CURTIUS.

I know his public character.

POSTHUMIUS.

It pains me

To turn my thoughts on his domestic state :
There Philip is no God; but pours his heart,
In ceaseless groans, o'er his contending sons;
And pays the secret tax of mighty men

They both are bright; but one

Benignly bright, as stars to mariners;
And one a comet with malignant blaze,
Denouncing ruin.

CURTIUS.

You mean Perseus.

POSTHUMIUS.

True,

The younger son Demetrius, you well know, Was bred at Rome, our hostage from his father. Soon after, he was sent ambassador,

When Philip fear'd the thunder of our arms.

Rome's manners won him, and his manners Rome
Who granted peace, declaring she forgave,
To his high worth, the conduct of his father.
This gave him all the hearts of Macedon;
Which, join'd to his high patronage from Rome,
Inflames his jealous brother.

And wisely too. But thou shalt hear it all.
Not seals of adamant, not mountains whelm'd
On guilty secrets, can exclude the day.
Long burnt a fix'd hereditary hate

Between the crowns of Macedon and Thrace;
The sword by both too much indulg'd in blood.
Philip, at length, prevail'd; he took, by night,
The town, and palace, of his deadly foe;

Rush'd thro' the flames, which he had kindled round,
And slew him, bold in vain: Nor rested there;
But, with unkingly cruelty, destroy'd

Two little sons within their mother's arms;

Thus meaning to tread out those sparks of war,

Which might one day flame up to great revenge.

The queen, through grief, on her dead sons expir'd.
One child alone surviv'd: A female infant,
Amid these horrors, in the cradle smil'd.

What of that infant?

CURTIUS.

POSTHUMIUS.

Stung with sharp remorse,

The victor took, and gave her to his queen.
The child was bred, and honour'd, as her own;
she bloom'd; and now her eyes repay
Her brothers' wounds on Philip's rival sons.

She

grew,

CURTIUS.

Is then Erixene that Thracian child?

How just the Gods! from out that ruin'd house
He took a brand, to set his own on fire.

POSTHUMIUS.

To give thee, friend, the whole in miniature;
This is the picture of great Philip's court:
The proud, but melancholy king, on high,
Majestic sits, like Jove enthron'd in darkness;
His sons are as the thunder in his hand;
And the fair Thracian princess is a star,
That sparkles by, and gilds the solemn scene.

[Shouts heard.

'Tis their great day, supreme of all the year,
The fam'd Lustration of their martial powers;
Thence for our audience, chosen by the king.
If he provokes a war, his empire shakes,
And all her lofty glories nod to ruin.

Who comes?

CURTIUS.

POSTHUMIUS.

O, that's the jealous elder brother;

Irregular in manners, as in form.

Observe the fire, high birth, and empire, kindle!

CURTIUS.

He holds his conference with much emotion.

POSTHUMIUS.

The brothers both can talk; and, in their turns,
Have borne away the prize of eloquence
At Athens. Shun his walk: Our own debate
Is now at hand. We'll seek his lion Sire,
Who dares to frown on us his conquerors;
And carries so much monarch on his brow,
As if he'd fright us with the wounds we gave him.

Enter PERSEUS and PERICLES.

PERSEUS.

'Tis empire! empire! empire! let that word
Make sacred all I do, or can attempt!
Had I been born a slave, I should affect it:
My nature's fiery, and, of course, aspires.
Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats
All end of giving; and procures contempt
Instead of gratitude. An empire lost,

[Exeunt.

Destroy'd, would less confound me, than resign'd.

PERICLES.

But are you sure Demetrius will attempt?

PERSEUS.

Why does Rome court him? For his virtues? No:
To fire him to dominion: To blow up
A civil war; then to support him in it:
He gains the name of king, and Rome the

power.

.

PERICLES.

This is indeed the common art of Rome.

PERSEUS.

That scource of justice through the wond'ring world!
His youth and valour second Rome's designs:
The first impels him to presumptuous hope :
The last supports him in it. Then his person !
Thy hand, O nature, has made bold with mine.
Yet more; what words distil from his red lip,
To gull the multitude! and they make kings.
Ten thousand fools, knaves, cowards, lump'd together,
Become all-wise, all-righteous, and all-mighty.

Nor is this all: the foolish Thracian maid

Prefers the boy to me.

PERICLES,

And does that pain you?

PERSEUS.

O Pericles, to death. It is most true,

Through hate to him, and not through love for her,
I paid my first addresses; but became

The fool I feign'd: My sighs are now sincere,
It smarts; it burns: O that 'twere fiction still!
By heaven, she seems more beauteous than dominion.

PERICLES.

Dominion, and the princess, both are lost,

Unless you gain the king.

PERSEUS.

But how to gain him?

Old men love novelties; the last arriv'd

Still pleases best; the youngest steals their smiles.

PERICLES.

Dymas alone can work him to his pleasure;

First in esteem, and keeper of his heart.