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THE ROYAL SUPPLIANTS. A TRAGEDY.

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THE ROYAL SUPPLIANTS. A TRAGEDY. AS PERFORMED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL IN DRURY-LANE.

DUBLIN: Printed by J. and W. PORTER; For S. PRICE, W. SLEATOR, W. and H. WHITE⯑STONE, R. MONCRIEFFE, C. JENKIN, T. WALKER, R. BURTON, and P. BYRN. MDCCLXXXI.

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TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY LORD VISCOUNT PALMERSTON, OF THE KINGDOM OF IRELAND; THE FOLLOWING TRAGEDY IS INSCRIBED BY HIS LORDSHIP'S OBLIGED AND MOST OBEDIENT HUMBLE SERVANT,

J. DELAP.

Advertiſement.

[]

It may perhaps be neceſſary to ac⯑quaint the reader, that Euripides has written a tragedy upon the ſame ſubject. In his Heraclidae, Macaria is ſacrificed in the ſecond act, and never afterwards mentioned; and Acamas is a mute. In⯑deed the whole conduct of this play is ſo entirely different from that of the Greek poet, that the author is hardly conſcious to himſelf of having borrowed any thing more from him, than the general idea of the Suppliants taking refuge in the temple, and Macaria's voluntary offer of her own life.

PROLOGUE.

[]
Written by a FRIEND.
WITH countenance thrice chang'd from red to pale,
Our author ſends me forth to tell his tale;
Croeſus ſaid he—who rul'd thoſe lands that lie—
Croeſus—the Nabob of Antiquity:
When ſatiated with war, with wealth, with praiſe,
Defir'd new pleaſures ſtill to ſooth his days;
And publiſh'd vaſt rewards (ſure out of ſpite)
To him who ſhould produce ſome new delight;
This flame unquench'd burns on from age to age,
Panting for novelty you ſeek our ſtage:
To pleaſe this taſte, a claſſic bard will try,
To make ſoft boſoms heave a claſſic ſigh;
Feel Deianira's faded charms, and trace
Alcides' godlike virtues in his race:
Hard is the taſk who ſtrives your praiſe to gain,
And hard the part a poet muſt ſuſtain.
Herculean labours might our Prologue fill,
And prove the club leſs powerful than the quill,
To clear the courſe, to turn the tide of wit,
To charm the watchful dragon of the pit;
The Hydra's hiſs to check, the giants quell,
And bind the barking Cerberus of Hell,
[] Might the beſt ſtrength of Hercules require,
Tho' to his force were added Orpheus' lyre:
Yet will we not deſpond—Alcides' race
In every one's remembrance holds a place;
The tale has trembled on each infant tongue,
The tale that Buſby taught—that Dryden ſung:
This night attend, one generous tear beſtow,
To weep the hero's wrongs, the daughter's woe,
Like kind protectors grant the widow's ſuit,
And crown your poet with the golden fruit.

Dramatis Perſonae.

[]
DEMOPHON, King of Athens,
Mr. BENSLEY.
ACAMAS, his Brother,
Mr SMITH.
HYLLUS, Son of Deianira,
Mr. BANNISTER, Jun.
IOLAUS Friend of Deianira,
Mr. AICKIN.
ALCANDER, Herald from Euryſtheus,
Mr. FARREN.
THESTOR, a Prieſt,
Mr. PACKER.
HAEMON, an Officer attend⯑ing Deianira.
Mr. WILLIAMS.
OFFICER,
Mr. R. PALMER.
SECOND OFFICER,
Mr. GRIFFITHS.
DEIANIRA, Widow of Her⯑cules,
Mrs. CRAWFORD.
MACARIA, her Daughter,
Miſs FARREN.
ATTENDANT,
Mrs. JOHNSON.
  • Officers, Prieſts, Virgins, &c.
SCENE. The Veſtibules of the Temples of Ju⯑piter and Juno, at Athens; and a Grove.

[] THE ROYAL SUPPLIANTS.

ACT I.

IOLAUS, and others, round an Altar near the Temple of Jupiter.
IOLAUS.
HERE, wretched outcaſts! poor remains of friends
To him who once was Hercules, reſt here.
Jove's altar be your refuge. May it check
Euryſtheus' impious rage; and, like a tower,
Baffle the bloody tyrant, who from Argos
Exiles the royal race; and now forbids
Each ſtate to ſhelter our diſtreſs. Thine only,
Athenian Demophon, remains untried:
Grant heaven!—
[10] Enter HAEMON.
Oh, Haemon, never to my eyes
More welcome was thy preſence. Faithful ſervant,
Is Deianira, is Macaria lodged
Safe in yon ſhrine?
Haem.
Spite of Euryſtheus' ſpies,
Who chaced their flight; by the moon's waining orb
Befriended, ſafely in yon ſhrine are lodged
Mother and daughter.
Iol.
Gracious are ye, gods!
And my ſoul bends devoutly to your thrones,
For lives preſerved far dearer than my own.
Haem.
Th' imperial widow there of great Alcides
Mourns, with a mourning univerſe, the fate
Of her illuſtrious lord; in whoſe ſad tomb
Lye buried all her hopes.
Iol.
Grant her, good heaven,
That fortitude her age requires, to bear
The mighty loſs. For, oh, her feeble frame,
By woes made feebler; and the thouſand perils
Of this dread flight—
Haem.
With toil and grief o'erpower'd,
Nature gives way, and in ſhort broken ſlumbers
A tranſient reſpite feels. Through the lone ile,
At day-break, I drew near; and ſaw Macaria
With anxious tenderneſs ſcarce breathing o'er her,
A ſigh, that would not be ſuppreſt, broke forth;
While from her eye, half-glimmering with a ſmile,
Stole ſuch a tear as burnt upon my heart,
Strait I retired unſeen. Oh, Iolaus,
What can thy love, thy wiſdom now deviſe,
To turn misfortune's torrent, that bears down
Each riſing hope?
Iol.
This day decides our doom.
Haem.
If Demophon reject us—
Iol.
We are duſt
Before the whirlwind of Euryſtheus' wrath.
—But lead me to the temple.
Haem.
[11]
The gate opens;
And lo, Macaria—
Iol.
What a ſoul of ſorrow!
O'er her wan viſage melancholy throws
Its mournful enſign; yet that conſcious air,
That decent dignity, which makes grief proud
Of ſuch a conſort, mark her for the daughter
Of the world's hero. Haemon, to the city;
And learn if any herald be arrived
To croſs our purpoſe.
[Exit Haemon.
MACARIA deſcends with Virgins.
Ever-honoured lady?
If that an old man's aid—
Mac.
I will ſhake off
[not regarding Iolaus.
This feebleneſs. My powers, loſe not your func⯑tions.
Softly, dear virgins, ſoftly; the leaſt whiſper
Wakes her. A little longer, balmy ſleep,
Spread thy ſtill pinions; in oblivious dews
Her ſenſes ſteep a little longer yet;
Grief ſoon enough will rouſe them. How I haſte
To know the worſt can happen. Iolaus!
So ſoon to ſee thee, after our dread parting,
My virtuous friend!
Iol.
Welcome to my ſad heart,
As the dear drops that nouriſh it! But whither
Goeſt thou, ſweet maid, with ſuch diſorder'd ſtep?
No new affliction?
Mac.
In a breaſt o'er-flowing,
Like Deianira's, can misfortune find
A place for new affliction? yet, poor queen!
Hopeleſs, ſhe talks of hope; and would gild o'er
The ſorrow that conſumes her, with a ſmile,
In pity to her daughter. Oh, that fiend
Euryſtheus! the deteſted cauſe of all!
Think of his fierce immitigable hate
To Hercules! Think with what fortitude
My noble ſire ſuſtained a life of labours,
[12] That ſavages would ſhrink from! And ſhall ven⯑geance
Sleep, till the wretch exterminates our race?
Firſt down to Tartarus!—Oh, pardon, pardon
My nature's raſhneſs. I am calm again;
I'll liſten to thy council, which has ever
Been wiſe and wholeſome; for unleſs thy friendſhip
Still lends thy ſheltering ſuccour to thy queen—
Iol.
Ah, what can I, alas, feeble old man!
Mac.
Let her but hear thy voice. Alas, alas!
To wretchedneſs like her's, the very voice
Of friendſhip yields relief. Let her but ſee
Thy pitying eye, but not ſuffuſed with tears,
Thou good old man! no, dry thy tears, and ſpeak,
Fallacious tho' they be, ſome lenient words
That ſound like comfort. I the while will go—
Why ſhrinks my heart? Why faulters thus my tongue,
As Demophon were dangerous? I'll go to him.
Iol.
Unknown! unguarded! go to Demophon
Uncalled! Thy heart, Macaria, well may ſhrink,
And thy tongue faulter. I have caught th' alarm.
Thy filial piety, too generous maid!
Unwarily betrays thee.
Mac.
Well I know
Thy friendly fears; he is not Acamas!
That high heroic ſpirit, who amongſt
The foremoſt ſons of Argos famous ſtood.
'Twas not in praiſe of Demophon, the tongue
Of fame grew laviſh.
Iol.
But from Acamas,
His brother, there's ſmall hope: all kingly power
Is lodg'd in Demophon; be counſel'd then.
Till his heart's ſoften'd to receive thy ſuit,
Quit not the ſanctuary.
Mac.
More forcibly
Than fear can counteract, an unſeen hand
Urges me on. I feel, I fell within,
A more than mortal earneſt of ſucceſs;
Let not thy doubts oppoſe it. Oft I've heard,
[13] There is an eloquence in artleſs grief,
Of power to melt the ſterneſt. I'll eſſay.
That power on Demophon.
Iol.
My words are vain.
Go then, Macaria, if it muſt be ſo,
Obedient to thy monitory call.
And, Dryas, thou, and ancient Amycus,
Silent attend the princeſs. You are ſuppliants,
Soliciting relief; let every look,
And every motion, ſuit that humble ſtate.
Mac.
Wiſe, Iolaus, is thy wary charge.
And now, inſpired with boldneſs, on I go,
Secure in heaven.
[Exit Macaria attended.
Iol.
May gracious heaven, which loves
That virtue which ſo ſorely it afflicts,
Thy ſoul's deſires indulge thee!—Here's my poſt;
This altar, and that temple—here I'll watch,
One day; perhaps the only one, that fate
Has now to give me.
Enter HAEMON.
Haemon back ſo ſoon?
What tidings doſt thou bring?
Haem.
Tidings to thrill
Thy heart with horror. Scarcely had I entered
Yon winding vale, when ſuddenly I heard
The ſteps of men advancing. Eagerly,
And all at once, ſometimes they ſeemed to talk,
Loud was their leader's voice above the reſt;
And ſoon his cruel eye, and haughty port,
Proclaimed him the ſtern herald of Euryſtheus.
Iol.
Alcander?
Haem.
He, whoſe rancorous revenge
Purſues us thro' the world.
Iol.
Remorſeleſs villain!
Yet Haemon, villain as he is, fear not.
This ſhrine's our ſanctuary; its awful God,
[14] Whoſe word controuls the fury of the floods,
Shall baffle the baſe plots of impious men.
Haem.
Heard you that ſhriek?
Iol.
It was Macaria's voice!
And lo, Alcander!—Haemon, ruſh between—
She's loſt!—Alcander, like a ravening vulture,
Seizes his prey!
Enter MACARIA, &c. purſued by ALCANDER.
Mac.
God of the temple! ſave,
Oh ſave thy trembling ſuppliant!
Iol.
Hell-hound, ſtop!
Thou ſlave to a vile tyrant! what freſh malice
Is thy black boſom fraught with?
Alcan.
Fond old man!
Whither art thou tranſported? Yield Macaria.
Euryſtheus has proſcribed your wretched lives.
Yield to your king:
Iol.
Not while this arm can ſave her.
Haem.
Lady, this way.
Mac.
Yes, lead me from the ſight
Of that unhallowed monſter.—Hah, preſum'ſt thou
T'advance one impious ſtep?—hold, on thy life.
The bolt of Jove is lifted—wretch, behold
The ſanctuary, and tremble.
Exit with Haemon to the Temple.
Alcan.
Long thou ſhalt not
A ſanctuary find it.
Iol.
From her country
Already haſt thou forced her. Would'ſt thou more?
Ah, ſuffer her the mournful privilege
To breathe in exile.
Alcan.
Still doſt thou pretend!
Thus then I cruſh thy age.
Iol.
Help, men of Athens!
Forbear! 'tis worſe than murder.—Hah, reſpect
The altar of a God omnipotent.
[15] Enter ACAMAS, with Guards.
Aca.
Whence theſe loud outcries, that profane the temple.
Of him who thunders?—Peace, I charge you, peace.
Bring forth th' offender, as you dread the weight
Of our diſpleaſure. Acamas commands—
Bring forth th' offender:
Iol.
Royal Acamas,
Protect an old man, outraged by that wretch;
Who, in contempt of every ſacred rite,
From Jove's own altar drags me.
Aca.
Raſh, raſh man!
Whom I—but firſt inform me, reverend ſtranger,
What country claims thy birth, and what thy name.
Iol.
Mycenae is my country; and my name
Herculean Iolaus.
Aca.
Whence are thoſe?
Iol.
Sad Deianira's ſuppliant train, imploring
Thine, and yon temple's refuge, from the rage
Of mercileſs Euryſtheus.
Alcan.
Yet that temple
Shall not ſecure them from their rightful lord,
Who here demands his ſlaves.
Aca.
Suppreſs thy tongue,
Irreverent as thou art! and mark my words:
Till Demophon's return from Marathon,
With whoſe young prince he went to celebrate.
His daughter's ſpouſals, all authority
Devolves on Acamas.—I'm Athen's king;
And I forbid all force.
Alcan.
Why then by force
Doſt thou with-hold the vaſſals of Euryſtheus?
Aca.
Are they not ſuppliants?—To violate
The rites of hoſpitality, reject
The poor man's ſuit, who only has his prayers,
His humble prayers, and miſeries to protect him,
Would make the good gods ſhudder on their thrones.
[16] Enter MACARIA from the Temple.
Mac.
'Tis Acamas himſelf!—reſtrain me not.
A thouſand doubts, a thouſand apprehenſions!
But a lov'd mother's dangers drive me on:
They put a tongue in the mute lips of fear;
Inſpire me with new courage.—On the ground,
Trembling, I claſp thy knees!—Oh Acamas!
If ever thou haſt felt, as ſure thou haſt,
The tender touch of nature—If the anguiſh
Of a ſad daughter for the beſt, alas!
The wretchedeſt of mothers!—my deſpair,
Oh whither doth it drive!—let thy own heart
Tell thee, what grief like mine wants words to utter.—
Say, while I've ſenſe to hear, that Deianira
Is ſafe—That Acamas protects her—bids
Macaria live in her dear mother's life!
Aca.
Macaria here at Athens!—as from heaven
Some bleſſed ſpirit ſpoke, my every ſenſe
Is wrapt in admiration!—'tis Macaria!
Her voice, her mien!—ſuch the bright blaze of beauty
That burſt on me at Argos!—What rude hand
Could injure that fair form; which my heart wor⯑ſhip'd,
When my enchanted eyes firſt gazed upon thee?
Divine Macaria, ſpeak!
Mac.
Euryſtheus!—oh,
His very name into diſtraction throws
My powers, and choaks all utterance?—With me kneel,
Ye venerable friends of Hercules!
And tell, for his ſad daughter, the diſtreſs
Of a poor queen, and princeſs; driven like ſlaves
From realm to realm.—My brother too, dear youth!
If ſcap'd the aſſaſſin's dagger, he ſtill breathes
The vital air: to Acamas commend him!
Oh, Sir! to Hyllus, Deianira, all,
[17] Be a protector from the bloodieſt tyrant!
The moſt remorſeleſs wretch!
Aca.
Riſe, royal maid,
Of every wiſh ſecure. The utmoſt grace
My power can grant, his daughter well may claim,
Whoſe godlike friendſhip from the realms of death
Reſcued my ſire.
Mac.
Tears are but fruitleſs thanks.
Yet are they all th' unhappy have to give;
Take them, and let thy charitable heart
Supply the reſt.—Now ſay, thou bold, bad man!
[to Alcander.
Alcan.
I waſte no further words.—If thou reſpect'ſt
[to Acamas.
The friendſhip of Euryſtheus, render back
Theſe fugitive remains of Hercules,
That public ravager.—
Mac.
Inhuman ruſſian!
Whoſe ſavage tongue even wretchedneſs inſults;
Inſults the aſhes of that god on earth;
Who, could he hear ſuch profanation!—Riſe,
Thou mighty ſpirit! clad in horrors, come
Forth from thy tomb! even at thy very look,
This wretch, his tyrant, every ſlave thro' all
His hoſt, would quake to death!
Alcan.
Such pageantry
Suits not Alcander; whoſe indignant king
Expects an anſwer.
Aca.
Take this anſwer back,
Firſt tell thy king what thou at Athens ſeeſt;
Tell what thou hear'ſt; then ſay, while Acamas
Rules in this land of liberty, no tyrant
Shall force our injured ſuppliant from his ſhrine.
Alcan.
Hah, is this Acamas? not more for valour
Than wiſdom famed.—Not thus, if I know aught
Of reverend Theſtor, whoſe divine forecaſt
Makes him oracular; not thus would he
Counſel his king. Conſult him; be not raſh;
Thou ſpeak'ſt the fate of thouſands.
Aca.
[18]
Inſolent!
Haſt thou not heard? Retire.
Alcan.
Then hear, Euryſtheus;
War, inſtant war, 'gainſt Athens I denounce.
A valiant hoſt, led by their valiant king,
Moves on.—Ere ſun-riſe at your gates expect
The conqueror!
Exit.
Mac.
Dreadful his defiance ſounds.
And to my frightful fancy waſteful war
In all its horrors riſes.—He, perhaps,
The generous friend, whoſe ſoul now melts to ſee
Griefs not his own; even Acamas may fall!
Aca.
Were Acamas the nobleſt of his line,
Could he more nobly fall? Had I a life
For every peril, in a cauſe like this
I'd riſk them all with tranſport! Ah, reſtrain
Thoſe lovely tears. I ſwear, no power on earth
Shall harm Macaria, while theſe arms can bear
The ſhield and ſword before her.
Mac.
To the queen,
With heart o'erflowing, ſuffer me t' impart
This gracious goodneſs. Would to heaven, my Hyllus
Were preſent now to ſhare it, the young ſoldier
Of generous Acamas.
Aca.
Would heaven, he were!
I long to claſp him. Iolaus, ſend
A herald forth; I long to lead to war
The brother of Macaria.
Mac.
Heaven, that knows
How much he wants a friend like Acamas,
From its bleſt fount thy charity repay!
Exit.
Aca.
My tongue makes no reply.—I cannot ſtop;
I cannot follow her.—How quickly, oh,
How ſubtly ſomething ſteals thro' every vein;
Another ſoul, I think—
Enter an OFFICER.
Offi.
Far as the eye
From yonder tower can reach, a cloud of duſt
Darkens the air; while thro' it break by fits
[19] Bright tranſient flaſhes; ſuch as to the ſun
Glitter from pikes and helmed heads: it ſeems
Hitherward moving.
Aca.
On my life, Euryſtheus!
The uſurper, by this fraudful march, would take
At unawares our troops, would terrify
Our ſuppliants from the temple. He ſhall find,
Raſh as he is, the juſtice of our cauſe
Laughs at ſurprize, not fears it.—Where's my ar⯑mour?
My ſoul's i' th' field already—nay, diſpatch—
My ſpear, my target.—Cheerly do my ſpirits
Courſe their quick round. In air I ſeem to tread,
Moved magically on.—Divine Macaria!
Thy beauty—'tis thy virtue!—forth I go,
To prove their power upon a ſoldier's ſword.
Exit.
END OF THE FIRST ACT

ACT II.

[20]
Flouriſh of Trumpets.
Enter ACAMAS and Officers.
ACAMAS.
LEAD to the grove the light-armed troop—call Sicyon.
Now, my brave friends! who ſide by ſide with me,
Full many a time have fought; fellows in arms,
Attend; for never a more glorious cauſe
Called your young valour forth: 'tis Deianira,
The great Alcides' widow: 'tis Macaria,
Whoſe wrongs and beauty might with hero's fire
Warm the cold coward's heart. Theſe Royal Sup⯑pliants
Aſk your bold aid againſt that black uſurper,
Who comes from Argos with a curſed deſign
To drag them from your ſhrines. And will not each
Athenian ſword ſtart forth? If public honour,
If reverence for your altars, if compaſſion,
That nobleſt virtue of a noble mind,
If theſe can fire your breaſts, in this day's battle
Strain every nerve; oh, fight it to the death.
And now go forth; go each among the lines;
Rouze, animate the ſoldiers, man by man.
—Menas?
[Exit Officers.
Offi.
My lord.—
Aca.
Thou, Menas, with thy troop,
Shalt guard this temple, and its royal gueſts,
Till my return from th' onſet. Would to heaven
I were ſole combatant! in ſingle fight,
Shield againſt ſhield, to grapple with yon tyrant,
Beneath Macaria's banners. 'Twas at Argos
My eyes firſt caught her charms; and here my ſoul
[21] Each hour is more her captive. Fancy dwells
Enchanted on th' idea; on my ears
Still floats her tongue's ſweet melody, and ſways
The motion of my heart.
Offi.
Another ſignal,
And louder than the laſt.—
Aca.
It ſounds to arms.
March my battalion to the weſtern gate.
[Exit Officer.
—What, Sicyon, hoa!—the ſoldiers' hearts are mine;
Mine too their arms, till Demophon's return,
And nobly will I uſe them. Should he come,
My hopes were air. Oh, not one moment then
Will I truſt fate.—Give me, dread god of war!
In this day's fight, ſome portion of thy own
Terrific ſpirit.—
Enter an OFFICER.
Offi.
Demophon, my lord—
Aca.
Hah, what of Demophon?
Offi.
With all his train
Enters the gates from Marathon.
Aca.
No—No.—
Offi.
My gracious lord, I ſaw him; while his ſon,
Young Conon, with the troops of royal guards,
Marched towards the grove.
Aca.
Oh, death to all my hopes!
Back, and inform thee better—nay remain.
What's to be done? his cold, his gloomy ſpirit
Blunts every ſword, and deadens every heart.
What's to be done?—Alcander, was he with him?
Offi.
With moſt obſequious reverence, I beheld him
Tender the king a paper, as he enter'd
The ſhrine of Juno.
Aca.
Vengeance on the villain!
Worſe than a poiſonous mineral he works here;
The traitor teems with wiles. I'll croſs upon them;
I'll rouze this brother to defy Euryſtheus.
Should he, by prieſtly phantoms terrified,
[22] Refuſe to fight—ſhould he preſume to yield,
To yield Macaria! horrible ſurmiſe!
"Be my protector!" was the dear maid's prayer
Upon her trembling knees. Thou, holy altar!
Hear and atteſt my vow. I will by heaven!
[Exit.
Enter ALCANDER.
Alcan.
Yonder he ſtalks; and all full freedom leaves me
To work upon the prieſt, and credulous king;
And force the temple's portal to let forth
Its royal victims. Now my bark's afloat,
And to Euryſtheus' throne, on a full tide,
Will bear me, if my marriage with his ſiſter
Fail not.—But ſtill this headlong Acamas!
He is a rock will wreck us. Demophon
Is jealous of him: on that jealouſy
I'll ſtrike a dangerous, ſuperſtitious ſpark,
Soon to flame forth. At Juno's temple now
He makes a holy halt; the interim's mine
Here with old Theſtor. Wherefore loiters thus
The reverend dreamer, whoſe high ſanctity
The magic power of gold muſt move to murder?
Enter THESTOR.
Oh, art thou come at length, my ancient friend?
Ancient, but, ah! how unimpaired by age!
Time, that digs deep his furrows on moſt brows,
Only gives comlier grace to Theſtor's years,
Adds reverence to the hairs it ſilvers o'er.
Well, we are once more met; my king's concerns
Call us in haſte together: they are weighty,
Nice, urgent, full of dexterous enterprize,
And aſk thy ſecret, ſudden aid.
Theſ.
If they
Aught of religious import bear, (as what
But ſacred purpoſes claim Theſtor's counſel)
[23] Impart them to the ſervant of the god,
Whoſe conſcientious mind—
Alcan.
I know it well;
Well as I know thy zeal, thy friendly zeal
Proved oft in times long paſt, which now Alcander
Means to prove home again. Nearer, good Theſtor.
Thou ſee'ſt yon ſhrine; thou know'ſt what fugitives,
Its ſanctuary ſhelters; and the hate,
The mortal hate, Euryſtheus bears their race,
But chiefly bears Macaria; from whoſe loins
Another race, more hateful, may come forth.
Canſt thou not then—Why do thy fearful eyes
So cautiouſly ſhun mine?—Canſt thou not then
Call down a voice oracular from heaven,
That claims a victim?—that Macaria claims?
I know thou canſt; and far be't from Alcander
To queſtion his friend's will.
Theſ.
Is this thy friendſhip?
The token this of thy high veneration
For Theſtor's character? whoſe heart long ſince
From this vain world eſtranged—
Alcan.
Old man!—but yet
Calmly I'll commune with thee; I'll convince
Thy ſcrupulous ſpirit that her ſingle death
Will ſave the lives of thouſands, which a war
With Argos muſt devote.
Theſ.
The lives of thouſands
Lie on their conſciences who wage the war.
Shall Theſtor's hands be ſtain'd with guiltleſs blood?
Shall Theſtor's tongue belye the temple's god?
With a falſe oracle his thunders brave?
—Th' engendering ſtorm already!
Alcan.
Theſe nice qualms,
Theſe conſcientious horrors, were they wont
To ſtagger Theſtor?—Wants the ſeer more warrant
To be oracular? Go then, conſult
The entrails of your beaſts, your babbling birds,
And groaning oaks; or ſingle forth ſome goat,
Yeaned at full moon, and kill him with a knife,
(Of that be ſure) exactly ſhaped and ſized.
[24] This ſhall diſarm your god of his red bolt,
And make your murders holy.
Theſ.
Such loud paſſion,
Affronting to the god!—
Alcan.
Are you not all,
Prieſteſs and prieſt alike, the ſupple ſlaves
Of intereſt? Whence your tripods and your crowns,
Statues of gold and ſilver, glittering gems
That ſanctify your ſhrines? Whence this vaſt ſplen⯑dour?
And what, but the rich bribes of crafty knaves,
And ſuperſtitious cowards?—One word more
Of hypocritic mummery, and, by heaven,
I will unfold ſuch ſcenes!—
Theſ.
Ungenerous man!
Whoſe headlong phrenzy, on my leaſt demur,
Unmindful of all forms, all ceremonies,
Of all paſt benefits, temple and prieſt
Would overturn—
Alcan.
Why then the infirmity
Of thy friend's temper urge to the extreme,
Upon a point ſo trying?
Theſ.
Hah! and is
The point to me leſs trying?—grant it juſt;
(And ſad neceſſity makes moſt things juſt)
Yet, to pronounce a ſacrifice at once—
Shed, without heſitation, royal blood—
No reverence had to my own fame; no care
For my own life, and every worldly hope.—
Alcan.
Thy fame, thy life, if there be confidence
In a king's word, in friendſhip like Alcander's,
Shall be ſecure; thy every worldly hope,
To the minuteſt ſcruple, warranted.
—And now, how ſoftened ſeems that countenance,
Which ſpeaks, without a tongue, my friend's aſſent;
Speaks him again my ancient honour'd Theſtor!
Here then, behold th' inſtructions: take them; read them;
And with them take this pledge; Euryſtheus ſends it;
[25] This gem from his own finger. Now diſpatch;
Pronounce the oracle; be firm; and proſper.
[Exit Theſtor.
Now fate begins its work!—I have already
Alarmed the timorous temper of the king
About theſe fugitives.—But he approaches,
Here to perform a ſuperſtitious vow,
He made before his march to Marathon.
Enter DEMOPHON and his train.
Demo.
How venerable the horror that enfolds
Jove's holy temple! with profoundeſt awe
Behold thy ſervant enters.
Alcan.
May its god
Inſpire thy righteous ſpirit ſo to act
As beſt becomes his ſervant! This remember,
The hand, the chaſtening hand of heaven lies on
Theſe exiles; and each ſhrine, ſave this, oh king,
Againſt them ſhut, as againſt things unholy.
How deſperate then to riſk for them a war!
Demo.
Thy doubts already have found entrance here.
Therefore, to know heaven's purpoſe, I have ſent
The moſt inſpired of all th' oracular prieſts,
Our ancient Theſtor; without whoſe ſage voice
In holy things we move not.
Alcan.
To his voice,
As is moſt fit, I bow me. Yet hear further,
What never oracle more truly ſpoke:
Your brother's dangerous ſpirit, every hour
More dangerous by Macaria's matchleſs charms—
Forgive my forward friendſhip—but behold
Graced with the royal enſigns, where he comes
Exulting on, in burniſhed armour clad,
As he were Athens' king, and peace and war
Hung on his nod!—I muſt not ſtay to croſs
The army's idol.
[Exit.
[26]Enter ACAMAS.
Aca.
Back to Athens welcome,
My royal brother.
Demo.
When we went from Athens,
In peaceful garb was Acamas arrayed.
The ſoldier's falchion now inveſts his thigh;
The ſun now glitters on his poliſhed helm;
And clanking arms and armour ſound to war.
Aca.
And if war e'er was juſt, and heaven ap⯑proved,
'Tis now; when Deianira and Macaria,
By a vile tyrant exiled, ſuppliants come
To thee, and to the God whom thy religion
Doth venerate in that ſhrine; which ſcarce protects them
From the brute outrage of a haughty herald.
I heard Macaria plead; and tears burſt forth.
Alcander ſpoke; and at each ruffian word
My indignation burned. To heſitate
In ſuch a cauſe were guilt.
Demo.
Thy paſſion ſpeaks this
The glittering glory of raſh enterprize
Fires thy tranſported ſpirit, that would flame
The meteor of a multitude's amaze,
No thought beyond the preſent hour: unmindful
Of a king's duty; that the royal ſword
Should ſave, not ſacrifice, a people's lives;
And then be ſheath'd, when it has fixt the baſe
Of future happineſs; that each exploit,
Weigh'd and digeſted deep, muſt be conſign'd,
In hiſtory's long roll, to times unborn,
And ſtand their rigid teſt.
Aca.
Such then, ſuch is
Th' occaſion this important hour preſents.
Stamp this exploit in hiſtory's long roll,
To ſtand the rigid teſt of times unborn.
Rouze then at once, inſulted virtue cries,
Rouze, and revenge!—the troops are marſhalled—I
Will march my veterans.
Demo.
[27]
Heedleſs of th' event;
By heavenly admonition unaſſured,
What would thy frantic fury?
Aca.
It would hurl
Yon ruthleſs ruffian headlong from the throne
Of Argos, and reſtore its rightful heirs;
Reſtore Alcides' royal race!—i'th' preſence
Of Jove's dreadful ſanctuary, I've given my word
Irrevocable!
Demo.
To embroil my kingdom
In civil factions, well as foreign war.
Art thou to learn what ſpirits there are ſtirring,
By their own vices ruin'd? bold, ſeditious,
Deſperate of what may happen; without hope,
But from the general wreck—theſe are at work,
All ready, like the pent-up peſtilence
To burſt upon us!
Aca.
Oh, ignoble fear!
Bane of all worth! which every ſacred tye,
The ſplendor of th' Athenian name, its glory,
Would baſely trample down. Shall then this ſtate,
Famed for its love of freedom thro' the world,
And love of mercy—hah! ſhall generous Athens
Crouch to Euryſtheus? to an Argian tyrant
Its royal ſuppliants yield?—My brother, no!
They ſhall not quit the temple.
Demo.
Shall not quit?—
Preſumeſt thou with theſe fantaſtic flights,
Romantic viſions of a love-ſick boy,
To fright us to compliance?
Aca.
Loveſick boy?—
Demo.
That was my word.—Macaria? does the name
Fluſh with a crimſon ſhame thy conſcious cheek?
The loves that revel in Macaria's eyes,
Theſe are the orators that plead for war;
And theſe the generous virtues that would riſk
A kingdom's ruin.
Aca.
Well; Macaria then
Sounds the alarm for war; her filial ſighs,
[28] The wrongs of weeping beauty, that might move
The world to arms, move me.—I own the charge;
I triumph in the weakneſs!—check thy ſcorn!
Caſt on thy ſlave, not me, that menacing frown,
Proud king! for I will ſpeak, when juſtice bids,
Tho' death his dart ſhook at me.—With theſe ſup⯑pliants
My honour is at ſtake; dear as that honour
I hold, and will protect them; tho' Alcander
Had every wile of every fiend—remember!
For by the ſoul of my dread ſire! the ſword,
To them, ſhall paſs thro' me.
Enter MACARIA.
Mac.
Did I not hear
A voice like that of Acamas? or was it
My fancy's coinage?—hah!
Demo.
What ſudden blaze
Of beauty breaks upon me from the temple?
By heaven, 'tis ſhe! the ſyren that ſeduc'd
My brother: and no wonder! for her eyes
Have witchcraft in them; and each lovely look
A melancholy grace that melts the ſoul.—
Art thou Macaria?
Mac.
The diſtreſt Macaria!
Daughter of Deianira; and with her,
Hither from Argos by Euryſtheus driven;
Where Acamas—may heaven reward his virtue!
Saw, and ſupported us. Canſt thou inform me
Of my protector?
Demo.
Hence, this moment, lady,
My brother went.
Mac.
And art thou Demophon,
His brother? whom we owe a life of thanks.
Oh, Sir, to him, to you, with gratitude
As low as to our guardian gods we bend,
For our late bleſſing. Like a chearful morn,
Fair opening on a dark and diſmal night,
The gracious tidings came: they lifted up
[29] The lamp of life juſt fading in her eye;
And gave to a deſpairing daughter's heart
A happy mother.
Demo.
In this changeful ſcene,
No mortal creature, till the hour of fate,
May be called happy.
Mac.
Yet might I entreat you
To caſt one caſual glance—admire the work
Of your own goodneſs—heavens!—how changed from her,
Who lately on the ground, on the cold ground
Lay hopeleſs, almoſt liſeleſs.—With the ſight
Of her good genius bleſs her!
Demo.
Much Macaria,
I fear, o'er-rates th' indulgence Demophon
May yield to Deianira.
Mac.
How ſuch friendſhip
Fills me with wonder! but a virtuous heart
Is happy in the happineſs it gives.
Enter the ſhrine, and bleſs her with thy preſence.
Enter IOLAUS.
Iol.
Joy to Macaria! if 'tis joy to hear
Hyllus has ſcaped the tyrant's treacherous wiles
T' enſnare his honoured life.
Mac.
Bleſt be the tongue
That ſpeaks the tidings! Come, my Hyllus come!
Ready to fold thee to his friendly breaſt
Stands Acamas; and Demophon will join
His godlike brother! Oh, we're bleſt indeed!
Son, mother, daughter, bleſt in two ſuch friends!
Solemn Muſic. Enter THESTOR, and Prieſts.
Theſ.
Pauſe ye, my reverend brethren? Let no thought,
Ill-omen'd look, or word, this place profane;
With ſolemn ſilence all ye prieſts of heaven
Attend. Brief are the words, and terrible,
Of the dread oracle!
Mac.
[30]
What oracle!
Theſ.
No interruption, maid. At thy command,
Oh king, did we proclaim a ſacrifice:
Wrapt in celeſtial muſings then approached
Theſe reverend ſages; and with ſolemn voice
Chaunted their holieſt hymn; the ſhrines burnt bright
With ſacred fires; and every altar ſent
Its ſwelling incenſe, on a hallowed cloud,
To him on high.
Mac.
This dreadful preparation—
Theſ.
When thus burſt forth the awful voice:—"No ſteer,
"No blood of bulls will now propitiate heaven
"To grant ſucceſs. Would Athens ſtand ſecure—
"Would Hyllus ſave his royal father's throne,
"And his own life—The blood of Deianira—
Mac.
Horror of horrors!—Deianira's blood!
Theſ.
The prieſt of Jove with pitying eye beholds
Thy ſuffering ſoul. But hear the oracle—
"Would Hyllus ſave his royal father's throne,
"And his own life, the blood of Deianira
"Muſt, in a purple ſtream of ſacrifice,
"Float on the ſacred altar of the god!"
Iol.
She faints! ah, gently lend your aid!
[Macaria faints.
Demo.
How lovely,
Even when the hand of death lies cold upon her!
Mac.
I live! I yet ſurvive! the dreadful ſounds
Still thunder in my ears!—my mother's blood!
Tell me, tremendous god! what unknown crime
Provokes ſuch vengeance? Why is it decreed,
That the whole race of Hercules muſt feel
Thy horrible diſpleaſure?
Theſ.
Ah! preſume not,
Raſh virgin, heavenly wiſdom to arraign!
Juſt is the god, tho' terrible; his will
Muſt be obeyed. But that thy ſoul would ſink
At the tremendous ſounds, ſhould'ſt thou hear all—
For yet the oracle's but half declared—
Mac.
[31]
But half declared?—
Theſ.
"The blood of Deianira
"Muſt, in a purple ſtream of ſacrifice,
"Float on the ſacred altar of the god;
"Unleſs, with free and voluntary choice,
"Alcides' daughter here devotes her own!"
Mac.
Thanks, gracious powers! thanks, from her inmoſt ſoul,
That daughter offers!—Let her brother reign!
Spare her loved mother's life! and lo, Macaria,
With tears of tranſport, here devotes her own!
Lead to the altar! crown, with garlands crown,
Your victim; and be conquerors!
Demo.
What is this
That pleads for her ſo plaintively? a pity,
That's almoſt painful. Wherefore, in the bloom
Of youth, ſhould ſuch unblemiſh'd virtue die?
—Ponder a moment.
Mac.
Interrupt not, Sir,
The ſolemn offering; which, for worlds, I would not
Should now be fruſtrate. Holy men, proceed:
For me death has no terrors. I conjure you,
Ye delegates of heaven! obey heaven's voice.
Lead to the altar; I implore to die.
Demo.
It muſt not be.—
Theſ.
Heaven's voice hath ſpoke! What mortal
May dare gainſay the ſentence? Here below,
Mercy ſhould ſit enthroned in monarchs' hearts,
And temper juſtice; but when from above
The awful oracle of Jove hath ſpoke,
They hear, and they obey.
Mac.
True, ſacred ſeer;
Thy word's the word of heaven; as heaven thou heed'ſt,
Oh, holy Demophon! hear and obey.
Demo.
Virgin, that fortitude, beyond thy ſex,
Divinely is inſpired; yet cautiouſly
We would proceed. My own religious purpoſe,
Yet unperformed, at preſent claims my care;
[32] That done, ye ſage interpreters of heaven!
We'll commune further.
[Exeunt Demophon and Prieſts.
Mac.
Look not, Iolaus,
With eyes like thoſe. I pray thee, ruffle not
That calm ſerenity, which ſuits a ſoul
On its eternal journey. Wherefore weep?
The name of death no terror has for her,
Who with a conſcious triumph dies; and goes
Youthful, with all her virgin virtues crown'd,
Like a bright ſtar to heaven.
Iol.
Macaria hear.
More ſudden than the lightning's flaſh, a thought
Darts on my mind—
Mac.
Yet once more, Iolaus,
Croſs not my purpoſe; I'm reſolved to die:
Die for my mother—for thee, brother—friends—
Thou virtuous, good old man!
Iol.
Me! die for me!
But gracious heaven may ſtill point out a way—
May pour ſwift vengeance on th' uſurper's head—
Mac.
Hyllus ſhall reign! a ſiſter's death confirm
Her brother to his throne!—When I am gone,
Here, Iolaus, with a daughter's love,
Tend the poor queen! oh, ſooth her ſorrowing ſoul!
But tell her not thou ſaw'ſt this burſting tear.
[Exeunt.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT III.

[33]
DEIANIRA, and her Attendants, round an Altar in the Temple.
ODE.
I
QUEEN of the ſilent night! and thou,
Whoſe radiant orb with glory gilds the day,
Thro' yonder blue ſerene of heaven's high way,
Bid ſome obedient ſpirit go;
And, bending at Jove's footſtool, hail the power,
Who, at Alcides' mortal moment, bore
The hero to the ſky's abode;
Th' illuſtrious hero, whom the world below
Mourns in mixt Paeans of triumphant woe,
Their friend and tutelary god.
II.
When frowning o'er his birth, the hate
Of haughty Juno, burning to deſtroy,
Toſt the fell ſerpents on the dauntleſs boy,
Her ruthleſs miniſters of fate;
Chill crept the blood thro' every quaking heart;
But when their forky tongues began to dart,
While red with wrath each eyeball rolls,
And round his limbs their ſpiry volumes claſp,
The cradled hero, with his infant graſp,
Cruſhed out the ſnaky monſters' ſouls.
[34]III.
Thou too, thy victor-arm o'erthrew
The ſavage-minded form of Diomed,
Who fat with ſubject's gore his horſes fed;
At Lerna's lake, thy valour ſlew
The many-headed Hydra, whoſe foul breath,
To all who breathed it, was the blaſt of death;
The cloud-begotten Centaurs fell;
The Nemean lion, and fierce Typhon's ſon;
Then, fated to obey Euryſtheus' frown,
Thou drag'ſt grim Cerberus from hell.
IV.
Vengeance on curſt Euryſtheus' head!
Vengeance and death! in anguiſh we invoke;
Give, great Alcides! give him to the ſtroke
Of thy bold ſon! Let Hyllus tread
Upon his crouching neck; thence mount the
throne,
His father's great avenger, and his own!
DEIANIRA ſpeaks.
To thee, thus round the altar's baſe,
Loſt Deianira, and her ſuppliant train,
Sigh their ſad ſouls! oh, muſt they ſigh in vain!
Avenge, avenge thy royal race!
Enter ACAMAS.
Aca.
Forgive the intruſion, royal dame, if thou
Art Deianira, as this ſuppliant train
Beſpeaks thee; and thoſe ſtrains, that thro' the dome
Swell'd to Alcides' praiſe; but, more than all,
The features of that venerable face,
From whence Macaria drew her virgin charms.
[35] If thou art ſhe, may Acamas intreat
An audience with thy daughter?
Deia.
Godlike youth!
(For Godlike ever, Acamas will ſeem,
In Deianira's eyes) unknown to me
My daughter went to ſupplicate the king;
Grant heaven! ſhe finds in him the noble friend
She found in his brave brother!
Aca.
I am her friend;
Yes, 'tis the boaſt of Acamas, his glory,
To be Macaria's friend. Oh, Deianira!
Thou hear'ſt a ſoldier—my ſoul is in my tongue;
I love thy daughter:—not the wonders only
Of her fair form; yet, oh!—but that high honour,
The ſtamp of her great ſire; and every virtue,
More virtuous made by filial piety,
Have fix'd my love. To her I dedicate
My life; and, on this ſword, avow myſelf
The champion of her wrongs, and Deianira's.
Deia.
She has been ever good, and heaven re⯑wards
Her virtue, in the generous prince it raifes
For her, and my protector. Hapleſs Hyllus!
He ſcarce hath been ſo fortunate. Where now,
Friendleſs and comfortleſs, wanders my ſon?
Aca.
Hither I came, reſolved on ſecrecy;
But, oh! that anxious tenderneſs, that ſigh,
Heaved from the bottom of a mother's breaſt,
Unfix my purpoſe. Know then, Hyllus lives;
And, more to move thy wonder, he lives here,
A ſoldier in th' Athenian camp, diſguiſed
From every eye but mine: to me, this moment,
The ſecret he entruſted.
Deia.
Quickly bear me,
Oh bear me to my boy—
Aca.
A little longer
Be miſtreſs of yourſelf; this tranſport check
A little longer; till occaſion calls
The gallant youth. By Demophon's command
The prieſts prepare a ſacrifice; that finiſhed,
[36] Hither will I conduct him. The meanwhile
Safe let the ſecret in your boſom ſleep,
And truſt the reſt to Acamas.
Deia.
Oh, born
To counteract the cruelty of fate,
And make life worth a wiſh! in thee I'll truſt;
My ſon ſhall be thy ſoldier.
Aca.
He and I
Will make Euryſtheus ſhrink beneath our ſwords.
The troops of Argos too, tho' now compelled
To riſe 'gainſt Hyllus in rebellious arms,
Will drop their weapons, when their wondering eyes
View their own hero, in th' Athenian ranks,
Gaunt with revenge, and terrible in wrongs,
Like a young ſon of Mars!
Enter HYLLUS, like a Soldier.
Hyl.
The troops, my lord—
Hah! Deianira here?—my honour'd mother!
Deia.
Dear to thy mother's heart!—oh let me thus,
And thus enfold my Hyllus! how at ſight
Of my loved boy the ſun of heaven reſumes
Its wonted glory! this is life indeed!
This to a mother's winterly old age
Reſtores a youthful ſpring! tell, tell me all;
Where, where haſt thou been wandering? how cam'ſt hither,
Oh too adventurous! to theſe longing arms?
Hyl.
Thou ſhalt hear all: to thy impatient ears
My heart I'll open; tell thee, thro' what perils
I reach'd th' Athenian camp; with Acamas
To make one laſt bold effort—but time flies;
And dangerous is delay.—I now am here
To tell thee, prince, Euryſtheus' troops are on
Full march to Athens.—Shall we give them battle?
Blow loud the blaſt of war! let, let it rouze
The ſpirit of its god within my breaſt!
I burn for vengeance!
Aca.
[37]
Vengeance thou ſhalt have.
But now, young ſoldier, temper this raſh fire,
Whoſe blaze may elſe betray thee: recollect
A mother and a ſiſter.
Hyl.
Dearer both
Than his own life to Hyllus!
Deia.
Yet thou haſt not
Beheld thy ſiſter?
Hyl.
I beheld Macaria,
(And my heart yearn'd to ſpeak, as I beheld her)
Move tow'rds the palace, with a ſuppliant train.
Anxious her looks, and pale her languid cheeks:
Th' admiring multitude, as ſhe paſt on,
Gazed with an eye that pity had ſuffuſed
With many a tear. I ſtopt, with wonder ſtruck.
She enter'd then.—There is no miſchief meant—
No plot againſt her?—by th' immortal ſpirit
Of great Alcides! I would fire the palace,
And reſcue her dear life!
Aca.
With Deianira
Wait my return. Be cautious; Hyllus only
Can betray Hyllus; warned again, beware.
Hyllus is now my ſoldier.
Exit.
Deia.
Oh, my ſon!
I fear thy fortune yet, againſt Euryſtheus,
That bloody tyrant! who, by fire-eyed Mars,
Horribly ſwears, his rage ſhall never die,
Never know peace, till on thy neck he plants
His mortal foot, and cruſhes all our race!
Hyl.
His foot on me! more ſafe might he beſtride
The angry ſurge, when tempeſts toſs the ſeas.
Deio. Oh, moderate thy rage, th' untimely death
Of many a gallant ſpirit!
Hyl.
He dies bleſt,
Who, dying, ſlays the villain he deteſts.
Deia.
How wildly doſt thou ſtart! thy ſtruggling ſoul
Shoots thro' thine eyes. Oh, with leſs horror look!
Leſs fixed to ruſh on fate! pity thy mother!
[38] She has no ſon but thee! oh, leave Euryſtheus
To Jove's dread bolt.
Hyl.
To Jove I offer him
In dreadful ſacrifice. Jove ſmiles well pleaſed,
When from his heaven the god beholds his altar
Smoke with a tyrant's blood.
Deia.
My gallant boy!
Alas, too noble!—let me gaze thee o'er;
Let me find where that godlike ſpirit dwells,
That lifts thee thus aloft. So frowned his ſire,
When with undaunted heart his young arm ſtruck
The Cleonaean ſavage. Looks he not
As ſome ſuperior power within moved
Each animated grace?
Enter ACAMAS.
Aca.
The king approaches.
At once retire, ſo pleaſe you, to the altar,
The inmoſt altar.
Deia.
Lead, my reverend friends.
While Deianira retires, the Train ſings,
Vengeance on curſt Euryſtheus' head!
God of the ſhrine! let Hyllus tread
Upon his crouching neck: thence mount the throne,
His father's great avenger, and his own!
Exeunt Deianira, &c.
HYLLUS and ACAMAS.
Hyl.
Thy looks are troubled! ſome accurſed chance!
What have they done? what dared?—By heaven, that ſilence
Caſts on the heart of Hyllus more alarm,
Than mortal man e'er gave it!
Enter DEMOPHON.
Demo.
Theſe are thy exploits!
[to Acamas.
Aca.
[39]
Soldier attend me at the weſtern gate.
Exit Hyllus.
Demo.
Euryſtheus comes upon us!
Aca.
Let him come.
With haſtier ſteps we'll teach him to retire.
Demo.
Raſh, diſobedient youth!—diſpatch a herald,
Now, preſently, with terms of peace.
Aca.
With terms
Of fell defiance rather ſpeed him forth,
And hurl the torch of war.—Oh ſhame! that men,
Singled to be the ſubſtitutes of gods,
Should bear ſuch daſtard minds! what treacherous offers
Has the uſurper tender'd? take them; ſeize them.
Go, barter thy humanity for gold.
Sell a ſad mother's life, a queen's! and with it
Her royal daughter's!—Firſt, by heaven, thyſelf,
Thy kingdom firſt ſhall periſh! I will rouze
All Athens.—Hah! perhaps my own brave troops—
The fate of Deianira and Macaria,
Tyrant! ſhall ſeal thy own!
Exit.
Enter THESTOR and ALCANDER.
Alcan.
We marked this menace;
His fiery viſage grim with ire; like ſome
Diſtemper'd ſky before the burſting bolt.
Demo.
At the leaſt check his lion-heart flies forth,
And knows nor king, nor brother.
Theſ.
It affronts
The awful ſilence of the place, and makes
The altars tremble.
Demo.
What, if the raſh youth
Should, in his frenzy, make a deſperate onſet
With his battalions!—
Alcan.
Therefore, without pauſe,
The willing victim yield. We'll find a means
To counteract him; only yield Macaria,
Thy ſafety now the ſacrifice requires.
Theſ.
[40]
And heaven again demands it. We once more
Invoked the ſacred oracle; once more
The ſacred oracle pronounced her doom.
Tempt not the gods too far; be warned of heaven.
Alcan.
For if Macaria lives, ſhe lives a brand
To fire thy kingdom. Acamas will wed her;
And war with Argos, an eternal war,
Shall Athens wage.
Theſ.
A war, with gods averſe.
Oh tremble at the thought!
Demo.
With gods averſe!—
How weak is mortal wiſdom, mortal might!
Theſ.
Obedient then to heaven, the victim yield.
Alcan.
And lo, as hither brought by heaven's own hand,
To force thee to thy good, Macaria comes.
Enter MACARIA.
Mac.
Yet, I behold her not—celeſtial guardians
Of innocence, watch o'er her! Should her blood,
Oh horrible! be ſhed for mine—oh king!
Torn with a thouſand terrors, from the palace
I've hurried to the temple—let me die
For a loved parent!—hah! while thus thou turn'ſt
From me, take heed, raſh king! thou turn'ſt from Jove,
Whoſe voice commands the victim.
Demo.
Lead along,
Interpreters of heaven; and thou, Macaria,
Wait here awhile. The god muſt be obeyed.
Exeunt.
MACARIA alone.
The god muſt be obeyed—tranſporting ſounds!
And now, at this dread moment, while the prieſts
Prepare the rites; to thee, tremendous power!
Who ſit'ſt high over all—hah! whence are theſe
[41] Loud throbs? why ruſh my ſpirits thro' my breaſt?
If innocence ſhake thus, what ribs of ſteel
May bide the beating of a guilty heart,
When ſounds the mortal ſummons?—hah, the gates
Unfold; and Deianira quits the temple!
Enter DEIANIRA.
Deia.
It was her voice—hark, hark! I could not err.
Mac.
Heavens!
Deia.
Thro' the vaulted arch of this lone ile
Plaintive it paſt along.
Mac.
Protect me! ſave,
Oh ſave me from a mother's eye, that ſtrikes
All reſolution dead.
Deia.
Art thou return'd,
My life? ah, what delay, this tedious hour,
Has held thee from thy mother's heart, that longs
Thus eagerly to claſp thee?
Mac.
Oh, my mother!
Cloſe to thy boſom claſp thy child, who loves,
For ever loves thee!
Deia.
The loud ſtorm, that late
So thunder'd in our ears, is rolling off;
The troubled air's at reſt; and every fear
Flies before chearful hope. I've ſeen thy brother—
Why doſt thou ſigh? thou too ſhalt ſee him; thou
Shalt ſoon embrace my boy.—How my heart triumphs
At thy approaching fortune! With what pride,
What exultation; ſhall Mycenae welcome
Her favourite virgin! With what envious eyes
Behold the mother of a child like thee!
Mac.
Thy virtues, Deianira, merit more
Than ſuch a child can give.
Deia.
How faintly falls
Each accent from thy tongue; and ſure thy eyes
Glance on thy mother with a joyleſs ſmile,
That hardly hides a tear?
Mac.
[42]
With the ſame eyes,
Still, ſtill do I behold thee; but ſo uſed
To weep, involuntary tears will ſtart.
Deia.
Come, let me kiſs them dry. Periſh Eu⯑ryſtheus!
Whoſe cruelties have thus o'erpower'd thy ſpirits.
Mac.
His death will coſt his conquerors a dear triumph!
Deia.
Yet let him die! barbarian! let him periſh!
How dear ſoe'er the purchaſe.
Mac.
Can I hear,
And not forewarn her of th'impending ruin,
Ready to ruſh upon her?
Deia.
Said they not
The prieſts prepare a ſacrifice?—the blood
Of that, ye pitying powers! I hope will end
Thine and my ſorrows. Are the rites begun?
Soon will the victim bleed?
Mac.
Too ſoon thou'lt think it.
Deia.
Would heaven! I might be preſent.
Enter an OFFICER.
Deia.
Hah, that ſtranger!
Know'ſt thou from whence that ſtranger?
Offi.
Royal queen,
With greeting from imperial Demophon
Thy ſervant comes.
Deia.
Whate'er the errand, Sir,
Welcome to Deianira. In this breaſt
Here is a heart indebted to thy king,
That delegate from heaven to deal its bleſſings,
And from the duſt lift up affliction's head.
What would his gracious pleaſure?
Offi.
To conduct
The princeſs to his preſence, I am ſent.
Deia.
Conduct Macaria?—Miſconceive me not—
If 'tis his will—yet wherefore—upon what
Occaſion ſends he? Is ſhe to preſide
At the high ſacrifice?—Or, may it be!
[43] To ſolemnize with her his brother's nuptials?
Yet ſure a mother would at ſuch an hour
Prove no unwelcome gueſt?
Mac.
For heaven's ſake, ſtir not;
Quit not the temple; let me, let me go,
Safe in this ſtranger's conduct.
Deia.
Stay one moment.
Something I had to ſay—one little moment
Indulge a mother's fondneſs. Ah, Macaria!
How precious is one moment, when we part
With all that's deareſt!—ſee theſe fooliſh tears!
But my fond eyes, when next we meet, ſhall gaze
With double tranſport on thee!
Mac.
Death hath not
A keener pang!
Deia.
This one embrace!—and now,
Now, honoured ſtranger, to thy hands I truſt—
What words ſhall ſay how much! but on thy brow
There is a virtue claims all truſt. Receive,
And to a mother back return the heart
That now forſakes her breaſt! Oh thou, in whom
My ſoul delights, farewell!—What, not one look,
Macaria?—not one word?
Mac.
Lead, lead me hence!
Deia.
To me thou doſt not ſpeak!
Mac.
—Ah Deianira!
[Exit Macaria with the Officer.
Deia.
She vaniſhes!—ſhe's gone!—
Enter IOLAUS.
Iol.
Back to the temple—
Permit me, honoured queen—
Deia.
Yet went ſhe not
More penſive forth, more ſeemingly alarmed,
Than ſuch occaſion ſuited. Should Alcander—
Oh, Iolaus! in that traitor's life
Live countleſs dangers; and a mother's heart
Has fears for every one: ſcarce would'ſt thou think
[44] How much th' alacrity of my poor ſpirits
Sinks with my child's dejection. Let it paſs.
Tempeſtuous was the morning of this day;
How will it cloſe? but yet it ſoon will cloſe;
And then—thou hear'ſt not? Why ſo fearfully
Do thy eyes gaze me o'er? from thy pale cheek
The colour flies—
Iol.
No!
Deia.
Thy limbs tremble—
Iol.
No!
Deia.
And that diſorder—
Enter HYLLUS.
Hyl.
Where, where's Acamas!
—Hah! Deianira here!—
Deia.
Heaven guard my ſon!
What means that wild emotion? Speak, before
My apprehenſive ſpirit—
Enter ACAMAS.
Hyl.
Oh, Acamas!
Aca.
I know thy fears, and came-to check th' alarm.
There is no danger, lady; be compoſed.
It was Alcander's infamous device;
But the king's undeceived.
Deia.
Oh, you have baniſhed
A thouſand terrors!—
Aca.
Demophon's our friend:
Againſt Euryſtheus he denounces war;
And Acamas, by his command, even now
Marches to meet th' uſurper.
Deia.
Thanks, kind gods!
Protectors of my child!
Hyl.
Oh, there is life
In theſe great tidings!—Hyllus, Hyllus then
Shall march to meet th' uſurper!
Aca.
[45]
Hyllus ſhall:
In all his guilty pomp, furious he comes,
T' arreſt the rolling thunder of our wrath,
Or ſink before it.
Deia.
Oh, tremendous hour!
Hyl.
Farewell! farewell, my mother! hence I go,
At fate's high call.
Deia.
Go then, my only boy!
Remember what Alcides was, and conquer!
[Exeunt Hyllus and Acamas.
—How all on fire for fame his ſpirits flaſhed
As he ſhot forth! I tremble at his valour!
Alas, his virtues are too terrible!
—But he is gone to battle. Mighty Mars!
Go with him forth! Let thy bright aegis blaze
O'er his young breaſt?—If he muſt meeet Euryſ⯑theus,
Who with the blood of our whole race would fill
The meaſure of his crimes, oh, may his faulchion
Lay the fell tyrant low!—Let me but live,
God of revenge! to ſee that glorious day!
Then take me, take me hence! I've lived enough.
[Exit.
END OF THE THIRD ACT.

ACT IV.

[46]
A Grove. At the End of it the Temple of Juno.
Enter ALCANDER.
ALCANDER.
HAIL to immortal Juno's facred ſhrine!
Goddeſs of Argos, hail! Thou, in whoſe breaſt
Eternal hatred 'gainſt Alcides' race
Dwells unextinguiſhed! To thy altar, queen,
Lo, I devote his daughter! here, this hour,
In ſpite of Acamas, Marcaria dies!
Enter THESTOR from the Temple.
Theſ.
Alcander's order Theſtor has obeyed;
Yet vainly ſure the altars now muſt blaze,
Without a victim; when thy mortal foe
Th' Athenian army heads; when Acamas
The bold, th' intrepid, is gone forth to fight,
Perhaps to ſlay Euryſtheus. That, at once,
Tumbles thy towering projects down; and all
Thy ſtateſman's wiles are air.
Alcan.
And is Alcander
Thus known? Vain augur, there will be no battle:
I ſent forth Acamas; by my inſtructions
He heads th' Athenian army; at his will,
Alcander this tremendous hero moves,
The puppet of his pleaſure. Demophon
[47] Has fool'd his brother with a mock command;
And after him ſent orders, on his life,
Not to engage Euryſtheus. Now believ'ſt thou
Thy altars ſmoke in vain?
Theſ.
That's a device
Of policy indeed!
Alcan.
The ſame inſtructions
Go to each chief; while Conon, the king's ſon,
I, for a ſpecial purpoſe, have diſpatched,
To make Euryſtheus privy to the plot,
And bid him in his own entrenchments keep.
Theſ.
But ſtill, ſhould Acamas attack the ranks?—
Alcan.
They are too ſtrong; he dares not. On the heights
Euryſtheus is well poſted, and muſt baffle
His boldeſt efforts. There will be no battle.
Theſ.
Meantime, Macaria—
Alcan.
True; while her mock hero
Vaunts it before the troops, Macaria dies
At Juno's altar. Speed thee to the king,
Ere he finds time to cool; into his breaſt
Infuſe, as thou art wont, religious awe.
Go then, without delay, his fancy fright
With ſlighted oracles, and vengeful gods
Ready to bolt their thunder.
Exit Theſtor.
Triumph now
My heart! now glory in a daring deed,
Which fools call villainy, who want the ſpirit
To be ſucceſsful villains. In my view
Glitters the crown of Argos; my hands now
The ſceptre ſeem to graſp; and by my ſide
Euryſtheus' ſiſter ſits in regal ſtate:
My hopes can ſoar no higher; one cloud only
Lours o'er my proſpect. Hyllus!—curſe upon
The forward ſtripling. Hyllus lives! were he
Once placed within my compaſs—but this hand
Muſt cruſh him, and it ſhall. I have already
Sent forth a ſecret ſword. But where's this victim?
Theſtor wants power to work upon the king;
[48] That power I'll quickly furniſh; play the ſon
An engine on his ſire.
Enter IOLAUS.
Iol.
Behold the wretch,
Whoſe footſteps I've been tracing. This earth bears not
A more abhorred object to my eyes
Than thee; and yet I follow thee, thou vile
Artificer of fraud. But ruin gathers
Already o'er Euryſtheus' head and thine.
Prophetic are my words: and Hyllus, Hyllus,
Comes to fulfil the prophecy.
Alcan.
Alcander
Can laugh alike at prophecy and prophet.
He ſoars, officious babler, 'bove thy ſphere,
And the vain boy thou boaſt'ſt of: but go on;
In blind ſecurity go dreaming on,
Into the pit deſtruction digs.
Exit.
Iol.
He's gone:
A deep, determined villain, who would wade
Thro' all the blood of all the royal race,
T' uſurp the throne of Argos. But oh, never,
All-gracious Jove! let ſuch a traitor wear
Thy own Alcides' crown. His black ſoul now
Sits brooding over ſome new villainy.
Alarming were his words—hold; let me ponder.
[He retires.
Enter DEIANIRA with an ATTENDANT.
Atten.
For worlds, my queen! for worlds, thou ſhould'ſt not riſk
A ſecond time ſuch perils. Gracious heaven!
My frighted ears ſtill-hear the ſoldiers ſcoffs!
Their levelled ſpears ſtill lighten in my eyes!
Ah, go not to the palace; thy Macaria
Is ſafe; the king's her friend; thou haſt the aſſu⯑rance
[49] Of royal Acamas. Then be adviſed;
Back to Jove's temple.
Deia.
Thou art not a mother!
No darling child haſt thou within the graſp
Of a fell tyrant! deſperate elſe, like me,
Thou would'ſt ruſh forth thro' ſwords and threaten⯑ing ſpears,
Without a thought of danger. Go thyſelf
Back to Jove's temple. What ſhould I do there?
I want no ſanctuary without my daughter!
No world, no life for me!—Should Demophon—
Suſpicion is the gueſt of guilty minds,
And ſhall not harbour here:—elſe ſhould the king,
Forced by Euryſtheus' threats, Alcander's wiles,
By paſſion, intereſt, policy, caprice—
Eternal powers! on what a ſlender thread
Hangs human happineſs!
—Hah! Iolaus—
[Iolaus comes forward.
Iol.
My queen! good heaven!
Deia.
Thou trembleſt to behold
Thy queen thus raſhly wandering! thy queen too
Trembles at her own raſhneſs! but diſtracted.
With anxious doubts and fears, I ſought the palace.
Haemon, where art thou? whom thy queen diſ⯑patched
For quick intelligence—thou com'ſt not, Haemon.
My fond impatience ſpeeds not thy return—
Thou ſeeſt not danger in the frightful forms
Maternal paſſions paint it.—Still I hear
No tidings.—Iolaus, ſpeak ſome words
Of comfort to me.
Iol.
I, alas, am paſt
All power of comfort! an old blaſted tree,
With moſs o'ergrown, and wither'd!
Deia.
Thy heart heaves
With ſomething thou would'ſt hide!
Enter HAEMON.
Haem.
From ſhrine to ſhrine
Vainly I follow—
Deia.
[50]
Haemon, thou haſt ſeen her;
And wherefore comes ſhe not?—the ſacrifice,
Is it perform'd?—oh, ſuch ſuſpence is death!
The victim, has it bled? then why, Macaria,
This terrible delay?
Haem.
She to the palace
Went with the king. When the proceſſion paſſed,
At a ſmall diſtance, I beheld the grove
With multitudes encircled; liſtening all
To hear the trumpet's ſignal, that devoted
The victim to the god. Along the vale,
Broken, by fits, came floating on the air
The ſound of ſolemn hymning; I beheld
The prieſt in purple veſtment take his ſtand;
I ſaw the ſun beams glittering on his ſword,
Uplifted for the blow; I heard the trump:—
Sudden 'twas all confuſion!—
Deia.
Iolaus,
Thou'ſt caught my fears: I read them in thy eyes,
Alcander's ruffian band have croſſed the rites—
The populace call on the king to yield,
Dread Jove! to yield my child!—But no; the ties,
The ſacred ties of friendſhip, of relation,
He better knows—the debt of gratitude
He owes Alcides, deeply is engraved,
And to his race he'll pay it. Reſt, poor heart!
Safe in that hope—ſafe in his piety
To heaven!—the beſt religion to the gods
Is mercy to mankind.
Haem.
The king's thy ſhield;
And every ſhaft the tyrant ſhoots ſhall back
Return to his own breaſt.
Deia.
It may be ſo.—
But yet, but yet this horrible ſuſpenſe
The worſt of apprehenſions conjures up,
In their worſt forms—All dark where-e'er I turn!
And diſmal all!—on a lone rock I ſtand,
The wild waves raving round me!
Iol.
Yet awhile,
A little while endure—the thunder's o'er;
And now the ſcattering rack flies harmleſs on.
Deia.
[51]
My heart will bear no more! I'll to the grove:
Yet, to break in unbid!—a moment's pauſe—
What, if I enter here; in Juno's temple,
Try to propitiate the incenſed power,
And make her leſs my foe? I'll enter here;
And try to deprecate her wrath. To th' temple
Lead on, thou good old man: prayers ſuch as mine,
Prayers from a broken heart, plead not in vain.
[Exit with Iolaus to the Temple.
Haem.
Struck with an arrow, hapleſs queen, ſhe flies
From place to place! but can't fly from herſelf.
Oh then, in pity to her woes, dread Jove!
In pity to her virtue!—hark, I heard
The tread of feet—'tis Demophon; what brings him
To Juno's temple?—with a prieſt he comes—
I'll to the ſacred grove.
Exit.
Enter DEMOPHON and THESTOR.
Demo.
I tell thee, no;
Macaria muſt not bleed.
Theſ.
My gracious lord—
Demo.
My mind miſgives me; I will not conſent.
Juſt as the ſword was raiſed for ſacrifice,
It thunder'd on the right; and from my lips
Ill-omen'd words involuntary fell—
My mind miſgives me—prieſt, ſhe ſhall not bleed.
Theſ.
Forgive thy ſervant, who upon his king
Charges whate'er may ſeem of ill portent.
Thy doubts and thy delays, which mock alike
The prieſt and oracle; theſe from above
Bad omens of diſpleaſure bring; which now
The victim hardly can avert:—no longer
Oppoſe her fate.
Enter ALCANDER.
Alcan.
Euryſtheus, wild with rage,
Brands thee; oh king, with perfidy. Nay, mark
[52] His dreadful menace; if this very hour
Macaria doth not on the altar bleed,
Thy ſon's life pays the forfeit.
Demo.
Conon's life?
What! how! where is he?
Alcan.
In Euryſtheus' camp.
Demo.
Euryſtheus' camp?—oh I remember—fly—
Fly to Euryſtheus' camp—prevent—inform—
Say, Demophon conſents—this very hour
Macaria dies—quick to the Argian camp—
Haſte, ſeize Macaria; bid the prieſts approach:
Thy violated altar now, dread queen!
Shall have due honours done—the victim bleeds.
Alcan.
Oh, tranſport to my ſoul! no human power
Can ſnatch her now from fate.
Theſ.
Lo, king of Athens,
Obedient to heaven's call, the prieſts, in ſlow,
Solemn proceſſion, with Macaria move
To Juno's temple.
Solemn Muſic. A ſlow Proceſſion. MACARIA dreſt like a Victim, attended by Prieſts.
Demo.
Holy men, approach,
And execute your office. Demophon
No longer heaven's reſiſtleſs will withſtands.
Uninterrupted now the victim lead to ſacrifice.
Theſ.
Virgin, thou there diſcern'ſt
Great Juno's temple: with profoundeſt reverence,
Behold, the ſervant of the ſacred goddeſs
Conducts thee to the altar.
Mac.
Gods above!
To you Macaria lifts her lateſt prayer;
To you devotes herſelf for a lov'd parent.
Oh, let the ſighs of innocence, to which
Your heavenly gates ſtand open day and night,
Find entrance! Let the virtues of her ſon
Lighten her loſs of me! comfort them both!
The Queen and Hyllus comfort! for ye can,
[53] Tho' poor Macaria cannot. Without pauſe,
Now do your office, prieſt. Nay, touch me not:
Freely to death I follow.
[She walks attended towards the Temple, with ſolemn Muſic.]
Demo.
Now, my ſon
Conon ſhall live; and Juno be appeaſed.
DEIANIRA and IOLAUS from the Temple.
Deia.
Hark, Iolaus! heard you not the ſounds
Of ſad ſolemnity? and lo, attired
By virgin veſt—Earth hide me from the ſight!
'Tis ſhe! oh horror, horror! my dear daughter
Led forth a victim!—cloſer yet my child,
And cloſer! he who tears thee from thy mother
Shall bring the Furies with him!
Demo.
Deianira!
Alcan. Curſt accident!
Mac.
Prieſts, do your office—
Deia.
Hold!
Thou bloody tyrant, hold!—oh, loſt to all
Humanity! from daemons ſprung thou art!
From vengeance, murder, death! whate'er of horror
Lays waſte the world!—Could not her innocence,
Youth, beauty, all! not all—but yet thou could'ſt not!
Tyrant, thou dar'ſt not do it! the very ſtones
Would from this violated altar ſtart,
In vengeance of the crime! Heaven's wrathful king
Blaſt with his blueſt lightning!—Oh, what fiend
From hell could tempt thee to ſo damned a deed!
Demo.
Had I not patience beyond mortal man—
Injurious queen! what wert thou?—Goes ſhe not,
Obedient to heaven's holy oracle,
A voluntary victim to preſerve
Thy wretched being?—Seize her!
Deia.
Off! forbear!
Horrible wretch!
Theſ.
[54]
What dreadful profanation!
Retire, before th' offended goddeſs—
Alcan.
Speak;
Pronounce the ſentence; Conon bids thee ſpeak!
Demo.
He does: and wakes each agonizing nerve
Within a father's breaſt! But to behold
That ſpectacle!—yet Conon, yet my ſon—
If one muſt die!—Sound, ſound for ſacrifice!
Deia.
No, dare not, as you're men! it were a ſound
To ſtart the powers of heaven! I claſp thy knees!
Mercy! oh, mercy! on the moſt forlorn,
Unfortunate of womankind! No more
My frantic rage upbraids thee: by the name
Revered of parent, ſpare, oh ſpare my child!
And if you muſt have blood, take mine for hers!
And freely ſhall it flow.
Mac.
The impious hand,
Raiſed 'gainſt her reverend age, is raiſed 'gainſt hea⯑ven!
It braves the thunderer's bolts!
Deia.
Regard not her,
Unnatural child! ſhe feels not for the mother
Who gave the life ſhe ſcorns; regard not her:
Thee I again implore; in bitterneſs
Of burſting anguiſh, claſp thy knees again.
Nay, turn not—In the terror of thine eye
A drop I ſee, that will not be reſtrained;
'Tis nature pleading from my heart to thine!
Oh, hear her terrible, her tender cry!
And here the poignard plunge!
Mac.
Tempt not, raſh king,
Tempt not the gods!—on thee, on all thy race,
A mother's innocent blood will cry for blood!
Macaria is the victim! ſpeak the word
Which the gods ſpoke. Now, from you opening heaven,
They all look down on this tremendous ſcene!
They view this agonizing heart, that [...]eaves
[...]
[63]
[...]
Enter DEMOPHON. &c.
Demo.
Search all the temple round.
Seize, bind the villain, whoſe infernal wiles
Have ſnared my credulous ſoul. Th' attrocious ſlave,
On whom the Furies muſt inflict new pangs,
Tortures untried before!
Aca.
He's gone to prove
Their fierceſt indignation.—Start not, king;
He who the ſhrine would ſtain with innocent blood,
No fanctuary ſhould find it.
Demo.
Read, read there
The ruffian's ſcroll to Theſtor, the avouch
Of a falſe oracle, by him ſuborned
To work Macaria's death.
Aca.
Inhuman ſlave!
Deia.
Oh horrible!
Demo.
Ah, more of horror yet,
Unhappy queen, remains! much horror more,
To wound a mother's, and a ſiſter's breaſt!
That wretch Alcander!
Deia.
My ill-boding heart!
Yet let me fummon—
Demo.
Summon all thy powers,
For thou need'ſt all, at this tremendous trial,
Unhappy queen!—that ſacrilegious villain
Diſpatched a ruffian, with a ſecret dagger,
T' aſſaſſinate thy Hyllus.
Deia.
Crowd not round—
Lend not your cruel aid to hold me on
The rack of life,—why ſhould I live to weep
My ſon, my murder'd ſon!
Mac.
Do all our hopes,
Our flattering hopes, end thus?—oh,
Demo.
Diſpatch a herald—
Aca.
Acama
Himſelf the herald—hah, that tru
Some freſh alarm—Euryſtheus, on
Urg'd by theſe curs'd diſtractions,
[64] Invades the city.—Demophon, guard well
The royal charge,—Now, tyrant, face to face
Let us but meet; and Jove ſtand arbiter;
Mourn not, ſweet maid. Thy brother I'll bring back
Alive; or come with him a breathleſs corſe.
Enter an OFFICER.
Aca.
Hah! from the camp thou com'ſt—inform me, ſoldier—
Offi.
Euryſtheus is no more;—beneath the arm
Of Hyllus—
Deia.
Lives my ſon?
Mac.
Speak, quickly ſpeak,
Of my lov'd Hyllus.
Offi.
From Alcander, lady,
A letter to Euryſtheus was diſpatched,
To ſtorm th' Athenian camp, while Acamas
Was priſoner. This did Hyllus intercept.
When, the ſame moment, an aſſaſſin ſtruck
A poniard at his breaſt. A hundred ſwords
Flamed forth at once; and dead beneath his feet
The baffled ruffian ſunk.
Deia. and Mac.
Thanks, gracious powers.
Aca.
Proceed, proceed—
Offi.
The troops, with fury fired,
At ſuch black perfidy, with general voice
Called upon Hyllus, Hyllus, to lead on,
And charge Euryſtheus' tent. Right on they march⯑ed,
Led by the gallant prince; and with a ſhout
Made a full charge. Euryſtheus, at the head
Of his own guards, advanced: the leaders met;
[...] Hyllus with a noble blow
[...] [...]ant's helm. To earth he fell,
[...] his ſoul.
The royal trumpet
[a trumpet ſounds.
[...] hero's entry.—Lo, with wreaths
[65] Of conqueſt crowned, Alcides' godlike ſon
Triumphantly approaches.
Enter HYLLUS, with a Coronet; attended by Of⯑ficers.
Hyl.
Give me way—
Oh, I come not too late. Macaria lives:
And Deianira lives.
Deia.
My conqueror.
Mac.
My Hyllus.
Iol.
My loved maſter.
Demo.
But, alas,
Thy garment!—ah, thy garment ſmeared with blood—.
Hyl.
It is Euryſtheus' blood. I ſlew the tyrant.
And here his regal coronet preſent,
A trophy to my mother. All his troops,
Who hated, as they feared him, dropt their arms,
When they beheld my falchion in his breaſt,
And hailed the ſon of Hercules their king.
Deia.
Tranſporting ſounds to Deianira's ears;
Who mourned her ſon a victim to th' aſſaſſin,
Sent by the villain, who lies breathleſs there,
Slain by that prince's hand.
Hyl.
The ruffian met
A fate too honourable: but he's dead;
And with him die reſentment.
Demo.
Generous prince:
Whoſe nobleneſs of mind with wonder ſtrikes me;
With wonder and with ſhame. Yes, I have been
Too credulous. My crime before me ſtands
A dreadful warning, ne'er with human blood
To ſtain religion's altars.
Hyl.
From this moment,
We are firm friends: and now 'tis double joy,
With my own hand to have preſerved your ſon.
—But oh, my more than friend, my Acamas;
How ſhall my full heart pay th' eternal debt,
That gratitude owes thee?
Aca.
[66]
Macaria lives?
I ſaved Macaria's life. I'm more than paid.
Deia.
Not till ſhe hath enrich'd thee with herſelf.
Take then, protector of her life and mine;
From a fond mother's hand, that freely gives,
Oh take the daughter of my ſoul!
Hyl.
A maid,
Forgive a brother's boaſt; unparalleled
In every virtuous grace. A gem ſhe is,
Brighter than glitters in the diadem
Thou placeſt on my brow. Take her; ſhe's thine.
And thus united, ſhare with me my throne,
Thy friendſhip's noble gift.
Deia.
God of our fathers!
Who from th' abyſs of miſery, in a moment,
Up to a heaven of happineſs canſt lift
Poor mortals; what a change incredible
Hath this day wrought!—the rude repinings pardon
Of a raſh woman; queſtioning thy juſt,
Thy fatherly corrections; which diſſolve,
When the ſharp ſeaſon of probation's paſt,
Like foſtering dews, in mercies on mankind.
[Exeunt.
END OF THE FIFTH ACT.

Appendix A EPILOGUE.

[]
Written by a FRIEND.
WELL! theſe heroic times—I ſcarce can ſpeak—
Theſe ancient fables, borrow'd from the Greek,
Are all ſo full of paſſion, rage, and death,
So violent—they take away one's breath.—
Let me recover, pray:—this tragic ſtrife
Night after night,—leads me a weary life.
Thro' what variety of folks, long dead,
Through what ſtrange times and beings are we led!
Now a fond daughter trembling for her ſire;
Now Phaedra, burning with unlawful fire!
A heroine now, for Greece my brain I rack;
Now Deſdemona, ſmother'd by a Black.
To take theſe various ſhapes, and fill the whole,
An actreſs needs a tranſmigrating ſoul.
This night, you'll own, I've had full cauſe to mourn
A chief renown'd from my embraces torn.
Well might a widow weep the beſt of men!
Oh! ſuch a huſband I ſhan't have again.
With bright renown he fill'd the Eaſtern climes,
And differ'd, ladies, from theſe modern times.
In life's firſt dawn, to deeds of terror bred,
The youthful hero cruſh'd the ſerpent's head.
[68] In theſe our days, when men their object miſs,
There are who like to hear the ſerpent hiſs.
One thing there is, which I muſt not diſguiſe;
Tho' brave, heroic, generous, and wiſe,
The lover, tam'd, aſide his club could throw,
Chain'd to the diſtaff, like a modern beau.
Yet, all his toils and all his labours paſt,
By death ev'n Envy was ſubdued at laſt.
We read, (ſo ſays our bard) in Ovid's ſtile
How for himſelf he rais'd the funeral pile.
There on his club reclining,—like a gueſt
With garlands crown'd—he ſunk to endleſs reſt.
Yet even now, in theſe degenerate days,
Heroic virtue ſtill can merit praiſe.
When round the ſhip, in the deep roaring tide,
Devouring flames advance on ev'ry ſide;
Lo! on the anchor where the hero lies,
With look ſerene, and ſtill the foe defies,
He views the flame, he views the brawling wave,
Then ſinks—undaunted ſinks in glory's grave.
May his example every breaſt inſpire,
And kindle thro' the land our antient fire.
For nought,—as Shakeſpeare ſings, "can make us rue
"If Britain to herſelf will prove but true."
THE END.
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Citation Suggestion for this Object
TextGrid Repository (2016). TEI. 5140 The royal suppliants A tragedy As performed at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. University of Oxford Text Archive. University of Oxford, License: Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/]. https://hdl.handle.net/11378/0000-0005-DBE9-E