Has raged along our ruin'd plains,
Has soil'd them with his cruel stains,
Has sunk our youth in endless sleep,
And made the widow'd virgin weep.
Now let him feel thy wonted charms;
O, take him to thy twining arms!
And, while thy bosom heaves on his,
While deep he prints the humid kiss,
Ah! then his stormy heart control,
And sigh thyself into his soul.
Thy son, too, Cupid, we implore
To leave the green Idalian shore.
Be he, sweet god! our only foe:
Long let him draw the twanging bow,
Transfix us with his golden darts,
Pour all his quiver on our hearts,
With gentler anguish make us sigh,
And teach us sweeter deaths to die.*
*These last eight lines appear in the edition of 1738; but are omitted in subsequent editions, for no very apparent reason.-EDIT.
ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS OF WALES.
I HUMBLY beg leave to put this Tragedy under the protection of Your Royal Highness; and hope you will condescend to accept of it, as a testimony of the most unfeigned and zealous respect, due no less to your amiable virtues than to your high rank, from,
Your Royal Highness's most dutiful, and most
obedient, humble servant,
BY THE AUTHOR OF EURYDICE
WHEN this decisive night at length appears,The night of every author's hopes and fears,What shifts, to bribe applause, poor poets try! In all the forms of wit they court and lie: These meanly beg it, as an alms; and those By boastful bluster dazzle and impose.
Nor poorly fearful, nor securely vain, Ours would by honest ways that grace obtain; Would, as a free-born wit, be fairly tried; And then-let truth and candour fair decide. He courts no friend, who blindly comes to praise; He dreads no foe-but whom his faults may raise. Indulge a generous pride, that bids him own He aims to please by noble means alone; By what may win the judgment, wake the heart, Inspiring nature, and directing art;
By scenes so wrought, so raised, as may command
Applause more from the head than from the hand.
Important is the moral we would teach :
(0, may this island practise what we preach !)—
Vice in its first approach with care to shun:
The wretch who once engages, is undone.
Crimes lead to greater crimes, and link so straight,
What first was accident, at last is fate :
Guilt's hapless servant sinks into a slave ;
And Virtue's last sad strugglings cannot save.
"As such our fair attempt, we hope to see
Our judges-here at least-from influence free;
One place unbiass'd yet by party-rage-
Where only Honour votes,-the British stage.
We ask for justice, for indulgence sue :
Our last best licence must proceed from you."
CLYTEMNESTRA sitting in a disconsolate posture, and her
ATTENDANT.
Att. O CLYTEMNESTRA! O my royal mistress!
Can, then, no comfort soothe your woes awhile?
E'er since that flaming signal of sack'd Troy,
That signal fix'd and promised by the king,
Was seen some nights ago, nor food has pass'd
Your loathing lips, nor sleep has bless'd your eyes.
Or if perhaps a transient slumber hush'd
Your sighs a moment, and restrain'd your tears;
Sudden you, starting wildly, would exclaim
Of guilt, Ægisthus, Troy, and Agamemnon.
Sure, 't is too much, my queen.
Since my lost state admits of no relief,
To that sad comfort of the wretched leave me,
To yield me to my sorrows.
Att.
Hear me, madam,
Once the dear burden of these aged arms!
My tender care from life's first opening bud!
My joy, my glory! hear your faithful servant,
And, let me add, your friend. In Reason's eye,
That never judges on a partial view,
Far less than your misfortune is your guilt.
Your guilt? Forgive me; 't is too harsh a word
For what deserves compassion more than blame.
I know the treacherous ways by which you sank,
From pleasing peace, to these unhappy fears,
This anxious tumult.
All comfort is in vain. Away!
Att.
Allow me
To plead your injured cause against yourself.
When Agamemnon led the Greeks to Troy,
And left you, madam, for the pomp of war;
Left you the pride of Greece in full-blown beauty,
The kindest mother and the fondest wife;
If Fame says true, for Trojan captives left you ;-
But that apart,-how did he leave you? say.
Afflicted, outraged, as a queen and mother;
Betray'd to Aulis with your first-born hope,
The blooming Iphigenia, under feint
Of her immediate marriage to Achilles;
And there no sooner at the wind-bound fleet
Arrived, but you beheld her spotless blood
Stream on the sullied altar of Diana,
The price of winds, of a dear-purchased gale,
To bear them on to Troy. Thus pierced with grief,
Then fired by turns to rage, almost to vengeance,
At an ambitious, cruel, haughty husband;
While all your passions were together mix'd,
And ready for a change; was you not left
In a submissive, soothing lover's power,
Ordain'd your partner in the sovereign rule
O'er Argos and Mycenæ, but to you
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