Demetrius' faith, as by his marriage there?
For Dymas thus (Rome's sworn, eternal foe)
Becomes a spy upon his private life,
And surety for his conduct.
Our art defeats itself. My brother gains
The favourite, and so strengthens in his treason.
Think you, he'll wed her? No; the princess' eye
Makes no such short-liv'd conquest. He'll refuse,
And thus effect what I have strove in vain :
Yes, he'll refuse; and Dymas, in his wrath,
Will list for us, and vengeance.Then the king
Will, doubtless, much resent his son's refusal;
And thus we kindle the whole court against him.
My precious friend, I thank thee. I take wing
On ardent hope: I think it cannot fail.
Go, make thy court to Dymas with this scheme:
Be gone.-Erixene! I'll feed her pride [Looking out.
Once more; but not expend my breath in vain.
This meeting stamps unalterable fate ;
I will wed her, or vengeance.
[Enter Erixene and Delia.
O Erixene!
O princess! colder than your Thracian snows!
See Perseus, who ne'er stoop'd but to the gods,
Prostrate before Fame and Empire sue.
Why have I conquer'd?-Because you are fair.
What's empire?-But a title to adore you.
Why do I number in my lineage high
Heroes and gods?—That you, scarce less divine,
Without a blush may listen to my vows.
My ancestor subdu'd the world. I dare
Beyond his pride, and grasp at more,
at more, in you.
Obdurate maid! or turn, or I expire.
If love, my lord, is choice, who loves in vain
Should blame himself alone; and if 'tis fate,
'Tis fate in all: Why then your blame on me?
My crown's precarious, thro' the chance of war ;
But sure my heart's my own. Each villager
Is queen of her affections, and can vent
Her arbitrary sighs where-e'er she pleases.
Shall then the daughter of a race of kings
Madam, you justly blame the chance of war:
The gods have been unkind: I am not so.
No! Perseus comes to counter-balance fate;
Thrace ne'er was conquer'd-if you smile on me.—
Silent! obdurate still! as cold as death!
Prince, I take your meaning.
But, if you truly think this worth prevails,
How strange is your request!
Tho' Love has hurt my mind, I still can judge
What springs the passions of the Great controul.
Ambition is first minister of state;
Love's but a second in the cabinet;
Nor can he feather there his unfledg'd shaft
But from ambition's wing: But you conceive
More sanguine hopes, from him whom Rome supports,
Than me.
You view Demetrius on my throne;
And thence he shines indeed. His charms from thence
Transpierce your soul, enamour'd of dominion.
Why now you shew me your profound esteem!
Demetrius' guilt alone has charms for me;
'Tis not the prince, but traitor, wins my love.-
Such insults are not brook'd by royal minds,
Howe'er their fortunes ebb; and tho' I mourn,
An orphan, and a captive, gods there are
Fear then an orphan's and a captive's wrong.
Your cruel treatment of my passion-
But I'll not talk.-This, Madam; only this-
Think not the cause, the cursed cause of all,
Shall laugh secure, and triumph in my pangs:
No; by the torments of an heart on fire,
She gluts my vengeance, who defrauds my love! [Exit.
What have I done? In what a whirlwind rage
Has snatch'd him hence on ill? I frown on Perseus,
And kill Demetrius.
Ah, prince! the tempest, which so long has lowr'd, Is now full ripe, and bursting o'er
your head. This moment Perseus' malice flam'd before me; Victorious rage broke thro' his wonted guard, And menac'd loud your ruin. Fly! O fly
DEMETRIUS.
To what refuge?
Her longing arms to clasp you for her own.
Madam, 'tis prudent; I confess it is:
But is it loving as true lovers ought,
To be so very prudent in our love?
I boast not so much wisdom: I prefer
Death at your feet, before the world without you.
Lov'd you like me, like me would you discern,
That I but execute my brother's purpose
By such a flight. At that his clamour, rage,
And menace aim, to chase a rival hence,
And keep the field alone. Oh! shall I leave him
To gaze whole days; to learn to read your eye;
To study your delights; to chide the wind's
Too rude approach; to bid the ground be smooth
To follow, like your shadow, where you go;
Tread in your steps; perhaps to touch your hand?
O death! to minister in little things;
From half a glance to prophesy your will,
And do it, ere well form'd in your own mind?
Gods! gods! while worlds divide me from my princess,
That, should she call, Demetrius might grow old,
Ere he could reach her feet.
Pains you, it pains me more.
Mine is tormented: But since Philip's self
Is love's great advocate, a flat refusal
But blows their rage, and hastens your destruction.
Had I not that to fear! were you secure!
I'd ease my bosom of its full disdain,
And dash this bold presumer on his birth.
But, see! the grand procession.
Enter the KING, PERSEUS, Romans, ANTIGONUS, &c.
Let the procession halt! and here be paid,
Before yon flaming altar, thanks to heav'n,
That brings us safe to this auspicious day!
The great Lustration of our martial powers,
Which, from its distant birth to present time,
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