Before AGAMEMNON's pavilion.
CHRYSES the high priest, and CHALCAS.
EE him I will, and muft.
Chal. See him you may, but wait a better time. Chr. Chalcas, what time? Whose time shall Chryfes wait?
Shall I, who to th' affembled gods can fay,
Let me be heard, and straight they bend their ears,
And at all hours, are ready to my prayers;
Shall I upon a mortal's leifure wait?
I fay, I will be heard, and now.
Chal. Forgive me, holy Chryfes, prince of prophets; Thou oracle, unerring, when thy gods
Enlighten thee to speak their dark decrees;
But human born, retaining human frailties,
Your reafon by your passion is mif-led.
To temperate tongues, unbias'd by refentment,
Trust your demands; or failing to perfuade,
You may provoke. For tho' the king be mild,
Inclin'd to good, of eafy difpofition,
Yet he's of hafty temper, catching fire,
As the best natures are indeed most apt:
Surprize him not, nor work him unprepar'd;
He knows not your arrival yet: let us begin
By easy steps to lead him to your wish;
And if we fail, then urge what you think fit.
Chr. Why do we pray for children? Call 'em bleffings,
And deem the barren womb a curfe? O marriage!
Unhappy! most unhappy of all states!
Matching with forrows, teeming ftill with more;
The vexed womb feems to bring forth to vex,
Producing none but to disgrace or ruin
The rash begetters. Had Helen never been,
Troy were fafe: or had Chrufeis been unborn,
Grecce had been well reveng'd-O fatal pair!
Most mischievous where most belov'd: pleasing,
And yet deftroying.
Not Medufa kills,
With her envenom'd glances, half so fure,
Not Hector's fword has coft more Argive lives,
Nor has Achilles' fpear more Dardans flain,
Than each of thefe, with her devouring eyes.
Chal. Well am I pleas'd to find your foul thus mov'd;
If you can pity, fure you will redress;
Where pity refts, there mercy too will lodge.
These heavy vengeances that press so fore
Are owing to your pray'rs incenfing heaven.
O Chryfes, Chryfes! look on yonder camp,
Behold what heaps of dead, without one wound;
Behold how like the dead the living look,
So near their end, that they who wait their friends
To the last rites, are burnt on the fame pile:
The sturdy Greeks, unfinew'd by diseases,
That firmly went, impreffing deep the ground
On which they trod, with their large lufty ftrides,
Now fcarcely crawl, fupported on their spears:
No friendly ray, to fhew us to our tents,
But a dim red that overcafts the sky,
A blood-fhot beam all dreadful to behold:
Nor march we now by any other light
But funeral fires.
Chr. Nought can't thou urge from this,
But that the gods are just.
Chal. The gods are juft, but they are merciful,
Were Chryfes fo, thefe woes would have an end,
Chr. Th' uninjur'd at their ease, forgiveness preach
At fecond hand: But all who fmart alike,
Forgive alike: Vengeance is nature's debt,
And all who can, will have it ftrictly paid:
Forgiveness is the cunning of revenge,
A wife delay, for want of pow'r to hurt,
And but diffimulation at the best:
Had Chalcas loft a daughter, thus had I urg'd
To him, and he had heard like me.
Chal. Of all the attributes that Jove can boast,
Mercy's the moft divine; and of all men
The merciful are pleafing to the gods.
Let but a truce be granted, till we know
The king's refolve.
Chr. No Not a moment's refpite will I give:
By dangers I'll awake him from delights;
Whom plagues shall spare, the merciless sword shall cut,
And who escape the fword, new plagues fhall reach,
None rate their love fo high, but they will part
When life's the price-Why do I dally here
In idle talk? Now, now perhaps, this moment
The facrilegious ravisher's at work!
And fhall I wait till his hot fit be done?
Shew me the way, and let me rush upon him
Chal. Have but an hour's patience, reverend Chryfes,
Neftor is gone, and with him wife Ulyffes,
Achilles too: A council is conven'd,
Where your demands will fully be made known;
You fhall have justice.
Chr. I will have juflice, Chalcas, and look to't,
For once I give your humour way
Chryfes must have justice,
Chal. Doubt it not Chryfes, all will be amended.
[Exeunt Chryfes and Chalcas.
AGAMEMNON and CHRUSEIS.
Ag. O my Chrufeis! why thefe alter'd looks?
Why weeps my love, whofe fimiles are all my joy?
Thofe eyes that went to dance at my approach,
And fparkle on me with redoubled light,
Why veil they now in clouds when I draw near?
That charming voice, that with its chearful found
So chear'd my heart, why is its language fad?
Why broken thus with fighs? Thy gentle hand,
Not to be felt without transporting joy,
That when I prefs'd it, answer'd to my touch;
Why feels it now fo cold? O tell thy griefs!
If ought there be in Agamemnon's reach,
Tho' with the price of kingdoms to be bought,
Tho' with the lives of millions to be conquer'd,
Let but Chrufeis speak, and think it sure.
Chru. My dearest lord, you wrong my tender love, Poffeffing you, what is there left to wish?
But ah! who fear to lose what they have got,
May grieve as much as those who weep for more.
Ag. Both to yourself, and me, 'tis much unjust
To fear my change, or doubt your pow'r to fix.
Arriv'd at heav'n, there's no returning back.
Thy image, my Chrufeis, on my heart
Lies like a shield, where every dart that strikes
other eye, bounds fwiftly back,
Nor leaves a dint behind.
Who when the trumpets call, and the loud voice
Of war provokes the foldier from his reft,
Holds faft her Paris; safe embrac'd he lies,
No call of honour takes him from her arms;
The conq'ring year's arriv'd, when Troy must fall;
Nine years of fruitless pain, fo fates ordain'd
We should endure; the tenth rewards our toil.
'Tis come, my fair, nor fhall our flumbers more
Be broke by rude alarms; but yet a little longer
And all our task is love: close cleaving to thy fide,
No cry, To arms! fhall interrupt again
Ag. Vain are thy fears, Chrufeis; but they're kind. The gods are weary of this doubtful strife,
And now will finish it: the fun nine years
Has rofe and fet in flaughter, and now turns
His face from death, and fcarce will look abroad,
But pale and fad, winks with a feeble light
Upon our camp, as fick with human blood.
Chru. Would that were all: But my foreboding mind
Says otherwife. Ill omens haunt my steps,
Unquiet thoughts disturb my nights and days,
I know not why: and when I meet my lord,
Some hand unfeen ftill thrusts me back again,
And chides my hafte: If I but lift my eyes
On yours, fome voice unknown ftill whispers me,
Take heed, Chrufeis, thofe are guilty looks:
Ev'n in the midst of our transporting bliss,
Where all's devoted to immortal love,
In those dear arms, where none can lie unbleft,
The holy place where grief fhould never enter,
Sacred to joy, even there my tears pursue me,
Flowing uncall'd.
-Well have I mark'd thofe tears,
And chid thy eyes, which rapture could not dry.
The gods are envious fure of our delights,
Mankind is never happy, but by halves;
For, from that hour fince first I saw my love,
The public woes are dated; then began
Fevers to rage, and plagues that thin our ranks;
The lufty Greeks, that wont to march to battle
With chearful pace, now drag their flothful feet,
And but in flight are nimble.
Heartless our victims are, and every bird
Sinifter flies.
Ag. Nor you nor I; elfe fhould we perish too:
In midst of sickness we preferve our health,
In midst of death we live: the guiltless 'fcape.
No, my Chrufeis, fome kind pow'r that faw
These wounds would break my heart, gave thee to heal 'em;
That when returning, driven by thofe foes,
Whom I was us'd to drive, embracing thus,
I might forget my griefs: that what I lofe in glory
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