Complete Works of Edward Young, page 78
Pers. To Dymas fly! Gain him, and think on this,
A prince indebted is a fortune made. (Exit Pericles.)
Enter DEMETRIUS.
Dem. How, brother! unattired? Have you forgot
What pomps are due to this illustrious day?
Pers. I am no gewgaw, for the throng to gaze at.
Some are design’d by nature but for show;
The tinsel and the feather of mankind.
Bern. Brother, of that no more: for shame, gird on
Your glittering arms, and look like any Roman.
Pers. No, brother; let the Romans look like me,
If they ‘re ambitious. — But, I pr’ythee, stand;
Let me gaze on thee: — no inglorious figure!
More Romano, as it ought to be.
But what is this that dazzles my weak sight?
There’s sunshine in thy beaver.
Dem. ‘T is that helmet
Which Alexander wore at Granicus.
Pers. When he subdued the world? Ha! is’t not so?
What world hast thou subdued? O, yes; the fair.
Think’st thou there could in Macedon be found
No brow might suit that golden blaze but thine?
Dem. I wore it but to grace this sacred day;
Jar not for trifles.
Pers. Nothing is a trifle
That argues the presumption of the soul.
Dem. ‘T is they presume, who know not to deserve.
Pers. Or who, deserving, scorn superior merit.
Dem. Who combats with a brother, wounds himself:
Wave private wrath, and rush upon the foes
Of Macedonia.
Pers. No; I would not wound
Demetrius’ friends.
Dem. Demetrius’ friends?
Pers. The Romans.
You copy Hannibal, our great ally?
Say, at what altar was you sworn their foe?
Peace-making brother, wherefore bring you peace,
But to prevent my glory from the field?
The peace you bring, was meant as war to me.
Dem. Perseus, be bold when danger’s all your own:
War now were war with Philip more than Rome.
Pers. Come, you love peace; that fair cheek hates a scar:
You that admire the Romans, break the bridge
With Codes, or with Curtius leap the gulf;
And league not with the vices of our foes.
Dem. What vices?
Pers. With their women, and their wits.
Your idol Lælius; Lælius the polite.
I hear, sir, you take wing, and mount in metre.
Terence has own’d your aid, your comrade Terence.
Godlike ambition! Terence there, the slave!
Dem. At Athens bred, and to the arts a foe?
Pers. At Athens bred, and borrow arts from Rome?
Dem. Brother, I’ve done: let our contention cease:
Our mother shudders at it in her grave;
And how has Philip mourn’d? a dreadful foe,
And awful king; but, O, the tenderest parent
That ever wept in fondness o’er a child!
Pers. Why, ay; go tell your father; fondly throw
Your arms around him; stroke him to your purpose,
As you are wont. I boast not so much worth;
I am no picture, by the doting eye
To be survey’d, and hung about his neck.
I fight his battles; that’s all I can do.
But if you boast a piety sincere,
One way you may secure your father’s peace;
And one alone: resign Erixene.
Dem. You flatter me, to think her in my power.
We run our fates together; you deserve,
And she can judge: proceed we, then, like friends;
And he who gains her heart, and gains it fairly,
Let him enjoy his generous rival’s too.
Pers. Smooth-speaking, insincere, insulting boy!
Is, then, my crown usurp’d but half thy crime?
Desist, or, by the gods that smile on blood,
Not thy fine form, nor yet thy boasted peace,
Nor patronizing Rome, nor Philip’s tears,
Nor Alexander’s helmet, no, nor, more,
His radiant form, should it alight in thunder,
And spread its new divinity between us,
Should save a brother from a brother’s fury. (Exit Perseus.)
Dem. How’s this? The waves ne’er ran thus high before.
Resign thee? Yes, Erixene, with life!
Thou in whose eye, so modest, and so bright,
Love ever wakes, and keeps a vestal fire!
Ne’er shall I wean my fond, fond heart from thee.
But Perseus warns me to rouse all my powers.
As yet I float in dark uncertainty;
For, though she smiles, I sound not her designs:
I’ll fly, fall, tremble, weep upon her feet,
And learn (O all ye gods!) my final doom.
My father! ha! and on his brow deep thought,
And pale concern! Kind Heaven, assuage his sorrows,
Which strike a damp through all my flames of love. (Exit.)
Enter KING and ANTIGONUS.
King. Kings of their envy cheat a foolish world:
Fate gives us all in spite, that we alone
Might have the pain of knowing all is nothing,
The seeming means of bliss but heighten woe,
When impotent to make their promise good:
Hence kings, at least, bid fairest to be wretched.
Ant. True, sir; ‘t is empty, or tormenting, all:
The days of life are sisters; all alike;
None just the same; which serve to fool us on
Through blasted hopes with change of fallacy;
While joy is, like to-morrow, still to come:
Nor ends the fruitless chase but in the grave.
King. Ay, there, Antigonus, this pain will cease,
Which meets me at the banquet, haunts my pillow,
Nor by the din of arms is frighted from me.
Conscience, what art thou? thou tremendous power,
Who dost inhabit us without our leave;
And art, within ourselves, another self;
A master self, that loves to domineer,
And treat the monarch frankly as the slave!
How dost thou light a torch to distant deeds,
Make the past present, and the future frown!
How, ever and anon, awake the soul,
As with a peal of thunder, to strange horrors,
In this long restless dream, which idiots hug,
Nay, wise men flatter with the name of “life!”
Ant. You think too much.
King. I do not think at all:
The gods impose, the gods inflict, my thoughts,
And paint my dreams with images of dread.
Last night, in sleep, I saw the Thracian queen,
And her two murder’d sons. She frown’d upon me,
And pointed at their wounds. How throbb’d my heart!
How shook my couch! And, when the morning came,
The formidable picture still subsisted,
And slowly vanish’d from my waking eye.
I fear some heavy vengeance hangs in air,
And conscious deities infuse these thoughts,
To warn my soul of her approaching doom.
The gods are rigid when they weigh such deeds
As speak a ruthless heart: they measure blood
By drops, and bate not one in the repay.
Could infants hurt me. ‘T was not like a king.
Ant. My lord, I do confess the gods are with us;
Stand at our side in every act of life;
And on our pillow watch each secret thought;
Nay, see it in its embryo, yet unborn.
But their wrath ceases on remorse for guilt;
And well I know your sorrows touch your sons;
Nor is it possible but time must quench
Their flaming spirits in a father’s tears.
King. Vain comfort! I this moment overheard
My jarring sons with fury shake my walls.
Ah! why my curse from those that ought to bless me?
The queen of Thrace, can answer that sad question:
She had two sons, but two; and so have I.
Misfortune stands with her bow ever bent
Over the world; and he who wounds another,
Directs the goddess, by that part he wounds,
Where to strike deep her arrows in himself.
Ant. I own, I think it time your sons receive
A father’s awful counsel; or, while here,
Now weary Nature calls for kind repose,
Your curtains will be shaken with their broils;
And, when you die, sons’ blood may stain your tomb.
But other cares demand you now: the Romans.
King. O change of pain! The Romans? Perish Rome!
Thrice happy they who sleep in humble life,
Beneath the storm Ambition blows. ‘T is meet
The great should have the fame of happiness,
The consolation of a little envy.
T is all their pay for those superior cares,
Those pangs of heart, their vassals ne’er can feel.
Where are these strangers? First I’ll hear their tale,
Then talk in private with my sons.
Ant. But how
Intends my lord to make his peace with Rome?
King. Rome calls me fiery: let her find me so!
Ant. O sir, forbear! Too late you felt Rome’s power.
King. Yes, and that reason stings me more than ever
To curse, and hate, and hazard all against her.
Ant. Hate her too much to give her battle now;
Nor to your godlike valour owe your ruin.
Greece, Thessaly, Illyrium, Rome has seized,
Your treasures wasted, and your phalanx thinn’d:
Should she proceed, and strike at Macedon,
What would be left of empire?
King. Philip: all.
I’ll take my throne. Send-in these foreigners.
Scene draws, and discovers a magnificent throne, PERSEUS, DEMETRIUS, courtiers, &c,. attending. POSTHUMIUS and CURTIUS, the Roman ambassadors, enter. Trumpets sound. The KING ascends the throne.
Post. Philip of Macedon! to these complaints
Our friends groan out, and you have heard at large,
Rome now expects an answer. She sits judge,
And will have right on earth.
King. Expects an answer?
I so shall answer as becomes a king.
Post. Or more, sir, as becomes a friend of Rome.
King. Or Alexander’s heir, to rise still higher.
But to the purpose. Thus a king to those
That would make kings, and puff them out at pleasure:
Has Philip done amiss? ‘T was you provoked him.
My cities which deserted in my wars,
I thought it meet to punish: you denied me.
When I had shook the walls of Marena,
You pluck’d me thence, and took the taken town.
Then you sent word I should retire from Greece,
A conquest at my door, by nature mine;
And said, “Here end thy realm,” as ye were gods!
And gods ye shall be, ere Rome humbles me.
All this is done; yet Philip is your friend!
If this buys friendship, where can you find foes?
In what regard will stem Rome look upon me?
If as a friend, too precious let her hold
Her own esteem to cast a stain on mine:
If as an enemy, let her proceed,
And do as she has done; she need no more.
Post. The Romans do no wrong, yet still are men;
And if to-day an error thwarts their purpose,
To-morrow sets it right. If Philip loves
Dominion, and the pride that waits on kings,
(Of which, perhaps, his words too strongly savour,)
Humility to Rome will lead him to it:
She can give more than common kings can govern.
King. Than common kings? Ambassador! remember
Cannae, where first my sword was flush’d with blood.
Dem. (Aside to the king.) My lord, forbear.
King. And Hannibal still lives.
Post. Because he fled at Capua.
King. There, indeed,
I was not with him.
Post. Therefore he fled alone.
Since thus you treat us, hear another charge.
Why here detain you, prisoner of your power,
His daughter, who was once Rome’s good ally,
The king of Thrace? Why is she not restored?
For our next meeting you’ll provide an answer.
What now has pass’d, for his sake we forgive.
(Pointing to Demetrius.)
But mark this well: there lies some little distance,
Philip, between a Roman and a king. (Exeunt Romans.)
King. How say’st, unsceptred boaster? This to me?
With Hannibal I cleft yon Alpine rocks;
With Hannibal choked Thrasymene with slaughter:
But, O the night of Cannae’s raging field,
When half the Roman senate lay in blood
Without our tent, and groan’d, as we caroused!
Immortal gods! for such another hour!
Then throw my carcase to the dogs of Rome.
Ant. Sir, you forget your sons.
King. Let all withdraw.
(Exeunt all but the king and his sons.)
Two passions only take up all my soul,
Hatred to Rome, and tenderness for them.
Draw near, my sons, and listen to my age.
By what has pass’d, you see the state of things:
Foreign alliance must a king secure,
And insolence sustain, to serve his power:
And if alliances with Rome are needful,
Much more among ourselves. If I must bear,
Unmoved, an insult from a stranger’s brow,
Shall not a brother bear a brother’s look
Without impatience? Whither all this tends,
I’m sorry that your conscious hearts can tell you.
Is it not most severe? Two sons alone
Have crown’d my bed; and they two are not brothers.
Look here, and, from my kind regards to you,
Copy such looks as you should bear each other.
Why do I sigh? Do you not know, my sons?
And if you do O let me sigh no more!
Let these white hairs put in a claim to peace!
Pers. Henceforth, my sole contention with my brother
Is this, which best obeys our lather’s will.
Dem. Father, if simple Nature ever speaks
In her own language, scorning useless words,
You see her now; she swells into my eyes.
I take thee to my heart; I fold thee in it.
(Embracing Perseus.)
Our father bids; and that we drank one milk,
Is now the smallest motive of my love.
King. Antigonus, the joy their mother felt
When they were born, was faint to what I feel.
Dem. See, brother, if he does not weep! His love
Runs o’er in venerable tears. I’m rude;
But Nature will prevail My king! My father!
(Embracing.)
Pers. (Aside.) Now cannot I let fall a single tear.
King. See! the good man has caught it too.
Ant. Such tears,
And such alone, be shed in Macedonia!
King. Be not thou, Perseus, jealous of thy brother;
Nor thou, Demetrius, prone to give him cause;
Nor either think of empire till I’m dead.
You need not; you reign now; my heart is yours.
Sheath your resentments in your father’s peace;
Come to my bosom both, and swear it there.
(Embracing his sons.)
Ant. Look down, ye gods, and change me, if you can,
This sight for one more lovely! What so sweet,
So beautiful, on earth, and, ah! so rare,
As kindred love and family repose?
This, this alliance, Rome, will quite undo thee.
See this, proud eastern monarchs, and look pale!
Armies are routed, realms o’er-run, by this.
King. Or if leagued worlds superior forces bring,
I’d rather die a father than a king.
Fathers alone, a father’s heart can know;
What secret tides of still enjoyment flow,
When brothers love! But if their hate succeeds,
They wage the war; but ‘t is the father bleeds. (Exeunt.)
ACT II.
SCENE I.
Enter PERSEUS.
Pers. WHY loiters my ambassador to Dymas?
His greatness will not sure presume to scorn
A friendship offer’d from an heir of empire.
But Pericles returns. (Enter Pericles.)
Is Dymas ours?
Peri. He’s cautious, sir; he’s subtle; he ‘a a courtier;
Dymas is now for you, now for your brother;
For both, and neither. He’s a summer-insect,
And loves the sunshine: on his gilded wings,
While the scales waver, he’ll fly doubtful round you,
And sing his flatteries to both alike:
The scales once fix’d, he’ll settle on the winner.
And swear his prayers drew down the victory.
But what success had you, sir, with your brother?
Pers. All, all my hopes are at the point of death!
The boy triumphant keeps his hold in love:
He’s ever warbling nonsense in her ear,
With all the’ intoxication of success.
Darkness encloses me; nor see I light
From any quarter dawn, but from his death.
Peri. Why start at his death who resolves on yours?
Pers. Resolves on mine?
Peri. Have you not mark’d the princess?
You have: with what a beam of majesty
Her eye strikes sacred awe! It speaks her mind
Exalted, as it is. Whom loves she, then?
Demetrius? No; Rome’s darling; who, no doubt,
Dares court her with your empire. And shall Perseus
Survive that loss? Thus he resolves your death.
Pers. Most true. What crime, then, to strike first? But how?
Or when? or where? O Pericles! assist me.
Peri. ‘T is dangerous.
