Make the past, present; and the future, frown?
How, ever and anon, awake the soul,

As with a peal of thunder, to strange horrors,
In this long restless dream, which idiots hug,
Nay, wise men flatter with the name of life?

You think too much.

ANTIGONUS.

KING.

I do not think at all:

The gods impose, the gods inflict, my thoughts;
And paint my dreams with images of dread.
Last night, in sleep, I saw the Thracian queen,
And her two murder'd sons. She frown'd upon me,
And pointed at their wounds. How throbb'd my heart?
How shook my couch? And, when the morning came,
The formidable picture still subsisted,

And slowly vanish'd from my waking eye.
I fear some heavy vengeance hangs in air,
And conscious deities infuse these thoughts,
To warn my soul of her approaching doom.
The gods are rigid when they weigh such deeds.
As speak a ruthless heart; they measure blood
By drops, and bate not one in the repay.
Could infants hurt me? 'Twas not like a king.

ANTIGONUS.

My lord, I do confess the gods are with us;
Stand at our side in ev'ry act of life;
And on our pillow watch each secret thought;
Nay, see it in its embryo, yet unborn.
But their wrath ceases on remorse for guilt;

And well I know your sorrows touch your sons;

Nor is it possible but time must quench
Their flaming spirits in a father's tears.

KING.

Vain comfort! I this moment overheard

My jarring sons with fury shake my walls.

Ah! why my curse from those, that ought to bless me?
The queen of Thrace can answer that sad question:
She had two sons; but two; And so have I.
Misfortune stands with her bow ever bent
Over the world; and he who wounds another,
Directs the goddess by that part he wounds,
Where to strike deep her arrows in himself.

ANTIGONUS.

I own, I think it time your sons receive

A father's awful counsel; or, while here,
Now weary nature calls for kind repose,

Your curtains will be shaken with their broils;

And, when you die, sons' blood may stain your tomb.— But other cares demand you now: the Romans.

KING.

O change of pain! The Romans? Perish Rome!
Thrice happy they, who sleep in humble life,
Beneath the storm ambition blows. 'Tis meet

The Great should have the fame of happiness,

The consolation of a little envy ;

'Tis all their pay for those superior cares,

Those pangs

of heart, their vassals ne'er can feel. Where are these strangers? First I'll hear their tale

Then talk in private with my sons.

ANTIGONUS.

But how

Intends my lord to make his peace with Rome?

KING.

Rome calls me fiery; Let her find me so;

ANTIGONUS.

O Sir, forbear! Too late you felt Rome's power.

KING.

Yes, and that reason stings me more than ever,
To curse, and hate, and hazard all against her.

ANTIGONUS.

Hate her too much to give her battle now;
Nor to your godlike valour owe your ruin.
Greece, Thessaly, Illyrium, Rome has seiz❜d;
Your treasures wasted, and your phalanx thinn'd;
Should she proceed, and strike at Macedon,
What would be left of empire?

KING.

Philip: All. I'll take my throne. Send in these foreigners.

SCENE draws, and discovers a magnificent throne, PERSEUS, DEMETRIUS, courtiers, &c. attending. PosTHUMIUS and CURTIUS, the Roman ambassadors, enter. Trumpets sound. The KING ascends the throne.

POSTHUMIUS.

Philip of Macedon; to these complaints

Our friends groan out, and you

Rome now expects an answer.
And will have right on earth.

KING.

have heard at large, She sits judge,

Expects an answer!

I so shall answer, as becomes a king.

POSTHUMIUS.

Or more, Sir; as becomes a friend of Rome.

KING.

Or Alexander's heir, to rise still higher.

But to the purpose. Thus a king to those

That would make kings, and puff them out at pleasure:
Has Philip done amiss? 'Twas you provok'd him.
My cities, which deserted in my wars,

I thought it meet to punish: You deny'd me.
When I had shook the walls of Marena,

You pluckt me thence, and took the taken town:
Then you sent word I should retire from Greece,
A conquest at my door, by nature mine;

And said, "Here end thy realm;" as ye were gods!
And gods ye shall be, ere Rome humbles me.
All this is done; yet Philip is your friend!
If this buys friendship, where can you find foes?
In what regard will stern Rome look upon me?
If as a friend, too precious let her hold
Her own esteem, to cast a stain on mine;
If as an enemy, let her proceed,

And do as she has done; she need no more.

POSTHUMIUS.

The Romans do no wrong; yet still are men:
And if to-day an error thwarts their purpose,
To-morrow sets it right: If Philip loves
Dominion, and the pride that waits on kings,

(Of which, perhaps, his words too strongly savour)

Humility to Rome will lead him to it:

She can give more than common kings can govern.

KING.

Than common kings? Ambassador! remember
Canne-where first my sword was flusht with blood.
DEMETRIUS. [Aside to the king.]

My lord, forbear.

POSTHUMIUS.

Therefore he fled alone.

Since thus you treat us,-hear another charge.
Why here detain you, prisoner of your power,
His daughter, who was once Rome's good ally,
The king of Thrace ? Why is she not restor'd ?
For our next meeting you'll provide an answer.
What now has pass'd, for his sake we forgive.

[Pointing to Demetrius.

But mark this well: There lies some little distance, Philip, between a Roman and a king. [Exeunt Romans.

KING.

How say'st, unscepter'd boaster! This to me!

With Hannibal I cleft yon Alpine rocks;

With Hannibal choak'd Thrasymene with slaughter: