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Pyl. You much surprise me, prince!-I thought | Of ruined Troy; Astyanax, descended you cured

Of your unpitied, unsuccessful passion.
Why, in Epirus, should you hope to find
Hermione less cruel, than at Sparta?

I thought her pride, and the disdainful manner
In which she treated all your constant sufferings,
Had broke your fetters, and assured your free-
dom:

Ashamed of your repulse, and slighted vows,
You hated her; you talked of her no more :
Prince, you deceived me.

Orest. I deceived myself.

Do not upbraid the unhappy man, that loves thee.

Thou know'st I never hid my passion from thee;
Thou saw'st it in its birth and in its progress;
And when at last the hoary king, her father,
Great Menelaus, gave away his daughter,
His lovely daughter, to the happy Pyrrhus,
The avenger of his wrongs, thou sawest my grief,
My torture, my despair; and how I dragged,
From sea to sea, a heavy chain of woes.
O Pylades! my heart has bled within me,
To see thee, prest with sorrows not thy own,
Still wandering with me like a banished man !
Watchful, and anxious for thy wretched friend,
To temper the wild transports of my mind,
And save me from myself.

Pyl. Why thus unkind?

Why will you envy me the pleasing task
Of generous love, and sympathizing friendship?
Orest. Thou miracle of truth-but hear me on.
When in the midst of my disastrous fate,
I thought how the divine Hermione,
Deaf to my vows, regardless of my plaints,
Gave up herself, in all her charms, to Pyrrhus;
Thou mayest remember, I abhorred her naine,
Strove to forget her and repay her scorn.
I made my friends, and even myself, believe
My soul was freed. Alas! I did not see,
That all the malice of my heart was love.
Triumphing thus, and yet a captive still,
In Greece I landed: and in Greece I found
The assembled princes all alarmed with fears,
In which their common safety seemed concerned.
I joined them: for I hoped that war and glory
Might fill my mind, and take up all my thoughts:
And, that my shattered soul, impaired with grief,
Once more would reassume its wonted vigour,
And every idle passion quit my breast.

Pyl. The thought was worthy. Agamemnon's

son.

Orest. But see the strange perverseness of my

stars,

Which throws me on the rock I strove to shun!
The jealous chiefs, and all the states of Greece,
With one united voice complain of Pyrrhus;
That now, forgetful of the promise given,
And mindless of his godlike father's fate,
Astyanax he nurses in his court;
Astyanax, the young, surviving hope

From a long race of kings; great Hector's son. Pyl. A name still dreadful in the ears of Greece!

But, prince, you'll cease to wonder why the child Lives thus protected in the court of Pyrrhus, When you shall hear, the bright Andromache, His lovely captive, charms him from his purpose: The mother's beauty guards the helpless son.

Orest. Your tale confirms what I have heard; and hence

Spring all my hopes. Since my proud rival wooes
Another partner to his throne and bed,
Hermione may still be mine. Her father,
The injured Menelaus, thinks already
His daughter slighted, and the intended nuptials
Too long delayed. I heard his loud complaints
With secret pleasure; and was glad to find
The ungrateful maid neglected in her turn,
And all my wrongs avenged in her disgrace.
Pyl. Oh, may you keep your just resentments
warm!

Orest. Resentments! Oh, my friend, too soon
I found

They grew not out of hatred! I'm betrayed:
I practice on myself; and fondly plot
My own undoing. Goaded on by love,
I canvassed all the suffrages of Greece:
And here I come their sworn ambassador,
To speak their jealousies, and claim this boy.
Pyl. Pyrrhus will treat your embassy with

scorn.

Full of Achilles, his redoubted sire,
Pyrrhus is proud, impetuous, headstrong, fierce;
Made up of passions: Will he then be swayed,
And give to death the son of her he loves?

Orest. Oh, would he render up Hermione,
And keep Astyanax, I should be blest!
He must; he shall. Hermione is my life,
My soul, my rapture !-I'll no longer curb
The strong desire that hurries me to madness:
I'll give a loose to love; I'll bear her hence;
I'll tear her from his arms; I'll-O, ye gods!
Give me Hermione, or let me die!
But tell me, Pylades; how stand my hopes?
Is Pyrrhus still enamoured with her charms?
Or dost thou think he'll yield me up the prize,
The dear, dear prize, which he has ravished from
me?

Pyl. I dare not flatter your fond hopes so far; The king, indeed, cold to the Spartan princess, Turns all his passion to Andromache, Hector's afflicted widow. But in vain, With interwoven love and rage, he sues The charming captive, obstinately cruel. Oft he alarms her for her child confined Apart; and when her tears begin to flow, As soon he stops them, and recalls his threats. Hermione a thousand times has seen His ill-requited vows return to her; And takes his indignation all for love. What can be gathered from a man so various?

He may, in the disorder of his soul,
Wed her he hates, and punish her he loves.
Orest. But tell me how the wronged Hermione
Brooks her slow nuptials, and dishonoured charms?
Pyl. Hermione would fain be thought to scorn
Her wavering lover, and disdain his falsehood;
But, spite of all her pride and conscious beauty,
She mourns in secret her neglected charms,
And oft has made me privy to her tears:
Still threatens to be gone; yet still she stays;
And sometimes sighs, and wishes for Orestes.
Orest. Ah, were those wishes from her heart,
my friend!

I would fly in transport

[Flourish within.
Pyl. Hear! the king approaches
To give you audience. Speak your embassy
Without reserve: urge the demands of Greece;
And, in the name of all the kings, require,
That Hector's son be given into your hands.
Pyrrhus, instead of granting what they ask,
To speed his love and win the Trojan daine,
Will make it merit to preserve her son.
But, see; he comes.

Orest. Meanwhile, my Pylades,
Go, and dispose Hermione to sce
Her lover, who is come thus far, to throw
Himself, in all his sorrows, at her feet.

Enter PYRRHUS, PHOENIX, and Attendants.
Before I speak the message of the Greeks,
Permit me, sir, to glory in the title
Of their ambassador; since I behold
Troy's vanquisher, and great Achilles' son.
Nor does the son rise short of such a father.
If Hector fell by him, Troy fell by you.
But what your father never would have done,
You do. You cherish the remains of Troy;
And by an ill-timed pity keep alive
The dying embers of a ten years war.
Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector?
The Greeks remember his high brandished sword,
That filled their states with widows and with
orphans,

For which they call for vengeance on his son. Who knows what he may one day prove? Who knows

But he inay brave us in our ports; and, filled
With Hector's fury, set our fleets on blaze?
You may, yourself, live to repent your mercy.
Comply, then, with the Grecians' just demands:
Satiate their vengeance, and preserve yourself.
Pyr. The Greeks are for my safety more con-
cerned

Than I desire. I thought your kings were met
On more important counsel. When I heard
The name of their ambassador, I hoped
Some glorious enterprize was taking birth.
Is Agamemnon's son dispatched for this?
And do the Grecian chiefs, renowned in war,
A race of heroes, join in close debate,

Of all the scepter'd warriors, be denied
To treat my captive as I please? Know, prince,
When Troy lay smoking on the ground, and each
Proud victor shared the harvest of the war,
Andromache and this her son were mine;
Were mine by lot; and who shall wrest them
from me?

Ulysses bore away old Priam's queen;
Cassandra was your own great father's prize;
Did I concern myself in what they won?
Did I send embassies to claim their captives?
Orest. But, sir, we fear for you, and for our-
selves.

Troy may again revive, and a new Hector
Rise in Astyanax. Then think betimes-

Pyr. Let dastard souls be timorously wise: But tell them, Pyrrhus knows not how to form Far-fancied ills, and dangers out of sight.

Orest. Sir, call to mind the unrivalled strength

of Troy;

Her walls, her bulwarks, and her gates of brass; Her kings, her heroes, and embattled armies!

Pyr. I call them all to mind; and see them all Confused in dust; all mixt in one wide ruin; All but a child, and he in bondage held. What vengeance can we fear from such a Troy? If they have sworn to extinguish Hector's race, Why was their vow for twelve long months deferred?

Why was he not in Priam's bosom slain?
He should have fallen among the slaughtered
heaps,

Whelmed under Troy. His death had then been just.
When age and infancy, alike in vain,
Pleaded their weakness; when the heat of con-

quest,

And horrors of the fight, rouzed all our rage,
And blindly hurried us through scenes of death,
My fury then was without bounds: but now,
My wrath appeased, must I be cruel still?
And, deaf to all the tender calls of pity,
Like a cool murderer, bathe my hands in blood;
An infant's blood?-No, prince-go, bid the
Greeks

Mark out some other victim; my revenge
Has had its fill. What has escaped from Troy
Shall not be saved to perish in Epirus.

Orest. I need not tell you, sir, Astyanax
Was doomed to death in Troy; nor mention how
The crafty mother saved her darling son :
The Greeks do now but urge their former sen-

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To plot an infant's death! What right has Greece On him, who conquered for them: let them come,

To ask his life? Must I, must I alone,

And in Epirus seek another Troy,

Twas thus they recompens'd my godlike sire; Thus was Achilles thank'd. But, prince, remember,

Their black ingratitude then cost them dear.
Orest. Shall Greece then find a rebel son in Pyr-
rhus?

Pyr. Have I then conquered to depend on
Greece?

Orest. Hermione will sway your soul to peace,
And mediate 'twixt her father and yourself:
Her beauty will enforce my embassy.

Pyr. Hermione may have her charms; and I
May love her still, though not her father's slave.
I may in time give proofs, that I'm a lover;
But never must forget, that I'm a king.
Meanwhile, sir, you may see fair Helen's
daughter;

I know how near in blood you stand allied.
That done, you have my answer, prince. The
Greeks,

No doubt, expect your quick return.
[Ex. Orest. &c.
Phan. Sir, do you send your rival to the prin-
cess?

Pyr. I am told, that he has loved her long.
Phan. If so,

Have you not cause to fear the smothered flame
May kindle at her sight, and blaze a-new?
And she be brought to listen to his passion?
Pyr. Ay, let them, Phoenix, let them love their
fill!

Let them go hence; let them depart together:
Together let them sail for Sparta: all my ports
Are open to them both. From what constraint,
What irksome thoughts, should I be then reliev-
ed!

Phan. But, sir,

Pyr. 1 shall, another time, good Phoenix, Unbosom to thee all my thoughts—for, see, Androinache appears.

Enter ANDROMACHE, and CEPHISA.
Pyr. May I, madam,

Flatter my hopes so far as to believe
You come to seek me here?

Andr. This way, sir, leads

To those apartments where you guard my son.
Since you permit me, once a day, to visit
All I have left of Hector and of Troy,
I go to weep a few sad moments with him.
I have not yet, to-day, embraced my child;
I have not held him in my widowed arms.
Pyr. Ah, madam, should the threats of Greece
prevail,

You'll have occasion for your tears, indeed!
Andr. Alas, what threats! What can alarm
the Greeks?

There are no Trojans left!

Pyr. Their hate to Hector

Can never die: the terror of his name

Andr. A mighty honour for victorious Greece,
To fear an infant, a poor friendless child!
Who smiles in bondage: nor yet knows himself
The son of Hector, and the slave of Pyrrhus.

Pyr. Weak as he is, the Greeks demand his
life;

And send no less than Agamemnon's son,
To fetch him hence.

Andr. And, sir, do you comply

With such demands?-This blow is aimed at me :
How should the child avenge his slaughtered sire?
But, cruel men! they will not have him live
To cheer my heavy heart, and ease my bonds.
I promised to myself in him a son,
In him a friend, a husband, and a father.
But I must suffer sorrow heaped on sorrow;
And still the fatal stroke must come from you.
Pyr. Dry up those tears, I must not see you
weep-

And know, I have rejected their demands.
The Greeks already threaten me with war:
But, should they arm, as once they did for Helen,
And hide the Adriatic with their fleets;
Should they prepare a second ten years siege,
And lay my towers and palaces in dust,
I am determined to defend your son,
And rather die myself than give him up.
But, madam, in the midst of all these dangers,
Will you refuse me a propitious smile?
Hated of Greece, and prest on every side,
Let me not, madam, while I fight your cause,
Let me not combat with your cruelties,
And count Andromache amongst my foes!

Andr. Consider, sir, how this will sound in
Greece?

How can so great a soul betray such weakness?
Let not men say, so generous a design
Was but the transport of a heart in love.

Pyr. Your charms will justify me to the world.
Andr. How can Andromache, a captive queen,
O'erwhelmed with grief, a burthen to herself,
Harbour a thought of love? Alas! what charms
Have these unhappy eyes, by you condemned
To weep for ever? Talk of it no more.
To reverence the misfortunes of a foe;
To succour the distrest; to give the son
To an afflicted mother; to repel
Confederate nations, leagued against his life;
Unbribed by love, unterrified by threats,
To pity, to protect him: these are cares,
These are exploits worthy Achilles' son.

Pyr. Will your resentments, then, endure for
ever?

Must Pyrrhus never be forgiven? 'Tis true,
My sword has often reeked in Phrygian blood,
And carried havoc through your royal kindred;
But you, fair princess, amply have avenged
Old Priam's vanquished house: and all the woes
I brought on thein, fall short of what I suffer.
We both have suffered in our turns: and now

Still shakes their souls; and makes them dread Our common foe should teach us to unite.

his son.

Andr. Where does the captive not behold a foe?

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What would I not atchieve! Again shall Troy
Rise from its ashes: this right arm shall fix
Her seat of empire; and your son shall reign.
Andr. Such dreams of greatness suit not my
condition:

His hopes of empire perished with his father.
No; thou imperial city, ancient Troy,

Thou pride of Asia, founded by the gods!
Never, oh, never must we hope to see

(Tormenting thought!) whose death alone has

made

Your sire immortal: Pyrrhus and Achilles
Are both grown great by my calamities.

Pyr. Madam, 'tis well! 'Tis very well! I find,
Your will must be obeyed. Imperious captive,
It shall. Henceforth I blot you from my mind:
You teach me to forget your charms; to hate

you:

For know, inhuman beauty, I have loved
Too well to treat you with indifference.
Think well upon it: my disordered soul
Wavers between the extremes of love and rage;
I've been too tame; I will awake to vengeance !
The son shall answer for the mother's scorn.
The Greeks demand him: nor will I endanger

Those bulwarks rise, which Hector could not My realms, to pleasure an ungrateful woman,

guard!

Sir, all I wish for, is some quiet exile,

Where, far from Greece removed, and far from

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You know my heart is yours: my soul hangs on you:

You take up every wish: my waking thoughts, And nightly dreams are all employed on you. 'Tis true, Hermione was sent to share

My throne and bed; and would with transport hear

The vows which you neglect.

Andr. She has no Troy,

No Hector to lament: she has not lost

Andr. Then he must die! Alas, my son must
die!

He has no friend, no succour left, beside
His mother's tears, and his own innocence.
Pyr. Go, madam; visit this unhappy son.
The sight of him may bend your stubborn heart,
And turn to softness your unjust disdain.
I shall once more expect your answer. Go,
And think, while you embrace the captive boy,
Think that his life depends on your resolves.
[Exit Pyrrhus, &c.

:

Andr. I'll go and in the anguish of my heart,
Weep o'er my child-If he must die, my life
Is wrapt in his; I shall not long survive.
'Tis for his sake that I have suffered life,
Groaned in captivity, and out-lived Hector.
Yes, my Astyanax, we'll go together!
Together to the realms of night we'll go!
There to thy ravished eyes thy sire I'll shew,

A husband by your conquests. Such a hus- And point him out among the shades below. band!

[Exit.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

HERMIONE and CLEONE.

Her. Well, I'll be ruled, Cleone: I will see
him;

I have told Pylades that he may bring him;
But trust me, were I left to my own thoughts,
I should forbid him yet.

Cleo. And why forbid him?

Is he not, madam, still the same Orestes?
Orestes, whose return you oft have wished?
The man whose sufferings you so oft lamented,
And often praised his constancy and love?
Her. That love, that constancy, so ill requited,
Upbraids me to myself! I blush to think
How I have used him; and would shun his pre-

sence.

'What will be my confusion when he sees me
Neglected, and forsaken, like himself?
Will he not say, 'Is this the scornful maid,

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I know you hate him: you have told me so.
Her. Hate him! My injured honour bids me
hate him.

The ungrateful man, to whom I fondly gave
My virgin heart; the man I loved so dearly;
The man I doated on! Oh, my Cleone!
How is it possible I should not hate him?

To favour him: my father's wrongs avenged;
The Greeks triumphant; fleets of Trojan spoils;
His mighty sire's, his own immortal fame;
His eager love; all, all conspired against me!
-But I have done: I'll think no more of Pyr-
rbus.

Orestes wants not merit; and he loves me.

Cleo. Then give him over, madam. Quit his My gratitude, my honour, both plead for him:

court;

And with Orestes

Her. No! I must have time

To work up all my rage! To meditate

A parting full of horror! My revenge

Will be but too much quickened by the traitor. Cleo. Do you then wait new insults, new affronts?

To draw you from your father! Then to leave you!

In his own court to leave you-for a captive! If Pyrrhus can provoke you, he has done it. Her. Why dost thou heighten my distress? I fear

To search out my own thoughts, and sound my heart.

Be blind to what thou seest: believe me cured:
Flatter my weakness; tell me I have conquered;
Think that my injured soul is set against him;
And do thy best to make me think so too.

Cleo. Why would you loiter here, then?
Her. Let us fly!

Let us begone! I leave him to his captive:
Let him go kneel, and supplicate his slave.
Let us begone! But what if he repent?
What if the perjured prince again submit,
And sue for pardon? What if he renew
His former vows? But, oh, the faithless man!
He slights me! drives me to extremities!-How-

ever,

I'll stay, Cleone, to perplex their loves;
I'll stay, till, by an open breach of contract,
I make him hateful to the Greeks. Already
Their vengeance have I drawn upon the son,
Their second embassy shall claim the mother:
I will redouble all my griefs on her!

Cleo, Ah, madam, whither does your rage transport you? Andromache, alas! is innocent.

A woman plunged in sorrow; dead to love:
And when she thinks on Pyrrhus, 'tis with horror.
Her. Would I had done so too! He had not
then

Betrayed my easy faith. But I, alas !
Discovered all the fondness of my soul!
I made no secret of my passion to him,
Nor thought it dangerous to be sincere:
My eyes, my tongue, my actions spoke my heart.
Cleo. Well might you speak without reserve

to one,

Engaged to you by solemn oaths and treaties.

Her. His ardour too was an excuse for mine: With other eyes he saw me then! Cleone, Thou mayst remember, every thing conspired

And if I have power over my own heart, 'tis his. Cleo. Madam, he comes

Her. Alas, I did not think

He was so near! I wish I might not see him.
Enter ORESTES.

How am I to interpret, sir, this visit?
Is it a compliment of form or love?

Orest. Madam, you know my weakness. 'Tis my fate

To love unpitied to desire to see you;
And still to swear each time shall be the last.
My passion breaks through my repeated oaths,
And every time I visit you I am perjured.
Even now, I find my wounds all bleed afresh:
I blush to own it; but I know no cure.
I call the gods to witness, I have tried
Whatever man could do (but tried in vain),
To wear you from my mind. Through stormy

seas,

And savage climes, in a whole year of absence, I courted dangers, and I longed for death.

Her. Why will you, prince, indulge this mournful tale?

It ill becomes the ambassador of Greece
To talk of dying and of love. Remember
The kings you represent: Shall their revenge
Be disappointed by your ill-timed passion?
Discharge your embassy: 'tis not Orestes
The Greeks desire should die.

Orest. My embassy

Is at an end, for Pyrrhus has refused
To give up Hector's son. Some hidden power
Protects the boy.

Her. Faithless, ungrateful man !
Orest. I now prepare for Greece.

Aside.

But ere

I go, Would hear my final doom pronounced by you. What do I say I do already hear it! My doom is fixed: I read it in your eyes.

Her. Will you then still despair? be still sus-
picious?

What have I done? Wherein have I been cruel?
'Tis true, you find me in the court of Pyrrhus:
But 'twas my royal father sent me hither.
And who can tell but I have shared your griefs?
Have I ne'er wept in secret? Never wished
To see Orestes?

Orest. Wished to see Orestes!-
Oh joy! oh ecstacy! My soul's entranced!
Oh, charming princess! Oh, transcendent maid!
My utmost wish!-Thus, thus let me express
My boundless thanks!I never was unhappy—
Am I Orestes?-

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