Might be repaid in love.- - Should Troy escape,
Should Argos too be loft, my kingdoms all
Laid waft, and scepters wrested from my hand,
Whilft I can hold Chrufeis, I'm a gainer,
Within these arms I am a conqueror still.
Why does my love not meet my fierce embrace
With wonted warmth? why drop thy fnowy arms
That us'd to clafp me round?—Now by the gods fhe weeps--
What griefs are yet untold? thy gentle heart
Beats at thy breast, like an imprison'd bird,
And thy fwoln eyes, like clouds that paus'd a while,
Flow fafter than before.
Ag. Out with it then, give me thy griefs, Chrufeis.
Chru. My father-
Ag. What of him?
Chru. Is in your camp arriv'd.
Ag. He's welcome then.
Fain would I fce the man who gave thee life,
The parent of my joy--By Juno and by Pallas,
Those guardians of my arms, were Phoebus felf
Arriv'd, whofe minifter he is,
That glorious God, he were not half fo welcome,
Nor fhould receive more honours from the king.
Chru. Alas, he feeks not honours: all his thoughts
Are bent on heaven, devoted to the gods;
Tho' in his hand he bears a golden fcepter,
Tho' on his reverend head a crown he wears,
The marks of his high office; tho' to kings
Equal in dignity, his humble mind
Ag. So humble, and a priest, my love! that's ftrange,
Chru. He comes not here, I know it by my fears,
For honours, nor for wealth: for me he comes,
To take me from your arms, and from your bosom,
And bear me where I ne'er fhall fee you more.
Will Agamemnon let him?
Ag. What armies brings he with him in his train,
That he fhould think, here, in my very camp,
To force my treasure from me?
Chru. Legions of gods attend his pious call, That shoot with fhafts unfeen: and O! perhaps These deaths that have already strew'd the plain Are owing to his prayers.
Thy fears are needlefs;
What is there to offend him in our loves?
That from a captive, you become a queen;
That Agamemnon, king of mightiest kings,
Is flave to his Chrufeis; that the man
Whom princes ferve, serves thee.
Chru. Such honours might perhaps move other men,
But oh! his rigid virtue, nice, fevere,
Allows to nature nothing.
Ag. If honours he contemns, we'll give him gold,
Wealth he shall have enough to ransom kings,
I'll empty all my treasures at his feet:
Fear not my love, where pride and avarice reign,
These are fure baits.
Tal. The great Achilles,
With Neftor, and the prince of Ithaca,
Approach your royal tent.
Ag. They fent us word, that somewhat of import
They would reveal, that does concern us much,
Our honour and our peace, and would restore
Health to our foldiers, to our arms fuccess.
Retire, my fair, nor vex thy gentle mind
With needlefs doubts-
Tho' men and gods conspire,
My life, my foul, farewel.
[He leads her to the door. Exit Chrufeis. Enter Achilles, Neftor, and Ulyffes.
Ulyf. Health to the king; nor can we wish him better In camps where foul infections feize on all,
And mix without distinction, base and noble.
Ach. Atrides heeds not that, fecure of love: What tho' the foldiers die, the princes murmur ; What tho' Troy sland, so but Chruseis smile ? The public griefs are general to all
But thee; O happy Agamennon!
Ag. The king of Myrmidons, of all mankind
Might have spar'd that reproach; for 'tis well known,
Brave as he is, oft when the trumpet sounds,
For a parting kiss from his Brifeis.
Neft. What cruel woes have women brought to Greece! For empire and for honour once we fought;
But the new mode is women
Of all our plagues, the worst: nor will our camp
Be free, whilft there's one woman left.
Ag. Old age may make us all thus Cynical,
But Neftor once was young, and then a woman
After the tug of a hard foughten field,
Pafs'd for a bleffing. But to our business now;
At your request, Achilles, we are met:
[They fit. Agamemnon and Achilles in two chairs of state at the upper end of the table: Nestor and Ulysses on each fide.
If you have ought to urge
Of public good; ought that can heal our wounds,
And stay the vengeance of offended Jove,
Speak freely, princes, Agamemnon's heart
Bleeds for his people: if the gods require
His life, a facrifice to fave the rest,
And to atone their wrath- the king fhall die.
Neft. Well have you vow'd, O king, and I rejoice
To find fuch piety- O Jove confirm it!
Kings, above other mortals are requir'd
To be obfervant to the pow'rs divine,
Since on their actions, good or ill, depends
The public peace O gods! what crime are these!
No private man's, fince a whole nation fuffers,
No little fault, the vengeance is too great;
And much I fear, whoe'er th' offender be,
This criminal is obftinate in guilt:
For, mark it well, thefe judgments by degrees
Grew more, and greater daily: the disease
First on our cattle feiz'd: the generous horse,
That bore his rider fafe thro' armed ranks,
Snapping in funder darts and spears, then fell
Unhurt, untouch'd.--From beasts it spread to men:
The merry Greeks, as at their cups they fit,
Drop in the midst of laughter.- -As fome huge tow'r
At which men gaze, astonish'd at its strength,
If waters undermine, and fprings unfeen
Sap its foundation, unawares comes down,
And covers with its ruins all the place:
So look our strong battalions, and fo fall
Whole ranks at once, and the dead lie on heaps.
O Phoebus! stay thy hand that shoots unseen;
All peftilence, all fevers are from thee,
These shafts are thine, reftrain thy murd'ring wrath,
For pious Agamemnon, king of kings,
Has vow'd to do thee justice,
[He fits. Ulyf. rifes. Ulyf. Great are our ills; too grievous to be born. -kings there are,
Had we a king lefs pious
Who, flaves to their own wills, regard not fame.
What, tho' their people weep, their eyes are dry;
What tho' they starve, their coffers still are full;
Tho' heaven by fureft tokens of its wrath
Give warning to repent, they mind not heav'n,
But ftill go on, and own no gods but luft.
Such kings are hated here, defpis'd hereafter;
Their memories are curft, the widows tears
And orphans wrongs, reveng'd upon their iffue,
What glories then, O mighty Agamemnon!
What honours here, what praise in after-times,
What love of men, what favour of the gods,
Will crown thy pious deeds, who looking down
With aking heart on thy griev'd people's fuff'ring,
Haft vow'd to give whate'er the gods exact,
Tho' dear as life, to ftay their miseries.
Ag. Neftor, in wifdom nearest to the gods,
By long experience of three ages taught;
O were thy ftrength proportion'd to thy mind,
Achilles would be weak, compar'd to thee;
Could but thy body, bending under years,
At thy high thoughts, Troy fhould not stand a day.
And thou, Ulyffes, prince of Ithaca,
Forward in fight, and fam'd for stratagem,
Be witneffes to men of what I fwear.
And thou, O Jove, the giver of all laws,
And Phoebus too, who from thy orb above
Art confcious to what mortals do, or fay;
O feas! O earth! and you impartial pow'rs
Below, who judge and punish perjury,
Bear an eternal record of my oath.
If I have err'd, and not atone my crime,
Whatever way the deities ordain,
If I obey not, as at Aulis once,
When to appeafe Diana's cruel rage,
My Iphigenia was led forth to bleed,
Public dishonour, and domestic strife
Be then my doom if any other prince,
Tho' Menelaus, Ajax, Diomede,
Or, tho' last nam'd, the first of all the Greeks,
Divine Achilles, honour'd as a God,
Be author of these plagues, if thro' respect,
Thro' favour, or thro' fear, I fpare the guilty,
On me, and mine, ftill light this heavy curfe.
Ach. Then hear, Atrides, what the gods declare,
What they require, and who's the guilty man;
'Tis thou art this offender
Ach. Nay, frown not, fon of Atreus, for 'tis true : Frowns do not fright Achilles, but provoke.
Apollo is th' offended God, and thou
The criminal. - But not for vows forgot,
Or hecatombs omitted, come these plagues,
But for his priest, whofe daughter's here detain'd
--Chryfes himself is come
With his demands, as legate from high heaven,
And holy Chalcas, who reads ev'ry page
Of fecret fate, and knows the hearts of gods,
More plagues denounces, till fhe be reftor'd.
Ag. Chryfes and Chalcas are two lying priests : Thou the fomenter of eternal broils ;
And this a plot to vex me.
Neft. What you have heard, Atrides, is most true,
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