Into the vale of years: “What brings thee here?”
They cried, “and wherefore for Alcides’ race
Art thou a suppliant?” At this word they raised
The dagger to my breast: but heaven preserved me.
Pierced o’er with wounds, the youngest of them fell
Dead at my feet; the other basely fled,
Like an assassin: knowing not what blood
I might have shed, and doubtful of my fate,
I threw the bloody corpse into the sea,
And fled; your soldiers stopped me; at the name
Of Mérope, I yielded up my arms,
And they have brought me hither.
euricles.
Why these tears,
My royal mistress?
mérope.
Shall I own it to thee?
I melted with compassion, as he told
His melancholy tale; I know not why,
But my heart sympathized with his distress:
It cannot be, I blush to think it, yet
Methought I traced the features of Cresphontes:
Cruel remembrance! wherefore am I mocked
With such deceitful images as these,
Such fond delusions?
euricles.
Do not then embrace
Such vain suspicions, he’s not that barbarian,
That vile impostor, which we thought him.
mérope.
No:
Heaven hath imprinted on his open front
The marks of candor, and of honesty.
Where wert thou born?
ægisthus.
In Elis.
mérope.
Ha! in Elis!
In Elis! sayst thou? Knowst thou aught of Narbas,
Or of Ægisthus? Never hath that name
Yet reached thine ear? What rank, condition, friends,
Who was thy father?
ægisthus.
Polycletes, madam,
A poor old man: to Narbas, or Ægisthus,
Of whom thou speakest, I am a stranger.
mérope.
Gods!
Why mock ye thus a poor unhappy mortal?
A little dawn of hope just gleamed upon me,
And now my eyes are plunged in deepest night:
Say, what rank did thy parents hold in Greece?
ægisthus.
If virtue made nobility, old Sirris
And Polycletes, from whose blood I sprang,
Are not to be despised: their lot indeed
Was humble, but their exemplary virtues
Made even poverty respectable:
Clothed in his rustic garb, my honest father
Obeys the laws, does all the good he can,
And only fears the gods.
mérope.
[Aside.
How strangely he affects me! every word
Has some new charm:
[Turning to Ægisthus.
But wherefore left you then
The good old man? It must be dreadful to him
To lose a son like thee.
ægisthus.
A fond desire
Of glory led me hither: I had heard
Of your Messene’s troubles, and your own:
Oft had I heard of the illustrious queen,
Whose virtues merited a better fate;
The sad recital moved my soul; ashamed
To spend at Elis my inglorious days,
I longed to brave the terrors of the field
Beneath thy banners: this was my design,
And this alone: an idle thirst of fame
Misled my steps, and in their helpless age
Persuaded me to leave my wretched parents:
’Tis my first fault, and I have suffered for it:
Heaven hath avenged their cause, and I am fallen
Into a fatal snare.
mérope.
’Tis plain he is not,
Cannot be guilty; falsehood never dwells
With such ingenuous, sweet simplicity:
Heaven has conducted here this hapless youth,
And I will stretch the hand of mercy to him:
It is enough for me he is a man,
And most unfortunate; my son perhaps
Even now laments his more distressful fate:
O he recalls Ægisthus to my thoughts:
Their age the same; perhaps Ægisthus now
Wanders like him from clime to clime, unknown,
Unpitied, suffers all the bitter woes
And cruel scorn that waits on penury:
Misery like this will bend the firmest soul,
And wither all its virtues: lot severe
For a king’s offspring, and the blood of gods!
O if at least—
SCENE III.
mérope, ægisthus, euricles, ismenia.
ismenia.
Hark! madam, heard you not
Their loud tumultuous cries? You know not what—
mérope.
Whence are thy fears?
ismenia.
’Tis Poliphontes’ triumph:
The wavering people flatter his ambition,
And give their voices for him; he is chosen
Messene’s king: ’tis done.
ægisthus.
I thought the gods
Had on the throne of her great ancestors
Placed Mérope: O heaven! the greater still
Our rank on earth, the more have we to fear:
A poor abandoned exile, like myself,
Is less to be lamented than a queen:
But we have all our sorrows.
[Ægisthus is led off.
euricles.
[To Mérope.