Touch me. My heart unshrinking meets the blow!
Not like a slave.—Heroes of Greece forbid!
But like great Priam's daughter, oh permit me,
Free as my birth t' approach the gods below;
Not like a slave. — Heroes of Greece forbid!
A fav'ring murmur follow'd; and the youth
Drew back at Pyrrhus' nod. — Down from her shoulders
With rosy shame, she stript her virgin veil,
And bar'd her beauteous breast, that far surpast
Ev'n Dian's statue. Then upon one knee
These mournful words she spake; Lo, prince my bosom,
Deep in my heart the friendly faulchion fix—
One wretched boon I beg — My breathless corse
Unbought restore to my dear mother's arms.
Oh let her tears the precious purchase pay!
She said — Tears gush'd from every Grecian eye.
Ev'n Pyrrhus paus'd. — Irresolute, aghast,
He roll'd his eyes, and wildly struck the blow.
She fell; and falling, carefully compos'd
Her decent limbs. —
Yes, swell, swell on, my soul!
Lose not, my heart, a single agony!
I'm proud to be this wretch!
Instruct me Jove,
To calm his troubled mind.
I am most calm.
Draw forth thy sword, and let it search my breast,
And see how calm I am.
Distracting fight!
Is this the end of all my care? Is this
Thy close of life? — How did my old heart swell
With the proud hope that I had rear'd for Troy
Another Hector!
And by heav'n thou hast.
Soon shalt thou find thou hast. I'll prove myself
Another Hector on the lives of Greece;
Rush thro' their camp, and to each Trojan ghost
My sword shall sacrifice a hecatomb.
—I have no sword; — oh curse on these vile bonds,
They chain my soul. Some god, some god assist,
Breathe thro' my breast a more than mortal might,
New-nerve my arm, that with one glorious effort—
TALTHYBIUS, POLYDORE, EUMELUS.
The king —
Heav'n's curses on him —
Dearest youth —
Atrides thus by me——
Go tell Atrides —
For heav'n's sake, peace.—Herald, what wou'd Atrides?
Strait to Achilles' tomb his royal mandate
Summons Eriphilus.
I will die here!
He may not doom thy death —
I will not go.
Not go? Alas what can thy unarm'd valour
'Gainst yon approaching guard? Haste to the tomb,
Where he with Pyrrhus waits—
Is Pyrrhus there?
left him there.
Lead on—Herald, I follow—
I will but summon the Paeonian prisoners,
And instant wait thee here.
Exit.
Merciless pow'rs!
What has he done that your black cloud of wrath
O'er-shadows every hope!
One glorious hope,
Bright as the mid-day sun, beams on my soul.
—Nearer, my friend! —Talthybius soon returns—
This moment's mine — I wou'd not ask in vain.
Thou hast a dagger —
Oh! upon my knees —
Dear youth —
By heav'n, I do not mean —
Shall I,
I, who from cruel Polymestor's sword
Snatch'd thy devoted life, ah, shall thy guardian
Give thee the murd'rous dagger!
Thou mistak'st me.
A nobler action —
Oh revere, revere
The good Pyrechmes! With a father's fondness
He waits thy blest return; and holds in life,
'Till Priam's godlike son shall close his eyes.
— Do not forsake thy mother's rev'rend age.
Helpless, and wretched, if her dearest son
Flies from her woes.— Ah! drive her not to madness.
Have pity on thy friend! for by yon heav'n,
I'll not survive thy death.
Hear my resolve,
And give the dagger. — For my life, let fate
Dispose it, as it may; yet for thy sake
I'll keep it to the last. — Th' infernal Pyrrhus
Murder'd my fire. The villian stab'd my sister.
Wilt thou with-hold the dagger from his heart?
Ev'n now her gentle spirit hovers o'er me;
Summons her tardy brother to swift vengeance!
She shall to Priam, in th' Elysian groves,
Present her Polydore who died t' avenge them.
— Give me the dagger —
Thou true son of Priam!
Thou gallant brother of the godlike Hector!
What shall I say? — Oh! rather bid me plunge it
In my own breast. — Unfortunate old man!
Nay look not on me thus.—Here, take the dagger,
A friend's last gift to his soul's better part.
Take it. I'll wait thee to Achilles' tomb.
If thou shou'dst fall; a thousand path-ways point
To death's dark cave: The readiest is for me.
— Oh heav'ns! the queen —
She never cou'd have come
At a worse hour. — Is here a heart to meet
A mother's transports?
I but now inform'd her
Thy life was safe; I told her too the princess
Had reach'd the ships. Oh undeceive her not.
I will retire. —
Exit.
Well as I may, my friend,
I'll counterfeit a calm. Yet much I fear me,
A mother's fondness will pierce thro' the veil
That a faint watry smile throws o'er my grief.
— What inexpressive bliss lightens her looks;
I see the story of my birth pourtray'd
In her dear eyes. — Oh nature, how I feel,
Thro' ev'ry nerve, thy more than magic power.
HECUBA, POLYDORE, SIGEA, &c.
My soul springs from beneath it's pond'rous load,
And triumphs to behold her! Bless me, bless
Your son, your Polydore.
Art thou my Polydore?
Art thou indeed return'd to life and me?
— Then wherefore swims thy shape before my eyes?
Oh for ten thousand worlds, this shou'd not be
A dream, a false unreal form of air!
'Tis not a dream! 'tis no unreal form!
'Tis my own Polydore! — Yes, my own eyes,
Dim as they are, can trace those living lines
That mark thee Hector's brother! — My dear boy,
Thou dost not join my transports! in thine eye
I see the image of a gloomy grief
That lives within thy heart.
Can such a guest
Find entrance to a heart so full as mine?
To mine it cannot. No, while thus I clasp thee,
Methinks each god leans forward from the sky
To hail my happiness! Pride of my soul!
How does the sight of thee raise to my mind
Past joys, o'erlaid with many a dismal woe!
— What pleasure for Polyxena, whose life
Thy valour has preserv'd!
A nobler champion
Her virtues merited. Yet what my sword
Cou'd do, it did, to save her precious life.
Dear youth! — but is she safe beyond the reach
Of accident? Alas that fearful pause!
Is she not quite secure?
She's quite secure
From every mortal chance. No power on earth
Can harm her more.
Ye bloody butchers! now,
Where's now your victim? — how I long to see them,
Robb'd of their prey, with sullen indignation,
Gaze on the empty altar!
What a dagger
She strikes into my soul!
Thou turn'st away.
— Now heaven protect my son! — Eumelus told me
Thy life was safe.
It is, and that it is,
For thy dear sake I'm thankful.
With what transport
Shall we run o'er these scenes, when dark bleak winter
Shuts out society! How shall thy sister
Hang on thy bosom, and with fondness call thee
Her second sire, who gave her a new life!
Oh wou'd to heaven I cou'd —
Why, hast thou not?
Who —
Thou. —
Done what? —
Preserv'd her life —
Hark! — heard you
That noise? —
Thy look appalls me!
'Twas a groan;
The hollow groan of death!
Thou cou'dst not hear,
So distant from the tomb, the victim's groans.
The victim's groans! —
Ah! do not speak thy words
So terribly. — Alas the horrid thought
Of thy dear sister's danger has imprest
Thy mind so strong —
It has. —
That it disturbs
The happiest hour that Hecuba can know.
But it no longer shall. For from this hour,
I do defy the darts of destiny.
It has no darts for thee, my son, nor me,
Nor thy dear sister.—Wou'd to heav'n thou wert
Safe as she is, my child!
Oh mother, mother—
For while those cruel chains oppress thy limbs,
I cannot think thee safe. Wou'd thou wert with her.
Burst tears, and ease my heart.—The pang is past,
And I'm myself again. Nay, look not pale;
My mother, my sole joy. All now is well.
One hour shall set us free. Let me now beg thee
To leave me; lest this visit shou'd awake
Suspicions here. These strange tempestuous times
Crave cautious apprehensions; make it dangerous
For poor humanity to feel those passions,
Which by the strict condition of our nature
We all are born to feel. The time will come,
When to these Greeks I shall proclaim myself
The prince of Troy, thy guardian, and thy son.
Oh joy too great!—I'll go, my son; but first
To Jove's high throne address a mother's prayer.
Tremendous god; since destiny decrees▪
My son shall o'er these perils pass secure,
Lengthen my life! let not the fatal sheers
Cut my old thread in twain. For now my joys,
Too vast for words, fix heav'n within my heart;
While thus in ecstacies my fond arms clasp
My life, my soul, my new-born Polydore!
ULYSSES, EUMELUS, HECUBA, POLYDORE, Guards, &c.
Now Pallas aid thy votary. With success
Crown this deceit, and make my name immortal!
Nay start not. This behaviour but confirms
What needed not fresh proof. Rash queen, I've learn'd
Your trait'rous secret. With her dying voice
Polyxena proclaim'd it.
Dying voice!
Oh cast not on me that soul-piercing look.
Yes, she is dead.—The fatal truth had come
Less dreadful from my lips: but my fond heart
Forbad my tongue to speak it. Oh forgive
The only falsehood it can ever tell thee.
The only one indeed. For the next hour
Will lay thee dumb for ever. This disguise
Avails thee not. I know thee—
Then thou know'st
The man, whose look shou'd turn thee into stone.
Think on my wrongs, and tremble at my vengeance!
Thy vengeance, wretched boy! but that thou'rt plac'd
So far beneath our wrath —
Beneath thy wrath!
Heard you, dread Mars?—I plac'd beneath thy wrath!
Proud Greek! wert thou thrice king of Ithaca,
Me thou wert plac'd beneath.
Be this the proof—
Guards, bear him to the altar.—
Off, vile slaves —
Oh spare him, spare him —
Heard you my command?
To the Guard.
On the bare earth, lo a queen kneels to thee;
Dead Priam's wretched queen—
Take hence the traitor—
Hast thou no drop of pity in thy heart
For a poor mother?—Give me back my daughter.—
Thou wilt not—canst not.—Give me then my son—
All's lost for ever!
Look upon me.—Tremble
At my despair: my agonizing soul
Stands on distraction's brink!—while sense remains
Oh spare him, spare my son.
Thy son?—
Yes, king,
But for the sacrifice, Eriphilus
Polyxena had wedded. Thus, Ulysses,
He wou'd have been her son.
I am her son!
And my soul triumphs in the thought!—No more—
All falsehood is beneath the prince of Troy!
Yes, Polydore disdains it. —
Polydore!—
— By Pallas, 'tis a stroke beyond my hope!
Thus I arrest thee —
Off old man —
Nay then,
Die.
No, false villain.—First die thou—
Offers to stab Ulysses.
—Bear down his weapon. Seize him—
How beset?
Then farewel life —
Stabs himself.
Oh faithful dagger!
'Tis well, I'm free again. The son of Priam
Falls as he ought to fall.
Sage Pallas, thanks!
Here end the fears of Greece. I'll to Atrides
With this important news.
Exit.
'Tis done, 'tis done!—
She faints.
Heart breaking sight! she dies. My mother dies!
All lend your aid; for I have none to lend!
She breathes again—my life flows fast away—
Raise me.—Heav'n has decreed thy son must fall.
Oh then forgive me, if my hasty hand
Has executed the stern will of fate!
Cou'd I have liv'd — cou'd I have given thee freedom!
— I was not born to bless thee—
Help, support him.
See, see the queen. Not one tear—not one word—
My hard heart bears it!
The same day that gives
Robs me of my dear mother. Rigid fate
Permits me but to see thee, and to die.
I ask'd not a long life—but one hour more—
It wou'd not be.—Now Pyrrhus lives, he triumphs!
— The gods are terrible! If they have mercy—
If they have justice—thou wilt live—wilt see
Revenge — revenge.
Dies.
He's dead. I know he's dead.
After a silence.
I know that ghastly paleness is proud Death's
Triumphant robe!—Those lips shall breathe no more!
— But tears are bootless now.—Come, virgins, come,
We'll bear him to the Greeks. The star of Troy
Shou'd, as it falls, leave its last lustre there.
— Come virgins, come,—nay bring Polyxena,
Her corse upon my left; his on my right;
Like a fond mother I will go to Death.
He'll come to meet me from the Grecian camp,
And gently lay me 'twixt my son and daughter;
My murder'd daughter, and my murder'd son!
— But soft—revenge,—revenge!—Oh his sweet soul
Went with that word.—Shall I live to revenge?
My spirits catch th' alarm.—Come, follow, follow:
Let's do the noble deed! Come on, my maidens,
My virtuous maidens, blith in beauty's bloom:
Shall we not love this gallant lord of Troy?
Nor pluck green myrtles from Elysian groves,
And wreath his warrior-brow? What, shall we steal
On my old Priam, sporting with his troop
Of demigods? My boys, my own bold boys!
— Who wou'd not be a mother?—glorious hour!—
She runs off.
Oh melancholy sight!—That wretched man,
Who to this world's vain pomp devotes his soul,
Here let him come— gaze on these dread remains,
This monument of ruin'd royalty!
Exeunt.
EPILOGUE.
Written by Mr. GARRICK.
And Spoken by Miss BRIDE.
STrip'd of my tragic weeds, and rais'd from death;
In freedom's land, again I draw my breath:
Tho' late a Trojan ghost, in Charon's ferry;
I'm now an English girl, alive, and merry!
Hey! — Presto! — I'm in Greece a maiden slain —
Now!—stranger still!—a maid, in Drury-lane!
No more by barb'rous men, and laws confin'd,
I claim my native rights — to speak my mind.
Tho' poring pedants should applaud this piece,
Behold a champion,—foe profest of Greece!
I throw my gauntlet to the critic race:
Throws down her glove.
Come forth, bold Grecians!—Meet me face to face!
Come forth, ye men of learning, at my call!
Learning! a little feeling's worth it all!
And you of taste, and fashion, I defy!
Throws down another glove.
But hold—
You
hate the Greek as much as I;
Then, let us join our force, and boldly speak —
That English ev'ry thing surpasses Greek.
Kill a young virgin, to resist unable! —
Kill her, like house-lamb, for a
dead
man's ta
le!
Well may you tremble, ladies, and look pale!
Do you not shudder, parents, at this tale?
You
sacrifice a daughter now and then,
To rich, old, wither'd,
half
-departed men;
With us, there's no compulsive law, that can
Make a live girl, to wed a quite dead man;
Had I been wedded to some ancient king!
I mean a Grecian — Ancient's not the thing:
Then had our Bard made ample reparation!
Then had you seen a Grecian
Coronation!
Sneer not, ye critics, at this rage for shew,
That honest hearts at coronations glow!
Nor snarl that our faint copies glad their eyes,
When from the thing itself, such blessings rise.
The END.