ORESTES, PYLADES, and ATTENDANTS.
Ores. O Pylades! what's life without a friend!
At sight of thee my gloomy soul cheers up,
My hopes revive, and gladness dawns within me.
After an absence of six tedicus moons,
How could I hope to find my Pylades,
My joy, my comfort, on this fatal shore!
Even in the court of Pyrrhus! in these realms,
These hated realms, so cross to all my wishes!
Oh, my brave friend! may no blind stroke of fate
Divide us more, and tear me from myself!
Pyl. Oh,prince! Oh, my Orestes! Oh, my friend!— Thus let me speak the welcome of my heart. [Embracing.
Since I have gain'd this unexpected meeting,
Bless'd be the powers that barr'd my way to Greece,
And kept me here! ever since the unhappy day,
When warring winds (Epirus full in view)
Sunder'd our barks on the loud stormy main.
Ores. It was, indeed, a morning full of horror!
Pyl. A thousand boding cares have rack'd my soul
In your behalf. Often, with tears, I mourn'd
The fatal ills, to which your life's involv'd;
And grudg'd you dangers which I could not share.
I fear'd to what extremities the black despair,
That prey'd upon your mind, might have betray'd you;
And lest the gods, in pity to your woes,
/ Should hear your prayers, and take the life you loath'd.
But now with joy I see you !—The retinue,
And numerous followers, that surround you here,
Speak better fortunes, and a mind dispos'd
To relish life.
Ores. Alas, my friend! who knows
The destiny, to which I stand reserv'd!
I come in search of an inhuman fair;
And live or die, as she decrees my fate.
Pyl. You much surprise me, prince! I thought
you cur'd
Of your unpity'd, unsuccessful, passion.
Why, in Epirus, should you hope to find
Hermione less cruel, than at Sparta ?
I thought her pride, and the disdainful manner
In which she treated all your constant sufferings,
Had broke your fetters, and assur'd your freedom:
Asham'd of your repulse, and slighted vows,
You hated her; you talk'd of her no more:
Prince, you deceiv'd me!
Do not upbraid the unhappy man, that loves thee.
Thou know'st I never hid my passion from thee:
Thou saw'st it, in its birth, and in its progress;
And when, at last, the hoary king, her father,
Great Menelaus, gave away his daughter,
His lovely daughter, to the happy Pyrrhus,
Th' avenger of his wrongs, thou saw'st m grief,
My torture, my despair.
Oh, Pylades! my heart has bled within me,
To see thee, press'd with sorrows not thy own,
Still wand'ring with me, like a banish'd man,
Watchful, and anxious for thy wretched friend,
To temper the wild transports of my mind,
And save me from myself.
Pyl. Why thus unkind?
Why will you envy me the pleasing task
Of generous love, and sympathizing friendship?
Ores. Thou miracle of truth!-But hear me on.
When, in the midst of my disastrous fate,
I thought how the divine Hermione,
Deaf to my vows, regardless of my plaints,
Gave up herself, and all her charms, to Pyrrhus;
Thou may'st remember, I abhorr❜d her name,
Strove to forget her, and repay her scorn.
I made my friends, and even myself, believe
My soul was freed. Alas! I did not see,
That all the malice of my heart was love.
Triumphing thus, and yet a captive still,
In Greece I landed, and in Greece I found
The assembled princes all alarm'd with fears,
In which their common safety seem'd concern'd.
I join'd them: for I hop'd that war and glory
Might fill my mind, and take up all my thoughts;
And that my shatter'd soul, impair'd with grief,
Once more would re-assume its wonted vigour,
And ev'ry idle passion quit my breast.
Pyl. The thought was worthy Agamemnon's son.
Ores. But see the strange perverseness of my stars,
Which throws me on the rock I strove to shun!
The jealous chiefs, and all the states of Greece,
With one united voice complain of Pyrrhus;
That now, forgetful of the promise giv❜n,
And mindless of his godlike father's fate,
Astyanax he nurses in his court;
Astyanax, the young, surviving hope
Of ruin'd Troy; Astyanax, descended
From a long race of kings-great Hector's son.
Pyl. A name still dreadful in the ears of Greece!
But, prince, you'll cease to wonder, why the child
Lives thus protected in the court of Pyrrhus,
When you shall hear, the bright Andromache,
His lovely captive, charms him from his purpose:
The mother's beauty guards the helpless son.
Ores. Your tale confirms what I have heard; and
hence
Spring all my hopes. Since my proud rival wooes
Another partner to his throne and bed,
Hermione may still be mine. Her father,
The injur'd Menelaus, thinks already
His daughter slighted, and th' intended nuptials
Too long delay'd. I heard his loud complaints
With secret pleasure; and was glad to find
Th' ungrateful maid neglected in her turn,
And all my wrongs aveng'd in her disgrace.
Pyl. Oh, may you keep your just resentments
Ores. Resentments! Oh, my friend, too soon I found They grew not out of hatred. I am betray'd: I practise on myself, and fondly plot My own undoing. Goaded on by love, I canvass'd all the suffrages of Greece; And here I come, their sworn ambassador, To speak their jealousies, and claim this boy.
Pyl. Pyrrhus will treat your embassy with scorn. Full of Achilles, his redoubted sire ;
Pyrrhus is proud, impetuous, headstrong, fierce;
Made up of passions: will he then be sway'd,
And give to death the son of her he loves?
Ores. Oh, would he render up Hermione,
And keep Astyanax, I should be bless'd!
He must; he shall: Hermione is my life,
My soul, my rapture!-I'll no longer curb
The strong desire, that hurries me to madness:
I'll give a loose to love; I'll bear her hence;
I'll tear her from his arms; l'1-O, ye gous!
Give me Hermione, or let me die!—
But, tell me, Pylades, now stand my hopes
Is Pyrrhus still enamour'c with net Chatile
Or dost thou think he'l vier me ut the pre
The dear, dear prize. wat
Pyl. I dare not fatter you: jou no
The king, indeed, coir to ter Spania, prune, Turns all his passion AUCTOR
Hector's afflicter widow
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