Ulysses: a tragedy. As it is acted at the Queen's Theatre in the Hay-Market. By Her Majesty's sworn servants. Written by N. Rowe, Esq;.

Table of contents

- [halftitle]

- [titlepage]

- To the Right Honourable Sidney Lord Godolphin, Lord High-Treasurer of England, and Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter.

- PROLOGUE,

- EPILOGUE,

- Dramatis Personae.

- ACT I. SCENE I.

- ACT II. SCENE I.

- ACT III. SCENE I.

- ACT IV. SCENE I.

- ACT V. SCENE I.

ULYSSES.

FINIS.

ULYSSES: A TRAGEDY

ULYSSES: A TRAGEDY.

As it is Acted at the QUEEN'S THEATRE in the Hay-Market. By Her MAJESTY's Sworn Servants.

Written by N. ROWE, Esq

Stultorum Regum & Populorum continet astus—

Rursus quid Virtus, & quid Sapientia possit

Utile proposuit Nobis exemplar Ulyssem.

Horat. Epist. Bib. 1. Epist. 2.

LONDON, Printed for Jacob Tonson, within Grays-Inn Gate next Grays-Inn Lane. 1706.

To the Right Honourable Sidney Lord Godolphin, Lord High-Treasurer of England, and Knight of the most Noble Order of the Garter.

My LORD,

IF those Cares in which the Service of a Great QUEEN, and the Love of Your Country, have so justly Engag'd Your Lordship, would allow any Leisure to run back and remember those Arts and Studies, which were once the Grace and Entertainment of Your Lordship's Youth; I have Presumption enough to hope, that this Tragedy may, some Time or other, find an Hour to Divert Your Lordship. Poetry, which was so venerable to former Ages, as in many Places to make a Part of their Religious Worship, and every where to be had in the highest Honour and Esteem, has miserably languish'd and been despis'd, for want of that Favour and Protection which it found in the Famous Augustan Age. Since then, it may be asserted, without any Partiality to the Present Time, it never had a fairer Prospect of lifting up its Head, and returning to its former Reputation, than now: And the best Reason can be given for it, is, that it seems to have a particular Hope from, and Dependance upon Your Lordship, and to expect all just Encouragement, when those Great Men, who have the Power to Protect it, have so Delicate and Polite a Taste and Understanding of its True Value. The Restoring and Preserving any Part of Learning is so Generous an Action in it self, that it naturally falls into Your Lordship's Province, since every Thing that may serve to Improve the Mind, has a Right to the Patronage of so Great and Universal a Genius for Knowledge as Your Lordship's. It is indeed a Piece of good Fortune, upon which I cannot help Congratulating the present Age, that there is so Great a Man, at a Time when there is so great an Occasion for him. The Divisions which Your Lordship has heal'd, the Temper which You have restor'd to our Councils, and that indefatigable Care and Diligence which You have us'd in preserving our Peace at Home, are Benefits so virtuously and so seasonably conferr'd upon Your Country, as shall draw the Praises of all Wise Men, and the Blessings of all Good Men upon Your Lordship's Name. And when those unreasonable Feuds and Animosities, which keep Faction alive, shall be bury'd in silence and forgotten, that great Publick Good shall be universally acknowledg'd, as the Happy Effect of Your Lordship's most Equal Temper and Right Understanding. That this Glorious End may very suddenly succeed to Your Lordship's Candor and Generous Endeavours after it, must be the Wish of every good Englishman.

I am, My LORD,
Your Lordship's most Obedient, Humble Servant, N. ROWE.

PROLOGUE,

Spoken by Mr. Betterton.

TO Night, in Honour of the marry'd Life,

Our Author Treats you with a Virtuous Wife;

A Lady, who, for Twenty Years, withstood

The pressing Instances of Flesh and Blood;

Her Husband, still a Man of Sense reputed,

(Unless this Tale his Wisdom have confuted,)

Left her at ripe Eighteen, to seek Renown,

And Battel for a Harlot at Troy Town;

To fill his Place, fresh Lovers came in Shoals,

Much such as now a-days are Cupid's Tools,

Some Men of Wit, but the most part were Fools.

They sent her Billets doux, and Presents many,

Of ancient Tea and Thericlean China;

Rail'd at the Gods, toasted her o'er and o'er,

Dress'd at Her, danc'd, and fought, and sigh'd, and swore;

In short, did all that Men could do to have her,

And Damn'd them'elves to get into her Favour;

But all in vain, the Virtuous Dame stood Buff,

And let 'em know that she was Coxcomb Proof;

Messieurs the Beaux, what think you of the Matter?

Don't you believe old Homer given to Flatter?

When you approach, and pressing the soft Hand,

Favours, with well-bred Impudence, demand,

Is it in Woman's Weakness to withstand?

Cease to be vain, and give the Sex their Due;

Our English Wives shall prove this Story true:

We have our Chaste Penelope's, who mourn

Their Widow'd Beds, and wait their Lords Return;

We have our Heroes too, who bravely bear,

Far from their Home, the Dangers of the War;

Who careless of the Winter Season's Rage,

New Toils explore, and in new Cares engage;

From Realm to Realm their Chief unweary'd goes,

And restless journies on, to give the World Repose.

Such are the constant Labours of the Sun,

Whose active, glorious Course is never done;

And tho', when hence he parts, with us 'tis Night,

Still he goes on, and lends to other Worlds his Light.

Ye beauteous Nymphs, with open Arms prepare

To meet the Warriors, and reward their Care;

May you for ever kind and faithful prove,

And pay their Days of Toil with Nights of Love.

EPILOGUE,

Spoke by Mrs. Bracegirdle.

JUST going to take Water, at the Stairs

I stopp'd, and came again to beg your Pray'rs;

You see how ill my Love has been repaid,

That I am like to live and die a Maid;

Poetick Rules and Justice to maintain,

I to the Woods am order'd back again,

To Madam Cinthia, and her Virgin Train.

'Tis an uncomfortable Life they lead;

Instead of Quilts and Down, the Silvan Bed

With Skins of Beasts, with Leaves and Moss is spread;

No Morning Toilets do their Chambers grace,

Where famous Pearl Cosmeticks find a Place,

With Powder for the Teeth, and Plaister for the Face.

But in Defiance of Complexion, they,

Like arrant Huswives, rise by Break of Day,

Cut a brown Crust, saddle their Nags, and Mounting,

In scorn of the Green-Sickness ride a Hunting:

Your Sal, and Harts-horn Drops, they deal not in;

They have no Vapours, nor no witty Spleen.

No Coffee to be had, and I am told,

As to the Tea they drink, 'tis mostly cold.

For Conversation, nothing can be worse,

'Tis all amongst themselves, and that's the Curse.

One Topick there, as here, does seldom fail,

We Women rarely want a Theme to rail;

But bating that one Pleasure of Backbiting,

There is no Earthly Thing they can delight in.

There are no Indian Houses, to drop in

And fancy Stuffs, and chuse a pretty Screen,

To while away an Hour or so—I swear

These Cups are pretty, but they're deadly dear:

And if some unexpected Friend appear,

The Dev'l!—Who cou'd have thought to meet you here?

We should but very badly entertain

You that delight in Toasting and Champaign;

But keep your tender Persons safe at home,

We know you hate hard Riding: But if some

Tough, honest, Country Fox-Hunter would come,

Visit our Goddess, and her Maiden Court,

'Tis Ten to One but we may show him Sport.

Dramatis Personae.

MEN.

Ulysses, King of Ithaca, conceal'd for some Time under the Name of Aethon.

Mr. Betterton.

Eurymachus, King of Samos

Mr. Verbruggen.

Neighbouring Princes, Pretenders to the Queen.

Polydamas,

Mr. Mynns.

Thoon,

Mr. Knap.

Agenor,

Mr. Weller.

Ephialtes,

Mr. Freeman.

Telemachus, Son to Ulysses and Penelope.

Mr. Booth.

Antinous, a Nobleman of Ithaca, secretly in Love with the Queen.

Mr. Husbands.

Friends to Antinous.

Cleon,

Mr. Dickins.

Arcas,

Mr. Cory.

Mentor, Tutor to Telemachus.

Mr. Bowman.

Eumaeus, an old Servant, and faithful to Ulysses.

Ceraunus, a Samian Officer belonging to Eurymachus.

WOMEN.

Penelope, Queen of Ithaca.

Mrs. Barry.

Semanthe, Daughter to Eurymachus.

Mrs. Bracegirdle.

Several Samian and Ithacan Officers and Soldiers, with other Attendants, Men and Women.

SCENE ITHACA.

ACT I. SCENE I.

SCENE, a Palace.

Enter Telemachus and Mentor.

Tel.

O Mentor! Urge no more my Royal Birth,

Urge not the Honours of my Race Divine,

Call not to my Remembrance what I am,

Born of Ulysses, and deriv'd from Jove;

For 'tis the Curse of mighty Minds opprest,

To think what their State is, and what it shou'd be;

Impatient of their Lot they reason siercely.

And call the Laws of Providence unequal.

Men.

And therefore wert thou bred to virtuous Knowledge,

And Wisdom early planted in thy Soul;

That thou might'st know to rule thy fiery Passions,

To bind their Rage, and stay their headlong Course,

To bear with Accidents, and ev'ry Change

Of various Life, to struggle with Adversity,

To wait the Leisure of the righteous Gods,

'Till they, in their own good appointed Hour,

Shall bid thy better Days come forth at once,

A long and shining Train; 'till thou well pleas'd

Shalt bow, and bless thy Fate, and own the Gods are just.

Tel.

Thou prudent Guide and Father of my Youth,

Forgive my Transports; if I seem to lose

The Rev'rence to thy Sacred Precepts due,

'Tis a just Rage and honest Indignation.

Ten Years ran round e'er Troy was doom'd to fall,

Ten tedious Summers and ten Winters more

By turns have chang'd the Seasons since it fell,

And yet we mourn my Godlike Father's Absence,

As if the Graecian Arms had ne'er prevail'd,

But Jove and Hector still maintain'd the War.

Men.

Tho' absent, yet if Oracles are true,

He lives and shall return.—Where'er he wanders,

Pursu'd by hostile Trojan Gods, in Peril

Of the waste Desart or the foamy Deep,

Or Nations wild as both, yet Courage, Wisdom,

And Pallas Guardian of his Arms is with him.

Tel.

And oh! to what does the God's Care reserve him!

Where is the Triumph shall go forth to meet him?

What Poean shall be sung to bless his Labours?

What Voice of Joy shall cry, Hail King of Ithaca?

Riot, and Wrong, and woful Desolation,

Spread o'er the wretched Land, shall blast his Eyes,

And make him curse the Day of his Return.

Your Guest, the Stranger Aethon.

Enter Aethon.

Tel.

By my Life,

And by the great Ulysses, truly welcome;

Oh thou most worthy Aethon, thou that wert

In Youth Companion of my Father's Arms,

And Partner of his Heart, do's it not grieve Thee

To see the Honour of his Royal Name

Despis'd and set at nought? his State o'er-run,

Devour'd and parcell'd out by Slaves so vile,

That if oppos'd to him 'twou'd make Comparison

Absurd and monstrous seem, as if to mate

A Mole-Hill with Olympus?

Aeth.

He was my Friend,

I think I knew him; And to do him right,

He was a Man indeed—Not as these are,

A Rioter, or Doer of foul Wrongs;

But boldly just, and more like what Man shou'd be.

Tel.

From Morn 'till Noon, from Noon 'till the Shades darken,

From Evening 'till the Morning dawns again,

Lewdness, Confusion, Insolence, and Uproar,

Are all the Bus'ness of their guilty Hours;

The Cries of Maids enforc'd, the Roar of Drunkards,

Mixt with the braying of the Minstrels Noise

Who ministers to Mirth, ring thro' the Palace,

And eccho to the Arch of Heav'n their Crimes.

Behold! ye Gods, who judge betwixt your Creatures,

Behold the Rivals of the great Ulysses!

Mem.

Doubt not but all their Crimes, and all thy Wrongs

Are judg'd by Nemesis and equal Jove;

Suffer the Fools to laugh and loll secure,

This is their Day,—But there is one behind

For Vengeance and Ulysses.

Aeth.

'Till that Day,

That Day of Recompence and rightcous Justice,

Learn thou, my Son, the cruel Arts of Courts;

Learn to dissemble Wrongs, to smile at Injuries,

And suffer Crimes, thou want'st the Power to punish;

Be easie, assable, familiar, friendly,

Search, and know all Mankinds mysterious Ways,

But trust the Secret of thy Soul to none;

Believe me, seventy Years, and all the Sorrows

That seventy Years bring with 'em, thus have taught me,

Thus only, to be safe in such a World as this is.

Enter Antinous.

Ant.

Hail to thee, Prince! thou Son of great Ulysses,

Off-spring of Gods, most worthy of thy Race;

May ev'ry Day like this be happy to thee,

Fruition and Success attend thy Wishes,

And everlasting Glory crown thy Youth.

Tel.

Thou greet'st me like a Friend—Come near Antinous;

May I believe that Omen of my Happiness,

That Joy which dances in thy chearful Eyes?

Or dost thou? for thou know'st my fond fond Heart,

Dost thou betray me to deceitful Hopes,

And sooth me like an Infant, with a Tale

Of some Felicity, some dear Delight,

Which thou didst never purpose to bestow?

Ant.

By Cytherea's Altar and her Doves,

By all the gentle Fires that burn before her,

I have the kindest Sounds to bless your Ear with,

Nay and the truest too, I'll swear I think,

That ever Love and Innocence inspir'd.

Tel.

Ha! from Semanthe?

Ant.

From the fair Semanthe,

The gentle, the forgiving—

Tel.

Soft, my Antinous,

Keep the dear Secret safe; Wisdom and Age

Reason perversely when they judge of Love.

A Bus'ness of a Moment calls me hence, [To Mentor.

That ended I'll attend the Queen; 'till then,

Mentor! the noble Stranger is thy Care.

—Fly with me to some safe some sacred Privacy, [To Ant.

There charm my Senses with Semanthe's Accents,

There pour thy Balm into my Love-sick Soul,

And heal my Cares for ever.

[Exeunt Tele. and Ant.

Aeth.

This smooth Speaker,

This supple Courtier is in Favour with you.

Markt you the Prince? how at this Man's Approach,

The Fierceness, Rage, and Pride of Youth declin'd;

His changing Visage wore a Form more g•ntle,

And ev'ry Feature took a softer Turn;

As if his Soul bent on some new Employment,

Of different Purpose from the Thought before,

Had summon'd other Counsels, other Passions,

And drest her in a gay fantastick Garb

Fit for th'Adventure which she meant to prove.

By Jove I lik'd it not—

Men.

The Prince, whose Temper

Is open as the Day, and unsuspecting,

Esteems him as devoted to his Service,

Wise, Brave, and Just: And since his late Return

From Nestor's Court at Pyle, he still has held him

In more especial Nearness to his Heart.

Aeth.

'Tis rash, and savours of unwary Youth;

Tell him he trusts too far—If I mistook not,

You said he was a Woer.

Men.

True, he was;

Noble by Birth, and mighty in his Wealth,

Proud of the Patriots Name and Peoples Praise,

By Gifts, by friendly Offices, and Eloquence,

He won the Herd of Ithacans to think him

Ev'n worthy to supply his Master's Place.

Aeth.

Unthinking, changeable, ungrateful Ithaca!

But Mentor! say, the Queen! Cou'd she forget

The Difference 'twixt Ulysses and his Slave?

Did not her Soul resent the Violation,

And spight of all the Wrongs she labour'd under,

Dash his Ambition and presumptuous Love?

Men.

Still Great and Royal in the worst of Fortunes,

With native Pow'r and Majesty array'd,

She aw'd this rash lxion with her Frown;

Taught him to bend his abject Head to Earth,

And own his humbler Lot—He stood rebuk'd,

And full of guilty Sorrow for the past,

Vow'd to repeat the daring Crime no more,

But with Humility and loyal Service

To purge his Fame, and wash the Stains away.

Aeth.

Deceit and Artifice! the Turn's too sudden;

Habitual Evils seldom change so soon,

But many Days must pass, and many Sorrows,

Conscious Remorse and Anguish must be felt,

To curb Desire, to break the stubborn Will,

And work a second Nature in the Soul,

E'er Virtue can resume the Place she lost;

'Tis else Dissimulation.—But no more,

The ruffling Train of Suiters are at hand,

Those mighty Candidates for Love and Empire;

'Tis well the Gods are mild, when these dare hope

To merit their best Gifts by Riot and Injustice.

Enter Polydamas, Agenor, Thoon, Ephialtes and Attendants.

Pol.

Our Souls are out of Tune, we languish all,

Nor does the sweet Returning of the Dawn

Chear with its usual Mirth our drowzy Spirits,

That droop'd beneath the lazy leaden Night.

Agen.

Can we, who swear we love, smile or be gay,

When our fair Queen, the Goddess of our Vows,

She that adorns our Mirth and gilds our Day,

With-holds the Beams that only can revive us?

Tho.

Night must involve the World 'till she appear,

The Flowers in painted Meadows hang their Heads,

The Birds awake not to their Morning Songs,

Nor early Hinds renew their constant Labour;

Ev'n Nature seems to slumber 'till her Call,

Regardless of th'Approach of any other Day.

Eph.

Why is she then with-held, this publick Good?

Why does she give those Hours that should rejoyce us

To Tears, Perverseness, and to sullen Privacy?

While vainly here we waste our lusty Youth,

In Expectation of the uncertain Blessing?

Pol.

For twice two Years, this coy this cruel Beauty

Has mock'd our Hopes, and crost 'em with Delays;

At length the female Artifice is plain,

The Riddle of her mystick Web is known,

Which e'er her second Choice she swore to weave;

While still the secret Malice of the Night

Undid the Labours of the former Day.

Agen.

Hard are the Laws of Love's despotick Rule,

And ev'ry Joy is trebly bought with Pain;

Crown we the Goblet then, and call on Bacchus,

Bacchus the jolly God of laughing Pleasures,

Bid ev'ry Voice of Harmony awake,

Apollo's Lyre, and Hermes tuneful Shell;

Let Wine and Musick joyn to swell the Triumph,

To sooth uneasie Thought, and lull Desire.

Aeth.

Is this the Rev'rence due to sacred Beauty,

Or these the Rights the Cyprian Goddess claims?

These rude licentious Orgyes are for Satyrs,

And such the drunken Homage which they pay

To old Silenus nodding on his Ass.

But be it as it may; it speaks you well.

Eph.

What says the Slave?

Tho.

Oh! 'tis the Snarler, Aethon,

A priviledg'd Talker—Give him leave to rail;

Or send for Irus forth, his fellow Drole,

And let 'em play a Match of Mirth before us,

And Laughter be the Prize to crown the Victor.

Aeth.

And dost thou answer to Reproof with Laughter?

But do so still, and be what thou wert born;

Stick to thy native Sense, and scorn Instruction.

Oh Folly! What an Empire hast thou here!

What Temples shall be rais'd to thee! What Crowds

Of slav'ring, hooting, senseless, shameful Ideots

Shall worship at thy ignominious Altars,

While Princes are thy Priests!

Pol.

Why shou'dst thou think,

O'erweening, Insolent, Unmanner'd Slave,

That Wisdom does forsake the Wealth, the Honours,

And full Prosperity of Princes Courts,

To dwell with Rags and Wretchedness like thine?

Why do'st thou call him Fool?

Aeth.

Speech is most free,

It is Jove's Gift to all Mankind in common.

Why do'st thou call me poor, and think me wretched?

Pol.

Because thou art so.

Aeth.

Answer to thy self,

And let it serve for thee and for thy Friend.

Agen.

He talks like Oracles, obscure and short.

Aeth.

I wou'd be understood, but Apprehension

Is not thy Talent—Midnight Surfeits, Wine,

And painful undigested Morning Fumes,

Have marr'd thy Understanding.

Eph

Hence, thou Miscreant!

My Lords, this Railer is not to be born.

Aeth.

And wherefore art thou born, thou publick Grievance,

Thou Tyrant, born to be a Nation's Punishment;

To scourge thy guilty Subjects for their Crimes,

And prove Heaven's sharpest Vengeance?

Eph.

Spurn him hence,

And tear the rude unhallow'd Railer's Tongue

Forth from his Throat.

Aeth.

If brutal Violence

And Lust of foul Revenge shou'd urge thee on,

Spight of the Queen and Hospitable Jove,

T'oppress a Stranger single and unarm'd,

Yet mark me well, I was not born thy Vassal;

And wert thou ten times greater than thou art,

And ten times more a King, thus wou'd I meet thee,

Thus naked as I am I wou'd oppose thee,

And fight a Woman's Battel with my Hands,

E'er thou shoud'st do me Wrong, and go unpunish'd.

Eph.

Ha! do'st thou brave me, Dog? [Coming up to Aethon.

Tho.

Avant!

Pol.

Begon!

Enter Eurymachus.

Eur.

What Daughter of old Chaos and the Night,

What Fury loiters yet behind the Shades,

To vex the peaceful Morn with Rage and Uproar!

Each frowning Visage doubly dy'd with Wrath,

Your Voices in tumultuous Clamours rais'd,

Venting Reproach, and stirring strong Contention,

Say you have been at Variance—Speak, ye Princes,

Whence grew th'Occasion?

Aeth.

King of Samos, hear me.

To thee, as to a King, worthy the Name,

The Majesty and Right Divine of Pow'r,

Boldly I dare appeal—This King of Seriphos, [Pointing to Ephialtes.

This Island Lord, this Monarch of a Rock,

He and his fellow Princes there, yon' Band

Of eating, drinking Lovers, have in Scorn

Of the Gods Laws, and Strangers Sacred Privilege,

Offer'd me foul Offence and most unmanly Injuries.

Eur.

Away! It is too much—You wrong your Honours, [To the Woers

And stain the Lustre of your Royal Names,

To brawl and wrangle with a Thing beneath you;

Are we not Chief on Earth, and plac'd aloft?

And when we poorly stoop to mean Revenge,

We stand debas'd, and level with the Slave

Who fondly dares us with his vain Defiance.

Eph.

Henceforward let the ribald Railer learn

To curb the lawless Licence of his Speech,

Let him be dumb, we wo'not brook his Prating.

Eur.

Go to! You are too bitter—But no more; [To Aeth.

Let ev'ry jarring Sound of Discord cease,

Tune all your Thoughts and Words to Beauty's Praise,

To Beauty, that with sweet and pleasant Influence

Breaks Life the Day-star from the chearful East.

For see where circled with a Crowd of Fair Ones,

Fresh as the Spring, and fragrant as its Flowers,

Your Queen appears, your Goddess, your Penelope.

Enter the Queen, with Ladies and other Attendants

Diana thus on Cynthus shady Top,

Or by Eurota's Stream leads to the Chace

Her Virgin Train, a Thousand lovely Nymphs

Of Form Celestial all, Troop by her Side,

Amidst a Thousand Nymphs the Goddess stands confest,

In Beauty, Majesty, and Port Divine,

Supream and Eminent.

Qu.

If these sweet Sounds,

This humble fawning Phrase, this faithless Flattery,

If these known Arts cou'd heal my wounded Soul,

Cou'd recompence the Sorrows of my Days,

Or sooth the Sighings of my lonely Nights;

Well might you hope to woe me to your Wishes,

And win my Heart with your fond Tales of Love;

But since whate'er I've suffer'd for my Lord,

From Troy, the Winds and Seas, the Gods and you,

Is deeply writ within my sad Remembrance,

Know, Princes, all your Eloquence is vain.

Agen.

If those bright Eyes that waste their Lights with Weeping

Wou'd kindly shine upon Agenor's Hopes,

Behold he offers to his charming Queen

His Crown, his Life, his ever faithful Vows,

What Joys soe'er, or Love or Empire yield,

To bless her future Days, and make 'em happy all.

Pol.

Accept my Crown, and Reign with me in Delos.

Tho.

Mine, and the Homage of my People wait you.

Eph.

I cannot Court you with a silken Tale,

With easie ambling Speeches, fram'd on Purpose,

Made to be spoke in Tune—But be my Queen,

And leave my plain spoke Love to prove its Merit.

Qu.

And am I yet to learn your Love, your Faith?

Are not my Wrongs gone up to Heav'n against you?

Do they not stand before the Throne of Jove;

And call Incessant on his tardy Vengeance?

What Sun has shon that has not seen your Insolence,

Your wasteful Riot, and your impious Mirth,

Your Scorn of Old Laerte's feeble Age,

Of my Son's Youth, and of my Woman's Weakness?

Ev'n in my Palace, here, my latest Refuge,

(For you are Lords of all besides in Ithaca,)

With Ruffian Violence and murd'rous Rage

You menace the defenceless and the Stranger;

And from th'unhospitable Dwelling drive

Safety and friendly Peace.

Aeth.

For me it matters not;

Wrong is the Portion still of feeble Age,

My toilsom Length of Days full oft has taught me

What 'tis to struggle with the Proud and Powerful;

But 'tis for thy unhappy Fate, fair Queen,

'Tis to behold thy Beauty and thy Virtue,

Transcendent both, worthy the Gods who gave 'em,

And worthy of their Care, to see 'em left,

Abandon'd and forsaken to rude Outrage,

And made a Prize for Drunkards; 'tis for this

My Soul takes Fire within, and vainly urges

My cold enervate Hand t'assert thy Cause.

Qu.

Alas! they scorn the Weakness of thy Age,

As of my Sex—But mark me well, ye Princes!

Whoe'er amongst you dares to lift his Hand

Against the hoary Head of this old Man,

This good old Man, this Friend of my Ulysses,

Him will I hold my worst my deadliest Foe,

Him shall my Curses and Revenge pursue,

And mark him from the rest with most distinguish'd Hatred.

Eph.

That you are weak, defenceless and opprest,

Impute not to the Gods, they have befriended you,

With lavish Hands they spread their Gifts before you;

What Pride, Revenge, what wanton Love of Change,

Or Woman's Wish can ask, behold, we offer you.

Curse the Perverseness of your stubborn Will then,

That has delay'd your Choice, and in that Choice your Happiness.

Qu.

And must I hear this still, and still endure it!

Oh Rage! Dishonour! wretched, helpless Queen!

Return, return my Hero, my Ulysses.

Bring him again, you cruel Seas and Winds,

Troy and Adult'rous Paris are no more,

Restore him then, you righteous Gods of Greece,

T'avenge himself and me upon these Tyrants,

And do a second Justice here at home.

Eur.

Amongst the mighty Manes of the Greeks

Great Names, and fam'd for highest Deeds in War,

His honour'd Shade rests from the Toils of Life

In everlasting Indolence and Ease,

Careless of all your Pray'rs and vain Complainings,

Which the Winds bear away, and scatter in their Wantonness.

Turn those bright Eyes then, from Despair and Death,

And fix your better Hopes among the Living,

Fix 'em on One, who dares, who can Defend you,

One worthy of your Choice.

Qu.

If my free Soul

Must stoop to this unequal hard Condition,

If I must make this second hated Choice,

Yet by Connubial Juno here I swear,

None shall succeed my Lord, but that brave Man

That dares avenge me well upon the rest.

Then let whoever dares to Love be bold,

Be, like my former Hero, made for War,

Able to bend the Bow, and toss the Spear;

For ev'ry Wrong his injur'd Queen has found,

Let him revenge and pay it with a Wound;

Fierce from the Slaughter let the Victor come,

And tell me that my Foes have met their Doom;

Then plight his Faith upon his bloody Sword,

And be what my Ulysses was, my best my dearest Lord.

[Exeunt Queen, Mentor and Attendants. Eur. Eph. Agen. Thoon. and Poly. following.

Manet Aethon.

Aeth.

O matchless Proof of Faith and Love unchang'd!

Left in the Pride, the wishing Warmth of Youth,

For ten long Years, and ten long Years to that,

And yet so true! Beset with strong Allurements,

With Youth, proud Pomp, and soft bewitching Pleasure,

'Tis wonderful! and Wives in later Times

Shall think it all the Forgery of Wit,

A Fable curiously contriv'd t'upbraid

Their fickle easie Faith, and mock them for their Lightness.

But see! the Samian King returns

Enter Eurymachus.

Eur.

I sought you

Amidst the Croud of Princes, who attend

The Queen to Juno's Temple.

Aeth.

When I worship,

And bow my self before the awful Gods,

I mingle not with those who scorn their Laws,

With raging, brutal, loose, voluptuous Crouds,

Who take the Gods for Gluttons like themselves.

Eur.

This sullen Garb, this moody Discontent,

Sits on thee well, and I applaud thy Anger;

Thy just Disdain of this licentious Rout:

Yet all are not like these; nor ought thy Quarrel

Be carry'd on to all Mankind in common.

Aeth.

Perhaps the untaught Plainness of my Words,

May make you think my Manners rude and savage:

But know my Country is the Land of Liberty;

Phaeacia's happy Isle, that gave me Birth,

Forbids not any to speak plain and truly;

Sincere and open are we, roughly Honest,

Upright in Deed, tho' simple in our Speech,

As meaning not to Flatter, or Offend;

The Use of Words we have, but not the Art,

And ev'n as Nature dictates so we speak.

Eur.

Now by great Juno, Guardian of our Samos,

In strong Description hast thou well exprest,

That manly Virtue I wou'd make a Friend of.

Nor thou, brave Aethon, shalt disdain our Amity,

Our proffer'd Love; for know that Kings, like Gods,

With all Things good adorn their own Creation,

And where their Favour fixes, there is Happiness.

Aeth.

Yes, Sir, you are a King, a great one too,

My humbler Birth has cast me far beneath you,

And made me for the proffer'd Grace unfit;

Friendship delights in equal Fellowship,

Where Parity of Rank and mutual Offices

Engage both Sides alike, and keep the Balance ev'n.

'Tis irksome to a gen'rous grateful Soul,

To be opprest beneath a Load of Favours,

Still to receive, and run in Debt to Friendship,

Without the Pow'r of paying something back.

Eur.

I know thee grateful; just and gen'rous Minds

Are always so, nor is thy Pow'r so scanty

But that it may vye with a King's Munificence,

May make me large Amends for all my Bounty,

May bless me with a Benefit I want,

And give me that which my Soul most desires;

The Queen.—

Aeth.

How Sir, the Queen!

Eur.

The Beauteous Queen,

That Summer-Sun in full Meridian Glory,

Brighter than the faint Promise of the Spring,

With Blessings ripen'd to the Gatherer's Hand,

Mature for Joy, and in Perfection lovely;

Ev'n she!

The Pride of Greece, the Wish of youthful Princes,

Severe, and Cold, and Rigid, as she is,

Looks gently on thee Aethon, she beholds thee

With kind Regard, and listens to thy Counsels.

Aeth.

Be still, thou beating Heart! [Aside.] Well Sir, go on.

Eur.

No more, there needs no more; thy piercing Wit,

I read it in thy Eyes, hath found my Purpose.

Be favourable then, be friendly to me;

Nay I'll conjure thee, by my Hopes, by thine,

Whither they follow Wealth, or Power, or Fame,

Or what Desires soe'er warm thy Old Breast,

Counsel me, aid me, teach me, be my Friend.

Aeth.

Suppose me such, what shou'd my Friendship profit you?

Eur.

Oh by Ten Thousand Ways! has not that Age

That turn'd thy rev'rend Locks to Silver White,

Has it not giv'n thee Skill in Womankind,

Sagacious Wisdom to explore their Subtleties,

Their coy Aversions, and their eager Appetites,

Their false Denials, and their secret Yieldings?

Yet more, thy Friendship with her former Lord,

Gives thee a Right to speak, and be believ'd.

Aeth.

Then you wou'd have me woe her for you, win her;

This Queen, this Wife of him that was my Friend?

Eur.

Thou speak'st me well, of him that was thy Friend:

His Death has broke those Bonds of Love and Friendship,

And left me free and worthy to succeed

Both in her Heart, and thine.

Aeth.

Excuse me, Sir,

Nor think I meant to question your high Worth,

I am but ill at Praising, or my Tongue

Had spoke the great Things that my Heart thinks of you.

Suppose me wholly yours—Yet do you hold

This Sov'raign Beauty made of such light Stuff,

So like the common Changelings of her Sex,

That he that flatter'd, sigh'd, and spoke her fair,

Cou'd win her from her stubborn Resolution

And chast Reserv'dness, with his sweet Persuasion?

Eur.

No, were she form'd like them, she were a Conquest

Beneath a Monarch's Love, or Aethon's Wit.

Not but I think, she has her warmer Wishes,

'Twere monstrous else, and Nature had deny'd

Her choicest Blessing to her fairest Creature;

Her soft Desires, that steal abroad unseen,

Like Silver Cynthia sliding from her Orb,

At dead of Night to young Endimion's Arms.

Aeth.

How think you so!—But so 'tis true it may be,

The best of all the Sex is but a Woman,

And why shou'd Nature break her Rule for One?

To make One true, when all the rest are false?

To find those Wishes then, those fond Desires,

To trace the fulsome Haunts of wanton Appetite,

She must be try'd.

Eur.

That to thy Care, my Aethon,

Thy Wit and watchful Friendship I commend.

Aeth.

Yes Sir, be certain on't, she shall be try'd;

Thro' all the winding Mazes of her Thoughts,

Thro' all her Joys, her Sorrows and her Fears,

Thro' all her Truth and Falshood I'll pursue her.

She shall be subtler than Deceit it self,

And prosperously Wicked, if she 'scape me.

Eur.

Thou art my Genius, and my happier Hours

Depend upon thy Providence and Rule.

This Day, at her Return from Juno's Altar,

I have obtain'd an Hour of private Conference.

Aeth.

What, Private, said you! 'Twas a Mark of Favour,

Distinguishingly kind.

Eur.

Somewhat I urg'd

That much concern'd her Honour, and her Safety,

Nay ev'n the Life of her belov'd Telemachus,

Which to her Ear alone I wou'd disclose:

Thou shalt be present—How I mean to prove her,

Which Way to shake the Temper of her Soul,

And where thy Aid may stand me most in Stead,

I will instruct thee as we pass along.

Aeth.

I wait you, Sir.

Eur.

Nor doubt of the Success,

This stubborn Beauty shall be taught Compliance.

Fair Daughter of the Ocean, smiling Venus,

Thou Joy of Gods and Men, assist my Purpose;

Thy Cyprus and Cythera leave a while,

Thy Paphian Groves, and sweet Idalian Hill,

To fix thy Empire in this rugged Isle;

Bring all thy Fires from ev'ry Lover there,

To warm this coy, this cruel frozen Fair,

Let her no more from Nature's Laws be free,

But learn Obedience to thy great Decree,

Since Gods themselves submit to Fate, and Thee.

[Exeunt.

End of the First Act.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Enter Antinous, Cleon and Arcas.

Ant.

'TIS thus, my Fellow-Citizens and Friends,

'Tis thus unhappy Ithaca must groan

Beneath the Bondage of a Foreign Lord;

A needy upstart Race of hungry Strangers

Shall swarm upon the Land, eat its Increase,

Devour the Labours of the toiling Hind,

And gather all the Wealth and Honours of our Isle.

Cle.

The silken Minions of the Samian Court,

To Lord it o'er the Province shall be sent,

To rule the State, to be the Chiefs in War,

And lead our hardy Ithacans to Battel.

Freedom and Right shall cease; our Corn, Wine, Oyl,

The Fatness of the Year, shall all be theirs;

Our modest Matrons, and our Virgin Daughters,

Ev'n all we hold most dear, shall be the Spoil,

The Prey of our imperious haughty Masters.

Arc.

Would I coud say I did not fear these Evils.

Ant.

Oh honest Arcas, 'tis too plain a Danger.

The Queen, requir'd by publick Voice to Wed,

To end at once the Hopes and riotous Concourse

Of princely Guests, contending for her Love,

O'er-passing all the noblest of our Isle,

Inclines to fix her Choice on Proud Eurymachus.

Cle.

Why rides the Samian Fleet within our Harbour,

But to support their Tyrant's Title here?

With Causes feign'd they linger long, pretending

Rude Winter Seas, with Omens that forbid

The frighted Mariner to leave the Shoar;

While Neptune smooths his Waters for their Passage,

And gently whistling Winds invite their Sails,

As if they wish'd to waft them back to Samos.

Arc.

Ulysses is no more; the partial Gods,

Who favour'd Priam and his hapless Race,

Have pour'd their Wrath on his devoted Head,

And now in some far distant Realm, expos'd

To glut the Vulture's and the Lyon's Maw,

Or in the Oozy Bottom of the Deep,

Full many a Fathom down, the Hero lyes,

And never shall return—What then remains?

But that our Country fly to thee for Succour, [To Antinous.

To thee, the noblest of the Lords of Ithaca,

And since, so Fate ordains, our Queen must Wed,

Be thou her second Choice, be thou our Ruler,

And save our Nation from a foreign Yoke.

Ant.

You are my Friends, and over-rate my Worth,

But Witness for me, for you still have known me,

When e'er my Country's Service calls me on,

No Enterprize so doubtful, or so dangerous,

But I will boldy prove it, to preserve, thee,

Oh Ithaca, from Bondage.

Cle.

Wherefore urge you not

Your Suit among the rest?

Ant.

The cruel Queen

Rejects my humble Vows with angry Scorn;

And when I once presum'd to speak my Passion,

She call'd it Insolence—Since then I've strove

To hide th'unlucky Folly, from all Eyes

But yours, my Friends, who view my naked Soul.

Arc.

Avow your Flame in publick, tell the World

Antinous is worthy of a Queen;

So many valiant Hands shall own your Cause,

So shall the Voice in Ithaca be for you,

The Queen shall own your Love has made her great,

And giv'n her back an Empire she had lost.

Ant.

Think not I dream the Hours of Life away,

Supine, and negligent of Love and Glory;

No, Arcas, no, my Active Mind is busie,

And still has labour'd with a vast Design;

E'er long the beauteous Birth will be disclos'd,

Then shall your Pow'rs come forth, your Swords and Counsels,

And manifest the Love you bear Antinous;

'Till then be still—To favour my Design,

With low Submissions, with obsequious Duty,

And Vows of Friendship sit to flatter Boys with,

I've wound my self into the Prince's Heart.

Cle.

'Tis said, the Love-sick Youth dotes ev'n to Death

Upon the Samian Princess, fair Semanthe.

Ant.

Let it go on—'tis a convenient Dotage,

And sutes my Purpose well—The Youth by Nature

Is active, fiery, bold, and great of Soul;

Love is the Bane of all these Noble Qualities,

The sickly Fit, that palls Ambition's Appetite;

And therefore have I nurs'd the fond Disease,

Inspiring lazy Wishes, Sighs, and Languishings,

Unactive dreaming Sloth, and womanish Softness,

To freeze his Veins, and quench his manly Fires.

The froward God of Love, to boast his Pow'r,

Has bred of late some little Jars between 'em;

But 'twas my Care to reconcile their Follies,

And if my Augury deceives me not,

This Day a Priest in private makes 'em one,

Unknown or to the Queen, or to Furymachus.

But see!—They come—retire.—

Enter Telemachus and Semanthe.

Do, Sigh, and Smile,

And print thy Lips upon the soft white Hand;

Scepters and Crowns are Trifles none regard,

That can be blest with such a Joy as this is.

[Exeunt Ant. Cle. and Arc.

Tel.

Yes, my Semanthe, still I will complain,

Still I will murmur at thee, cruel Maid,

For all that Pain thou gav'st my Heart but now.

What God, averse to Innocence and Love,

Cou'd shake thy gentle Soul with such a Storm?

Just at that happy Moment, when the Priest

Had join'd our Hands, thou start'st as Death had struck thee,

And sighing cry'dst, Ah! no!—it is impossible!

Sem.

And yet, oh my lov'd Lord, yet I am yours,

This Hand has giv'n me to you, and this Heart,

This Heart that akes with Tenderness, confirm'd it.

Tel.

And yet thou art not mine;—else why this Sorrow?

Why art thou wet with Weeping, as the Earth,

When vernal Jove descends in gentle Show'rs,

To cause Increase, and bless the infant Year,

When ev'ry spiry Grass, and painted Flow'r,

Is hung with pearly Drops of Heav'nly Rain?

Sem.

Ye Woods and Plains, and all ye Virgin Dryads,

Happy Companions of those Woods and Plains,

Why was I forc'd to leave your chearful Fellowship,

To come and lose my Peace of Mind at Ithaca?

And oh Semanthe, wherefore didst thou listen

To that dear Voice? why didst thou break thy Vow;

Made to the Huntress Cynthia and her Train?

Ah! say, fond Maid, say wherefore didst thou love?

Tel.

Alas! my gentle Love, how have I wrong'd thee?

By what unwilling Crime have I offended?

That thus with streaming Eyes thou should'st complain,

Thus dash my Joys, and quench those Holy Fires,

By yellow Hymen's Torch so lately lighted:

Thus stain this blessed Day, our Bridal Day,

With the detested Omen of thy Sorrows.

Sem.

Of what shou'd I accuse thee? thou art Noble,

Thy Heart is soft, is pitiful and tender;

And thou wilt never wrong the poor Semanthe.

And yet—

Tel.

What mean'st thou?

Sem.

What have we been doing?

Tel.

A Deed of Happiness.

Sem.

Are we not marry'd?

Tel.

We are,—and like the careful, thrifty Hind,

Who provident of Winter fills his Stores

With all the various Plenty of the Autumn,

We've hoarded up a mighty Mass of Joy,

To last for all our Years that are to come,

And sweeten ev•ry bitter Hour of Life.

Sem.

Fain wou'd I sooth my Soul with these sweet Hopes,

Forget the Anguish of my waking Cares,

And all those boding Dreams that haunt my Slumbers;

Last Night, when after many a heavy Sigh,

And many a painful Thought, the God of Sleep,

Insensible and soft, had stole upon me;

Methought I found me by a murm'ring Brook,

Reclin'd at Ease upon the flow'ry Margin;

And thou, thou first and last of all my Thoughts,

Thou dear, eternal Object of my Wishes,

Close by my Side wert laid.—

Tel.

Delightful Vision!

And oh! oh Pity that it was not real.

Sem.

A while on many a pleasing Theme we talk'd,

And mingled sweet Discourse; when on the sudden,

The Cry of Hounds, the jolly Huntsman's Horn,

With all the chearful Musick of the Chace,

Surpriz'd my Ear—and straight a Troop of Nymphs,

Once the dear Partners of my Virgin Heart,

Flew lightly by us, eager of the Sport;

Last came the Goddess, great Latona's Daughter,

With more than mortal Grace she stood confest,

I saw the Golden Quiver at her Back,

And heard the sounding of her Silver Bow.

Abash'd I rose, and lowly made Obeysance;

But she, not sweet, nor affable, nor smiling,

As once she wont, with stern Regard beheld me;

And wherefore dost thou loiter here, she said,

Of me, thy Fellows, and our Sports unmindful?

Return, thou Fugitive; nor vainly hope

To dress thy Bridal Bed, and waste thy Youth

In wanton Pleasures, and inglorious Love;

A Virgin at my Altar wert thou Vow'd,

'Tis fix'd by Fate, and thou art mine for ever.

With that she snatch'd a Chaplet from my Hand,

Which for thy Head in Fondness I had wove,

And bore me swiftly with her:—In my Flight,

Backwards, methought, I turn'd my Eyes to thee,

But found thee not, for thou wert vanish'd from me,

And in thy Place my Father lay extended

Upon the Earth, a bloody lifeless Coarse;

Struck to the very Heart, I shriekt aloud,

And waking, found my Tears upon my Pillow.

Tel.

Vex not thy peaceful Soul, my fair Semanthe,

Nor dread the Anger of the awful Gods,

Safe in thy Native unoffending Innocence.

Still when the golden Sun withdraws his Beams,

And drowzy Night invades the weary World,

Forth flies the God of Dreams, fantastick Morpheus,

Ten Thousand mimick Fantoms fleet around him,

Subtle as Air, and various in their Natures,

Each has Ten Thousand Thousand diff'rent Forms,

In which they dance confus'd before the Sleeper,

While the vain God laughs to behold what Pain

Imaginary Evils give Mankind.

Sem.

Not happy Omens that approve our Wishes,

When bright with Flames the chearful Altar shines,

And the good Gods are gracious to our Offerings,

Not Oracles themselves, that speak us happy,

Cou'd charm my Fears, and lull my froward Sorrows,

Like the dear Voice of him whom my Soul loves;

Ev'n while thou spok'st my Breast begun to glow,

I felt sweet Hopes, and Joy, and Peace returning,

And all the Fires of Life were kindled up anew.

Tel.

Hence then, thou meager Care, ill boding Melancholy,

Anxious Disquiet, and heart-breaking Grief,

Fly to your Native Seats, where deep below

Old Night and Horror with the Furies dwell,

Love and the joyful Genial Bed disclaim you;

To Night a Thousand little laughing Cupids

Shall be our Guard, and wakeful watch around us,

No Sound, no Thought shall enter to disturb us,

But sacred Silence reign; unless, sometimes,

We sigh and murmur with Excess of Happiness.

Sem.

Alas, my Lord!

Tel.

Again that mournful Sound!

Sem.

What other Pain is this? what other Fear,

So diff'rent quite from what I felt before?

Alternate Heat and Cold shoot thro' my Veins,

Now a chill Dew hangs faintly on my Brow,

And now with gentle Warmth I glow all o'er;

Short are my Sighs, and nimbly beats my Heart,

I gaze on thee with Joy, and yet I tremble,

'Tis Pain and Pleasure blended, both at once,

'Tis Life and Death, or something more than either.

Tel.

Thus untry'd Soldiers, when the Trumpet sounds,

Expect the Combat with uncertain Passions;

Thus Nature speaks in unexperienc'd Maids,

And thus they blush, and thus like thee they tremble.

At Even, when the Queen retires to Rest,

I'll meet thee here, and take thee to my Arms,

Thy best, thy surest Refuge.—

But see! the Stranger Aethon comes, retire,

I wou'd not have his watchful Eye observe us.

Enter Aethon.

I charge thee loiter not, but haste to bless me,

Haste, at th'appointed Hour—

Think with what eager Hopes, what Rage I burn,

For ev'ry tedious Minute how I mourn;

Think, how I call thee Cruel for thy Stay.

And break my Heart with Grief, for thy unkind Delay.

[Exeunt Telemachus and Sem.

Manet Aethon.

Aeth.

Ha! what so close! how cautious to avoid me?

As who shoud say, Old Man you are too Wise,

What has my Youth to do with your Instructions,

While Folly is so pleasant to my Taste,

And damn'd Destruction wears a Face so fair?

This Samian King is Happy in his Arts;

His Daughter, vow'd a Virgin to Diana,

Is brought to play the Wanton here at Ithaca:

No matter for Religion; let the Gods

Look to their Rites themselves; the Youth grows fond,

Just to their Wish! and swears himself their Vassal.

His Mother follows next—But soft—They come;

Now to put on the Pander!—That's my Office.

Enter the Queen and Eurymachus

Qu.

Have I not answer'd oft, It is in vain,

In vain to urge me with this hateful Subject?

As thou art Noble, pity me, Eurymachus,

Add not new Weight of Sorrows to my Days,

That drag too slow, too heavily along,

Compel me not to curse my Life, my Being,

To curse each Morn, each chearful Morn, that dawns

With healing Comfort on its balmy Wings,

To ev'ry wretched Creature, but my self;

To me it brings more Pain, and iterated Woes.

Eur.

Oh God of Eloquence, bright Maja's Son!

Teach me what more than mortal Grace of Speech,

What Sounds can move this fierce relentless Fair,

This cruel Queen, that pityless beholds

My Heart that bleeds for her, my humble Knee,

In abject low Submission bent to Earth,

To deprecate her Scorn, and beg in yain,

One gracious Word, one favourable Look.

Qu.

Count back the tedious Years, since first my Hero

Forsook these faithful Arms to War with Troy;

And yet in all that long, long Tract of Time,

Witness, ye chaster Powers, if e'er my Thoughts

Have harbour'd any other Guest but him;

Remember, King of Samos, what I have been,

Then think if I can change—Aethon! come near.

[Aethon comes forward.

Good honest Man! how rare is Truth like thine!

Thou great Example of a Loyal Friend!

Aeth.

Oh Lady, spare that Praise; if few like me

Are Friends, yet none have ever lov'd like you;

Why what a mighty Space is twenty Years!

'Tis irksome to Remembrance, to look back

Upon your Youth, that happier Part of Life,

Like some fair Field, of rich and fertile Soil,

That might have blest the Owner with Abundance,

But left unheeded, like a barren Moor,

Lies senceless, wild, uncultivate, and waste.

Qu.

Alas!

Eur.

Were Youth and Beauty giv'n in vain?

Why were the Gods so lavish of their Gifts,

To one, whose sullen Pride neglects to use 'em,

As if she scorn'd the Care Heav'n took to make her Happy?

Aeth.

More than enough of Sorrow have you known;

Give Ease at length to your afflicted Soul,

Be comforted, and now while Time is yours,

Taste the good things of Life, yet e'er they perish,

Yet e'er the happy Season pass away.

Qu.

What Sov'reign Balm, what heav'nly healing Art,

Can cure a Heart so torn with Grief as mine,

Can stay this never-ceasing Stream of Tears,

And once more make my Senses know Delight?

Eur.

What God can work that Miracle but Love?

Love, who dispences Joy to Heav'n it self,

And chears his Fellow-Gods more than their Nectar,

'Till wrapt with vast, unutterable Pleasures,

Such as Immortal Natures only know,

Each owns his Pow'r, and blesses the sweet Boy.

Qu.

Now Aethon, by thy Friendship to my Lord,

Answer, I charge thee, to this cruel King;

Demand if it be Noble to Prophane

My Virtue thus, with loose dishonest Courtship.

Aeth.

Are Love and Virtue then such Mortal Foes,

That they must never meet?

Qu.

Never with me,

Unless my Lord return.

Aeth.

Vain Expectation!

Qu.

Ha! Surely I mistook!—what said'st thou, Aethon?

Aeth.

That you have waited long for that Return,

Wasted too much of Life, and cast away

Those precious Hours, that might have been employ'd

To better use than Weeping.

Qu.

This from thee!

Oh faithless! Truth is vanish'd then indeed.

Oh Aethon!—art thou too—become my Enemy!

Aeth.

If, to reward your Faith to lost Ulysses,

I pray the Gods to heap their Blessings on you,

To make you Mistress of a mighty Nation,

An Empire greater, nobler than your own,

And crown you with this valiant Monarch's Love,

If this be Enmity, you may accuse me.

Qu.

Dost thou Sollicit for him? dost thou dare

Invade my Peace, my Virtue?

Aeth.

Not for him,

But for the common Happiness of both.

Qu.

Traitor! no more—at length thy wicked Arts

Thy false dissembled Friendship for my Lord,

Thy Pious Journey hither for his sake,

Thy Care of me, my Son, and of the State,

Thy Praise, thy Counsels, and thy shew of Virtue,

So holy, so adorn'd with Rev'rend Age,

All are reveal'd, and thou confest a Villain;

Hire, and the sordid Love of Gain, have caught thee;

Gold has prevail'd upon thee to betray me,

And bargain for my Honour with this Prince. [Pointing to Eurymachus.

Aeth.

It grieves me I Offend you—sure I am,

I meant it as a Friend.

Qu.

Hence from my Sight!

Eur.

Aethon, no more,—Since Love and willing Friendship

Employ their pious Offices in vain,

Learn we henceforth from this imperious Beauty,

Learn we, from her Example to be cruel:

And tho' our softer Passions rest unsatisfy'd,

Yet the more fierce, the manly, and the rough,

Shall be indulg'd and riot to Excess.

Up then Revenge, and arm thee thou fell Fury,

Up then, and shake thy hundred Iron Whips,

To Day I vow to sacrifice to thee,

And slake thy horrid Thirst with Draughts of Royal Gore.

Qu.

What says the Tyrant? [Aside.] Oh, Eurymachus!

What fatal Purpose has thy Heart conceiv'd?

What means that Rage that lightens in thy Eyes?

That flashes fierce, and menaces Destruction?

Eur.

The lambent Fire of Love prevails no more,

And now another mightier Flame succeeds;

Vaunt not too soon, nor triumph in thy Scorn,

For know, proud Queen, in spight of thy Disdain,

There is a Way ev'n yet to reach thy Heart.

Thou hast a Son, the Darling of thy Eyes—

Qu.

Oh fatal Thought!

Fear, like the Hand of Death, has seiz'd my Heart,

Cold, chilling Cold—my Son! Oh my Telemachus!

Aeth.

That stroke was home—now, Virtue, hold thy own. [Aside.

Eur.

Know then, that Son is in my Pow'r, and holds

His frail uncertain Being at my Pleasure,

And when I frown, Death and Destruction, greedy,

Watchful, intent like Tygers on their Prey,

Start sudden forth, and seize the helpless Boy.

Three Hundred chosen Warriors from my Fleet,

Who undiscern'd, in Parties, and by stealth,

Late came a-shore, now wait for my Commands;

Think on 'em as the Ministers of Fate,

For when I bid 'em execute, 'tis done.

Qu.

If, as my Soul presages from those Terrors

Which gather on thy stern, tempestuous Brow,

Thou art severely bent on Death and Vengeance,

Yet hear me, hear a Wretches only Pray'r,

Oh spare the Innocent, spare my Telemachus,

Let not the Ruffian's Sword nor murd'rous Violence

Out off the Noble Promise of his Youth,

Oh spare him, and let all thy Rage fall here;

Remember 'twas this haughty, stubborn Queen

Refus'd thy Love, and let her feel thy Hate.

Eur.

A secret Joy glides thro' my sullen Heart,

To see so fair a Sutier kneel before me.

But what have I to do with Thoughts like these?

Aethon, go bear this Ring to bold Ceraunus,

The Valiant Leader of our Samian Band;

My last of Orders, which this Morn I gave him,

Bid him perform; haste thou, and see it done.

Qu.

Stay, I conjure thee, Aethon—Cruel King!

Speak, answer me, unfold this dreadful Secret:

Where points this sudden, dark, mysterious Mischief?

Say, at the Head of what devoted Wretch

This winged Thunder aims—Say, while my Fears

Have left me yet a little Life to hear thee.

Eur.

Already dost thou dread the gath'ring Storm,

That grumbies in the Air, preluding Ruin?

But mark the Stroke, keep all thy Tears for that,

Too soon it shall be told thee—Aethon, hence.

Qu. holding Aethon.]

Not for thy Life—No not 'till thou hast heard me. [To Eurymachus.

Too well, alas! I understand my Fate;

How have I been among the happy Mothers

Call'd the most happy, now to be most miserable:

The barren, comfortless fate down and wept,

When they compar'd their Marriage Beds with mine;

The fruitful, when they boasted of their Numbers,

With Envy and unwilling Praise, confest

That I had all their Blessings in my One.

Our Virgins, when they met him, sigh'd and blush'd,

Matrons and Wives beheld him as a Wonder,

And gazing Crowds pursu'd and blest him as he pass'd.

But then his Youth! his Tenderness! his Piety!

Oh my Telemachus! my Son! my Son!

Eur.

And what are all these Tears and helpless Wailings,

What poor Amends to injur'd Love and me?

How have I mourn'd thy Scorn, unkind and cruel?

How have I melted in unmanly Weeping?

How have I taught the stubborn Rocks of Ithaca,

And all the sounding Shore to eccho my Complainings?

And hast thou e'er Relented? Now Mourn thou.

And murmur not, nor think thy Lot too hard,

Since equal Justice pays thee but thy own.

Qu.

Oh didst thou know what Agonies I feel,

Hard as thou art, thou would'st have Pity on me:

Death is too poor a Name, for that means Rest,

But 'tis Despair—'tis mad—tormenting Rage,

'Tis terrible—'tis bitter Pain—it is

A Mother's Mourning for her only Son.

Aeth.

Now, now her labouring Heart is rent with Anguish!

Oh Nature how affecting are thy Sorrows,

How moving, melting in a Mother's Eyes;

So Silver Thetis, on the Phrygian Shore,

Wept for her Son, soreknowing of his Fate,

The Sea-Nymphs sate around, and joyn'd their Tears,

While from his lowest Deep old Father Ocean,

Was heard to groan in pity of their Pain. [Aside.

Eur.

Fair Mourner rise—Thus far thou hast prevail'd, [Offering to raise her.

If, to attone for all I have endur'd,

For all thy cold Neglect, thy Arts, Delays,

For all my Years of anxious Expectation,

This Night thou give thy Beauties to my Arms;

This Night! For Love, impatient of my Wrongs,

Allows not ev'n a Moment's space beyond it.

The Prince, thy lov'd Telemachus, shall live,

And Danger and Distress shall never know thee more.

Qu.

Oh Shame! Oh Modesty! Connubial Truth

And spotless Purity! Ye Heav'nly Train!

Have I preserv'd you in my secret Soul,

To give you up at last, then plunge in Guilt,

Abandon'd to Dishonour and Pollution!

Oh never! never! let me first be rack'd,

Torn, scatter'd by the Winds, plung'd in the Deep,

Or bound amidst the Flames—Oh friendly Earth

Open thy Bosome—And thou Proserpine,

Infernal Juno, mighty Queen of Shades,

Receive me to thy dark, thy dreadful Empire,

And hide me, save me from this Tyrant's Fury.

Aeth.

Oh racking racking Pain of secret Thought! [Aside.

Eur.

Hence! hence thou Trifler Love! fond, vain Deceiver!

I cast, I tear thee out—Aethon, begone!

Qu.

Then drag me too!—Yet hear me once, once more,

For I will speak to thee of Love!—of Rage!

Of Death! of Madness! and Eternal Chaos!

Eur.

Away, thou Loiterer! [To Aethon.

Aeth.

Then I must go.

Qu.

Eurymachus! [Holding out her Hand to him.

Eur.

Speak—

Qu.

Mercy!

Eur.

Love!

Qu.

Telemachus.

Eur.

My Queen! My Goddess! Art thou kind at last?

Oh softly, softly breath the charming Sound,

And let it gently steal upon my Soul,

Gently as falls the balmy Dew from Heav'n,

Or let thy kind consenting Eyes speak for thee,

And bring me the sweet Tidings from thy Heart;

She yields! Immortal Gods! she yields!

Qu.

Where is he?

Where is my Son? Oh tell me, is he safe?

Swear to me some most sacred solemn Oath,

Swear my Telemachus is free from Danger.

Eur.

Hear me, great Jove, Father of Gods and Men,

And thou blue Neptune, and thou Stygian Pluto,

Hear, all ye greater and ye lesser Powers,

That Rule in Heaven, in Earth, in Seas, and Hell,

While, to my Queen, on this fair Hand I swear,

That Royal Youth, that best lov'd Son is safe,

Nor dies, unless his Mother urge his Fate.

At Night, a Priest, by faithful Aethon's Care,

In private shall attend at thy Apartment,

There while rich Gums we burn, and Spicy Odours,

The Gods of Marriage and of Love invoking,

I will renew my Vows, and at thy Feet

Devote ev'n all my Pow'rs to thy Command.

Qu.

'Till then be kind, and leave me to my self;

Leave me to vent the Fulness of my Breast,

Pour out the Sorrows of my Soul alone,

And sigh my self, if possible, to Peace.

Oh thou dear Youth, for whom I feel again

My Throes, and twice endure a Mother's Pain,

Well had I dy'd to save thee, oh my Son,

Well, to preserve thy Life, had giv'n my own;

But when the Thoughts of former Days return,

When my lost Virtue, Fame, and Peace I mourn,

The Joys which still thou gav'st me I forget,

And own I bought thee at a Price too great.

[Exit the Queen.

Eur.

At length we have prevail'd: Fear, Doubt and Shame,

Those peevish Female Virtues, fly before us,

And the disputed Field at last is ours.

Aeth.

Yes you have Conquer'd, have approv'd your self

A Master in the Knowledge of the Sex.

What then remains but to prepare for Triumph,

To rifle all the Spoils of Captive Beauty,

And reap the sweet Reward of your past Labours.

What of the Prince?

Eur.

He lives, but must be mine,

And my Semanthe's Love the Band to hold him;

But to to-morrow's Dawn leave we that Care,

The present Day, for deep, for vast Designs,

And hardy Execution is decreed.

This Night, according to their wonted Riot,

The Rival Princes mean to hold a Feast.

Aeth.

I mark'd but now the mighty Preparation,

When to the Hall the sweating Slaves past in,

Bending beneath the massie Goblets Weight,

Whose each capacious Womb, fraught with rich Juice

Drawn from the Chian and the Lesbian Grape,

Portended witless Mirth, vain Laughter, Boasting,

Contentious Brawling, Madness, Mischief, and soul Murder;

While to appease the Gluttons greedy Maw

Whole Herds are slain, more than suffice for Hecatombs,

Ev'n more than Zeal, with Pious Prodigality,

Bestows upon the Gods to feed their Priests with.

Eur.

Then mark me well, or e'er the rowling Night

Have finish'd half her Course, the fumy Vapours

And mounting Spirits of the deep-drunk Bowl.

Shall seize the Brains of these Carousing Lovers;

Then shalt thou, Aethon, with my Valiant Samians,

Arm'd and appointed all at thy Command,

Surround the Hall, and on our common Foes

At once Revenge my Queen, thy self and me.

Aeth.

Ha! At a Blow!—'tis just—'tis greatly thought!

By Jove, th'Avenger, 'twill be noble Slaughter;

Nor doubt the Event, I answer for 'em all, Ev'n to a Man.

Eur.

Thine then be all the Care,

While I with softer Pleasures crown my Hours,

And revel in Delight.

Aeth.

How! At that Hour! [Starting.

Ha!—In Enjoyment! Can that be?

Eur.

It must.

Fierce for the Joy, in Secret, and alone

I'll steal upon my Love.

Aeth.

Stay! that were well!—

Alone you must—

Eur.

None but the conscious Priest—

That too must be thy Care, to chuse one faithful,

One for the Purpose fit.

Aeth.

Most worthy Office! [Aside.

One to your Wish, try'd in these pious Secrets,

My Friend of ancient Date, is now in Ithaca;

Him sworn to Secrecy, and well prepar'd,

I will instruct to wait you with the Queen.

Eur.

Then be propitious, Love!

Aeth.

And thou Revenge!

Shoot all thy Fires, and wake my slumb'ring Rage,

Let my past Wrongs, let Indignation raise

My Age to emulate my youthful Praise,

Let the stern Purpose of my Heart succeed,

Let Riot, Lust, and proud Injustice bleed,

Grant me but this, ye Gods, who favour Right,

I ask no other Bliss nor fond Delight,

Nor envy Thee, O King, thy Bridal Night.

[Exeunt.

End of the Second Act.

ACT III. SCENE I.

Enter Aethon, Mentor and Eumaeus.

Aeth.

IF Virtue be ab andon'd, lost and gone,

No matter for the Means that wrought the Ruin;

Whether the Pomp of Pleasure danc'd before her,

Alluring to the Sense, or dreadful Danger

Came arm'd with all its Terrors to the Onset,

She shou'd have held the Battel to the last,

Undaunted, yieldless, firm, and dy'd or conquer'd.

Men.

Think on what hard, on what unequal Terms

Virtue, betray'd within by Woman's Weakness,

Beset without with mighty Fears and Flatteries,

Maintains the doubtful Conflict—Sure if any

Have kept the Holy Marriage-Bed inviolate,

If all our Graecian Wives are not like Hellen,

That praise the Queen my Royal Mistress merits.

Eum.

And oh impute not one unheeded Word,

Forc'd from her in the bitterest Pangs of Sorrow,

When fierce conflicting Passions strove within,

Like all the Winds at once let loose upon the Main,

When wild Distraction rul'd—Oh urge not that,

A Blemish on her fair, her matchless Fame.

Aeth.

Oh Mentor, and Eumaeus, faithful Pair!

To whom my Life, my Honour, all I trust,

These Eyes beheld her yielding—Cursed Object!

Beheld her in the Samian King's Embrace;

The Sight of Hell, of baleful Acheron

That rowls his livid Waves around the Damn'd,

Roaring and yelling on the farther Shore,

Was not so terrible, so irksome to me,

As when I saw his Arms infold Penelope.

I heard the fatal Compact for to Night,

The Joys which he propos'd, nor she deny'd—

But see she comes—

Men.

How much unlike a Bride!

Enter the Queen.

Behold her Tears, see comfortless Affliction,

Anguish, and helpless, desolate Misfortune

Writ in her Face.

Aeth.

Retire; I wou'd observe her.

[Men. and Eum. retire to the back Part of the Stage.

Qu.

And dost thou only Weep? Shall that put off

Th'approaching Hour of Shame, or save thy Son?

Thou weep'st, and yet the setting Sun descends

Swift to the Western Waves, and guilty Night,

Hasty to spread her Horrors o'er the World,

Rides on the dusky Air,—And now it comes,

The fatal Moment comes, ev'n that dread Time

When Witches meet to gather Herbs on Graves,

When discontented Ghosts forsake their Tombs,

And ghastly roam about, and doleful Groan,

And hark! The Screech-Owl screams, and beats the Window

With deadly Wings—And hark!—More dreadful yet,

Like Thracian Tereus to unhappy Philomel,

The furious Bridegroom comes—The Tyrant! Ravisher!

And see! The Shade of my much injur'd Lord

Starts up to blast me!—Hence!—Begon, you Horrors;

For I will hide me in the Arms of Death,

And think on you no more—That Traytor here.! [Seeing Aethon.

Aeth.

Hail beauteous Queen! The God of Love salutes thee,

And thus by great Eurymachus he speaks,

Be Sorrow and Misfortune on thy Foes,

But let thy Days be crown'd with smiling Peace,

Content, and everlasting Joy dwell with thee.

Qu.

Com'st thou to Greet me with the sounds of Joy?

Thou Messenger of Fate!—So the hoarse Raven

Croaks o'er the Mansion of the dying Man,

And often warns him with his dismal Note,

To think upon his Tomb.

Aeth.

Or I mistook,

Or I was bid to Treat of gentler Matters,

Kindly to ask at what auspicious Hour,

Your Royal Bridegroom and the Priest shou'd wait you.

Qu.

Too well my boding Heart foretold thy Tidings.—

Now what Reply?—There is no Room for Choice,

'Tis one Degree of Infamy to doubt,

What must be must be—Let me then resolve,

'Tis only thus—no more—and I am free. [Aside.

Say to the Samian King, thy Master, thus;

When Menelaus and the Fate of Greece

Summon'd my Lord to Troy, he left behind him

None worthy of his Place in Love or Empire.

Aeth.

How, Lady?—Whither points her Meaning now? [Aside.

Qu.

Say too, I've held his Merit in the Balance,

But find the Price of Honour so much greater,

That 'twere an Ideot's Bargain to exchange 'em;

Yet tell him too, I have my Sex's Weakness,

I have a Mother's Fondness in my Eyes,

And all her tender Passions in my Heart.

Aeth.

Ay, there! 'Tis there she's lost! [Aside.

Qu.

Nor can I bear

To see what more, far more than Life I joy in,

My only Pledge of Love, my Lord's dear Image,

My Son by bloody Hands mangled and murder'd;

(Oh terrible to Nature!) Therefore one,

One Remedy alone is left to save me,

To shield me from a Sight of so much Horror,

And tell Eurymachus, I find it—here.

[She offers to Stab her self; Aethon catches hold of her Arm, and prevents her.

Aeth.

Forbid it, Gods; perish the Tyrant rather,

Let Samos be no more.

Qu.

Off! Off, thou Traitor!

Give way to my just Rage!—Oh tardy Hand!

To what hast thou betray'd me! Let me go,

Oh let me, let me die, or I will curse thee,

'Till Hell shall tremble at my Imprecations,

'Till Heav'n shall blast thee—lost!—undone for ever!

Aeth.

Oh Trifler that I am! Mentor! Eumaeus! [They come forward.

Come to my Aid!—Be calm but for a Moment,

And wait to see what Wonders it will shew thee.

Guard her upon your Lives, remember that,

Guard her from ev'ry Instrument of Death,

Sooth and asswage her Grief, 'till my Return

Unfold the mighty Secret of her Fate,

And once more reconcile her Soul to Peace.

[Exit Aethon.

Qu.

And are you too my Foes? have you conspir'd

And join'd with that false Aethon to betray me?

Here sit thee down then, humbly in the Dust,

Here sit, a poor, forlorn, abandon'd Woman;

Gast not thy Eyes up to yon' azure Firmament,

Nor hope Relief from thence, the Gods are pityless,

Or busie in their Heav'n, and thou not worth their Care;

And oh! oh! cast 'em not on Earth, to seek

For Succour from the faithless Race of Man;

But as thou art forsaken and alone,

Hope not for Help, where there is none to help thee,

But think—'tis Desolation all about thee.

Men.

Far be that Thought, to think you are forsaken;

Gods and good Men shall make you still their Care.

And oh! far be it from your faithful Servants,

For all those Honours mad Ambition toils for,

For all the Wealth that bribes the World to Wickedness,

For Hopes or Fears, for Pleasures or for Pains,

To leave our Royal Mistress in Distress.

Eum.

At length Time's fulness comes, and that great Period,

For which so many tedious Years rowl'd round,

At length the white, the smiling Minute comes,

To wipe the Tears from those fair Eyes for ever;

That Good we daily pray'd for, but pray'd hopeless,

That Good, which ev'n the Prescience of the Gods

(So doubtfully was it set down in Fate,)

Uncertainly foresaw, and darkly promis'd,

That Good, one Day, the happiest of our Lives,

Freely and fortunately brings to pass.

Men.

And hark! Vindictive Jove prepares his Thunder, [Thunders.

Let the Wrong-doer and the Tyrant tremble;

The Gods are present with us—And behold!

The solid Gloom of Night is rent asunder,

While Floods of daz'ling, pure Aetherial Light,

Break in upon the Shades—She comes, She comes!

Pallas, the Fautress of my Master's Arms,

And see where terrible in Arms, Majestick,

Celestial, and ineffably effulgent,

She shakes her dreadful Aegis from the Clouds!

Bend, bend to Earth, and own the present Deity. [It Thunders again.

[The Scene opens above, and discovers Pallas in the Clouds. [They kneel.

Eum.

Daughter of mighty Jove, Tritonian Pallas,

Be favourable! oh!—oh! be Propitious,

And save the sinking House of thy Ulysses.

Men.

Goddess of Arts and Arms, thou blue-ey'd Maid,

Be favorable, oh!—oh! be Propitio us,

And glad thy Suppliants with some chearful Omen.

Qu.

Virgin, begot and born of Jove alone,

Chaste, Wise, Victorious, if by thy Assistance

The Greeks were well aveng'd on Perjur'd Troy,

If by thy Aid, my Lord from Thracian Rhesus

Obtain'd his snowy Steeds, and brought successful

Thy fatal Image to the Tents of Greece;

Once more be favourable—be propitious,

Restore my Lord—Or if that be deny'd,

Grant me to share his Fate, and die with Honour.

[Thunder again—The Scene closes above—They rise.

Men.

The Goddess smiles—Most happy be the Omen!

And to the Left auspicious rowls the Thunder.

Enter Aethon or Ulysses, without his Disguise, magnificently Arm'd and Habited.

Qu.

What other God art thou?—Oh sacred Form!

I dream, I rave!—Why put'st thou on this Semblance?

What shall I call thee?—Say, speak, answer me.

[She advances two or three Steps looking amazedly.

Son of Laertes! King! My Lord!—Ulysses!

Ulyss.

Why dost thou gaze?—Am I so dreadful still?

Is there so much of Aethon still about me?

Or hast thou—is it possible—forgot me?

Do's not thy Heart acknowledge something here?

Qu.

Nay 'tis, 'tis most impossible to Reason.

But what have I to do with Thought or Reason?

Thus Mad, Distracted, raging with my Joy,

I'll rush upon thee, clasp thee to my Bosom,

And if it be Delusion, let me die,

Hear let me sink to everlasting Rest,

Just here, and never never think again.

Ulyss.

No. live, thou great Example of thy Sex,

Live for the World, for me, and for thy self,

Unnumber'd Blessings, Honours, Years of Happiness,

Crowns from the Gods, enrich'd with brightest Stars,

All Heav'n and Earth united in Applause,

Wait, with officious Duty, to reward thee.

Live to enjoy ev'n all thou hast deserv'd,

That fulness of Delight, of which these Arms

And this transporting Moment gives thee Earnest.

Qu.

I gaze upon thy Face, and see thee here,

The sullen Pow'rs below, who rule the dead,

Have listen'd to my Weeping, and relented,

Have sent thee from Elysium back to me;

Or from the Deep, from Sea-green Neptune's Seats

Thou'rt risen like the Day-Star, or from Heav'n

Some God has brought thee on the Wings of Winds;

Oh Extacy!—But all that I can know,

Is that I wake and live, and thou art here,

Ulyss.

Troy, I forgive thee now, ye Toils and Perils

Of my past Life, well are you paid at once.

For this the faithless Syrens sung in vain,

For this I scap'd the Den of monstrous Polypheme,

Fled from Calypso's Bonds, and Circe's Charms,

For this seven Days, and seven long Winter Nights,

Shipwrack'd I floated on a driving Mast;

Tost by the Surge, pierc'd by the bitter Blasts

Of bleak North-Winds, and drench'd in the chill Wave,

I strove with all the Terrors of the Deep.

Qu.

Yes thou hast born it all, I know thou hast,

These Wars, Winds, Magick, Monsters, all for me.

Blest be the Gracious Gods that gave thee to me!

Say then! Oh how shall I reward thy Labours?

But I will sit and listen to thy Story,

While thou recount'st it o'er; and when thou speak'st

Of Difficulties hard and near to Death,

I'll pity thee, and answer with my Tears;

But when thou com'st to say how the Gods sav'd thee,

And how thy Virtue struggl'd through the Danger,

For Joy, I'll fold thee thus with soft Endearments,

And crown thy Conquest with Ten Thousand Kisses.

Ulyss.

It is a heavy and a ruthful Tale,

But thou wilt kindly share with me in all Things;

It shall be told thee then, whate'er I suffer'd,

Since, in a luckless Hour, I first set out,

Ev'n to that time, when scarce twice ten Days past,

As from Phaeacia homeward bound to Ithaca,

A Storm o'ertook and wrack'd me on the Coast;

Alone and Naked was I cast a-shore,

And only to these faithful Two made known,

'Till Jove shou'd point me out some Opportunity,

Once more to seize my Right in thee and Empire.

Men.

'Tis hard, injurious, an Offence to Virtue,

To interrupt your Joys, ye Royal Pair,

But oh forgive your faithful Servant's Caution,

Think where you are, what Eyes malicious Chance

May bring to pry into the happy Secret,

Untimely to disclose the fatal Birth,

And rashly bring it immature to Light.

Ulyss.

Mentor, thou warn'st us well—Retire, my Love.

Qu.

What, must we part already?

Ulyss.

For a Moment,

Like Waves divided by the gliding Bark,

That meet again, and mingle as before.

Qu.

Be sure it be not longer.

Ulyss.

Sweet, it sha'not,

I'll meet thee soon, and bring our mutual Blessing,

Our Son t'increase the Joy.

Qu.

I must obey you,

Remember well how long thou hast been Absent,

And what a poor Amends this short Enjoyment makes me,

Oh I shall die with strong Desire to see thee,

Shall think this one impatient Minute more,

Than all thy long, long Twenty Years before.

[Exit Queen.

Enter at the other Door Telemachus.

Tel.

The Queen my Mother, past she not this Way?

Men.

She did, my Lord, ev'n now,

Tel.

Saw you not too

The Samian Princess, fair Semanthe, with-her?

Say, went they not together?

Ulyss.

Might I speak,

I think it is not fit they were together;

For wherefore shou'd the Queen of Ithaca

Hold Commerce with the Daughter of Eurymachus?

Pardon me, Sir, I fear you are offended,

And think this Boldness does not fit a Stranger.

Tel.

'Tis true thou art a Stranger to my Eyes,

And yet, methought, thou spok'st with Aethon's Voice,

Save, that th'untoward Purpose of thy Words

Seem'd harsh, ungentle, and not like my Friend.

Ulyss.

What'er I seem, believe me, princely Youth,

Thou hast not one, one dear selected Mate,

That ought to stand before me in thy Heart;

Tho' from your tender Infancy 'till now,

He dwelt within thy Bosom, thou in his,

Tho' every Year has knit the Band more close,

Tho' Variance never knew you, but complying

Each ever yielded to the other's Wishes,

Tho' you have toild and rested, laugh'd and mourn'd,

And ran thro' every part of Life together,

Tho' he was all thy Joy, and thou all his,

Yet sure he never lov'd thee more than I do.

Tel.

Whoe'er thou art, (for tho' thou still art Aethon,

Thou art not he, but something more and greater,)

I feel the Force of every Word thou speak'st,

My Soul is as'd with reverential Fear,

A Fear not irksome, for 'tis mix'd with Love,

Ev'n such a Fear as that we worship Heav'n with;

Oh pardon if I err, for if thou art not

Aethon, my Father's Friend, thou art some God.

Ulyss.

If barely to have been thy Father's Friend

Cou'd move thee to such tender, just Regards,

Thus, let me thus indulge thy filial Virtue, [Embracing him.

Thus press thee in my Arms, my Pious Son,

And while my swelling Heart runs o'er with Joy,

Thus tell thee, that I am, I am thy Father.

Tel.

Oh most amazing!—

Men.

Yes, my Royal Charge,

At length behold thy God-like Sire, Ulysses,

Blest be my Age, with all its Cares and Sorrows,

Since it is lengthen'd out to see this Day,

To give thee back, thou dear entrusted Pledge,

Thus worthy as thou art, to thy great Father's Arms.

Tel.

Oh 'tis most certain so, my Heart confesses him,

My Blood and Spirits, all the Pow'rs of Life,

Acknowledge here the Spring from whence they came.

Then let me bow me, cast me at his Feet,

There pay the humble Homage of my Duty,

There wet the Earth before him with my Tears,

The faithful Witnesses of Love and Joy,

And when my Tongue for Rapture can no more,

Silent, with lifted Eyes, I'll praise the Gods,

Who gave me back my King, my Lord, my Father.

Ulyss.

Oh rise, thou Offspring of my Nuptial Joys,

Son of my Youth, and Glory of my Strength,

Rob not thy Father's Arms of so much Treasure,

But let us meet, as Jove and Nature meant us,

Thus, like a Pair of very faithful Friends:

And tho' I made harsh Mention of thy Love,

(Oh droop not at the Name) By blue-ey'd 'Pallas

I meant it hot in angry, chiding Mood;

But with a tender and a fond Concern

Reminded thee of what thou ow'st to Honour.

Tel.

When I forget it, may the worst Afflictions,

Your Scorn, your Hate, and Infamy o'ertake me;

Be that th'important Bus'ness of my Life,

Let me be task'd to hunt for it thro' Danger,

Thro' all the Roar of the tumultuous Battel,

And dreadful din of Arms; there, if I fail,

May Cowards say I'm not Ulysses Son,

And the great Author of our Race disclaim me.

Ulyss.

Oh Nobleness innate! Oh Worth divine!

Aetherial Sparks! that speak the Hero's Lineage,

How are you pleasing to me?—So the Eagle,

That bears the Thunder of our Grandsire Jove,

With Joy beholds his hardy youthful Offspring

Forsake the Nest, to try his tender Pinions,

In the wide untract Air; 'till bolder grown

Now, like a Whirlwind, on the Shepherd's Fold

He darts precipitate, and gripes the Prey;

Or fixing on some Dragon's scaly Hide,

Eager of Combat, and his future Feast,

Bears him aloft, reluctant, and in vain

Writhing his spiry Tale.

Tel.

Get me a Name distinguish'd from the Herd

Of common Men, a Name worthy my Birth.

Ulyss.

Nor shalt thou want th'Occasion, now it courts thee,

Stands ready, and demands thy Courage now,

Were I indeed as other Fathers are,

Did I but listen to soft Nature's Voice,

I shou'd not urge thee to this high Exploit,

For tho' it brings thee Fame, it brings thee Danger.

Tel.

Now by the God of War so much the better,

Let there be Honour for your Son to win,

And be the Danger ne'er so rude and deadly,

No matter, 'twill enchance the Prize the more,

And make it lovely in a brave Man's Eye;

So Hydra's and Chimaera's form'd in Gold,

Sit graceful underneath the nodding Plume,

And terribly adorn the Soldier's Helm.

Ulyss.

Know then, on this important Night depends

The very Crisis of our Fate; to Night,

The sleeping Vengeance of the Gods shall wake,

And speak Confusion to our Foes in Thunder,

Justice entrusts her Sword to this right Hand,

And I will see it faithfully employ'd.

Tel.

By Virtue and by Arms 'tis noble Work,

I burn impatient for it—Oh my Father.

Give me my Portion of the glorious Labour.

Ulyss.

One more immediate Danger threats thy Mother,

That to avert, must be thy pious Care;

While Mentor, with Eumaeus and our self,

Back'd by a chosen Band, (whom how prepar'd,

How gather'd to our Aid, the pressing Hour

Allows not now to tell,) Invade yon' Drunkards,

Immerst in Riot, careless, and desying

The Gods as Fables, start upon 'cm sudden,

And send their guilty Souls to howl below,

Upon the Banks of Styx; While this is doing,

Dar'st thou defend thy Mother?

Tel.

Oh to Death,

Against united Nations wou'd I stand

Her Soldier, her Defence, my single Breast

Oppos'd against the Rage of their whole War;

She is so good, so worthy to be sought for,

The sacred Cause wou'd make my Sword successful,

And gain my Youth a mighty Name in Arms.

Ulyss.

Then prove the Peril, and enjoy the Fame.

E'er the Mid-hour of rowling Night approach,

Remember well to plant thee at that Door,

Thou know'st it opens to the Queen's Apartment.

To bind thee yet more firm; for oh my Son, [Drawing his Sword.

With powerful Opposition shalt thou strive,

Swear on my Sword, by thy own filial Piety,

By all our Race, by Pallas and by Jove,

If any of these cursed Foreign Tyrants,

Those Rivals of thy Father's Love and Honour,

Shall dare to pass thro that forbidden Entrance,

To take his Forfcit Life for the Intrusion.

Tel.

I swear—And may my Lot in future Fame

[Telemachus kneels and kisses the Sword.

Be Good or Evil but as I perform it.

Ulyss.

Enough—I do believe thee.

Men.

Hark! My Lord! [A confus'd Noise is heard within.

How loud the Tempest roars! The bellowing Voice

Of wild, enthusiastick, raging Mirth,

With Peals of Clamour shakes the vaulted Roof,

Tel.

Such surely is the Sound of mighty Armies

In Battel join'd, of Cities sack'd at Midnight,

Of many Waters, and united Thunders;

My gen'rous Soul takes fire, and half repines,

To think she must not share the glorious Danger,

Where Numbers wait you, worthy of your Swords.

Ulyss.

No more, thou hast thy Charge, look well to that;

For these, these riotous Sons of Noise and Uproar,

I know their Force, and know I am Ulysses.

So Jove look'd down upon the War of Atoms,

And rude tumultuous Chaos, when as yet

Fair Nature, Form, and Order had not Being,

But Discord and Confusion troubled all;

Calm and serene, upon his Throne he sate,

Fix'd there by the eternal Law of Fate,

Safe in himself, because he knew his Pow'r,

And knowing what he was, he knew he was secure.

[Exeunt.

End of the Third Act.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Enter Telemachus and Antinous.

Ant.

THE King return'd? So long conceal'd in Ithaca?

Aethon the King? What Words can speak my Wonder?

Tel.

Yes, my Antinous, 'tis most amazing,

Tis all the mighty Working of the Gods,

Unsearchable and dark to human Eyes:

But oh let me conjure thee by our Friendship,

Since to thy faithful Breast alone I've trusted

The fatal Secret, to preserve it safe,

As thou woud'st do the Life of thy Telemachus.

Ant.

Wrong not the Truth of your devoted Slave,

To think he wou'd betray you for whole Worlds.

Have you not said it, that your own dear Life

And all your Royal Race depends upon it?

Far from my Lips within my Breast I'll keep it,

Nor breathe it softly to my self alone,

Lest some officious murmuring Wind should tell it,

And babbling Eccho's catch the feeble Sound.

Tel.

No, thou art true, such have I ever found thee;

But haste, my Friend, and summon to thy Aid

What Force the shortness of the Time allows thee,

Then with thy swiftest Diligence return,

Since, as I urg'd to thee before, it may

Import the Safety of my Royal Parents.

Some black Design is by these Stranger-Princes

Contriv'd against the Honour of the Queen.

Ant.

E'er Night a busie Rumour ran around

Of armed Parties secretly dispos'd

Between the Palace Gardens and the Sea,

Bold Cleon strait and Arcas I dispatch'd

To search the Truth, that known with haste to raise

And arm our Citizens for your Defence:

E'er this they have obey'd me, when I've join'd

The Pow'r their Diligence has drawn together

I'll wait you here again upon the Instant.

[Exit Antinous.

Tel.

Oh Love, how are thy precious, sweetest Minutes

Thus ever crost, thus vext with Disappointments!

Now Pride, now Fickleness, fantastick Quarrels

And sullen Coldness give us Pain by turns,

Malicious medling Chance is ever busie

To bring us Fears, Disquiet, and Delays;

And ev'n at last, when after all our waiting

Eager we think to snatch the dear-bought-Bliss,

Ambition calls us to its sullen Cares,

And Honour stern, impatient of Neglect,

Commands us to forget our Ease and Pleasures,

As if we had been made for nought but Toil,

And Love were not the Bus'ness of our Lives.

Enter Eurymachus.

Eur.

The Prince yet here! Twice have I sought, since Night,

To pass in private to the Queen's Appartment,

But found him still attending at the Door;

What can it mean?

Tel.

It is Semanthe's Father!

Ha!—Sure the Gods in Pity of our Loves

Have destin'd him to 'scape Ulysses Vengeance.

Eur.

How comes it, gentle Youth, when Wine and Mirth

Chear ev'ry Heart to Night, and banish Care,

I find thee pensively alone, avoiding

The Pleasures and Companions of thy Youth,

And like the sighing Slave of Sorrow, wasting

The tedious Time in melancholy Thought?

Tel.

Behold the Ruins of my Royal House,

My Father's Absence, and my Mother's Grief,

Then tell me if I have not Cause too great

To mourn, to pine away my Youth in Sadness.

Eur.

Our Daughter once was wont to share your Thoughts,

Believe me, she has Reason to complain,

If you prefer your Solitude to her;

While here you stay, disconsolate and musing,

Lonely she sits, the tender-hearted Maid,

And kindly thinks of you, and mourns your Absence.

Tel.

The constant, faithful Service of my Life,

My Days and Nights devoted all to her,

Poorly repay the fair Semanthe's Goodness:

Yet they are hers, ev'n all my Years are hers,

My present Youth, my future Age is hers,

All but this Night, which here I've sworn to pass,

Revolving many a sad and heavy Thought,

And ruminating on my wretched Fortunes.

Eur.

How! here!—to pass it here!—

Tel.

Ev'n here, my Lord.

Eur.

Fantastick Accident!—Whence cou'd this come? [Aside.

Well, Sir, pursue your Thoughts, I have some Matters

Of great and high Import, which on the Instant

I must deliver to the Queen, your Mother.

Tel.

Whate'er it be, you must of Force delay it

'Till Morning.

Eur.

How, delay it!—'tis impossible.

But wherefore?—Say.

Tel.

The Queen is gone to Rest,

Opprest and wasted with the Toil of Sorrows,

Weary as miserable painful Hinds,

That labour all the Day to get 'em Food,

She seeks some Ease, some Interval of Cares,

From the kind God of Sleep, and sweet Repose.

E'er she retir'd she left most strict Command,

None shou'd approach her 'till the Morning's Dawn.

Eur.

Whate'er those Orders were, I have my Reasons

To think my self excepted:—And whoe'er

Brought you the Message, through officious Haste

Mistook the Queen, and has inform'd you wrong.

Tel.

Not so, my Lord, for as I honour Truth,

Ev'n from her self did I receive the Charge.

Eur.

Vexation and Delay!—Then 'tis thy own,

Thy Error, and thou heard'st not what she said.

I tell thee, Prince, 'tis at her own Request,

Her Bidding, that at this appointed Hour

I wait her here, detain me then no more

With tedious vain Replies, for I must pass.

Tel.

Were it to any but Semanthe's Father,

That Mistress of my Reason and my Passions,

Who charming both makes both submit alike,

Perhaps I shou'd in rougher Terms have answer'd,

But here imperious Love demands Respect,

Constrains my Temper, to my Speech gives Law,

And I must only say You cannot pass.

Eur.

Ha!—Who shall bar me?

Tel.

With the gentlest Words

Which Reverence and Duty can invent

I will intreat you not to do a Violence,

Where nought is meant to you but worthiest Honour.

Eur.

Oh trifling, idle Talker!—know, my Purpose

Is not of such a light, fantastick Nature,

That I shou'd quit it for a Boy's Intreaty.

More than my Life or Empire it imports,

All that good Fortune or the Gods can do for me

Depends upon it, and I will have Entrance.

Tell.

Nay then 'tis time to speak like what I am,

And tell you, Sir, You must not, nor you sha' not.

Eur.

'Twere safer for thy rash, unthinking Youth

To stand the Mark of Thunder, than to thwart me;

Beware lest I forget thy Mother's Tears,

The Merit of her soft complying Sorrows,

Dreadful in Fury lest I rush upon thee,

Grasp thy frail Life, and break it like a Bubble,

To be dissolv'd, and mixt with common Air.

Tel.

Oh 'tis long since that I have learnt to hold

My Life from none, but from the Gods who gave it,

Nor mean to render it on any Terms,

Unless those Heav'nly Donors ask it back.

Eur.

Know'st thou what 'tis to tempt a Rage like mine?

But listen to me, and repent thy Folly.

This Night, this Night ordain'd of old for Bliss,

Mark'd from the rest of the revolving Year,

And set apart for Happiness by Fate,

The charming Queen, thy Mother, is my Bride.

Tel.

Confusion! Curses on the Tongue that spoke it!

Eur.

To Night she yields, ev'n for thy sake she yields:

To Night the lovely Miser grown indulgent

Reveals her Stores of Beauty long reserv'd,

She bids me revel with the hidden Treasure,

And pay my self for all her Years of Coldness.

Tel.

Perdition on the Falshood!

Eur.

Dare not then

To cross my Transports longer; if thou dost,

By all the Pangs of disappointed Love, [Drawing.

I'll force my Way, thus, through thy Heart's best Blood.

Tel.

How is my Piety and Virtue lost,

And all the Heav'nly Fire extinct within me!

I hear the sacred Name of her that bore me

Traduc'd, dishonour'd by a Ruffian's Tongue,

And am I tame!—Love, and ye softer Thoughts,

I give you to the Winds.—Know, King of Samos,

Thy Breath, like pestilential Blasts, infects

The Air, and grows offensive to the Gods:

If thou but whisper one Word more, one Accent

Against my Mother's Fame, it is thy last.

Eur.

Brav'd by a Boy!—a Boy!—the Nurse's Milk

Yet moist upon his Lip,—feeble in Infancy,

Essaying the first Rudiments of Manhood,

With Strength unpractis'd yet, and unconfirm'd,

Oh Shame to Arms!—But I have born too long,

Fly swift, avoid the Tempest of my Fury,

Or thus I'll pour it in a Whirlwind on thee,

Dash thee to Atoms thus, and toss thee round the World.

Tel.

I laugh at all that Rage, and thus I meet it. [They fight.

Eur.

Hell and Confusion!—to thy Heart.—

Tel.

To thine

This Greeting I return.—

Eur.

The Furies seize thee, [Eurymachus falls.

Thou hast struck me to the Earth, blasted my Hopes,

The partial Gods are leagu'd with thee against me,

To load me with Dishonour—oh my Fortune!

Where is my Name in Arms, the boasted Trophies

Of my past Life for ever lost, defac'd,

And ravish'd from me by a beardless Stripling.

Tel.

What means this soft Relenting in my Soul?

What Voice is this that sadly whispers to me,

Behold Semanthe's Father bleeds to Death?

Why would you urge me? [To Eurymachus.

Eur.

Off, and come not near me,

But let me curse my Fate, and die contented.

Tel.

And see he sinks yet paler to the Earth,

The Purple Torrent gushes out impetuous,

And with a guilty Deluge stains the Ground:

No help at Hand! what hoa!—Antinous!

[Exit.

Eur.

Let there be none, no Witness of my Shame,

Nor let officious Art presume to offer

Its Aid, for I have liv'd too long already.

Enter Semanthe.

Sem.

Sure I have staid too long, and while I sate

Sadly attentive to the weeping Queen,

Hearing her tell of Sorrows upon Sorrows,

Ev'n to a lamentable length of Woe,

Th'appointed Hour of Love pass'd by unheeded;

My Lord perhaps will chide; oh no!—He's gentle

And will not urge me with my first Offence.

Just as I enter'd here the Bird of Night

Ill-boading shriek'd, and strait, methought, I heard

A low complaining Voice, that seem'd to murmur

At some hard Fate, and groan to be reliev'd.

Ye gracious Gods be good to my Telemachus!

Eur.

Ha! What art thou that dost thy Hostile Orisons

Offer to Heav'n for my Mortal Foe?

Sem.

Guardians of Innocence, ye Holy Pow'rs,

Defend me, save me.

Eur.

Art thou not Semanthe?

Sem.

My Father!—On the Ground!—Bloody and Pale! [Running to him, and kneeling by him.

Oh Horror! Horror!—Speak to me—Say who—

What cursed Hand has done this dreadful Deed?

That with my Cries I may call out for Justice,

Call to the Gods, and to my dear Telemachus,

For Justice on my Royal Father's Murderer.

Eur.

If there be yet one God will listen to thee,

Sollicit him, that only equal Power,

To rain down Plagues, and Fire, and swift Destruction,

Ev'n all his whole Artillery of Vengeance,

On him, who aided by my adverse Stars,

Robb'd me of Glory, Love and Life—Telemachus.

Sem.

What says my Father!—no!—it is impossible!

He could not—would not—for Semanthe's sake.—

Enter Telemachus

Tel.

Alas!—there is none near—no Help—Semanthe! [Crying out.

Eur.

And see he bears the Trophy of his Conquest;

Behold his Sword yet reeking with my Blood,

Then doubt no more, nor ask whom thou shou'dst curse;

It is Telemachus—on whom revenge me,

But on Telemachus—Why do I leave thee

A helpless Orphan in a Foreign Land,

But for Telemachus, who tears me from thee?

Telemachus—why is thy King and Father

Stretch'd on the Earth a cold and lifeless Coarse,

Inglorious and forgotten—Oh! Telemachus! [Dies.

Sem.

Cruel!—unkind and cruel!— [She faints and falls upon the Body of Eurymachus.

Tel.

She faints,

Her Cheeks are cold, and the last leaden Sleep

Hangs heavy on her Lids—wake, wake, Semanthe,

Oh let me raise thee from this Seat of Death; [Raising her up, and supporting her in his Arms.

Lift up thy Eyes—Wilt thou not speak to me?

Sem.

Let me forget the use of ev'ry Sense,

Let me not see, nor hear, nor speak again

After that Sight, and those most dreadful Sounds.

Where am I now?—What!—lodg'd within thy Arms!

Stand off, and let me fly from thee for ever,

Swifter than Light'ning, Winds or winged Time;

Fly from thee till there be whole Worlds to part us,

'Till Nature fix her Barriers to divide us,

Her frozen Regions, and her burning Zones,

'Till Danger, Death and Hell do stand betwixt us,

And make it Fate that we shall never meet.

Tel

'Tis just; I own thy Rage is just, Semanthe;

Each fatal Circumstance is strong against me;

Then if thy Heart severely is resolv'd

Never to listen when I plead for Mercy,

Tho' Piety and Honour join with Love,

And humbly at thy Feet make Intercession:

If thou art deaf to all, then this alone

Is left me, to receive my Doom, and die.

Sem.

Are Love, are Piety and Honour Parricides?

Are they like thee? Do they delight in Blood?

Oh no! Celestial Sweetness dwells with them,

Friendly Forgiveness, Gentleness and Peace,

Mercy and Joy; but thou hast violated

The Sacred Train, brought Murder in amongst 'em

And see, displeas'd, to Heav'n they take their Flight,

And have abandon'd thee and me for ever.

Tel.

If sudden Fury have not chang'd thee quite,

If there be any of Semanthe left,

One tender Thought of that dear Maid remaining,

Yet I conjure thee hear me.

Sem.

'Tis in vain,

And that known Voice can never Charm me more.

Tel.

Be Witness for me, Heav'n, with what Reluctance

My Hand was lifted for this Fatal Stroke,

With Injuries which Manhood could not brook,

With Violence, with proud insulting Scorn,

And ignominious Threat'nings was I urg'd;

Long, long I strove with rising Indignation,

And long repress'd my swelling, youthful Rage;

I groan'd, and felt an Agony within:

'I was hard indeed—but to my self I said,

It is Semanthe's Father, and I'll bear it.

Sem.

And cou'dst thou do more? Call'st thou these Sufferings?

These short, tumultuous, momentary Passions?

What would not I have born for thee, thou cruel one?

For thee, so fondly was my Heart set on thee,

Forgetful of my tender, helpless Sex,

I would have wander'd over the wide World,

Known all Calamities and all Distresses,

Sickness and Hunger, Cold and bitter Want;

For thee retir'd within some gloomy Cave,

I would have wasted all my Days in Weeping,

And liv'd and dy'd a Wretch to make thee happy;

'Till I had been a Story to Posterity;

'Till Maids, in After-times, had said, Behold

How much she suffer'd for the Man she lov'd.

Tel.

And is there any one, the most afflicting

Of all those Miseries Mankind is born to,

Which for thy sake I would refuse?—But oh

Mine was a harder, a severer Task;

The Queen, my Mother, trusted to my Charge,

My Royal Father's Honour, and my own,

The Pledges of Eternal Fame or Infamy,

United urg'd, and call'd upon my Sword.

Sem.

What is this vain, fantastick Pageant, Honour.

This busie, angry thing, that scatters Discord

Amongst the mighty Princes of the Earth,

And sets the madding Nations in an Uproar?

But let it be the Worship of the Great,

Well hast thou warn'd me, and I'll make it mine;

Yes, Prince, its dread Command shall be obey'd,

Our Samian Arms shall pour Destruction on you,

Your yellow Harvests and your Towns shall blaze,

The Sword sahll rage, and universal Wailings

Be heard amongst the Mothers of your Ithaca,

'Till War it self grow weary and relent,

And that poor bleeding King be well reveng'd.

Tel.

Haste then, and let the Trumpet sound to Arms,

Semanthe's Vengeance shall not be delay'd;

Prepare for Slaughter and wide-wasting Ruin,

Prepare to feel her Wrath, ye wretched Ithacans;

Lift not a Sword, nor bend a Bow against her,

But all, like me, with low Submission meet her,

And let us yield up our devoted Lives,

Nor once implore her Mercy—for alas!

Cruel Semanthe has forgot to pardon:

For Blood, Destruction and Revenge she calls,

And Gentleness and Love are Strangers to her.

Sem.

Love!—Did'st thou speak of Love?—Oh ill-tim'd Thought!

Behold it there! behold the Love thou bear'st me; [Pointing to the Body of Eurymachus.

Behold that! that!—more dreadful than Medusa,

It drives my Soul back to her inmost Seats,

And freezes every stiff'ning Limb to Marble.

Seest thou that gaping Wound, and that black Blood

Congealing on that pale, that ashy Breast;

Then mark the Face—how Pain and Rage, with all

The Agonies of Death sit fresh upon it:

This was my Father—Was there none on Earth,

No Hand but thine?—

Tel.

Within my own sad Heart

I felt the Steel before it reach'd to his.

How much more happy is his Lot?—The Sleep

Of Death is on him, and he is in Peace,

While I, condemn'd to live, must mourn for him,

Mourn for my self, and, to compleat my Woes,

Feel all thy Pains redoubled on Telemachus.

Sem.

I know thou hat'st me, and that deadly Blow

Was meant to do a Murther on Semanthe.

But oh! it needed not, for thy Unkindness

Had been as Fatal to me as thy Sword.

If one cold Look, one angry Word had told me,

That thou wert chang'd, and I was grown a Burthen to thee,

I should have understood thy cruel Purpose,

Sate down to Weep, and broke my Heart and dy'd.

Tel.

It is too much, and I will bear no more;

Oh thou unjust, thou lovely false Accuser,

How hast thou wrong'd my tender, faithful Love,

In spight of all these Horrors, of my Guilt,

And that malignant Fate that doom'd me to it;

In spight of all, I will appeal to thee,

Ev'n to thy self, inhuman as thou art,

If ever Maid was yet belov'd before thee

With such Heart-aking, eager, anxious Fondness,

As that with which my Soul desires my dear Semanthe.

Sem.

Detested be the Name of Love for ever!

Henceforth let easie Maids be warn'd by me,

No more to trust your Breasts that heave with Sighing,

Your moving Accents, and your melting Eyes;

When e'er you boast your Truth then let 'em sly you,

Then scorn you, for 'tis then you mean Deceiving;

If yet there should some fond Believer be,

Let the false Man betray the Wretch like thee,

Like thee the lost, repenting Fool disclaim,

For Crowns, Ambition, and your Idol Fame;

When warm, when languishing with sweet Delight,

Wishing she meets him, may he blast her Sight,

With such a Murder on her Bridal Night.

Exit.

Tel.

Now arm thee for the Conflict, oh my Soul,

And see how thou can'st bear Semanthe's Loss;

For she is lost—most certain—gone irrevocable,

Mentor nor Aethou now, my King, my Father

Shall need t'upbraid me with th'unhappy Passion;

Ha! that has wak'd a Thought—'Tis certain so,

And this is all the Work of cruel Policy:

The Danger of the Queen was from Eurymachus,

Therefore my Sword was chosen to oppose it,

That it might cut the Bands of Love asunder,

Oh Dreamer that I was!—

Enter Antinous, Cleon and Arcas with Soldiers.

Ant.

My Lord, where are you?

Thus to his Son our King, the great Ulysses

By me commands, Your Royal Mother's Danger

Is now no more, since all the Rival Princes

Are in the Hall beset, and ev'n this Moment

Revenge and Slaughter are let loose among 'em;

Haste then to join your God-like Father's Arms,

To bring your pious Valour to his Aid,

And share the Conquest and the Glory with him.

Tel.

Ha! Com'st thou from the Hall, Antinous?

Ant.

Ev'n now, my Lord, as I was hasting hither

It was my Chance to meet my Royal Master;

Eager with Joy I threw me at his Feet,

With wond'rous Grace he rais'd me and embrac'd me,

Then bid me fly to bear his Orders to you.

By the loud Cries, the Shouts, and clash of Arms,

Which just as I had left him struck my Ear,

I guess e'er this the Combat is begun.

Tel.

Yes, yes, my Friend, that Danger of the Queen

Is now no more—However be thou near

To guard her, to support her, lest the Terrors

Of this tumultuous, this most dreadful Night,

May shake her Soul—I will obey the King,

And gladly lose the Life he gave me for him.

And since the Pleasure of my Days is lost,

Since my Youth's dearest, only Hopes are cross'd,

Careless of all, I'll rush into the War,

Provoke the lifted Sword and pointed Spear,

'Till all o'er Wounds I sink amidst the Slain,

And bless the friendly Hand that rids me of my Pain.

[Ex. Tel.

Cleon.

Behold, my Lord, and wonder here with us;

The Samian King!—

Ant.

Eurymachus!—'Tis he;

Surprising Accident!—Whence came this Blow?

But 'tis no matter since it makes for us,

Nor have we Time to waste in vain Inquiry,

Let it suffice that we have lost an Enemy.

Haste to the Queen, my Cleon, and persuade her

To seek her Safety with us in the City;

If she refuse, bear her away by Force.

Do you attend him.— [To the Soldiers.

Arc.

Had you ta'ne my Counsel,

The Prince shou'd not have 'scap'd us.

Ant.

Arcas, no!

A Life like his is but a single Stake,

Unworthy the Contention it might cost us:

Gaining the Queen, I have whate'er I wish.

Fear of the Samians and the subtle King

Forbad my coming with a stronger Power,

Lest they had ta'ne th'Alarm, and turn'd upon us:

Therefore I held it safer by a Wile

To work upon the Youth, and send him hence,

And that way gain Admittance to his Mother.

Arc.

Our Ithacans, who give the King for lost,

Shall deem this Tale of his Return a Fable;

Or tho' they should believe it, yet will join us,

And with united Arms assist your Cause.

Why do we linger then?—Heard you that Cry? [Cry of Women within.

Successful Cleon, of his Prey possess'd,

Leads us the Way, and hastens to the City.

Ant.

Come on, and let the crafty fam'd Ulysses

Repine and rage, by happier Frauds excell'd.

Let the forsaken Husband vainly mourn

His tedious Labours, and his late Return;

In vain to Pallas and to Jove complain,

That Troy and Hector are reviv'd again.

Possess'd, like happy Paris, of the Fair,

I'll lengthen out my Joys with Ten Years War,

And think the rest of Life beneath a Lover's Care.

[Exeunt.

End of the Fourth Act.

ACT V. SCENE I.

SCENE, the City.

Enter severally Mentor and Eumaeus.

Eum.

WHere is the Joy, the Boast of Conquest now?

In vain we triumph o'er our foreign Tyrants,

So soon to perish by domestick Foes.

Why shone the great Ulysses dreadful, fierce

As Mars, and mighty as Phlegraean Jove?

Why reeks yon' Marble Pavement with the Slaughter

Of Rival Kings that fell beneath his Sword,

Victims to injur'd Honour and Revenge?

Since by the fatal Error of Telemachus,

The Prize for which we fought, the Queen is lost,

Is yielded up a Prey to false Antinous.

Men.

He trusted in the Holy Name of Friendship,

And, conscious of his own Uprightness, thought

The Man whom he had plac'd so near his Heart

Had shar'd as well his Virtues as his Love.

Eum.

How bears the Prince this Chance?

Men.

Alas! Eumaeus,

His Griefs have rent my aged Heart asunder;

Stretch'd on the damp, unwholsome Earth he lyes,

Nor had my Pray'rs or Tears the pow'r to raise him,

Now motionless as Death his Eyes are fixt,

And then anon he starts and casts 'em upwards,

And groaning cries, I am th'accurst of Heav'n,

My Mother! my Semanthe! and my Mother!

Eum.

The King, whose equal Temper, like the Gods,

Was ever calm and constant to it self,

Struck with the sudden, unexpected Evil,

Was mov'd to Rage, and chid him from his Sight.

But now returning to the Father's Fondness,

He bad me seek him out, speak Comfort to him,

And bring him to his Arms.

Men.

Where have you left

Our Royal Master?

Eum.

Near the Palace Gate,

Attended by those few, those faithful few,

Who dare be loyal at a Time like this,

When ev'n their utmost Hope is but to die for him.

Men.

That last Relief, that Refuge of Despair

Is all I fear is left us.—From the City

Each Moment brings the growing Danger nearer;

There's not a Man in Ithaca but arms;

A Thousand blazing Fires make bright the Streets,

Huge gabbling Crowds gather, and roul along

Like roaring Seas that enter at a Breach;

The neighb'ring Rocks, the Woods, the Hills, the Dales

Ring with the deaf'ning Sound, while bold Rebellion

With impious Peals of Acclamation greets

Her trait'rous Chief Antinous.—Where is then

One Glimpse of Safety, when we hardly number

Our Friends a Twentieth Part of this fierce Multitude?

Eum.

Yet more, the Samians, by whose Arms assisted

We late prevail'd against the riotous Woers,

By some sinister Chance have learnt the Fate

Of their dead Monarch, and call loud for Vengeance;

With cloudy Brows the sullen Captains gather

In murmuring Crouds around their weeping Princess,

As if they waited from her mournful Lips

The Signal for Destruction, from her Sorrows

Catching new Matter to increase their Rage,

And vowing to repay her Tears with Blood.

But see she comes attended with her Guard.—

Men.

Retire, and let us haste to seek the Prince,

This Danger threatens him; if he should meet 'em,

His Piety would be repaid with Death,

Nor cou'd his Youth or godlike Courage save him,

Unequally oppress'd and crush'd by Numbers.

[Exeunt Mentor and Eumaeus.

Enter Two Samian Captains and Soldiers; some bearing the Body of Eurymachus: Semanthe following with Ossicers and Attendants.

Sem.

Ye valiant Samian Chiefs, ye faithful Followers

Of your unhappy King, justly perform

Your pious Office to his sacred Relicks,

Bear to your Fleet his pale, his bloody Coarse,

Nor let his discontented Ghost repine,

To think his injur'd Ashes shall be mixt

With the detested Earth of cruel Ithaca.

1 Capt.

Oh Royal Maid, whose Tears look lovely on thee,

Whose Cares the Gods shall favour and reward,

Queen of our Samos now, to whom we offer

Our humble Homage, to whose just Command

We vow Obedience, suffer not the Seaman

T'unfurl his Sails, or call the Winds to swell 'em

'Till the fierce Soldier have indulg'd his Rage,

'Till from the curled Darlings of their Youth,

And from the fairest of their Virgin Daughters,

We've chose a Thousand Victims for a Sacrifice,

T'appease the Manes of our murder'd Lord.

Sem.

Now! now Semanthe! wilt thou name the Murd'rer?

Wilt thou direct their Vengeance where to strike? [Aside.

Oh my sad Heart!—Haste to dispose in Safety

Your venerable Load, and if you lov'd him,

If you remember what he once was to you,

How great, how good and gracious, yield this Proof

Of early Faith and Duty to his Daughter,

Restrain the Soldiers Fury, 'till I name

The Wretch by whom my Royal Father fell.

Let some attend the Body to the Shore,

The rest be near, and wait me.—

[Exeunt some with the Body; the rest retire within the Scene, and wait as at a Distance.

Enter at the other Door Telemachus.

Tel.

Why was I born? why sent into the World,

Ordain'd for mischievous Misdeeds, and fated

To be the Curse of them that gave me Being?

Why was this Mass ta'ne from the Heap of Matter,

Where innocent and senseless it had rested,

To be indu'd with Form, and vext with Motion?

How happy had it been for all that know me,

If Barrenness had bless'd my Mother's Bed;

Nor had she been dishonour'd then, nor lost,

Nor curst the fatal Hour in which she bore me:

Love had not been offended for Semanthe,

Nor had that Fair one known a Father's Loss.

Sem.

What kind Companion of Semanthe's Woes

Is that, who wand'ring in this dreadful Night

Sighs out her Name with such a mournful Accent?

Ha!—but thou art Telemachus—let Darkness

Still spread her gloomy Mantle o'er thy Visage,

And hide thee from those weeping Eyes for ever.

Tel.

Yes, vail thy Eyes, or turn em far from me,

For who can take Delight to gaze on Misery.

Fly from the Moan, the Cry of the afflicted,

From the Complaining of a wounded Spirit,

Lest my contagious Griefs take hold on thee,

And ev'ry Groan I utter pierce thy Heart.

Sem.

Oh soft enchanting Sorrows! never was

The Voice of Mourning half so sweet—oh who

Can listen to the Sound, and not be mov'd,

Not bear a Part, like me, and share in all his Pain? [Aside.

Tel.

But if perhaps thy Fellow-Creature's Sufferings

Are grown a Pleasure to thee, (for alas!

Much art thou alter'd) then in me behold

More than enough to satisfie thy Cruelty;

Behold me here the Scorn, the easie Prize

Of a protesting, faithless, Villain Friend.

I have betray'd my Mother, I betray'd her,

Ev'n I, her Son, whom with so many Cares

She nurst and fondled in her tender Bosome.

Wou'd I had dy'd before I saw this Day!

I left her, I forsook her in Distress,

And gave her to the Mercy of a Ravisher.

Sem.

Yes I have heard, with Grief of Mind redoubled,

The too hard Fortune of the pious Queen;

For her my Eyes inlarge and swell their Streams,

Tho' well thou know'st what Cause they had before

To lavish all their Tears: I pity her,

I mourn her injur'd Virtue; but for thee,

Whate'er the righteous Gods have made thee suffer,

Just is the Doom, and equal to thy Crimes.

Tel.

'Tis Justice all, and see I bow me down

With Patience and Submission to the Blow,

Nor is it fit that such a Wretch as I am

Should walk with Face erect upon the Earth,

And hold Society with Man—oh therefore

Let me conjure thee by those tender Ties

Which held us once, when I was dear to thee,

And thou to me, as Life to living Creatures,

Or Light and Heat to universal Nature,

The Comfort and Condition of its Being,

Compleat th'imperfect Vengeance of the Gods,

Call forth the valiant Samians to thy Aid,

Bid 'em strike here, and here revenge—

Sem.

Oh hold,

Stay thy rash Tongue, nor let it speak of Horrors

That may be fatal to—

Tel.

What mean'st thou?

Sem.

Something

For which I want a Name—Is there none near? [Looking about.

No conscious Ear to catch the guilty Sound?

None to upbraid my Weakness, call me Parricide,

And charge me as consenting to the Murder?

For oh my Shame! my Shame! I must confess it,

Tho' Piety and Honour urg'd me on,

Tho' Rage and Grief had wrought me to Distraction,

I durst not, cou'd not, wou'd not once accuse thee.

Tel.

And wherefore art thou merciful in vain?

Oh do not load me with that Burthen Life,

Unless thou give me Love, to chear my Labours.

Tell me, Semanthe, is it, is it thus

The Bride and Bridegroom meet? Are Tears and Mourning,

This Bitterness of Grief, and these Lamentings,

Are these the Portion of our Nuptial Night?

Sem.

But thou, thou only did'st prevent the Joy,

'Tis thou hast turn'd the Blessing to a Curse;

Live therefore, live, and be, if it be possible,

As great a Wretch as thou hast made Semanthe.

Tel.

It shall be so,—I will be faithful to thee,

For Days, for Months, for Years I will be miserable,

Protract my Suff'rings ev'n to hoary Age,

And linger out a tedious Life in Pain;

In spight of Sickness, and a broken Heart,

I will endure for Ages to obey thee.

Sem.

Oh never shalt thou know Sorrows like mine,

Never despair, never be curss'd as I am.

Yes, I will open my afflicted Breast,

And sadly shew thee ev'ry secret Pain.

Tho' Hell and Darkness with new Monsters teem,

Tho' Furies hideous to behold ascend,

Toss their infernal Flames, and yell around me;

Tho' my offended Father's angry Ghost

Shou'd rise all pale and bloody just before me,

'Till my Hair started up, my Sight were blasted,

And ev'ry trembling Fibre shook with Horror;

Yet—yet—oh yet I must confess I love thee!

Tel.

Then let our envious Stars oppose in vain

Their baleful Influence, to thwart our Joys;

My Love shall get the better of our Fate,

Prevent the Malice of that hard Decree,

That seem'd to doom us to eternal Sorrows;

And yet in spight of all we will be happy.

Sem.

Let not that vain, that faithless Hope deceive thee,

For 'tis resolv'd, 'tis certainly decreed,

Fix'd as that Law by which Imperial Jove,

According to his Prescience and his Pow'r,

Ordains the Sons of Men to Good or Evil;

'Tis certain, ev'n our Love and all the Mis'rics

Which must attend that Love are not more certain,

Than that this Moment we must part for ever.

Tel.

How!—Part for ever?—That's a way indeed

To make us Miserable,—Is there none,

No other sad Alternative of Grief,

No other Choice but this?—What, must we part for ever?

Sem.

Oh sigh not, nor complain—Is not thy Hand

Stain'd with my Father's Blood? Justice and Nature,

The Gods demand it, and we must obey:

Yes I must go, the pressing Minutes call me,

Where these fond Eyes shall never see thee more,

No more with languishing Delight gaze on thee,

Feed on thy Face, and fill my Heart with Pleasure;

Where Day and Night shall follow one another,

Tedious alike and irksome, and alike

Wasted in weary Loneliness and Weeping.

Tel.

Here then, my Soul, take thy Farewel of Happiness;

That and Semanthe fly together from thee:

Henceforth renounce all Commerce with the World,

Nor hear, nor see, nor once regard what passes.

Let mighty Kings contend, ambitious Youth

Arm for the Battel, Seasons come and go;

Spring, Summer, Autumn, with their fruitful Pleasures,

And Winter with its silver Frost let Nature

Display in vain her various Pomp before thee,

'Tis wretched all, 'tis all not worth thy Care,

'Tis all a Wilderness without Semanthe.

Sem.

One last, one guilty Proof, how much I love thee;

(Forgive it Gods!) Ceraunus and the Samians

Shall bring thee from me e'er I part from Ithaca.

That done, I'll haste, I'll fly, as I have sworn

For thy lov'd sake, far from the Sight of Man,

Fly to the Pathless Wilds, and sacred Shades,

Where Dryads and the Mountain-Nymphs resort;

There beg the rural Deities to pity me,

To end my Woes, and let me on their Hills

Like Cyparissus grow a mournful Tree;

Or melt like Weeping Byblis to a Fountain.

Tel.

Since Fate divides us then, since I must lose thee,

For Pity's sake, for Love's, oh suffer me

Thus languishing, thus dying to approach thee,

And sigh my last Adieu upon thy Bosome:

Permit me thus, to fold thee in my Arms,

To press thee to my Heart, to taste thy Sweets,

Thus pant, and thus grow giddy with Delight,

Thus for my last of Moments gaze upon thee,

Thou best—thou only Joy—thou lost Semanthe!

Sem.

For ever I cou'd listen—But the Gods,

The cruel Gods forbid, and thus they part us.

Remember—oh remember me, Telemachus!

Perhaps thou wilt forget me; but no matter,

I will be true to thee, preserve thee ever,

The sad Companion of this faithful Breast,

While Life and Thought remain, and when at last

I feel the Icy Hand of Death prevail,

My Heart-strings break, and all my Senses fail,

I'll fix thy Image in my closing Eye,

Sigh thy dear Name, then lay me down and die.

[Exit.

Manet Telemachus.

Tel.

And whither wilt thou wander thou forlorn

Abandon'd Wretch!—The King thy Fatner comes,

Fly from his angry Frown—No matter whither,

Seek for the darkest Covert of the Night,

Seek out for Death, and see if that can hide thee,

If there be any Refuge thou canst prove,

Safe from pursuing Sorrow, Shame and anxious Love.

[Exit.

Enter Ulysses, Eumaeus, and Attendants.

Ulyss.

To doubt if there be Justice will the Gods,

Or if they care for ought below, were impious.

Oft have I try'd, and ever found 'em faithful,

In all the various Perils of my Life,

In Battels, in the midst of flaming Troy,

In stormy Seas, in those dread Regions where

Swarthy Cimmerians have their dark Aboad,

Divided from this World, and Borderers on Hell;

Ev'n there the Providence of Jove was with me,

Defended, chear'd, and bore me thro' the Danger;

Nor is his Power, nor is my Virtue less,

That I should fear this rude, tumultuous Herd.

Eum.

So feeble is our Band, so few our Friends,

We hope not Safety from our selves, but thee;

In thee our King we trust, in thee thou Heroe,

Favour'd of Heav'n, in all thy Wars victorious,

But see where proud Rebellion comes against thee, [Shout.

Securely fierce, and breathing bold Defiance;

Now let our Courage and our Faith be try'd,

And if, unequal to thy great Example,

We cannot Conquer like thee, yet we can die for thee.

Shout; Drums and Trumpets: Then Enter Antinous, Cleon and Soldiers.

Ant.

What bold Invader of our Laws and Freedom,

Usurps the Sacred Name of King in Ithaca?

Who dares to play the Tyrant in our State,

And in Despight of hospitable Jove,

Defames our Island with the Blood of Strangers?

Ulyss.

Have you forgot me then, you Men of Ithaca?

Did I for this, amongst the Gracian Heroes,

Go forth to Battel in my Country's Cause?

Have I by Arms, and by successful Counsels,

Deserv'd a Name from Asia's wealthy Shores,

Ev'n to the Western Ocean, to those Bounds

That mark the great Alcides utmost Labours,

And am I yet • Stranger here—at home?

Ant.

And wherefore did'st thou leave those distant Nations,

Thro' which thy Name and mighty Deeds were spread?

We never sought to know thee, and now known

Regard thee not, unless it be to punish

Thy Violation of our publick Peace.

Ulyss.

And dost thou dare, dost thou, audacious Slave,

Thou rash Miss-leader of this giddy Crowd,

Dost thou presume to match thy self with me,

To judge between a Monarch and his People?

If Heav'n had not appointed me thy Master,

Yet it had made me something more than thou art,

Then when it made me what I am—Ulysses.

Ant.

Then be Ulysses! Eccho it again,

And see what Homage these will pay the Sound; ['Pointing to the Soldiers.

'Tell 'em the Story of your Trojan Wars,

How Hector drove you headlong to the Shore,

And threw his Hostile Fires amidst your Fleet;

Then mark with what Applause they will receive thee.

Say, Countrymen, will you revenge the Princes

This Wanderer has slain, and join with me?

Omnes.

Antinous! Antinous!

Ant.

What of your Monarch?

Omnes.

Drive him out to Banishment.

Ulyss.

Were there no Gods in Heav'n, or were they careless,

And Jove had long forgot to weild his Thunder,

And dart Destruction down on Crimes like thine;

Yet, Traitor, hope not thou to 'scape from Justice,

Nor let rebellious Numbers swell thy Pride;

For know, Ulysses is alone sufficient

To punish thee, and on thy perjur'd Head

Revenge the Wrongs of Love and injur'd Majesty.

Ant.

And see I stand prepar'd to meet thy Vengeance;

Exert thy Kingly Pow'r, and summon all

Thy useful Arts and Courage to thy Aid;

And since thy faithful Diomede is absent,

Since valiant Ajax, with his Seven-fold Shield,

No more shall interpose 'twixt thee and Danger,

Invoke those friendly Gods whose Care thou art,

And let them save thee; now assert thy Cause,

And render back to thy despairing Arms

The beauteous Queen, whom in Despight of them

And thee this happy Night I made my Prize.

Ulyss.

Hear this, ye Gods! He Triumphs in the Rape,

Most glorious Villain!—But we pause too long;

On then, and tempt our Fate, my gallant Friends,

From this Defier of the Gods, this Monster,

Let us redeem my Queen, or die together:

And, equal to our Great Fore-father's Fame,

Descend and join those Demy-Gods of Greece,

Who with their Blood enrich'd the 'Dardan Plains,

To vindicate a Husband's Sacred Right.

Shout: Then Enter Arcas Wounded.

Ant.

What means that sudden Thunder-clap of Tumult?

Art thou not Arcas?—I hou art faint and bloody.

Arc.

I have paid you the last Office of my Friendship;

Scarce have I Breath enough to speak your Danger:

The furious Samians, led by young Telemachus,

Resistless, fierce, and bearing all before 'em,

Have from the Castle forc'd the Captive Queen;

Fir'd with Success, they drive our fainting Troops,

And hither urge their Way with threat'ning Cries,

Loudly demanding your devoted Head,

A just Attonement for their murder'd Lord.

Ulyss.

Celestial Pow'rs! Ye Guardians of the Just!

This wond'rous Work is yours, and yours be all the Praise.

Ant.

Confusion!—Wherefore didst not thou proclaim

My Innocence, and warn them of their Error?

Arc.

Behold these Wounds, thro' which my parting Soul

Is hasting forth, and judge my Truth by them,

Whate'er I cou'd I urg'd in thy Defence

But all was vain; with clamorous Impatience

They broke upon my Speech, and swore 'twas false.

Their Queen, the fair Semanthe, had accus'd thee,

And fix'd her Royal Father's Death on thee.

If any Way be left yet, haste, and fly;

Th'inconstant faithless Ithacans joyn with 'em,

And all is lost—What dearer Pledge than Life

Can Friendship ask! Behold I give it for thee. [Dies.

[Shout.

Ulyss.

They come, Success and Happiness attend us,

Pallas, and my Victorious Son fight for us.

Ant.

Thou and thy Gods at last have got the better. [To Ulys.

Yet know I scorn to fly; that great Ambition,

That bid me first aspire to Love and Empire,

Still brightly burns, and animates my Soul.

Be true my Sword, and let me fall reveng'd,

And I'll forgive ill Fortune all besides.

[Ulysses, Antinous, and their Parties fight

Enter Telemachus, Ceraunus, and Samian Soldiers, they join Ulysses, and drive Antinous, Cleon, and the rest off the Stage. Then Enter at one Door Ulysses, at the other the Queen, Mentor and Attendants.

Ulyss.

My Queen! My Love! [Embracing.

Qu.

My Hero! My Ulysses!

Once more thou art restor'd, once more I hold thee

At length the Gods have prov'd us to the utmost,

Are satisfy'd with what we have endur'd,

And never will afflict nor part us more.

'Tis not in Words to tell thee what I've felt,

The Sorrows and the Fears, ev'n yet I tremble;

Ev'n yet the fierce Idea's shock my Soul,

And hardly yield to Wonder and to Joy.

Men.

A Turn so happy, and so unexpected,

None but those over-ruling Pow'rs who caus'd it,

Cou'd have foreseen: The beauteous Samian Princess,

Within whose gentle Breast, Revenge and Tenderness

Long strove, and long maintain'd a doubtful Conflict,

At length was vanquish'd by prevailing Love;

And happily to save the Prince, imputed

To false Antinous, her Father's Death;

Heav'n has approv'd the Fraud of fond Affection,

The just Deceit, a Falshood fair as Truth,

Since 'tis to that alone we owe your Safety.

Enter Telemachus.

Tel.

Here let me kneel, and with my Tears attone [Kneeling.

The rash Offences of my heedless Youth, [Ulyss. raises him.

Here offer the first Trophies of my Sword,

And once more Hail my Father King of Ithaca.

Antinous, the Rebel Faction's Chief,

Is now no more, and your repenting People

Wait with united Homage to receive you;

The Strangers too, to whom we owe our Conquest,

Haste to Embark, and set their swelling Sails

To bear the sad Semanthe back to Samos;

Joy like the chearful Morning dawns on all,

And none but your unhappy Son shall mourn.

Ulyss.

Like thee the Pangs of parting Love I've known,

My Heart like thine has bled.—But oh! my Son,

Sigh not, nor of the common Lot complain,

Thou that art born a Man art born to Pain;

For Proof, behold my tedious Twenty Years

All spent in Toil, and exercis'd in Cares:

'Tis true, the gracious Gods are kind at last,

And well reward me here for all my Sorrows past.

[Exeunt.

End of the Fifth Act.

Information about this book

Title statement

Ulysses: a tragedy. As it is acted at the Queen's Theatre in the Hay-Market. By Her Majesty's sworn servants. Written by N. Rowe, Esq;.

Rowe, Nicholas, 1674-1718.

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University of Oxford Text Archive
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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4303

ID [isbn10]

1106013026

ID [isbn13]

9781106013026

ID [TCP]

K049483.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3313307330

ID [ECLL]

0048202100

Availability

Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

Source

— Ulysses: a tragedy. As it is acted at the Queen's Theatre in the Hay-Market. By Her Majesty's sworn servants. Written by N. Rowe, Esq;., Rowe, Nicholas, 1674-1718.. [12], 64 p. ; 4⁰. London :: printed for Jacob Tonson,. 1706.. [With a half-title.] [Variant:"Ulysses:" on the titlepage reads "Ulysses." in some copies.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT55545.] [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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