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PHILODAMUS. A TRAGEDY.

As the principal Deſign of Tragedy is to raiſe Commiſeration and Terror in the Minds of the Audience, we ſhall defeat this great End, if we always make Virtue and Innocence happy and ſucceſsful.

SPECTATOR.

LONDON: Printed for J. DODSLEY in PALL-MALL. MDCCLXVII. [Price half a Crown.]

TO * *

[iii]

MADAM,

FAR be from the author the preſumption of affixing to this trifle any thing ſo re⯑ſpectable as YOUR Name. What impudence to have ventured to place it, where he has a ſcruple to ſuffer one of ſo little importance [iv] as his own to make its appearance! But the character of Writer, which the late ex⯑treme abuſe of that talent has not at all con⯑tributed to illuſtrate, does not invite power⯑fully enough to the producing one's ſelf pro⯑feſſedly in that light to the Public.

The ſole view of the author in the liberty he is now riſking, is only by way of appeal to YOU, MADAM, whether the character of complete domeſtic virtue, attempted in that of Philodamus, has been faithfully copied from nature. Of this, MADAM, it is impoſ⯑ſible, any one can be ſo good a judge as YOURSELF, who have conſtantly before YOUR eyes the moſt perfect example of it, that, perhaps, ever actually exiſted: an example, [v] whoſe luſtre ſtill to increaſe, YOU are con⯑tented, MADAM, to ſuffer YOUR own great and amiable qualities, which in any other part of the world would have burſt out un⯑rivalled, to rank, in this, but in the ſecond place. The loſs is compenſated in the great ſhare it is allowed, MADAM, YOU have in the very virtues to which YOU yield the pre⯑eminence. They are ſuch, that had they been exerciſed only within the walls of a pri⯑vate family, they could not have failed of winning their way abroad into the general eſteem of mankind. What univerſal adora⯑tion muſt they then command, when it is no⯑thing leſs than the moſt extended dominion upon the globe, which, in reality, proves to be this vaſt family, under the moſt vigilant [vi] and indulgent of parents; and receives to its utmoſt boundary the effects of that fa⯑therly tenderneſs and benevolence, which ſeem to have been firſt put in practice in their more immediate connections, in order to learn from experience how they might afterwards be beſt applied, and diffuſed, to the moſt di⯑ſtant!

If, in return, MADAM, our prayers to Heaven are but ſhort, it proceeds from no deficiency in our gratitude; we think we have fulfilled every dictate of duty and love, when we have ardently petitioned, that YOU, MADAM, may long continue to ſhare, adorn, and reward, all the virtues that can render human nature amiable and reſpectable.

[vii]The author of Philodamus has the honour to be, with the moſt profound reſpect and veneration,

MADAM,

* * * * * YOUR * moſt devoted, moſt obedient, and moſt humble ſervant.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

[]

PHILODAMUS ^*.
PHILIPPUS, his Son.
EPICRATES, in love with ERATO.
EARINUS, PHILODAMUS'S Freedman.
DOLABELLA, the Roman Praetor.
VERRES, his Legate
RUBRIUS, Dependents on him.
SESTIUS, Dependents on him.
APRONIUS, Miniſter to his Pleaſures.
CORNELIUS, an Officer.
ERATO, Daughter to PHILODAMUS.
EUPHEMIA, her Friend.
Aruſpex, Augur, Soldiers, Servants, Minſtrels.

SCENE, Lampſacus, a City of Aſia on the Helleſpont.

An Apartment in PHILODAMUS'S Palace.

[]PHILODAMUS. A TRAGEDY.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

PHILODAMUS, EARINUS.

PHILODAMUS.

AND now, Earinus, my faithful freedman,

My ſoul's again at eaſe.

EARINUS.

Moſt happy hearing.

PHILODAMUS.

Thy approv'd honeſty deſerves my confidence—

EARINUS.

You honour me.

PHILODAMUS.

— So that I fairly own,

Since I diſcover'd Erato my daughter,

What ſhall I call it? with an indiſcretion

Ill-ſuited to that tim'rous modeſty,

Whoſe only ſafe entrenchment is reſerve,

Receiv'd the private viſits of Epicrates,

My mind has labour'd under ſome diſturbance.

EARINUS.

Your pardon! but what ſhadow of a likelihood,

One of a fame unblemiſh'd as Epicrates,

Should entertain a thought that might diſturb

[2]Philodamus, whoſe merit, blood, and riches,

Claim the firſt rank in Lampſacus?

PHILODAMUS.

None. But my ſenſibility was wounded,

That ſhe, whoſe undiſguiſed ſoul, till now,

I wont to read in, as a book laid open,

Should thus have clos'd the page.

EARINUS.

I am ſurpris'd

A mind, ſo pois'd as yours, ſhould be induſtrious

To raiſe up trouble from ſo ſlight a ſource.

PHILODAMUS.

Thou doſt not know the feelings of a father,

Whoſe apprehenſions ſhoot to the ſame height,

As does his tenderneſs; and whoſe anxiety

Finds objects for itſelf, where moſt unlikely.

But to the purpoſe. — I at length determin'd

To call for explanation from Epicrates.

E'en now I leave him.

EARINUS.

And, my Lord, you found him—

PHILODAMUS.

Found him, Earinus? as I could wiſh.

But ſee, my ſon! which cuts our time too ſhort

For more particulars.

Exit Earinus.

SCENE II.

PHILIPPUS, PHILODAMUS.

PHILIPPUS.

Early this morning

I ſought to pay my duty to my father,

But was inform'd, bus'neſs had call'd him forth.

PHILODAMUS.

It had, Philippus. But I muſt obſerve,

That bus'neſs, exerciſe, nor yet diverſion,

Have any longer pow'r to call you forth.

PHILIPPUS.

[3]

I know not how it is.—Our inclinations

Slacken ſometimes to flow with renew'd force.

PHILODAMUS.

Whate'er the cauſe, the change is rather ſudden.

'Tis not ſo long ſince you foreran the ſun.

Clamour and buſtle ever waken'd with thee.

When I inquir'd, ſometimes it was Philippus

Would try his horſes at the Hippodrome,

Sometimes the morn was ſtartled at his hounds,

That claim'd with ceaſeleſs queſt the promis'd chace;

At other, ev'ry thing was preparation

For the Gymnaſium: now they're all forgot.

PHILIPPUS.

I was not reckon'd over negligent—

PHILODAMUS.

Your other ſtudies too, I find, lie fallow.

Here am I paying, at a vaſt expence,

Philoſophers, forſooth! to rail at riches,

To vaunt the praiſe of ſimple pulſe and roots,

(Who, by the by, deſpiſe them at my table)

While you loiter the live-long day in idleneſs,

With Erato, and my new gueſt Euphemia,

Whom, on the death of Agatho her father

In baniſhment at Corinth, for the love

I knew your ſiſter bare her, I took hither.

PHILIPPUS.

That love gives reputation to her judgment.

Had but our crabbed rough philoſophers

Avail'd them of Euphemia's gentle manners,

They might have learn'd, what has ſo puzzled them,

How Virtue looks and acts in her own ſhape.

PHILODAMUS.

Fools only know extremes. Is there no middle

Between the harſh formality of bookmen,

And trifling delicacy that makes woman?

PHILIPPUS.

I ſee no point in which they yield to us.

Their apprehenſion's quicker, and their reaſon

[4]By forms leſs fetter'd, their expreſſion clearer;

They ſeek no ſhelter from authorities,

Nor do they ſtrive to veil their ignorance

In terms of art, as we do: then their gentleneſs

Smooths off the rugged points of argument,

Melting contention into pleaſantry.

Diſcourſe, ſuch as Euphemia's and my ſiſter's,

Conceiv'd by ſenſe, and harmoniz'd by beauty,

Reaches the heart, while it informs the mind,

Softens and civilizes all our ways.

PHILODAMUS

Not to examine whither, but too often,

Theſe over-civilizing freedoms tend,

How did you venture, (you their wiſe admirer,

Who ought to know how delicate their fame,

How the leaſt breath, that blight reproach may point,

Oft with irreparable taint deforms

The beſt complexion'd innocence that dares

But err from common forms), to introduce

Epicrates to Erato's apartment,

Which, by our manners, is ſeverely barr'd

To all but neareſt conſanguinity?

PHILIPPUS.

The age, ſince you were young, has ſhaken off

Many the ſlaviſh cuſtoms of tradition.

PHILODAMUS.

That country, where all forms are thrown aſide,

However venerably perhaps deriv'd

From the collected wiſdom of paſt times,

And meant a mound againſt ſome national bent,

Some native inclinations of the ſoil,

Is on the point of loſing decency,

And ſinking into rank licentiouſneſs.

PHILIPPUS.

Now, good my father, if there be to blame,

Do not involve my ſiſter in my fault;

Nor yet condemn her conduct; her fair fame

Stands not within the verge of reprehenſion;

Nor ever has ſhe giv'n him ear alone,

Euphemia, or myſelf, were always preſent.

PHILODAMUS.

[5]

'Twas inconſiderate and raſh, no matter;

I've hit upon a way to remedy it,

Which you'll ſoon learn. Order your ſiſter hither.

Exit Philippus.

SCENE III.PHILODAMUS.
Such is the heart of man. No ſooner quit
Of one anxiety, up ſtarts another,
Ready to fill the vacant ſeat. It grieves me
To ſee this boy ſo very deep involv'd.
His thought, diſcourſe, and ſoul is all Euphemia.
How deſperate the fi'ry wiſh of youth!
How blind to the long train of ills behind!
High on Imagination's upper bough
Pleaſure ſuſpends her fruit, and ſhews its cheek,
Flaming with ruddy gold, to our impatience:
Does Fortune toſs it to our longing hand?
We find in melancholy diſappointment
The core conſum'd by worms and rottenneſs,
The juice we hop'd ſo racy turn'd to bitterneſs.

SCENE IV.

PHILODAMUS, ERATO.

PHILODAMUS.

Good morrow, my fair child; how doſt thou, Erato?

ERATO.

Health to my father. What are his commands?

PHILODAMUS.

I have been rating here your brother, child,

Rather more warmly than my manner is.

ERATO.

I'm ſorry for the occaſion; but I ſee

Your looks are ſtill ſerene, your brow unruffled:

Mirth more than anger ſparkles in your eye.

[6]I think you ſcarce have giv'n us opportunity

To learn how you look angry.

PHILODAMUS.

Why no, daughter,

For I regard my children as my friends,

As my acquaintance, my ſociety,

Connected by the tend'reſt ſtrings of love.

'Tis their affection, 'tis their confidence

I want, and not a formal, cold obedience.

Dread is the ſeed from which rebellion ſprings,

And teaches ſoon to wiſh a vacant throne.

ERATO.

Your milder government has rather choſen

To copy from thoſe happy ſtates, where one

Is rais'd, for the convenience of the whole,

Rather to repreſent than exerciſe

The pow'r ſupreme.

PHILODAMUS.

I'm glad you think ſo of me.

Well, ſince I have not ſought to reign by terror,

You'll tell me in what light you ſee Epicrates.

ERATO.

So cloſe an union knits him to Philippus,

I ſee him almoſt as another brother.

PHILODAMUS.

And pray, this other brother, as you call him,

Has ought particular e'er paſs'd between you?

ERATO.

No more than general civility,

Th' attention ever paid our ſex by yours,

No other than between him and Euphemia.

PHILODAMUS.

Your ſentiments?

ERATO.

Are as of an acquaintance

That's always entertaining, oft inſtructive.

PHILODAMUS.

No more?

ERATO.

No more.

PHILODAMUS.

[7]

Truſt me, I'm glad of it.

For when I found that you receiv'd his viſits,

And with a kind of caution that imply'd

We would not have the old man find us out, —

ERATO.

Will you but give me leave?

PHILODAMUS.

Not till I've done.—

I did inform me of his character;

And find him, as the general run o' th' time,

Wild in his ways, unmaſter'd in his temper,

One who has taken in his teeth the bit,

And run away from rule, one whoſe glib tongue

Diſtils a dang'rous and infective ſoftneſs,

Which on the paſſive and unguarded mind

Works, like a feather dipp'd in pois'nous ointment,

Pleaſing while it deſtroys. —

ERATO.

Do but permit me

To tell you, you're moſt groſsly miſinform'd.

Some private enemy hath ſlander'd him,

If worth like his can find an enemy.

Oh that I knew the wretch! Contempt cleave to him!

Nay, common fame, which, as it rolls along,

Licks up each ſpeck and ſpot of character,

Impatient to produce them to our eyes,

Speaks him of conduct irreproveable. —

PHILODAMUS.

What, ho! my daughter, whither are you running?

And why ſo warm for any one acquaintance,

However entertaining or inſtructive?

ERATO.

Alas! you ſhew me to myſelf at once.

How could I be ſo ign'rant of my heart!

I bluſh at my own folly. Oh! my father,

Teach me my erring ſteps how to retrace.

Command me, and I never ſee him more.

PHILODAMUS.

This picture have I drawn of thy Epicrates,

[8]As in a mirrour that inverts the truth,

To puniſh you for not confiding in me.

Start you, my girl, to hear me call him thine?

Why, what a fire has lightned in thy cheek,

And glimmers o'er thy boſom? Yes, my child,

Epicrates is thine, and in an hour

From hence expect to interchange your vows.

ERATO.

I do not only ſtart, I tremble too,

Quite giddy at the unexpected change.

'Tis but this inſtant that I find I love,

The very ſame you give away my hand.

I look in wonder round me, like a voyager,

Who, quitting his own country late at evening,

Sleeps o'er the eaſy paſſage to another,

And wakes to a new people, and new manners,

Where the whole region wears a diff'rent aſpect

From that he left.

PHILODAMUS.

As to thy voyage, child,

Be ſure it lands thee on a ſunſhine coaſt,

Where not a cloud yet lours. But think of this,

That happineſs grows not on earth ſpontaneous.

It is a plant that calls for delicate rearing.

Trifling neglects may chill its tender growth,

And imperceptibly produce that canker

Shall dim the orient tints impreſs'd by heaven,

And give its fading luſtre for a prey

To the harſh worm unkindneſs. Think this certain,

A neceſſary conſequence, whenever

Familiarity outruns complacency.

ERATO.

Fear not my care. But this too quick tranſition,

This hurrying ſo abruptly into marriage,

Ere it is whiſper'd in Inquiry's ear,

Robs it of its due air of decency.

PHILODAMUS.

I ſhould diſtreſs you, were I to aſſent

To what your modeſty would aſk for form.

Do you get ready, while I give my orders

[9]How to prepare the feaſt; not with great pomp,

Yet dignity, becauſe the legate Verres,

Rav'nous as th' eagle on the Roman enſigns,

Is juſt arriv'd; and 't would inform his avarice

Where to ſeek out for prey, ſhould we unfold

All our magnificence to 's greedy eye.

Exit Philodamus.

SCENE V.

ERATO.

Only to love and honour ſuch a father,

Is to be ſtill ungrateful. I would give

Some wild, romantic proof of my obedience,

Out of the common, trampled road of duty—

Here comes Epicrates. Why all this tumult,

This trouble at him, whom I us'd to meet

With tranſport, yet be miſtreſs of myſelf?

SCENE VI.

EPICRATES, ERATO.

EPICRATES.

My lovelieſt Erato, I can perceive

A ſweet confuſion in your look, that tells me

You are not unacquainted with my errand.

Will not this gentle hand confirm the promiſe

This beſt of days has giv'n me from thy father?

ERATO.

You have it. But I fear, Epicrates,

giving her hand.

You knew too well before to need the queſtion:

For ſurely you had eyes to read my heart,

However it impos'd upon itſelf.

May not a time arrive, when you'll deſpiſe me,

For the facility with which you win me?

EPICRATES.

Yes, could a time arrive, when impoſition,

[10]Diſguiſe, and mock'ry, and th' ungen'rous pride

Of giving pain, ſhould grow more meritorious,

Than noble plainneſs, and free honeſty,

Which lift thee from the level of moſt women,

And make thee ev'ry thing my heart could wiſh.

ERATO.

Such may you think me ſtill, and I'm too happy!

All that I know, is, that in pure affection,

And reverent ſubmiſſion to your pleaſure,

It will be hard indeed for me to err,

Since they're ſo much my bent and inclination,

I ſhall not know they are a debt to duty.

EPICRATES.

Thank thee, my gentle love! I am not one

T' out-paſſion paſſion, and to o'er-ſtretch ſenſe,

To rant, in wild hyperbole and rapture,

Such ſtuff as takes the triflers of thy ſex.

My love, obedient to my reaſon, grew;

Which weigh'd, and ſtudy'd thee, and ſtill diſcover'd

More and new virtues for its admiration.

The ſearch has juſtified exceſs of love;

And my beſt judgment gives thee all my ſoul.

ERATO.

Grant, Heaven, you do not over-rate my worth!

How poor, and how deſerted, ſhall I ſeem,

When the imaginary virtues vaniſh,

And my defects ſtep forward to your view?

EPICRATES.

There I have not a fear. But ſee! Philippus.

What mean his downcaſt look, and haggard eye?

SCENE VII.

PHILIPPUS, EPICRATES, ERATO.

PHILIPPUS.

My friend! my brother! happineſs ſhow'r on thee.

EPICRATES.

[11]

It does, till I can hold no more. My friend!

I cannot love thee better, tho' I gain

Another tender name by which to call thee.

PHILIPPUS.

All joy to thee, my deareſt Erato!

ERATO.

My brother, you felicitate but coolly.

PHILIPPUS.

It may be ſo, for I am ſcarce myſelf;

Elſe the content of ſuch a friend and ſiſter

Would animate me into exultation.

Euphemia leaves us.

ERATO.

This was unexpected.

It gives me grief. How ſhall I bear the parting?

EPICRATES.

So ſuddenly?

ERATO.

Has ought offended her?

PHILIPPUS.

I have offended her, I have offended her;

Wretch that I am! by telling her I lov'd.

For that I love her, with a flame as pure

As elemental fire unſoil'd by ſmoke—

EPICRATES.

Has long been viſible enough, Philippus.

PHILIPPUS.

The day when ſhe arriv'd at Lampſacus,

(The ſea had ruffled her, and pal'd her cheek

With ſuch a winning languidneſs, it added

An air of ſenſibility to beauty,

That only height'ned, what it meant to ſteal from.)

She had my hand at landing on the pier,

And her firſt touch was anſwer'd at my heart,

Which inſtantly did homage to its ſovereign.

I waited long in humble, diſtant awe,

Smoth'ring my pains; till now, this very morning,

Their violence forc'd a paſſage from my heart.

EPICRATES.

[12]

How did ſhe hear you?

PHILIPPUS.

As ſhe would a tale

Related of feign'd love, and fancy'd perſons;

A mere Mileſian novel, which we read,

Nor find one track behind it on the mind:

Said, it requir'd no anſwer, for to-morrow

She ſail'd for Corinth.

ERATO.

This is ſomething ſudden!

But, in theſe caſes, truſt a woman's judgment.

We read each other with a piercing eye,

And penetrate, with eaſe, each latent meaning.

I'm ſure Euphemia loves.—

PHILIPPUS.

I've ſeen it long.

Oh, I've no doubt! Now could I gnaw my heart.

EPICRATES.

Hear me; and if I ſpeak with liberty,

Think, 'tis the ſurgeon's hand which cannot aid thee

Without firſt giving pain. Can you conceive,

High as your father ſtands in Lampſacus,

With ſuch a city bowing to his greatneſs,

He will conſent to wed his only ſon

(Whate'er her birth, her merit, or her beauty,

May plead in favour of Euphemia)

Into a family, whom baniſhment

Has ſtripp'd without remorſe of its poſſeſſions? —

I could ſay more, but fear to wound you deeper.

Oh, ſtrive t' o'er-rule this unavailing paſſion,

And be in time advis'd.

PHILIPPUS.

Go, and adviſe

The lapſe of water down the broken cliff,

Not to obey its own propenſity

Which drives it headlong to its place of reſt:

Then, if it heed thy bidding, come again,

And I will try to bind my paſſion priſoner

[13]In Reaſon's icy fetters. Ah! Epicrates,

'Tis eaſier to adviſe, than to aſſiſt.

EPICRATES.

Miſtake me not. For tho' I would diſſuade,

Yet my diſſuaſion frees no obligation

That friendſhip owes to ſerve you your own way.

Therefore, try you to win upon Euphemia,

But to delay her voyage for a little;

Mean while, my Erato ſhall preſs her father—

Say, wilt thou not, my love?

ERATO.

Whate'er you bid,

Were I averſe to't; but in ſuch a cauſe,

My inclinations run before your bidding.

And be you ſure, my brother, I will plead

With all the energy of pure affection,

Join'd to the ſincere love I bear Euphemia.

Could I but hope ſo to prevail on him,

As I believe you will on her to ſtay,

I ſhould have warmer proſpect of ſucceſs.

PHILIPPUS.

I ſee, and thank, thy goodneſs, Erato,

Which ſtrives, tho' thou deſpondeſt in thy heart,

To give th' unbodied ghoſt of hope a ſubſtance,

And tinge it of ſome colour: but thy love

Leaves it, at beſt, evanid.

EPICRATES.

Now, no more.

Go to Euphemia, while we try Philodamus.

[To Erato.]

Exeunt.

End of ACT I.

ACT II.

[14]

SCENE I.

PHILODAMUS, EARINUS.

PHILODAMUS.

You have my orders. Only this, Earinus,

See that propriety and elegance

Are not encroach'd upon by cloying quantity.

EARINUS.

I ſhall.

PHILODAMUS.

Yet, do you hear, Earinus!

Do not ſo check your hand, but that abundance

Smile gracefully upon my board. Forget not

That my dependents and the poor have mouths,

Alas! too ſeldom fill'd. And can one ſee

The feaſt, which laviſh luxury has pil'd

With all that ſea, and air, and earth produce,

Without the thought, how many of our ſpecies

Seem to inhabit quite another world,

And do not know our diet? So, be gone.

Exit Earinus.

SCENE II.

PHILODAMUS, ERATO.

PHILODAMUS.

How, now! What brings thee here, my gentle daughter?

ERATO.

Euphemia means to leave us, and my heart

Feels heavy for the parting. Then Philippus—

PHILODAMUS.

But, Erato, where is thy nuptial robe?

I thought to find thee trick'd in all the ſplendour

[15]Which the unſatisfied and curious hand

Of ornament could torture out of fancy.

ERATO.

I hope you have not found me over ſtudious

Of that vain ſcience. You have often told me,

Dreſs was an indication of the mind,

Which, whether rich and noble with ſimplicity,

Or light and trifling, wanton in redundancy,

Hung, like a ſign, t' inform one of what goods

Were to be found within. As for my brother—

PHILODAMUS.

I have ſo. And why did I ſo? — To check

A paſſion that's inherent to thy ſex.

The peacock beauty, tho' it ſpread its ſtate

Quite to the tiptoe ſtretch of vanity,

Wiſhes more eyes might ſtud its gaudy train,

Unſatisfied in all its preſent pride.

ERATO.

The greater pity we are ever taught

To look on perſonal perfections

As our prime merit, but the ſcanty hand

Of Nature, in her dealing out thoſe favours,

Aided by your advice, has cur'd, I hope,

Any exceſs Epicrates might blame.

I came to ſay, I tremble for Philippus—

PHILODAMUS.

You can't deny, the ſob'reſt of you all

Seek in the glare of ornament to hide,

Where-ever Nature wanders from perfection.

You're ſkilful architects, and know to veil

With rich entablature and wreathing ſoliage,

Any th' untoward juttings and abutments

That would diſgrace your ſymmetry of building;

Making neceſſity appear as choice.

ERATO.

Now, my beſt father, hear me of my brother—

PHILODAMUS.

Thou doſt recur for ever to that burthen,

And wilt not ſee, that I with pains elude it;

Nor am I only talkative from age,

[16]Fond as it is to hear itſelf diſcourſe,

But by deſign. Why, how canſt thou imagine

The care, the fondneſs, the parental friendſhip;

All faithful centinels, who, ſtill on duty,

Ne'er wink their vigilant eyes upon you both;

Who told me, ere thou toldſt them to thyſelf,

The ſecret inclinations of thy heart;

Could be ſo drowſy now, as not t' obſerve

A paſſion I muſt diſapprove? 'Tis this

Welcomes Euphemia's departure to me.

I would be kind, but not to fooliſhneſs.

ERATO.

My heart bleeds for him. I dread ſomething deſperate!

PHILODAMUS.

Myſelf I have ſurviv'd, more than one croſs,

Which youth and folly thought immediate death.

Of this no more. Here in the oratory

I go to pour my pray'rs, and beg of Heaven

Its bleſſings on thy marriage and my houſe.

Why doſt thou follow me?

ERATO.

To ſhut the oratory.

PHILODAMUS.

What needs it ſhut? I dare not aſk the gods

What I would wiſh kept from the ears of men.

Exit Philodamus.

SCENE III.

ERATO.

I ſee my brother following Euphemia,

And will avoid him, till I meet Epicrates:

Or he will jointly try to move my father,

Or ſoften our ſad errand in the telling.

SCENE IV.[17]PHILIPPUS, EUPHEMIA.
PHILIPPUS.
This is too much. This dumb indifference!
Oh, rather let me ſuffer all thy hate,
And learn it from thyſelf: it would be kind,
As it muſt end a life of wretchedneſs.
Yet ſtop, and anſwer me. Cannot theſe tears
Obtain one only day; 'tis all I aſk;
Nor yet the friendſhip you profeſs to Erato?
EUPHEMIA.
Her marriage makes my ſtay unneceſſary.
My reſolutions are immutable.
PHILLIPUS.
Cruel Euphemia! But I ſee the cauſe
Which wings your eagerneſs to take its flight.
Think you, a lover's eye could be ſo dull'd,
His ſoul ſo drench'd with thick ſtupidity,
As to o'erlook the thouſand treach'rous ſigns
Which tell, ſpite of yourſelf, the darling ſecret?
The ſigh half ſmother'd, and the melting look,
The thought abſtracted, and the ardent wiſh,
With all the kindred attributes of paſſion,
Proclaim, to full conviction, that your heart
Is prepoſſeſs'd, and thence my love contemn'd.
EUPHEMIA.
To this I owe no anſwer: free to love
Or hate, of you unqueſtion'd.
PHILIPPUS.
You ſay right:
Nor would I now detain you for one moment.
Fly to your lover; fly: the ſhip attends you!
Go; think a hurricane, a tardy wind,
And all too loit'ring for ſuch dear impatience.
Then, ere the indiſtinct horizon ſhew
[18]The riſing hills of Corinth like a miſt,
Have your arms ſtretch'd out ready to embrace him;
Stay not to land, but plunge into his boſom.
Oh bliſs of gods! which cannot know increaſe,
Unleſs, as I am urg'd by ſtrong deſpair,
I glut your eyes with what they long to ſee,
The bleeding, mangled triumph of your beauty.
EUPHEMIA.
Ah! do not force me from my reſolution,
My reaſon, and my duty, to diſcover
What I would lock for ever in this boſom,
Known only to myſelf. Why will you torture me
For what, when told, will draw upon thyſelf
A dreadful train of bittereſt repentance?
PHILIPPUS.
I am paſt fear of worſe. Oh! tell me all,
Tho' death attend upon the explanation!
Nor think revenge may interrupt your happineſs:
My enmity is pointed at myſelf.
EUPHEMIA.
'Tis true; one has poſſeſſion of my heart:
Nor malice can reprove my choice. His worth
Allow'd by all, tho' doubted by himſelf;
Of rank exalted, but of more diſtinction
For what he owes to none, honour and merit;
His tongue drops honey, and, whene'er he ſpeaks,
Attention blames herſelf of negligence,
Tho' ſhe's all ear and eye. Then for his perſon—
In pride of youth—words are too poor to paint it.
PHILIPPUS.
Refrain thy laviſh praiſe, or I ſhall burſt.
Ye tort'rers of the ſoul, Rage, Envy, Jealouſy,
I fail beneath the laſhing of your ſcourges!
Forgive my frenzy; I, like you, adore
His wondrous virtues; I, like you, would worſhip
Perfections heav'n created but for him.
Oh! ſay, where ſtands his altar? To this god,
Under what name ſhall I addreſs my incenſe?
[19]I crave his name, that happieſt of names;
Oh, for that name of names!—
EUPHEMIA.
Why, you are mad!
Nor do deſerve to know, nor ſhould you know,
But that I leave you, ne'er to ſee you more;
And that your wildneſs of miſapprehenſion,
Fancy'ng another maſter of my ſoul,
Has humbled me to the too plain avowal
Of what the delicacy of my ſex
Should doom to ſleep in everlaſting ſilence;
It is Philippus: Know you ſuch a man,
That rival of himſelf?
PHILIPPUS.
Can I be ſure
That I exiſt? ſupport me, or I faint!
Aſtoniſhment has wrapp'd me from myſelf;
My ſenſes whirl them round in giddy eddies;
Too much for nature's ſuff'rance! ſcarce can life
Cohabit with the tumult of my joy.
EUPHEMIA.
Avoid theſe ſtarts of rapture, which but add
Freſh poiſon to the ſtings of diſappointment.
Imagination views her fav'rite proſpect,
Till, loſt in ſoft deluſion, ſhe approaches
Even the blue ſky to her eager reach,
Skipping the middle ſpace, which teems with obſtacles.
PHILIPPUS.
What lion glares athwart the promis'd way?
Has not my love confeſs'd her gen'rous flame?
What then can come between me and my wiſhes?
EUPHEMIA.
Are you to learn then what may come between?
What are ingratitude and diſobedience?
And if Philippus (devious from the tenor
Of his paſt life, burſting each ſacred band
That links his duty to ſo mild a father,
Obedience to him is but awful friendſhip)
[20]Could take to 's arms an unbleſs'd vagabond,
Think not Euphemia of ſo baſe a ſpirit,
To ruin by her love the man ſhe loves,
Or blaſt by a mean deed of ſelfiſhneſs
The only friend deſtruction left her parents;
Taint, like a pois'nous worm, thoſe kindly branches
That yield her food and ſhelter.
PHILIPPUS.
I have won
Epicrates and Erato to aſk—
EUPHEMIA.
Aſk him to ſet this ample roof on fire,
Or ſink his riches in the boundleſs ſea,
And he ſhall laugh leſs at us.
PHILIPPUS.
Doſt thou doom me
To pine beneath thy ineffectual love?
Away with theſe refinements! let us fly;
Fly to thy mother, till reſentment here
Thaw into reconcilement. She at leaſt
Will bleſs me, while I ever ſeek to pay her,
In duty, the dear debt I owe for thee.
EUPHEMIA.
Pay it at home. You little know that mother;
Nor would ſhe own the name, ſhould I reviſit her;
Unworthy of her love. Diſtreſs had never
The pow'r to eat into her ſolid virtue,
Nor roughen with its ruſt the perfect poliſh.
One female ſlave attends her; their joint labour
Earns hard ſupport, oft borrowing from night
Its ſofteſt hours of reſt; and I defraud her,
While I am abſent, of my ſhare of toil.
Would I had never left her! never left her!
PHILIPPUS.
Oh, only kind to heighten cruelty!
EUPHEMIA.
I've ſaid too much. We part! take this embrace,
The firſt and laſt I give! Shun we each other!
[21]Truſt not a look, and think a ſigh rebellion
Againſt our duties. So farewell!
Exit. Shuts the Door.
PHILIPPUS.
One word!
She's gone! ſhe's loſt for ever! Oh, my brain!
Ex.

SCENE V.PHILODAMUS.
The gods have heard my pray'r, and ſent their anſwer.
I aſk'd them for a bleſſing on my houſe,
And they have brought this woman to my ear,
That I might learn her worth. How nobly ſtrict!
How juſt to me! how duteous to her mother!
There I've been negligent—The voice of miſery
Is often loſt to pity's ear by diſtance.
Hide from the eye diſtreſs, compaſſion loſes
Its beſt, almoſt ſole entrance to the heart,
And leaves diſaſter by itſelf to languiſh.
It ſhall be mended. Erato, Epicrates,
Hark ye, a word.

SCENE VI.

Enter ERATO, EPICRATES.

Haſte thee, my gentle daughter,

Upon a meſſage thou'lt be glad to bear.

I would not hear thee, when thou wouldſt have mov'd me

To liſten to the ſorrows of thy brother.

Himſelf I've heard. Fly to him, child, and tell him,

I love Euphemia little leſs than he does,

And long to give her to him. Haſte, away.

ERATO.

Oh, happy change! how I ſhall bleſs Philippus!

Ex.

SCENE VII.

[22]

EPICRATES, PHILODAMUS.

EPICRATES.

Now you have heap'd the meaſure of my joy

In thus preventing what I meant to urge

In favour of Euphemia. This completes

What you began, in haſt'ning my felicity;

Which elſe had waited the interpoſition

Of friends, ere I had ty'd this wiſh'd alliance.

A life ſo lib'ral in diſpenſing happineſs

Claims ev'ry pray'r for bleſſings in return.

PHILODAMUS.

There is more uſury in making happy,

Than the moſt ſtudied ſelfiſhneſs e'er dream'd of.

My ſon, except that his is more tumultuous,

Owns not more joy—And as for you, Epicrates,

Had the whole world been open to my choice,

That I could ſay, Here will I give my daughter;

Thou wert the man; the one my ſould would cleave to.

I love thy probity, and gentle nature,

That form and faſhion of the preſent time,

Which grows a virtue when it is allied

To antique truth, and ſanctity of manners;

And that timidity of modeſt merit,

Without the bookiſh, down-look'd awkwardneſs,

Which oft diſgraces knowledge—Who attends there?

Send here Earinus.

To a Servant.

EPICRATES.

Such commendation

I dare not think my own. Yet I would wiſh

Your favour ſhould not be miſtaken widely,

That I may prove not wholly undeſerving

The hand of Erato.

Enter EARINUS.

My lord, your orders.

PHILODAMUS.

[23]

Thou art too much employ'd thyſelf, to quit

The general inſpection of this day:

Therefore, Earinus, have thou in readineſs

Some ſervant of eſpecial truſt, to bear

A packet to the port; it is of conſequence.

EARINUS.

Or Aeſchylus, my Lord; or Xanthias—

PHILODAMUS.

Ay, either;

E'en which you will: let it be giv'n on board

The veſſel which Euphemia meant to ſail in:

Thus better freighted with the chearing news

(For this will chear Lyſiſtrata her mother)

Of our alliance.

EPICRATES.

Thank you for a goodneſs

Which never acts, as I perceive, by halves;

But at this time you're all too overhurried

For ſuch diſpatches; at your better leiſure

This may be done as well.

PHILODAMUS.

Epicrates,

I tell thee what. I ſhould be leſs punctilious

Had Fortune never turn'd her back upon her:

But where Adverſity has fix'd her teeth,

It leaves a ſoreneſs, that is ſure to ſmart

At light ſuſpicions of unmeant contempt.

The verieſt trifles, which, in happier days,

Slip our obſervance, and leave no impreſſion,

Aſſume the ſhape of Injury and Inſult,

To rankle in the mind—I write beſides

To preſs her, with her earlieſt convenience,

To haſten hither, and to make this houſe

Her place of reſidence—Oh! here they come.

SCENE VII.

[24]

PHILODAMUS, EUPHEMIA, PHILIPPUS, EPICRATES.

PHILODAMUS.

Well, Erato, how haſt thou ſped thy meſſage?

Or meet you difficulties and objections?

What ſays our ſon? Does he refuſe t' obey us?

Or is Euphemia not to be prevail'd on?

What, is ſhe ſo determin'd on her voyage,

She will not liſten?—How! diſſolv'd in tears!

I thought you had not own'd ſuch weak humanity.

EUPHEMIA.

I was prepar'd and fortify'd 'gainſt miſery.

Unguarded to this vaſt ſurpriſe of joy.

Whatever reſolution we pretend,

By my own weakneſs I'm too well convinc'd

Our paſſions ſtill are woman.

PHILODAMUS.

Worth, like thine,

Is all too ſcarce in man. Thy ſex, Euphemia,

Whether in good or bad, will diſtance ours.

This hand, ſay, may I give it to Philippus?

EUPHEMIA,

My heart was giv'n before. Oh ecſtaſy,

That you approve and realize the gift!

PHILIPPUS.

Avoid theſe ſtarts of rapture, which but add

Freſh poiſon to the ſtings of diſappointment.

Oh beſt of men! oh Erato! oh friend!

Was ever ſuch a father! Oh! Euphemia!

Doſt not adore him! but I know thou doſt.

Forgive my wildneſs—do not laugh at me—

PHILODAMUS.

Contract your tranſports, and retire a little,

While they prepare this chamber for the ceremony,

That gives you to each other, once and ever.

Exeunt.

End of ACT II.

ACT III.

[25]

SCENE I.

VERRES'S Palace.

RUBRIUS, APRONIUS, SESTIUS.

RUBRIUS.

Ha! our old harbinger! How is't, Apronius?

APRONIUS.

Glad you're arriv'd: How fare you, Rubrius?

Seſtius, I'm yours; welcome to Lampſacus.

SESTIUS.

Thank you, Apronius: You arriv'd before us?

APRONIUS.

Ay, theſe ten days, to order your reception.

But where's the Legate, that I ſee him not?

RUBRIUS.

Repoſing after the fatigue of journey.

APRONIUS.

Fatigue! why, his ſedan ſteps with that ſmoothneſs,

So ſtuff'd with cuſhions, that he rather ſeems

To float upon the air, than move on earth.

SESTIUS.

You know his delicacy, to what height

He has improv'd that ſcience, whoſe perfection

Conſiſts in picking cauſe of diſcontent,

Fatigue, and diſappointment, where we groſs ones,

Thanks to our want of taſte, meet ſatisfaction.

RUBRIUS.

Why, he was ſour'd but at the laſt relay,

Becauſe the country round about could furniſh

Only ſome two poor buſhels of freſh roſes,

Hardly enough to arm his queaſy ſenſe

Againſt eight ſturdy Cappadocian ſlaves,

Who melted as they bore along his litter.

APRONIUS.

Well, are your purſes cramm'd? You have not ſerv'd

[26]Under ſo great a maſter in the art

Of plund'ring, to return with empty hands?

SESTIUS.

Aſk Rubrius there, he is an able workman;

I'm but a 'prentice, and can only pilfer.

RUBRIUS.

Nothing to boaſt of, yet not much amiſs.

The legate kept t' himſelf king Nicomedes,

As a right royal diſh, and only ſerv'd

To his own meſs, where we were not to feed:

And he has pick'd him to the bone, nay ſuck'd

His very marrow. Irus might be richer

Than Aſia's monarch now.

APRONIUS.

At leaſt in vermin.

I like your prudence; while you fleec'd the court,

But ſpar'd the people, you enſur'd their love.

RUBRIUS.

Enſur'd their love! ſay you? enſur'd their love!

If plague, war, famine, ſhipwreck may be lov'd,

Then we may have our ſhare on't, and not elſe.

SESTIUS.

How ſtand your liſts for pillage, and for women?

For let me tell you, he's ſharp ſet on both.

You need not doubt but he'll inquire for them

Soon as he ſees you.

RUBRIUS.

But, Apronius,

What is the preſent ſtate of vice and villany

In Lampſacus?

APRONIUS.

In little, as at Rome,

The great are vicious openly, 'bove fear

Of the law's rod, which humbly bows before them;

As your mine-ſearchers ſay their hazle twig

Stoops to the latent gold beneath. Again,

The middle rank is vicious out of pride,

Copying the larger manners of their betters,

Ev'n till they ſwell their narrowneſs to burſting.

[27]The trading ſort are honeſt, their indentures

Inveſt them with the privilege to cozen us.

SESTIUS.

What no more honeſty alive than this?

APRONIUS.

Alive! ſhe died a beggar unreliev'd.

RUBRIUS.

So! we may fancy then ourſelves at home,

Since vice ſtalks unreprov'd here.

APRONIUS.

Your philoſophers

Subſiſt by daily holding forth againſt it,

And, in mere gratitude, at night indulge in it.

SESTIUS.

Apronius, you ſay nothing to the women.

APRONIUS.

Pooh! they are here, as in all other places.

Why, there's no variation in the ſex

But what dreſs makes: their bodies ſtripp'd of that,

(And could one ſee their ſouls ſtripp'd of their bodies)

One could not know an empreſs from an houſemaid.

RUBRIUS.

Now, you're ſevere—

SESTIUS.

Huſh! here the legate comes.

SCENE II.

VERRES, APRONIUS, RUBRIUS, SESTIUS.

VERRES.

Well, my good friends, how like you Lampſacus?

'Tis a brave city.—Art thou here, Apronius?

What my purveyor, the ſutler to my pleaſures?

APRONIUS,

bowing.

And ſometimes to your profit.

VERRES.

Name not profit

As yet. We only ſpread our ſails tow'rds pleaſure;

[28]Thou look'ſt as if the wind blew proſp'rous thither.

Read me the bill of fare of beauty's feaſt,

That I may know where to direct my appetite,

Nor throw't away on ordinary diet.

APRONIUS.

For the firſt diſh, I place upon your board

"Euridice, the wife of Ariſtippus,

Reads.

"Barely eighteen; her huſband ſome three-ſcore:"

The fool dotes on her, and ſticks cloſely to her;

A filthy ſlug on a delicious peach.

The criſpneſs of her youth is green upon her,

Yet not to ſourneſs, tho' improveable,

Like fruit another morning's ſun had mellow'd.

SESTIUS.

He ſhould have kept his fruit for the deſſert.

aſide.

RUBRIUS.

The rogue's deſcription is ſo ſavoury,

That my mouth waters at it. Let's hear on.

APRONIUS.

But all this beauty fades its leſs'ning merit

In Erato's ſuperior luſtre dimm'd.

VERRES.

Who is this Erato? when comes her turn?

I want to hear of her.

APRONIUS.

She is the daughter

Of the firſt man in Lampſacus, Philodamus.

She has a fair companion, call'd Euphemia,

Whoſe beauty borders upon competition.—

RUBRIUS.

D'ye hear, Apronius! I beſpeak Euphemia.

APRONIUS.

Go hang, or learn to cater for yourſelf.

"The next is Pſyche, wedded to Eubulus,

Reads.

"Near upon thirty, tall, and rather plumpiſh."

If ſhe be paſt the guſh and ſwell of beauty,

Is hard to ſay, ſo imperceptibly

Hath time blown o'er it, that 'twould make one think

He ſtrove to mend it; as the roſe ſmells ſweeter

For being breath'd on, than before it opens.

[29]Yet Erato, who blooms in balmy fragrance,

Subdues, like incenſe, all theſe weak perfumes.

VERRES.

Why, tell me of them then? Proceed to Erato.

APRONIUS.

Reads.

"Rhodè, the fair and witty wife of Lyco."

Another may poſſeſs more regular features,

Or glow with richer tints from nature's pallette;

Yet where ſhe comes, array'd in all her gaiety,

Her burſts of fancy, and her pleaſing petulance,

Variety unweary'd plays about her,

And quite monopolizes all attention;

Till in the pow'rful witchcraft ſoon abſorpt,

Superior beauties wane into neglect.

Except—

VERRES.

Always excepting Erato,

For that I find's the burthen to thy ſong.

I'm all on fire! tell me of Erato.

APRONIUS.

I have a ſcore behind—

VERRES.

I'll hear no more.

Tell me of Erato! ſhe muſt be mine.

My faithful pimp, haſt thou devis'd the means

For me to meet this paragon of beauty?

Where? when? how ſoon? to-day? preſently? now?

APRONIUS.

There lies the rub. That heav'nly form of hers

Does not ſtart higher from the common level,

Than does her perfect purity of manners

Above the doubtful virtues of this age.

RUBRIUS.

Apronius! what haſt thou to do with purity?

Thou ſeem'ſt to name it in a kind of rapture!

APRONIUS.

I am a raſcal, elſe I ſhould not be

Link'd to thy company. I practiſe villany,

But muſt eſteem the virtues I don't imitate.

SESTIUS.

[30]

What! art thou ſubject to theſe moral fits?

How long do th'hold thee? doſt thou miſchief in them?

VERRES.

Ye trifle, while my ſoul is on the rack

How to poſſeſs her, for I will poſſeſs her.

Can money purchaſe, or muſt flatt'ry win,

Or force convey her to my raptur'd arms?

Who has invention? let him merit of me

All he can aſk, or wiſh, or I can give.

There's glory in the conqueſt, if we carry

This barricado'd virtue.

APRONIUS.

To my thoughts

All methods ſeem alike impracticable.

Better take up with one of thoſe I've mention'd.

Had you not heard of her, you had embrac'd

One, tho' a meaner beauty, in your arms,

And thought her Ilia and Egeria,

VERRES.

Villain! upon thy life, dare not ſuggeſt

The transfer of my paſſion from that object,

Where thou haſt rivetted m' imagination.

RUBRIUS.

I have a lucky thought that comes acroſs me.

Tho' I am quarter'd on a ſtately houſe,

Where pride and riches make a vain attempt

To paſs upon the world for liberality,

That only virtue man can't counterfeit;

Yet my hoſt views me with a niggard eye,

That means, Are you come here to eat me up?

Portending penury of hoſpitality.

Let this be your pretence for my removal

To the more ample ſtation of Philodamus.

You, and your train, dine with me there to-day.

Who knows what opportunities may offer?

If none, why then the brave make opportunities.

Wine, and the gen'ral hurry of the feaſt,

Shall one inſpire, t'other facilitate,

Some fortunate attempt to crown your wiſhes.

VERRES.

[31]

Let me embrace thee, my beſt Rubrius.

Order a guard directly to the houſe.

RUBRIUS.

But, why a guard?

VERRES.

Becauſe, by the pretence

To do thee honour, we ſecure ourſelves.

Tread you upon its heels, and I on yours.

Why, now ſucceſs ſtretches his hand towards mine,

And gives me more than promiſes. Come on.

Exeunt Verres and Rubrius.

SCENE III.

SESTIUS, APRONIUS.

SESTIUS.

'Twere wrong and dangerous to force the damſel.

APRONIUS.

Who has the moral fit upon him now?

Art thou a Roman, and decline a rape?

Doſt thou not fear thy Sabine anceſtreſs,

All pale, ſhould ſtart up from her urn, and chide

The daſtard ſp'rit of her degenerate ſon?

A rape in other nations may ſound vile.—

In us, 'tis to commem'rate our progenitors.

Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

PHILODAMUS'S Houſe.

PHILODAMUS, EPICRATES, PHILIP⯑PUS, ERATO, EUPHEMIA.

PHILODAMUS.

Go, crown the houſhold Gods with freſheſt flowers,

[32]And hang the gay feſtoon on ev'ry column,

Bid my houſe laugh and imitate its owner.

I feel a joy equivalent to youth,

That dances at my heart. And to be joyful,

Is to be thankful to the gracious gods.

Come near, my children. You whom nature gave me,

Scarce dearer to me than theſe new acquir'd.

May all Heav'ns bleſſings light upon you all.

Lays his hands on them.

EPICRATES.

You have anticipated all in this:

Nor have you left me matter for a pray'r,

Save for continuance of the preſent happineſs.

PHILIPPUS.

If you, my father, but from the reflection,

From the rebound of our content, perceive

Such warmth; think how our boſoms glow, on which

Felicity darts all her rays direct.

PHILODAMUS.

To the women.

Loſt in deep thought! I have obſerv'd it often,

That any unexpected flow of joy

Borrows from grief its very mien and aſpect,

And ſeems to ſadden more than chear the heart.

ERATO.

My thoughts were but petitions to high Heaven,

That ſuch benignity might long preſide

O'er all the happineſs it has diſpens'd.

EUPHEMIA.

Mine, that a life entire of ſtrict attention,

All care, and all affection, ſtill muſt leave me

Bankrupt in duty to you.

PHILODAMUS.

This I ſought not.

I thank you all, however; moſt, the Gods;

Who have allow'd me to behold my children

Plac'd to my wiſh: and now I reach the hour

I long have ey'd at diſtance with deſire,

Wherein to ſhift life's bus'neſs from my ſhoulders,

And ſport with the remainder of my days;

[33]As one, who, all his baggage put on board,

Saunters, and plays with ev'ry ſhell and pebble

He meets upon the beach, till the wind veer,

And then puts off, when ſummon'd, without hurry.

I feel that I have leiſure now to die.

ERATO.

My deareſt father, ſhun th' ill-omen'd word:

Nor draw a cloud 'thwart this ſolemnity,

With the ſad thought, of, what the Gods avert!

PHILODAMUS.

I only mean, my child, my work is done;

The ball wound up of all I had to do.

And as to dying—if this very day

It were to happen, why, I've liv'd enough.

EPICRATES.

Why chuſe this ſubject in theſe happy moments

Which gaiety and joy claim for their own?

PHILODAMUS.

Th' Aruſpex and the Augur! let us hear them.

Enter ARUSPEX and AUGUR.

Walk in. Have you perform'd the ſacrifice?

ARUSPEX.

We have: and our litation was moſt perfect.

The flame upon the altar, bright and vivid,

Aſpir'd to Heaven, and wreath'd its dancing point.

With ſcarce a groan the placid victim fell.

The form, ſight, and complexion of the entrails

Auſpicious all, without one threat'ning fibre.

PHILODAMUS.

What ſays your obſervation?

AUGUR.

Accurately,

The Heav'ns we quarter'd, and remark'd the flight

Of ev'ry wing that wander'd thro' the air,

Liſten'd to all that ſpoke to divination.

Num'rous the omens on the happy ſide,

Naught on the adverſe that might derogate.

[34]And to confirm and ratify the whole,

The eagle wheel'd him in a thouſand rings,

Floating upon his wide-expanded vans;

Far on the left, in the blue ſky ſerene

The thunder roll'd, diſarm'd of all its fires.

PHILODAMUS.

What draw ye from the whole?

ARUSPEX.

To all here preſent

Long years of happineſs that crowd tow'rds light.

AUGUR.

To you, old age; to theſe a num'rous progeny.

PHILODAMUS.

Call in the Minſtrels, and begin the rites.

Enter MINSTRELLS.

Hark ye, my friends, give me ſome decent hymn;

None of thoſe licences, too oft permitted,

Rather encourag'd at theſe times, which turn

A nuptial feaſt into a brothel riot.

MINSTREL.

We know our place too well.

PHILODAMUS.

So then, begin.

And you, my gentle children, while they chaunt

The deity preſiding over marriage,

Conceive your vows, heaping the grateful altar

With incenſe, that ſhall waft them up to Heaven.

EPITHALAMIUM.

For two Womens Voices.

1ſt voice.

Hymen, oh Hymen,

2d voice.

Haſte, haſte, Heſperus,

Both.

Thy decent ſteps advance,

Thy beaming lamp advance,

Love already chides thy ſtay

1ſt voice.

Lead on the graceful dance:

2d voice.

Shut, ah! ſhut ungrateful day.

1ſt voice.

[35]

Hymen, oh Hymen.

Man, yet a ſavage ſtray'd,

And but of brutes the firſt;

By liberty was wretched made,

By love itſelf was curs'd,

Now violence alone employs

To heap his feaſt, and quench his cruel joys.

2d voice.

Haſte, haſte, Heſperus.

Unwillingly you ſhone,

And beautified the night;

While luſt and rapine wak'd alone,

And bay'd thy ſilver light.

An uncouth world enjoy'd thy toil,

And man uncultur'd as his parent ſoil.

1ſt voice.

Hymen, oh Hymen.

Till at Jove's high beheſt

Thou ledd'ſt thy comely choir;

Order, and Right, behind thee preſt,

And temperate Deſire;

The ſocial Duties round thee ſtood,

Link'd in the chains of amity and blood.

2d voice.

Haſte, haſte, Heſperus.

Oh lovelieſt of ſtars—

Ends abrupt, on Cornelius entering with a Roman guard.

PHILODAMUS.

Suſpend the ſong. What means this Roman guard?

Retire, my daughters, till we know the cauſe.

Exeunt women and all the attendants.

PHILIPPUS.

Ye are miſtaken. Do ye know this houſe,

And where its owner ranks in Lampſacus?

CORNELIUS.

Saxa, and Rufus! Yonder is your guard.

No, no, there's no miſtake. Yours, Mutius,

With theſe three others, all that colonnade.

[36]The reſt are ready planted. No miſtake;

I know your houſe and rank, and know my orders.

PHILIPPUS.

Low to Philodamus.

Let me but drive theſe fellows out of doors—

PHILODAMUS.

Raſh boy, forbear. Theſe fellows are our maſters.

EPICRATES.

But the indignity—

PHILODAMUS.

Are you a boy too?

CORNELIUS.

Be not alarm'd. I only follow orders,

And am plac'd here to honour Rubrius,

Who comes to take his quarters in your houſe.

EPICRATES.

Why, this is not an inn for ev'ry comer

Who chuſes to ſet up his ſtaff in it.

PHILIPPUS.

A conſul, or a praetor have found here

Worthy reception. Legate never claim'd

Such privilege, much leſs a legate's follower.

PHILODAMUS.

Be ſtill; 'tis not this honeſt ſoldier's fault.

Pray, tell me, friend, who is this Rubrius?

CORNELIUS.

To tell you the plain truth, he's one of thoſe,

(We've quantity enough of them at Rome),

By hanging on the great, who's learn'd their manners,

Or rather overacts: at firſt admitted

For low buffooneries and mean ſubmiſſions,

For being either any thing or nothing,

Receiv'd, rejected, feaſted, ſent on errands,

Their fool, companion, pimp, friend, ſlave, and equal;

Grown by degrees ſo neceſſary to them,

They recollect not their own manufacture,

But ev'n ſtrike ſail to'm, when he holds his head up,

As all ſuch do, and higher than their maſters,

This ſword here earns me coarſer bread, but honeſter.

PHILODAMUS.

A gueſt indeed, who does me mighty honour!

[37]The legate muſt have err'd thro' ignorance

Of my condition, and I go t' explain it.

Going.

CORNELIUS.

With all my heart. I'll obey any orders.

Enter SOLDIER.

Rubrius comes.

CORNELIUS.

What, ho! Stand to your guard.

Exit.

PHILODAMUS.

So very quick! why, this is done on purpoſe

To make complaint too ſlow.

Returning.

PHILIPPUS.

'Tis not too late

To ſhut the door in's face, give me but leave.

PHILODAMUS.

Stay, madman! nor provoke bad things to worſe,

Since we are ſlaves, why do we talk like freemen?

All that is left us, is ſubmiſſion.

EPICRATES.

Surely

You won't—

PHILIPPUS.

No, ſure, you won't, my father—

PHILODAMUS.

Yes, but I will, and more. Upon your duties;

You ſhall abſent you from my houſe the while.

I know your indignation and high ſpirits.

Would you renew the Lapithean fray,

And mingle wine with blood? No arguing.

EPICRATES.

I only wiſh you have no need of us.

PHILIPPUS.

We may conduct the women to his houſe?

PHILODAMUS.

[38]

Not glaring in the ſtreets, amid the populace.

At cloſe of evening I'll convey them to you.

Farewell, now diſappear, I hear a buſtle.

Exeunt Epicrates and Philippus.

GUARD, within.

Stand by.

Second GUARD.

Stand by, there!

PHILODAMUS.

Now for my beſt face,

That it mark no reſentment to my gueſt.

SCENE V.

RUBRIUS.

Truſt me, Philodamus, it grieves me much

To be a burthen to you! but the legate,

Thinking the Roman dignity infring'd

By the faint ſplendour where I laſt was ſtation'd,

Has order'd this remove.

PHILODAMUS.

The caſe is new,

But we obey th' injunction of our lords.

Pray, think this houſe your own. Nay, it is ſo:

And that it might afford ampler reception,

This inſtant I have ſent away my ſon.

RUBRIUS, eagerly.

You have not ſent away your daughter, too?

PHILODAMUS.

That needed not! you know her range of chambers

Can never interfere with theſe apartments.

RUBRIUS.

Your houſe is royal—(I ſuppoſe this door

Leads to th' apartment of the women.)

PHILODAMUS.

No,

This on the left.

RUBRIUS.

[39]

—And I ſhall not diſgrace it

By thoſe I've bid; the Legate and his train

Will dine here! he was cloſe behind. He comes.

Horns.

PHILODAMUS.

And in right time. I think the table's ſerv'd.

Haſte we to meet him.

RUBRIUS.

I attend upon you.

Exeunt.

End of ACT III.

ACT IV.

[40]

SCENE I.

RUBRIUS, APRONIUS, SESTIUS fuddled.

APRONIUS.

This is a noble feaſt. I would the giver

Had been prevail'd upon to drink more freely.

He ſtill evaded, preſs him how we could.

RUBRIUS.

Curſe his ſobriety! it is ſo obſtinate,

It looks as he ſuſpected our deſign.

SESTIUS.

For his ſobriety, why that's unpardonable;

In all the reſt he ſeems an honeſt fellow.

APRONIUS.

Seſtius, thy wine recoils upon thyſelf.

We'll try again; and, while they ſpunge the tables,

Take care you call for wine. Oh! here they are.

SCENE II.

Enter PHILODAMUS and VERRES.

PHILODAMUS.

We are not ſo deficient in your hiſtory,

But that ſome very venerable names,

Curius, Cincinnatus, and Fabricius;

Brutus, and Regulus, and Scipio;

With others of like fame; tranſmit their rays,

Thro' diſtance and the difference of language,

To influence and light our Grecian world.

VERRES.

Ay, thoſe were characters fit for thoſe times;

Were they to live again, they would be wiſer,

Or elſe incur the penalty, and ſtarve.

Their ignorance we've complimented honeſty.

[41]What was their merit in deſpiſing riches

They had no uſe for, as they knew no luxury?

PHILODAMUS.

Strange! that the probity, which wrought your greatneſs,

Should not maintain its eſtimation with you.

RUBRIUS.

My noble gueſt, and very lib'ral hoſt,

Suppoſe, the while they reinſtate the chamber,

We call'd for wine. Philodamus grows ſerious.

PHILODAMUS.

Not in the leaſt; far from it.

RUBRIUS.

Table with Wine.

Bring ſome wine;

Pour to my landlord here. Why, my good friend,

There's nought defective in your hoſpitality,

But that you baulk too much the ſocial bowl,

And are not chearful. We embarraſs you.

PHILODAMUS.

Oh! not at all.

VERRES.

Truſt me, I fear we do.

SESTIUS.

What! flinch a ſober cup! we'll no exceſs;

I hate a drunkard worſe than you can do.

PHILODAMUS.

I am but in the place of a firſt butler,

Who muſt keep ſober, to obſerve his maſter.

APRONIUS.

But you diſgrace the office. Why, a butler

Drinks twice, in quantity and quality,

His maſter's draught.

PHILODAMUS.

Have me excus'd, I pray you,

Take your own freedom, and allow me mine.

SESTIUS.

Freemen are friends to drink. Look ye, your ſlave

Fears to unbar his breaſt. Now wine commits,

As 'twere, a kind of rape upon his ſecrets.

PHILODAMUS.

Let me put no reſtraint upon your pleaſures;

[42]But for myſelf—We eat not the ſame weight,

Why then oblig'd to drink by the ſame meaſure?

VERRES.

Preſs we our hoſt no more. There is a time

When a dull clog hangs on our flagging ſpirits;

A liſtleſſneſs, and an indiſpoſition

To mirth, and all the chearful ways of men,

Which wayward ſtruggles 'gainſt its remedy,

As patients nauſeate the draught that cures them.

I have known muſic have a great effect

In diſſipating this cold, gloomy humour.

Apronius, is your voice in tune?

APRONIUS.

I'll try.

SONG.

When Theſeus left his Ariadne,
(Faſt in her bed the poor girl was a blinking),
Drowned herſelf for grief ſhe had nigh;
But ſecond thoughts ſoon inclin'd her to drinking.

Sh' illumin'd her face, till it ſhone with that brightneſs,

It turn'd to a ſtar, which gives proof of her lightneſs.

VERRES.

How ſo? I thought ſhe had been crown'd with ſtars.

APRONIUS.

Her loves with Bacchus, and her ſtellar wreath,

Are allegorical, and mean no more

Than the ſong tells us.

SESTIUS.

And all ſongs tell truth.

A gallant fellow at a rape, that Theſeus;

I know his hiſt'ry: he'd the firſt of Helen.

RUBRIUS.

Right, Seſtius, to make ſure of that priority,

Like a wiſe man, he ſtole her in her childhood.

VERRES.

Would ſhe were here! not quite indeed ſo young,

Nor yet ſo far advanc'd, as when ſhe quitted

[43]Lank Menelaus for her curl'd adulterer;

Or any other Helen. For that company,

Tho' choſen e'er ſo well, if only men,

Sours into argument, or quickly mopes.

What is the feaſt where women are excluded!

APRONIUS.

A trough for ſwine to gorge at, where they ſwill,

To ſurfeiting in noiſe and naſtineſs.

RUBRIUS.

Man would immediately relapſe to beaſt,

If woman did not humanize the brute,

And make him ſhave his beard and pare his nails.

Where-e'er ſhe treads, good humour leads the way,

Pleaſure, light-hearted mirth, and elegance,

Compoſe her train, and joy is all her own.

Wine was invented to ſupply her place,

And but enhances more the want of her.

SESTIUS.

I don't find that.

APRONIUS.

Within theſe walls is one,

Who had ſham'd Helen, given her the pip,

And, to excuſe her looks, had made her ſwear

She had not ſlept the whole precedent night,

Tho' ſhe had had her huſband by her ſide.

I mean the daughter of our gen'rous hoſt.

Nay, her companion is almoſt her rival.

And, on my conſcience, I could well believe

That Leda laid more eggs than we are told of,

Which have been ſomehow kept, and newly hatch'd,

To ſhew true beauty to the preſent age.

VERRES.

It is inhuman to confine the women,

Who beſt adorn, and ought to ſhare the feaſt.

Let me beſeech you, we may have their company.

PHILODAMUS.

My daughter in the company of men,

Where the mad bowl inſpires unmaſter'd licence!

What! a chaſte virgin be a bluſhing witneſs

To the groſs meaning of your lewd alluſions!

[44]Bear the familiar preſſure of the hand,

And all the ribald manners, now call'd faſhion!

The thought is infamous.

SESTIUS.

Hark you me, landlord,

If ſhe's ſo chaſte, ſhe would not underſtand them.

If not, 'tis not the preſſure of the hand

Will do her harm.

VERRES.

In truth, Philodamus,

Your Grecian ceremonial is too ſtrict.—

We'll argue this within;—and ſhall convince you,

That the ſecurity of female virtue

Reſts ſafeſt on its early introduction

To the familiarity of men.

Come, friends, to the next room. I know you're thirſty

To pledge me to the health of this new Helen.

Exeunt all but Seſtius and Philodamus.

SCENE III.

SESTIUS, PHILODAMUS.

SESTIUS.

Hiſt! old formality! Hark you me, friend!

An you will pledge me in a ſingle bowl:

I'll tell y' a ſecret that ſhall make you laugh.

But you'll not blab, for I deteſt a blabber.

You never heard a ſcheme of greater pleaſantry.

PHILODAMUS.

He may know ſomething worthy my diſcovery.

'Tis fair to catch the truth that's leaking thro' him.

Aſide.

If but for once then, I accept your challenge.

Here's to you.

SESTIUS.

Now that's ſpoken like a man.

Both drink.

Why, you muſt know we came on purpoſe hither,

To carry off — this, what's her name! this Helen—

[45]You can gueſs who I mean—Don't be a fool now,

To blow the ſecret, and prevent our ſport.

PHILODAMUS.

All-gracious heav'n!

[Aſide.]

—Oh! never doubt my prudence—

Yes! all things join to prove it.

[Aſide.]

— Never fear me. —

Oh, ſacred hoſpitality profan'd!

[Aſide.]

—

But join your company, leſt they ſuſpect

The confidence you've made.

SESTIUS.

Tut! never doubt them.

Exit Seſtius.

SCENE IV.

PHILODAMUS, EARINUS.

PHILODAMUS.

Earinus, thou faithfulleſt of ſervants!—

Oh, heav'n and earth! the ſoul of man is villany!—

Fly, with the utmoſt ſpeed of fear, and tell them—

Art thou not gone?

EARINUS.

Whither, my lord? to whom?

Tell what?

PHILODAMUS.

I crave thy mercy, my Earinus;

Impatience ſtops itſelf with its own hurry.

Fly to Philippus and Epicrates,

Tell them, my gueſts are vipers, adders, ſcorpions,

That mean to ſting to death my daughter's honour,

Erato's and Euphemia's—Nay, come back;

Why doſt thou run away with half thy errand?

Tell them—Ye Gods inſtruct me how to act!

Tell them, to arm themſelves and ſervants privily:

See that my own are ready—Stay, command them,

As they reſpect and love me, not to ſtrike

Till avow'd violence demand reſiſtance.—

Once more come back—Tell them, they hurt not Seſtius.

What he diſclos'd, thanks to his wine, ſhall ſave him.

Away.

[Exit Earinus.]

I've liv'd to bluſh at my own ſpecies!

SCENE V.

[46]

APRONIUS, PHILODAMUS.

APRONIUS.

The Legate and his friends wiſh for your company;

They think their entertainment but imperfect

Without your preſence.

PHILODAMUS,

not perceiving her.

Surely he will find them,

Or we are all undone.—Nay, he will find them.

APRONIUS.

You do not hear me.

PHILODAMUS,

confus'd.

Pardon me, I do,

Indeed? and what ſays Seſtius to that?

APRONIUS.

I ſaid the Legate would deſire your preſence.

Seſtius ſays nothing, but has delegated

His noſe to ſpeak as proxy. You may hear it

Snore hither.

PHILODAMUS.

Well, I go.—What dogs are men!

Exit.

SCENE VI.

APRONIUS.

So! he ſuſpects our drift, I find: no matter —

What dogs are men? I heard the exclamation.

Th' expreſſion errs; and is a groſs abuſe

Upon the better animal. No doubt,

Were dogs to ſpeak, they would invert the phraſe;

When they reproach each other—Ho! Cornelius!

SCENE VII.

[47]

Enter CORNELIUS.

APRONIUS.

Place at this door a guard, while you and I

Uſher the women out.

CORNELIUS.

Since ſuch my orders,

Make good the guard here; and now I attend you.

Exeunt.

Firſt Soldier.

A pretty job of work we are upon!

An we're demoliſh'd, we deſerve it richly.

Second Soldier.

Ay, all that ſtay for't; but if there's reſiſtance,

Let thoſe who are to ſhare the honey, try

To drive away the bees.

Women within.

Help there! oh, help!

Whoever loves Philodamus, aſſiſt us!

Enter CORNELIUS with EUPHEMIA, and APRONIUS with ERATO.

CORNELIUS.

No mutiny.

APRONIUS.

My fair one, no reſiſtance;

You ſee it is in vain, uſeleſs as clamour.

ERATO.

Will no one help? You have not ſlain my father,

That you preſume on ſuch unheard-of violence!

But he were better dead, than ſee my ſhame.

My knees knock under me, I cannot go.

To Apronius, who pulls her.

APRONIUS.

We'll carry you.

EUPHEMIA.

Keep up your reſolution.

Think in what hands we are, and be aſſur'd,

[48]To dare to fear, is to aſſiſt our danger.

Courage! Philippus lives, or we can die.

APRONIUS.

The Legate is gallant, and gay, and generous,

Handſome, and young, and rich. Ere long you'll thank me,

For what, unthinkingly, you now call violence.

And as for you, my pretty one, there's Rubrius—

EUPHEMIA.

Deteſted wretch! ſtop thy vile ſpeech—Ye Gods!

I ſee Philippus, my deliv'rer, comes!

SCENE VII.

Enter EPICRATES, PHILIPPUS, and ſervants, arm'd.

EPICRATES,

to Apronius.

Villain, let go thy ſacrilegious hold,

Or periſh inſtantly upon this ſword.

APRONIUS,

running away.

Ay, let Cornelius fight, I like not fighting.

Exit.

Epicrates drives the ſoldiers off the ſtage.

PHILIPPUS.

Go follow thy companion, or thou dieſt.

CORNELIUS.

'Tis not decided yet, if you, or I.

PHILIPPUS.

Reſign her, thou brave fool, I would not hurt thee,

Thou haſt ſome honeſty, although a Roman.

CORNELIUS.

What's honeſty 'gainſt orders? So come on.

Fight. Cornelius falls. Buſtle within.

VERRES

within.

Silence the dotard's clamour. Stop his throat.

EUPHEMIA.

Thus to thy arms—

PHILIPPUS,

ſtopping her.

It is no time for this.

Re-enter EPICRATES.

PHILIPUS,

to him.

Loſe not an inſtant, but convey to ſafety

[49]Euphemia and my ſiſter; while I fly

To ſave a father. Some of you attend me.

Exeunt on different ſides.

CORNELIUS.

This comes of ſerving knaves—I have enough on't.

And yet 'tis hard, now—that an honeſt ſoldier—

For following—oh!—his orders—ſhould be ſlain.

Dies.

Buſtle within.

SCENE VII.

PHILODAMUS, PHILIPPUS.

PHILODAMUS.

Thank thee, my gallant ſon, thou'ſt ſav'd my life.

Where is my Erato? Where is Euphemia?

PHILIPPUS.

Under ſtrong guard Epicrates conducts them

To his own houſe—Alas! you bleed, my father.

PHILODAMUS.

Fear not, for I am whole; yet the vile Rubrius

Had near ſubdued me; till a lucky ſtruggle

Freed me, and paſs'd my dagger through his arm.

Thence come theſe ſtains.

PHILIPPUS.

Would it had been his heart!

Or rather that of Verres.

PHILODAMUS.

Who lies here?

PHILIPPUS.

This was Cornelius; fain I would have ſav'd him,

But ſtupid duty forc'd him upon death.

What have we now to do?

Cornelius carried off.

PHILODAMUS.

Why this, Philippus.

To draw up our complaint againſt this Verres,

And ſend it to the Praetor.—Well, Epicrates,

Enter EPICRATES.

Say, are the women ſafe?

EPICRATES.

Yes, they are ſafe.

But Verres and his crew had well nigh periſh'd.

Fir'd with juſt indignation at your wrongs,

The populace purſu'd him to his palace,

[50]Where, finding it impoſſible to enter,

They heap'd up faggots, ev'ry thing combuſtible,

To have reduc'd him and his houſe to aſhes;

When, moſt unluckily for our revenge,

Arriv'd the Roman praetor Dolabella,

Whoſe preſence ſtay'd them, and diſpers'd the tumult.

PHILODAMUS.

I'm glad they were prevented—

PHILIPPUS.

And I ſorry.

PHILODAMUS.

For juſtice, executed by the people,

Loſes its name, and grows moſt dangerous—

What have we here? another Roman guard!

Enter OFFICER and SOLDIERS.

OFFICER.

Philodamus, and you, Philippus, Sirs,

Ye are my pris'ners, and muſt to the forum.

PHILIPPUS.

Pris'ners! for what? becauſe we did not hold

Our throats conveniently, to have them cut;

Nor make the offer of our maidens honour

To the inſatiate appetite of Verres?

EPICRATES.

And is there no miſtake, that you omit me?

Oh, take me too! I bluſh to be at liberty.

OFFICER.

You are not charg'd. Their lot deſerves no envy.

PHILODAMUS.

When Hadrian the praetor, by extortions,

Had rak'd th' inhabitants of Utica

Beyond the ſufferance of human nature,

Deſpair, at laſt, gave vent to their reſentment,

And they conſum'd him, and his ſpoils, and palace

To duſt, by fire, unqueſtion'd ſince of Rome.

OFFICER.

I am not here to reaſon, but command:

So come along.

PHILODAMUS.

Do you, Epicrates,

Acquaint my daughters, and come after us.

Exeunt all but Epicrates.

EPICRATES.

[51]

Confuſion, thou haſt caught us in thy net!—

Enter EUPHEMIA.

EUPHEMIA.

Where is Philippus? tell me, is he ſafe?

EPICRATES.

Why haſt thou ventur'd, deſp'rate, to this roof

Know you not, all beneath it is accurs'd?

Ruin and death inhabit the waſte ſtructure;

While over-head, like a black cloud, deſtruction

Low'rs on the whole, and meditates to burſt

On all it finds in the devoted verge.

Eſcape, if yet you may: fly to my houſe,

There ſhelter from the ſtorm. Why left you Erato?

EUPHEMIA.

Ay! is he dead? and I ſurvive him yet?—

EPICRATES.

He lives. The praetor's guard conducts him chain'd,

Him and Philodamus, both, to the forum.

The Legate's fury drives at ſuch a rate,

'Tis manifeſt at what it will arrive.

EUPHEMIA.

He lives! Bleſs'd be the tongue that tells me ſo!

Heav'n and their innocence will ſoon acquit them,

And puniſhment muſt light, where due, on Verres.

Soon as the Roman praetor is inform'd,

He'll bluſh, they have been chain'd as criminals.

EPICRATES.

Can power bluſh? or feels oppreſſion ſhame?

Then I'll believe the crocodile may weep;

Nay more, ſurrender his uninjur'd prey.

Ah! let us not confide in innocence;

What is there elſe that tyranny can hate?

And what it hates, what hinders it to puniſh?

EUPHEMIA.

Can any tyranny make ſelf-defence

A puniſhable crime? The Roman virtue

Holds the firſt ſtation in the world's eſteem;

And their politeneſs has ſuch gen'ral fame,

'Tis thought to overpay the wrongs of conqueſt.

EPICRATES.

I've been at Rome. The inſolence of conquerors

[52]Coins their own fame, and we, their ſlaves, adopt

What character their pride ſtamps on themſelves.

Virtue, at Rome, means to enſlave the world.

Politeneſs is another name for luxury,

That gorges at a meſs the wealth of nations.

Such juſtice as theſe principles afford,

We may expect to find, and nothing better.

EUPHEMIA.

I catch your fears; yet hope you fear too much.

EPICRATES.

Let us prepare us as the worſt were certain.

'Tis my requeſt, Euphemia, that you chuſe

My houſe, my friendſhip, and the love of Erato,

As your protection in this dread calamity:

And leſt you fear (ſeeing, in friendſhip's name,

How many ſeek to buy a ſlave a pennyworth)

Time and familiarity ſhould ſhrink you

From parity into a mean dependence,

Soon as you paſs my threſhold, twenty talents

Wait your acceptance.—

EUPHEMIA.

Worthy of Philippus!

Thou art his match in virtue as in friendſhip!

Such thanks as my poor gratitude can pay—

EPICRATES.

The time will not admit of farther reaſoning.

Let me prevail, and wiſh you back to Erato.

Farewell. Each minute I'll diſpatch a meſſenger,

Who ſhall inform you both of all that paſſes.

Exit.

EUPHEMIA.

Succeſs attend thy ſteps.

[Kneels.]

All-ruling Power!

We know not how to name; and therefore wander

Thro' almoſt infinite denominations,

To mark thy various attributes and functions,

Who muſt love juſtice; Oh! if ever, now

Exert thyſelf, free from thy gen'ral laws,

And ſpeak in prodigies; enact, and vindicate

Thy equitable mandates. Villain Man

Will conſtrue elſe thy patience a connivance,

And deal out wrong, ſecure of puniſhment.

Exit.

End of ACT IV.

ACT V.

[53]

SCENE I.

DOLABELLA, VERRES.

DOLABELLA.

I could almoſt repent me that I came:

A little later—

VERRES.

Had been all too late.

So violent an inſult on the name

Of Roman, then ſhall paſs unvindicated?

DOLABELLA.

I muſt be of opinion, that the inſult

Keeps juſt proportion with the provocation.

For what could violence itſelf do more,

Than raviſh from a father's arms his daughter,

To violate her honour in your own?

VERRES.

There might be that, my lord, may want excuſe,

But not much blame. If I went ſelf-invited,

It was becauſe theſe miſers grudge t'expoſe

Their ſtatues, pictures, gems—you know I'm curious.

Wine and young blood muſt plead for all that follow'd.

DOLABELLA.

Rather too curious. For they tell me, Verres,

That your immenſe collection is extended,

By rapine and extortion, to a ſize

That even beggars all that Rome poſſeſſes.

VERRES.

My lord, I gather for myſelf and friends.

And, by the by, 'tis long ſince I obſerv'd

A vacant baſe ſtand in your veſtibule.

I have a maſter-piece of art, an heifer

So exquiſitely caſt, ſuch through nature,

The work of Myro, life is in the braſs,

It would with dignity ſupply the vacancy.

DOLABELLA.

I know it by report, the very ſame

So many Grecian wits have celebrated.

VERRES.

[54]

I vow, my lord, I've ſtarted twenty times,

And thought ſhe low'd—but, as to this affair,

I do aſſure you, what concerns me moſt

Is the indignity the ſtate endures.

DOLABELLA.

A ſtate is more diſhonour'd in protecting

Th' infringer of the ſacred rights of nature.

VERRES.

My lord, ſhare my collection as you pleaſe.

I hope, when you reflect on th' injury,

In your immediate Legate, done to Rome,

Beſides my birth, 'twill move you to out-bear me

Thro' any ſlight deficiency of form.

DOLABELLA.

Believe me, I'm deſirous to aſſiſt you.

But of ſo ugly nature is your crime,

I know not where to turn me to effect it.

VERRES.

Cornelius ſlain, and Rubrius ſorely wounded,

Direct your vengeance to both perpetrators.

I don't know if you ever thought worth minding

Th' entaglio which I wear upon this finger:

View it, my lord, the ſubject's ſomewhat wanton.

See how that Leda claſps in her criſp arms

Her am'rous ſwan, who ruffles ev'ry feather.

The figure was deſign'd from my Chelidon

(Poor wench! dying, ſhe left me all her treaſure.)

I have been tempted to deſtroy this ring

A thouſand times. The counterfeit reſemblance

Makes me quite mad, when I behold her beauties

Taſted by Jove himſelf.—Would you would wear it

If only to preſerve it from my jealouſy.

DOLABELLA.

And am beholden to you—but to murther

Two innocent men, of elevated ſtations,

Only that they reſiſted your attempt—

I ſhould not like to have ſuch matter argued,

Before the ſenate, by your men of virtue.

VERRES.

My friends at Rome, my lord, bought, and to buy,

[55]Will bear us through. Who cares there for the provinces,

Shrowded in diſtance from their thought and notice?

Then—pray, my Lord; what makes a man of virtue?

To ſell one's knav'ry dearer than another.

I had almoſt forgot—'tis but a trifle—

Knowing the vaſt expences of your ſtate,

Long ſince I laid aſide a little preſent—

With your permiſſion I will bring it to you

To-morrow morning; nay, 'tis nothing more

Than ſome poor hundred thouſand ſeſterces.

DOLABELLA.

I thank you for your love, and I accept them.

Why, as you ſay, in ſuch a diſtant province—

The majeſty of Rome—Cornelius ſlain—

And your high birth—require this vindication.

Where are the priſoners?

VERRES.

They wait without;

And, were I to adviſe, immediate ſentence

Were doubly uſeful, by impreſſing awe

Of your authority, and ſtifling tumults.

DOLABELLA.

And you ſay well; let them appear before us.

Verres, be you and Seſtius my aſſeſſors;

So, take your ſeats. Bring in the priſoners.

Voices within.

Stand by!

Make room!

Give way, there, to the priſoners.

SCENE II.

Enter PHILODAMUS, EPICRATES, PHILIP⯑PUS, and Audience.

Philippus ſtarts on ſeeing Verres.

DOLABELLA.

We ſit not here to have our ears fatigu'd

With ſet orations from yourſelves; much leſs

With the ſtale ſubterfuges of hir'd advocates,

Who, dodging thro' a thouſand circumſtances,

Hope, in the courſe of a long-winded argument,

Obſcure, traverſe, involv'd, to warp the judgment

[56]Which way they pleaſe, when they've bewilder'd ſenſe.

This matter needs no arguing, and no witneſſes,

Unleſs you chuſe the body of Cornelius,

A Roman citizen, ſlain by your hands,

Beneath your roof, ſhould be produc'd in court.

PHILODAMUS.

We ſhall not tire your patience. I had thought,

When I appear'd before the Roman praetor,

Without employing any turn of eloquence,

To've laid out a plain ſtory to his hearing,

Th' undue invaſion of a houſe like mine,

Inſolence, injury, and violence

Suffer'd, at length repell'd. I own it needleſs.

Verres, plac'd by you on the ſeat of judgment,

Cuts it all ſhort—and we expect our ſentence.

DOLABELLA,

To his Aſſeſſors.

I am for death, and you?—

VERRES.

For death.

SESTIUS.

And I.

EPICRATES.

Forgive, moſt noble, if I interfere

With your injunction. I'm no venal advocate,

But am connected with theſe priſoners

By ev'ry band that friendſhip and eſteem

Love, duty, obligation, can impoſe.

My fortunes are extenſive, and ſhall anſwer

Whatever mulct you pleaſe to levy on them,

(Nay take them all: I never can be poor,

While I reflect how well they were employ'd)

So that their lives be ſpar'd, and you accept

The ruin of us three as equipollent

For one, the ſcum of Rome by birth and ſtation.

VERRES.

Moſt noble Dolabella, not to ſit

Quite uſeleſs in this honourable place,

Permit me to obſerve, this forward pleader

Makes ev'n his interceſſion aggravate.

The miſtreſs of the world has ever ſeen

Her meaneſt citizen as of more dignity

[57]Than any ſubject conquer'd by thoſe citizens;

And ſhe demands that blood compenſate blood.

Retire, and thank the lenity that ſpares you.

DOLABELLA.

Verres, you ſpeak our thoughts moſt accurately.

To Verres.

PHILIPPUS.

Had it been thee, and not thy ſenſeleſs agent,

Whom, in a ſiſter's cauſe, I bravely ſlew,

I would not have repin'd to bear theſe chains,

Nor what is worſe to follow. As it is,

We thank you, that, determin'd to deſtroy us,

You ſave us an unprofiting defence.

PHILODAMUS.

Happy condition of your provinces!

We were to learn till now, that we rebel,

If we diſpute your ſovereign dominion

Over our matrons, and our daughters honour.

DOLABELLA.

We have indulg'd you farther than we meant,

In large diſcourſe, which you have us'd too freely.

Bear them away to death. Let the axe ſever

Their heads and bodies.

PHILODAMUS.

By your leave, one moment.

Heav'n cannot be but juſt. I do believe

Its gates are open, in another manner,

Than to the general requeſts of men,

When innocence, ſubdu'd by hard oppreſſion,

Claims its avenging hand. In thy due hour,

When Verres ſhall be ripe for puniſhment,

When the large growth of villany ſhall bend

His branches to the earth with their own weight,

I truſt thou wilt, in adequate repriſal,

Set up thy hour-glaſs of retaliation.

I think I ſee thee, not, as I am now,

Going to die; death is no penalty.

But abject, pale, contemn'd, ſhunn'd, and deſerted,

By thoſe who ſhare thy ſpoils. Baniſh'd, and wandering

Thro' provinces thy rapine trod before.

I feel an eaſe that tells me I am heard.

PHILIPPUS.

[58]

Oh heav'n! if there be yet in Rome one heart,

One ſoul, that's worthy of thy inſpiration,

One tongue that dares to plead the cauſe of innocence▪

(And ſomething ſays within me, there is one

Who ſhall retort the doings of this day),

Do thou inform that heart, that ſoul, that tongue,

With the coercive force of eloquence,

The energy of language; pour from thence

The mighty torrent of convictive truth,

Till conſcience ſtrike with dumbneſs thy defenders,

And guilt and ſhame anticipate that ſentence

Thou dare not ſtay to hear pronounc'd upon thee.

To Dolabella.

And thou, diſtorter of thy country's juſtice,

Live to revenge our wrongs upon that country,

For truſting juſtice in no firmer hands.

DOLABELLA.

Take them away. See execution done.

1ſt Guard.

Stand by there.

2d Guard.

Clear the way.

3d Guard.

Lead off the priſoners.

SCENE III.DOLABELLA, ſolus.
I am not half the villain of this Verres,
And yet I am a villain. 'Tis too plain.
To be a villain, and yet hate a villain,
To feel that vigilant and ſolemn monitor,
Conſcience, put in her caveat to a deed,
And yet to ſuperſede her holy mandates,
And give that deed effect; what is it elſe,
Than to be multiplied into two men,
That wage continual war againſt each other?
Would I were of a piece! either all honeſt,
Or elſe above ſenſation of remorſe.
[59]Enter an Officer.
What would you?
OFFICER.
The relations of the ſufferers
Moſt humbly ſue you, they may have their bodies
For all due rites.
DOLABELLA.
See that they have my order.
Exit Officer.
It were not yet too late to bid them live!
But then I muſt refund m' ill-gotten wealth.
Thou haſt betray'd me, all-corrupting gold,
And thaw'd the yielding principles of honeſty
Into a puddle of corrupted traſh!
Ha! Conſcience! thou art but the fear of ſhame!
I am not ſuperſtitious, yet am ſtartled,
That he, who, perhaps, never heard of Cicero,
Should mark him in his lineaments ſo ſtrongly;
Methought I felt myſelf beneath the laſh,
The ſcorpion laſh, of his all-awing tongue.
I'll think no more on't—Innocence, once quitted,
Turns irrecov'rably her back upon us.
Let none, untried by pow'r, think himſelf virtuous,
But for authority I'd ſtill been honeſt.
Exit.

SCENE V.

PHILODAMUS, PHILIPPUS, going to execution. EPICRATES, Guards, &c.

EPICRATES.

Fear not, he muſt deſiſt from his mad enterprize;

Mean time, we arm, with utmoſt ſpeed, a veſſel,

Which ſhall tranſport us, paſt his ſearch, to ſafety.

PHILODAMUS.

'Tis well, Epicrates, I would not ſee her,

For much I doubt how my own reſolution

Might ſtand the burſt of ſo much tenderneſs.

EPICRATES.

She's moſt deſirous to receive by me

The bleſſing and laſt orders of a father.

PHILODAMUS.

My bleſſing; why, my life has been to bleſs her.

[60]This laſt formality can add no weight to it;

However, take my bleſſing on you both;

Then, as to orders, what ſhould I command her?

Bid her perſiſt in the purſuit of virtue?

Her life inſures ſhe will; or ſhould I charge her

She bear unvaried duty and affection

To thee? Her inclinations anſwer for her.

Be it your care to comfort her diſtreſs,

Teach her ſubmiſſion to the will of Heaven.

EPICRATES.

Alas! my father, what a leave to take!

PHILODAMUS.

My death-bed ow'd me a ſeverer end.

Another word, and then we part, Epicrates.

One article remains of deareſt import,

If this fierce tempeſt of calamity,

When fall'n its rage, ſhould chance to drive on ſhore

Any the wrecks and fragments of my fortunes,

Collect them ſafely for Euphemia.

EPICRATES.

I have already offer'd her my houſe,

Begg'd her to ſhare my fortunes.

PHILIPPUS,

embracing him.

Oh! Epicrates.

Oh friend indeed! What would I give for words?

Yet could they more than call thee, friend indeed!

EPICRATES.

Oh my Philippus! Oh my better half!

I live not half without thee—

GUARD.

Come, make haſte.

PHILIPPUS.

My laſt thoughts to Euphemia and my ſiſter.

Exit Epicrates.

PHILODAMUS.

Be gone, Epicrates. And now, Philippus,

I have no leave to take of thee, my boy;

We're bound on the ſame voyage. Only this;

I have prevail'd upon the executioner

To ſpare thy eyes my death; and you wait here

Till I am paſt. So, now lead on, I'm ready.

PHILIPPUS.

[61]

To thy laſt thought the ſame▪ my gentle father!

Exit Philodamus.

Enter EUPHEMIA.

Why art thou here, Euphemia? to unman me?

Now, that I've born the parting of a father,

With all I have of ſteadineſs, art thou come

To rob me of that laſt of vanities,

Which cowards ſometimes reach, the dying reſolute?

I'm young, am born to dignity, and affluence;

Have health untainted, and th' eſteem of friends.

Theſe I could have reſign'd, yet be myſelf,

And mock the phantom death. What is a world

That one muſt aſk the leave of Rome to live in?

But when I view thy beauties, which I quit

Purchas'd, but unpoſſeſs'd; there lies the agony,

And it grows terrible indeed to die.

EUPHEMIA.

I came to ſteel thy breaſt, and not to melt it

Into the whining ſoftneſs of a woman.

And why regret to die? ſince we have lov'd,

And have enjoy'd already, never doubt it,

All that is keen and exquiſite in love.

The reſt deſerves ſmall notice. Be like me.

I feel my ſoul exalted 'bove itſelf,

Secure, and pleas'd, in its own reſolution,

It looks with intrepidity on death.

PHILIPPUS.

What doſt thou mean, Euphemia? thou alarm'ſt me.

There's a determination in thine eye,

And firmneſs in thy ſpeech, that makes me tremble

More than the axe that waits me. Oh! diſmiſs

Thy deſp'rate thought whatever. Live, Euphemia,

Cheriſh my memory, nor let that affect thee,

Beyond a melancholy recollection,

How much we lov'd, and how unfortunately.

EUPHEMIA.

There are, Philippus, in Diſtreſs's quiver,

Some ſhafts ſo very deeply barb'd, they mock

The unavailing art that would extract them,

And will be left to rankle in the wound.

[62]But did the world poſſeſs the balm to heal them,

'Twere meanneſs to ſurvive diſtinguiſh'd wretchedneſs.

What! to be pointed at, and ſhown a ſight,

As one no miſery could drive from life!

See here the remedy of ev'ry woe.

See here the cure of Verres.

Shews a dagger.

PHILIPPUS.

'Twas my fear.

That dagger! no, thou muſt not, ſhalt not uſe it.

Ah! do not liſten to that witch Deſpair,

Who gilds with a falſe ſun-ſhine the black precipice

T' allure the ſuff'ring mind?

EUPHEMIA.

The ſuff'ring mind?

'Twas then it ſuffer'd, when my glory bid

The chaſm of ſeparation yawn between us.

'Twas harder to reſolve to part our loves

Adoring and ador'd, than ſhare thy death.

PHILIPPUS.

In this dread hour it was my conſolation,

Epicrates had lent thee noble ſhelter

From all the ſtorms that yet might buffet life.

Oh! harbour there, and drop the ſocial tear,

In conſort, oft as you ſhall think of me,

Till ſlow-pac'd time, nay, habitude of ſorrow

Induce ſatiety of itſelf. Who knows?

Long years of happineſs may wait behind,

That ſhall do juſtice to Euphemia's merit.

EUPHEMIA.

Yes, and be comforted; dry up my tears;

My mourning weeds convert to ornament;

Whimper but now and then; and in a moment,

Call any other man my only love.—

The thought is paltry. Oh! how I diſdain it!

Why now, methinks, I'm at the pitch of happineſs,

High in my own eſteem. 'Tis only now

That I feel worthy of a flame like thine:

I'm all on fire to ſhuffle off this life.—

'Tis an impatience that ſtill ſpurs me forward.

The Gods conceal from thoſe they force to live

How happy 'tis to die, leſt they deſiſt

[63]From their hard drudg'ry, and deſert their ſtation.

PHILIPPUS.

If ever tender thought of me has glow'd

Within that gentle boſom—doſt not hear,

Horrid! the blow that ends the beſt of fathers?

Noiſe within.

The time demands me.—Let me yet prevail.—

Voice within.

Lead on the priſoner.

PHILIPPUS.

'Tis my laſt requeſt.

EUPHEMIA.

But a requeſt you have no right to make.

Nay, talk no more. Farewell. This laſt embrace.

If memory extend beyond the urn,

Still ſhall we love each other. Now, away.

Farewell, my love, my pride, my happineſs.

That I am thine, o'er-pays the loſs of life.

PHILIPPUS.

An inſtant longer.—

EUPHEMIA.

Why an inſtant longer?

And ſhould the tyrant grant us till to-morrow,

Think you we'd take it?

Guard takes hold of him.

Come, nay come along.

PHILIPPUS.

I go—but would.—'Tis eaſier to die.

Exit, ſhe looking fondly after him, till, juſt as he is out of ſight, ſhe ſtabs herſelf. He re-enters.

Unhand me for a moment, raſh Euphemia!

EUPHEMIA.

I thought thee farther—or had ſpar'd thee this.

'Tis over—haſte—oh loiter not behind—

Where are you—now you're loſt.—I ſee thee not.—

Night hangs upon my eyes—and thou art no where.—

Oh, now again I know him—'tis Philippus.—

At leaſt remember—oh—that I die—thine.

PHILIPPUS.

Kind executioner, be quick, diſpatch.—

Why do I aſk what I can do myſelf

[64]With readier expedition.

Stabs himſelf with her dagger.

Guard.

Haſte, prevent him,

You are too late.

PHILIPPUS.

I thank thee for thy leſſon.

Now, Verres, thy revenge is half deceiv'd.

Now, Dolabella, I elude thy ſentence.

Stay, let me ſeize her hand, ere light deſert me,

Elſe I ſhall wander in uncertain ſearch,

And find it not.—Why now, in ſpite of numbneſs,

I hold thee faſt—to ſeparate—no more.

Enter EPICRATES.

EPICRATES.

Sure ſhe came hither; yet I dread to find her.

Ha! is it ſo? my fears inform'd me juſt.

Philippus, art thou here? I knew indeed

Death waited for thee, but in other place,

And other manner. Better as it is.

Tears, by your leave, a while; there's time enough

For your indulgence. Who commands the guard here?

OFFICER.

'Tis I.

EPICRATES.

Here is an order from the praetor,
Rend'ring their bodies up to my diſpoſal.
It names but two, the third was unforeſeen,
But will be undiſputed. Let ſome bear them,
To join their fathers corpſe; then to my houſe,
Their hands faſt link'd; convey them, if you can,
Without disjointing their ſo tender union.

Virtue, thou art not for this preſent world.
Injuſtice, 'tis thine own. But there is ſomewhere,
Some happy clime beyond Oppreſſion's reach,
Whence Tyranny retires its ſhorten'd arm,
And compenſation waits for ſuff'ring innocence.
Bear them away, I follow.—

Exit, the bodies carried before him.

The END.

Notes

In a Name we are ſo little accuſtomed to as that of Philodāmus, the Author imagined he might be allowed to make free with the Quantity, in favour of an eaſier Cadence.

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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt: TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3594 Philodamus A tragedy. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5A0B-4