Hecuba, a tragedy: As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- [dedication]

- Advertisement.

- PROLOGUE.

- Dramatis Personae.

- ACT I.

- ACT II.

- ACT III. A Tower.

- EPILOGUE.

HECUBA A TRAGEDY▪

The END.

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.

Advertisement.

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.

ACT I.

ULYSSES, TALTHYBIU•▪

ULYSSES.

WHAT—when the peace, the future fa•• 〈◊〉 Greece,

Hang on th' event, does Nestor thus advise?

Thou must mistake him, herald.

TALTHYBIUS.

With due defere•••

He hears Ulysses' counsel; yet compassion

Prompts him to listen to Pyrechmes' suit,

And yield up Hecuba.

ULYSSES.

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.

TALTHYBIUS.

Yet the queen's

Distressful state—

ULYSSES.

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?

TALTHYBIUS.

Young Eriphilus

Enter'd his tent at day-break. Till which time,

With Iphitus alone has he confer'd.

ULYSSES.

That lowring leader of a Trojan troop,

Just ripe for a revolt?

TALTHYBIUS.

He, royal sir,

The queen's chief oracle — as for Melanthus —

ULYSSES.

Aye, what of him? what know'st thou of Melanthus?

TALTHYBIUS.

Nothing. He shuns all converse, and seems rapt

In melancholy musings.

ULYSSES.

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.

OFFICER.

At great Achilles' tomb, Calchas, dread sir,

Awaits your royal will.

Exit.

ULYSSES.

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.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

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.

MELANTHUS.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

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.

MELANTHUS.

Hear me Eriphilus—

AETHRON.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

I go.—come on, Melanthus; my soul burns

To tell the joyful tidings.

MELANTHUS.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

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—

MELANTHUS.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

I have. And pow'rful must the pang be found,

That scorn my soul the secret doth extort.

ULYSSES, ERIPHILUS.

ULYSSES.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

Thanks to the Greeks, the queen will soon be free.

ULYSSES.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

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.

ULYSSES.

Blest the youth,

Who cou'd inspire a heart like hers with love!

ERIPHILUS.

Oh blest indeed, if there be such a youth,

Whose peerless qualities—

ULYSSES.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

Surely there is.

ULYSSES.

Then fear not, gallant youth, that thy mild virtues

Want pow'r to draw from her enchanting eyes

A favoring smile on thee.

ERIPHILUS.

On me? good heavens,

A favoring smile on me!

ULYSSES.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

But she, the princess —

ULYSSES.

Think'st thou she enjoys

A sole exemption from a general fate?

ERIPHILUS.

Yes, virtue white as hers —

ULYSSES.

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?

ERIPHILUS.

Oh heavens, for what?

ULYSSES.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

Infernal falsehood!

ULYSSES.

How — this bold behaviour

I'll suits thy humble birth.

ERIPHILUS.

I am to blame—

But were the villain here, whose sland'rous tongue

Thus wounds my honor —

ULYSSES.

Wounds your honor?—yours?—

ERIPHILUS.

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.—

ULYSSES.

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?

ERIPHILUS.

By heav'n he dares not! —

ULYSSES.

Dares not?

ERIPHILUS.

Is he a king, and dares he prostitute

A subject's virtue? for she's now his subject.

ULYSSES.

She is his slave, and not his subject, youth.

ERIPHILUS.

Is he a man, and dares he do a deed

Humanity must shudder but to hear!

ULYSSES.

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?

ERIPHILUS.

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?

ULYSSES.

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.

TALTHYBIUS.

Great Agamemnon, and the Grecian chiefs

Intreat your royal presence.

ULYSSES.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

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.

POLYXENA.

Stranger, no.

She shuns each human eye.

ERIPHILUS.

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.

POLYXENA.

Brief be thy speech, young stranger.

ERIPHILUS.

Hapless princess!

Of fire, of kingdom, liberty bereft!

With scarce a friend to save thee from the scoffs

Of cruel conqu'rors —

POLYXENA.

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—

ERIPHILUS.

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.

POLYXENA.

Vain attempt!

—But say, whence com'st thou, youth, and what thy errand?

ERIPHILUS.

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.

POLYXENA.

He's a friend indeed!

ERIPHILUS.

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.

POLYXENA.

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!

ERIPHILUS.

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.

POLYXENA.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

And has no hand

Planted a poniard in the villain's heart?

POLYXENA.

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—

ERIPHILUS.

Oh name th' inhuman foe—

POLYXENA.

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 —

ERIPHILIS.

What, the Thracian king,

Who wedded her Ilione?

POLYXENA.

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—

ERIPHILUS.

Fluttering heart be still!

POLYXENA.

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!

ERIPHILUS.

My struggling soul

Will bear no more—thy Polydore, sweet maid—

Hah! whither would my frenzy?

POLYXENA.

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!

ERIPHILUS.

Vengeance shall overtake him. Else were I

As very a slave, sweet maid, as he a villain.

POLYXENA.

Good youth!—and wilt thou purge the groaning earth

Of such a wretch?—

ERIPHILUS.

Else shou'd I blush to live!

POLYXENA.

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!

ERIPHILUS.

Lead on, lead on.—Now bloody Polymestor,

Tremble!—thy fate approaches—

POLYXENA.

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.

HECUBA.

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!

POLYXENA.

His ghost!

HECUBA.

It stopt; and pointed at its wound.

Then grinn'd a horrid smile, and disappear'd!

POLYXENA.

'Tis the meer coinage of a troubled mind.

HECUBA.

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!

POLYXENA.

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?

HECUBA.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

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.

HECUBA.

Unmanner'd stranger,

Whence this intrusion?

ERIPHILUS.

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.

HECUBA.

Lead me hence

For ever, from all eyes.

ERIPHILUS.

This blessed end

Draws me to Chersonesus; and I bring

Most welcome tidings.

HECUBA.

What have I to do

With welcome tidings?—Pray ye lead me hence.

ERIPHILUS.

I will retire.

POLYXENA.

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—

ERIPHILUS.

To bring thee freedom,

From good Pyrechmes.

HECUBA.

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!

ERIPHILUS.

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.

HECUBA.

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 —

ERIPHILUS.

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.

HECUBA.

Till happier times!

ERIPHILUS.

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.

POLYXENA.

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!

HECUBA.

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!

ERIPHILUS.

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.

HECUBA.

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

ERIPHILUS.

Vast are thy woes: yet shall sweet liberty

Lighten the load. Then suffer my blest hand

Swift to conduct thee to Paeonia's court.

HECUBA.

See'st thou that urn?

ERIPHILUS.

Alas —

HECUBA.

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.

ERIPHILUS.

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?

HECUBA.

Distracting thought!

POLYXENA.

Oh hear the voice of Heav'n, in this good youth,

Inviting thee to peace.

ERIPHILUS.

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!

HECUBA.

My dearest child. —

POLYXENA.

Quit but this horrid isle,

And I'm thy sad associate in despair;

Chuse life or death!

HECUBA.

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.

POLYXENA.

Oh that blest resolve

Drives hence despair: and makes the sun shine on me

With a sweet gracious eye.

ERIPHILUS.

Back to your tent,

Please you, retire awhile. To Agamemnon

I'll haste; lay down the ransom; and with joy

Lead you to liberty.

HECUBA.

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.

HECUBA.

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 —

HECUBA.

Doom'd me the victim?

ATTENDANT.

Thou art not the victim!

HECUBA.

Stay, I command thee, stay.

Enter MELANTHUS.

MELANTHUS.

This moment fly,

Fly to the temple. Fall before the altar

Invoke each pow'r above; each pow'r below.

HECUBA.

Speak, tell me. Ease my agonizing soul!

MELANTHUS.

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.

HECUBA.

It will not break.

Oh wou'd to heav'n it cou'd! what, not one child

Enter POLYXENA.

VIRGIN.

Alas, Polyxena!

SIGEA.

Oh ill-star'd maid!

POLYXENA.

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.

HECUBA.

Shield me, sweet pow'rs! — close, closer to my breast —

ULYSSES.

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. —

HECUBA.

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.

ULYSSES.

Calmly hear me.

Think, if the chance of war —

HECUBA.

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.

ULYSSES.

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!

HECUBA.

Patience, sweet heav'n! — What, must ye tear to pieces

Humanity? Be murd'rers to display

Your guilty gratitude?

POLYXENA.

Oh Hecuba,

Let not thy rage provoke a potent victor!

HECUBA.

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.

ULYSSES.

No time shall from my grateful memory raze

That moment when I clasp'd thy royal knees—

HECUBA.

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!

ULYSSES.

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.

HECUBA.

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!

ULYSSES.

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!

HECUBA.

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!

POLYXENA.

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.

HECUBA.

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.

ULYSSES.

Guards—

HECUBA.

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!

ULYSSES.

Thy daughter's blood, not thine, his shade demands.

HECUBA.

Shed mine with hers, and glut his barb'rous ghost.

ULYSSES.

Rash queen, retire —

POLYXENA.

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—

SIGEA.

Grief holds her dumb.

POLYXENA.

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.

VIRGIN.

Oh wretched queen. —

SIGEA.

Oh mistress most ador'd. ——

MELANTHUS.

See, she recovers. —

HECUBA.

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!

MELANTHUS.

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.

HECUBA.

This to Hecuba!

Shall she know comfort? — prithee, mock me not.

Alass distraction will not come to give it!

Runs out, Virgins, &c.

MELANTHUS.

Oh miserable queen. — Is this the mistress

Of wealthy Phrygia? this th' imperial consort

Of royal Priam? —

TALTHYBIUS, MELANTHUS.

MELANTHUS.

Nay, boldly do thy bidding. The poor wretch,

Like Hecuba, who outlives every hope,

Has outliv'd every fear. Pause not, but speak.

TALTHYBIUS.

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.

MELANTHUS.

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.

SIGEA.

Nothing can harm her further.

MELANTHUS.

Heaven forbid!

She is not dead!—

SIGEA.

Once her sad soul seem'd past

The goal of life; and happy had she been,

Had it no more return'd.

MELANTHUS.

But she recover'd —

SIGEA.

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.

HECUBA.

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!

VIRGIN.

Oh speak to her!

SIGEA.

Speak, good Melanthus. Some way try to calm

This tempest in her soul.

MELANTHUS.

Dire is the doom

Thy destiny decrees. Yet 'mid thy grief,

Oh hear me hapless queen!

HECUBA.

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!

MELANTHUS.

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.

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—

MELANTHUS.

For heaven's sake hold—

HECUBA.

Stand off—

MELANTHUS.

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.

HECUBA.

Eternal pow'rs!

What mean'st thou?

MELANTHUS.

Summon all thy fortitude;

While to thy wond'ring ears my tongue unfolds—

— No more—no more—

CRATANDER, HECUBA, MELANTHUS, &c.

CRATANDER.

Polyxena, thy daughter—

HECUBA.

Barbarous man,

How dar'st thou triumph at despair like mine!

CRATANDER.

Let not thy anger—

HECUBA.

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!

CRATANDER.

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.

HECUBA.

Lives!

CRATANDER.

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.

HECUBA.

For these tidings

Take my soul's dearest thanks. But my poor daughter!

Whither cou'd she betake her?

CRATANDER.

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.

HECUBA.

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?

MELANTHUS.

Oh royal queen!

HECUBA.

Who is this more than friend,

This brother to my child?

MELANTHUS.

This brother?

HECUBA.

Tell me.

And my last pray'rs shall draw down blessings on him!

MELANTHUS.

Yes, bless him, bless him!—For he is her brother.

He is thy Polydore, whom I preserv'd

From Polymestor.

Hecuba faints.

SIGEA.

Oh what hast thou done!

HECUBA.

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.

MELANTHUS.

Now, queen, behold me.

And if thou still can'st doubt Eumelus' truth —

HECUBA.

Eumelus! —

MELANTHUS.

This shall witness.

Gives a wreath.

HECUBA.

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.

EUMELUS.

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!

HECUBA.

Let him come.

Now I defy his malice.

EUMELUS.

To your tent.

Oh see him not. His cursed wiles will draw

The fatal secret from you.

HECUBA.

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.

EUMELUS.

No. To your tent will I retire: there wait

Th' event of this dread conference.

HECUBA.

Fear me not.

Piercing as are his eyes, they cannot dive

Into my soul. There smother'd lies the secret.

EUMELUS.

Quick then repress thy joys, repress thy fears. —

This dreadful hour must prove thee more than woman.

Exit.

ULYSSES, HECUBA, SIGEA, Guards.

ULYSSES.

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.

HECUBA.

Hah!

ULYSSES.

Bid that bold youth

Surrender.

HECUBA.

What, pronounce my daughter's doom

With my own tongue!

ULYSSES.

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?

HECUBA.

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?

ULYSSES.

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.

HECUBA.

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.

ULYSSES.

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 —

HECUBA.

Eriphilus!

ULYSSES.

Yes, he may bleed thy daughter's substitute.

HECUBA.

Oh horror!

ULYSSES.

Hah —

SIGEA.

For heav'n's sake, be yourself.

Aside to Hecuba.

Beware, beware.

HECUBA.

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.

ULYSSES.

Death is the doom

For sacrilege.

HECUBA.

Alas I'll die to save

His noble life!

ULYSSES.

Indeed! —

HECUBA.

Yes — the strong ties

Of gratitude and friendship —

ULYSSES.

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.

EUMELUS.

Ill do thy words

Become the sacred character I bear.

I am no traitor, king.

ULYSSES.

What art thou then?

EUMELUS.

Melanthus. —

HECUBA.

Guardian to that hapless youth,

Whom I alas — but on my knees, Ulysses —

EUMELUS.

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.

ULYSSES.

No law can guard the sacrilegious villain.

—Bid Licias, when they seize Eriphilus,

To drag him to that altar he profan'd.

HECUBA.

Forbear forbear. —

ULYSSES.

Disclose the trait'rous plot.

HECUBA.

Oh spare his youth —

ULYSSUS.

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.

HECUBA.

Oh gracious gods —

EUMELUS.

Return; and in your tent

Reason will recollect its scatter'd pow'rs.

ULYSSUS.

Guards. —

HECUBA.

Hold — and I will tell —

EUMELUS.

What can'st thou tell?

— Unhappy queen, retire.

ULYSSES.

Do thou retire;

Or —

HECUBA.

Hear then —

OFFICER, ULYSSES, HECUBA, &c.

OFFICER.

Royal sir, the bold Paeonians

Have beat our soldiers backward to the tent.

Shouting.

Hark their loud shouts. —

ULYSSES.

Call forth the guards. —

Enter another OFFICER.

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.

ULYSSES.

Guard that traitor to the tomb.

Eumelus carried off.

Follow me to the field.

Exit Ulysses with guards.

HECUBA.

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.

OFFICER.

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.

POLYDORE.

'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?

LYCUS.

'Tis my life's blood

••ed for Polyxena, but shed in vain.

POLYDORE.

They have not forc'd her back?—

LYCUS.

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.

POLYDORE.

Thy wounds demand relief. — Farewel, farewel.

Exit Lycus.

PAEONIAN.

Oh prince —

POLYDORE.

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.

EUMELUS.

Heav'ns guard my prince—

POLYDORE.

Eumelus! — Ah that look —

Whence com'st thou?

EUMELUS.

From the tomb. —Spare me the rest.

POLYDORE.

Nay speak. I guess thy errand.—I'm prepar'd.

I'll listen still as night —

EUMELUS.

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.

POLYDORE.

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!

EUMELUS.

Let patience moderate thy rage. The princess

Died —

POLYDORE.

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.

EUMELUS.

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.

POLYDORE.

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.

EUMELUS.

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. —

POLYDORE.

Yes, swell, swell on, my soul!

Lose not, my heart, a single agony!

I'm proud to be this wretch!

EUMELUS.

Instruct me Jove,

To calm his troubled mind.

POLYDORE.

I am most calm.

Draw forth thy sword, and let it search my breast,

And see how calm I am.

EUMELUS.

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!

POLYDORE.

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.

TALTHYBIUS.

The king —

POLYDORE.

Heav'n's curses on him —

EUMELUS.

Dearest youth —

TALTHYBIUS.

Atrides thus by me——

POLYDORE.

Go tell Atrides —

EUMELUS.

For heav'n's sake, peace.—Herald, what wou'd Atrides?

TALTHYBIUS.

Strait to Achilles' tomb his royal mandate

Summons Eriphilus.

POLYDORE.

I will die here!

TALTHYBIUS.

He may not doom thy death —

POLYDORE.

I will not go.

TALTHYBIUS.

Not go? Alas what can thy unarm'd valour

'Gainst yon approaching guard? Haste to the tomb,

Where he with Pyrrhus waits—

POLYDORE.

Is Pyrrhus there?

TALTHYBIUS.

left him there.

POLYDORE.

Lead on—Herald, I follow—

TALTHYBIUS.

I will but summon the Paeonian prisoners,

And instant wait thee here.

Exit.

EUMELUS.

Merciless pow'rs!

What has he done that your black cloud of wrath

O'er-shadows every hope!

POLYDORE.

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 —

EUMELUS.

Oh! upon my knees —

Dear youth —

POLYDORE

By heav'n, I do not mean —

EUMELUS.

Shall I,

I, who from cruel Polymestor's sword

Snatch'd thy devoted life, ah, shall thy guardian

Give thee the murd'rous dagger!

POLYDORE.

Thou mistak'st me.

A nobler action —

EUMELUS.

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.

POLYDORE.

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 —

EUMELUS.

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 —

POLYDORE.

She never cou'd have come

At a worse hour. — Is here a heart to meet

A mother's transports?

EUMELUS.

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.

POLYDORE.

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.

POLYDORE.

My soul springs from beneath it's pond'rous load,

And triumphs to behold her! Bless me, bless

Your son, your Polydore.

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.

POLYDORE.

Can such a guest

Find entrance to a heart so full as mine?

HECUBA.

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!

POLYDORE.

A nobler champion

Her virtues merited. Yet what my sword

Cou'd do, it did, to save her precious life.

HECUBA.

Dear youth! — but is she safe beyond the reach

Of accident? Alas that fearful pause!

Is she not quite secure?

POLYDORE.

She's quite secure

From every mortal chance. No power on earth

Can harm her more.

HECUBA.

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!

POLYDORE.

What a dagger

She strikes into my soul!

HECUBA.

Thou turn'st away.

— Now heaven protect my son! — Eumelus told me

Thy life was safe.

POLYDORE.

It is, and that it is,

For thy dear sake I'm thankful.

HECUBA.

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!

POLYDORE.

Oh wou'd to heaven I cou'd —

HECUBA.

Why, hast thou not?

POLYDORE.

Who —

HECUBA.

Thou. —

POLYDORE.

Done what? —

HECUBA.

Preserv'd her life —

POLYDORE.

Hark! — heard you

That noise? —

HECUBA.

Thy look appalls me!

POLYDORE.

'Twas a groan;

The hollow groan of death!

HECUBA.

Thou cou'dst not hear,

So distant from the tomb, the victim's groans.

POLYDORE.

The victim's groans! —

HECUBA.

Ah! do not speak thy words

So terribly. — Alas the horrid thought

Of thy dear sister's danger has imprest

Thy mind so strong —

POLYDORE.

It has. —

HECUBA.

That it disturbs

The happiest hour that Hecuba can know.

POLYDORE.

But it no longer shall. For from this hour,

I do defy the darts of destiny.

HECUBA.

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!

POLYDORE.

Oh mother, mother—

HECUBA.

For while those cruel chains oppress thy limbs,

I cannot think thee safe. Wou'd thou wert with her.

POLYDORE.

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.

HECUBA.

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.

ULYSSES.

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.

EUMELUS.

Dying voice!

POLYDORE.

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.

ULYSSES.

The only one indeed. For the next hour

Will lay thee dumb for ever. This disguise

Avails thee not. I know thee—

POLYDORE.

Then thou know'st

The man, whose look shou'd turn thee into stone.

Think on my wrongs, and tremble at my vengeance!

ULYSSES.

Thy vengeance, wretched boy! but that thou'rt plac'd

So far beneath our wrath —

POLYDORE.

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.

ULYSSES.

Be this the proof—

Guards, bear him to the altar.—

POLYDORE.

Off, vile slaves —

HECUBA.

Oh spare him, spare him —

ULYSSES.

Heard you my command?

To the Guard.

HECUBA.

On the bare earth, lo a queen kneels to thee;

Dead Priam's wretched queen—

ULYSSES.

Take hence the traitor—

HECUBA.

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—

EUMELUS.

All's lost for ever!

HECUBA.

Look upon me.—Tremble

At my despair: my agonizing soul

Stands on distraction's brink!—while sense remains

Oh spare him, spare my son.

ULYSSES.

Thy son?—

EUMELUS.

Yes, king,

But for the sacrifice, Eriphilus

Polyxena had wedded. Thus, Ulysses,

He wou'd have been her son.

POLYDORE.

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. —

ULYSSES.

Polydore!—

— By Pallas, 'tis a stroke beyond my hope!

Thus I arrest thee —

POLYDORE.

Off old man —

ULYSSES.

Nay then,

Die.

POLYDORE.

No, false villain.—First die thou—

Offers to stab Ulysses.

ULYSSES.

—Bear down his weapon. Seize him—

POLYDORE.

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.

ULYSSES.

Sage Pallas, thanks!

Here end the fears of Greece. I'll to Atrides

With this important news.

Exit.

HECUBA.

'Tis done, 'tis done!—

She faints.

POLYDORE.

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—

EUMELUS.

Help, support him.

See, see the queen. Not one tear—not one word—

My hard heart bears it!

POLYDORE.

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.

HECUBA.

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.

EUMELUS.

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.

Information about this book

Title statement

Hecuba, a tragedy: As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane.

Delap, J. (John), 1725-1812.

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University of Oxford Text Archive
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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/3989

ID [isbn10]

1106009886

ID [isbn13]

9781106009883

ID [TCP]

K037672.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3312016647

ID [ECLL]

0380900800

Availability

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Source

— Hecuba, a tragedy: As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury-Lane., Delap, J. (John), 1725-1812.. [8],69,[3]p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for R. and J. Dodsley,. 1762.. [Anonymous. By John Delap.] [Press figure on p.29: 4.] [A variant has no press figure on p.29.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT36072.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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