HEROIC LOVE: A TRAGEDY. As it is Acted at The THEATRE in Little Lincolns-Inn-Fields. Written by the Honourable GEORGE GRANVILLE, Esq  Rectius Iliacum Carmen deducis in Actus,— Hor. de Arte Poeticâ. Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus. 
LONDON: Printed for F. Saunders, in the New-Exchange in the Strand; H. Playford in the Temple-Change, and B. took at the Middle-Temple-Gate, Fleetstreet. 1698.   

The Preface.  
IT may be necessary to inform the Reader, that after the first Representation of this Play, the Conclusion was altered: Agamemnon is left to continue in a Swoon, and the Scene is closed with these few lines spoken by Ulysses, immediately upon the Departure of Chruseis,  

Uly. The Ills that Love has done, Love has atoned,  
And Glory calls, to make us full amends.  
Look to the King, be that your care Talthybius, (To Tal.  
And let all Ages, in this Truth agree  
Love never gained, a Nobler Victory.   
The Reasons for this Alteration were these. The Author was of Opinion, that some might think it more Natural that Agamemnon, (considering the Excess of Love which fills his Character) should upon coming to himself, rather run after his Mistress, than into the Battle: He declares that in the same Circumstance he should have done so himself, and it is a pretty true Observation, that in the Frame of our Heroes, we commonly draw our own Pictures. Another Reason was Brevity, some having complained of the length of that Act. There was indeed such effectual Care taken not to seem tedious to the Audience, that the last Scene may be more properly said to have been Murdered than Cut, for the Conveniency of Acting, as will evidently appear to the Reader.  
Some have objected, that it is unnatural for a Hero to Swoon; those Persons are entreated to inform us of what stuff they take Heroes to be made: Hitherto they have passed for Men, and by consequence subject to humane Infirmities. Othello in one of his Agonies of Jeloufie, falls into a Swoon: and indeed in some Cases where the Passion must be presumed so Violent or so Tender, that words can but faintly represent it, it is then a Beauty to express it in this manner, and by far more Pathetic, than any Speech though never so Rhetorical. Others have complained, that they want to know what becomes afterwards of Agamemnon. They are desired to accept of this short reply, That the Author never undertook to write the Life of Agamemnon. A Tragedy is the Representation of one single particular Action, and not of every Circumstance of a Man's Life: But however, to satisfy their Curiosity, these Persons if they can give themselves the trouble to observe, may find mixed up and down in the Play, either by way of Relation or Prophecy, all the remarkable Passages of the Life of Agamemnon, from the Beginning to the End, not omitting so much as his Forefathers and his Posterity: and what would they have more? It has likewise been objected, that the Characters are too few. Let those Critics be pleased to consider, that a single Action will allow of but few Persons, and a regular Play is confined to a single Action: Let them examine what number of Characters the Ancients and all who have written in their Imitation, were wont to introduce, and then let them judge. It may be further observed; that whosoever crowds his Play with a Multitude of Persons, will be forced to draw his Characters so little, and as it were in miniature, that it will scarce be perceptible there are any Characters at all: for to show Men at full Length and in just Proportion, requires room, which can only be found when the Characters are few.  
There is indeed one Personage which the Author thinks himself obliged to make some Apology for to the Judicious Reader, though it happens to be the Part which in the Representation meets the loudest Applause; and this is the Character of Briseis, which may seem to some a little overstrained, and extended larger than the Life. However he cannot help owning that in his Opinion he verily believes there are many who think full as vainly of themselves; Some Men he is sure he has met with of that Character, but Ladies are Sacred Things, and he would not be thought to suggest the least uncivil Supposition of any of that Sex. To proceed then to give some account of the true Reason of his choice of so extraordinary a Person, the plain Truth of the whole matter is this; Had he formed her a moving Character, should he have brought her in lamenting her Misfortune and attracting Compassion, this would have prejudiced the Chief Hero of the Play: for all the Pity which she had excited, must necessarily have raised so much Indignation against him. The Author thus was under a Necessity to represent her in such a manner, that no body might be concerned, or take any part in her Misfortune, and he therefore chose to make her of a Piece with her Lover; for in reality, her Character is formed out of his, as presuming and arrogant with her Beauty, as Achilles with the Opinion of his Courage. There was scarce any other way of introducing her without giving occasion for pity, which was absolutely to be avoided; and therefore the Author hopes in such a Case he is pardonable. This Excuse is addressed to the Judicious, the generality of the World needed it not, this being the Part in the Play which found the best Reception. It often indeed happens, that the Audience is best pleased where the Author is most out of countenance, and that part of the Performance which the Writer Suspects, the Spectator chiefly approves. When we observe how little notice is taken of the noble and sublime Thoughts and Expressions of Mr. Dryden in Oedipus, and what Applause is given to the Rants and the Fustian of Mr. Lee, what can we say, but that Madmen are only fit to write, when nothing is esteemed Great and Heroic but what is un-intelligible.   

To Mr. GRANVILLE, on his Excellent Tragedy, called HEROIC LOVE.  

AUspicious Poet, wert thou not my Friend,  
How could I envy, what I must commend!  
But since 'tis Nature's Law in Love and Wit  
That Youth should Reign, and withering Age submit,  
With less regret, those Laurels I resign,  
Which dying on my Brows, revive on thine.  
With better Grace an Ancient Chief may yield  
The long contended Honours of the Field,  
Than venture all his Fortune at a Cast,  
And Fight, like Hannibal, to lose at last.  
Young Princes Obstinate to win the Prize,  
Tho' Yearly beaten, Yearly yet they rise:  
Old Monarchs though Successful, still in Doubt,  
Catch at a Peace; and wisely turn Devout.  
Thine be the Laurel then; thy blooming Age  
Can best, if any can, support the Stage:  
Which so declines, that shortly we may see,  
Players and Plays reduced to second Infancy.  
Sharp to the World, but thoughtless of Renown,  
They Plot not on the Stage, but on the Town,  
And in Despair their Empty Pit to fill,  
Set up some Foreign Monster in a Bill:  
Thus they jog on; still tricking, never thriving;  
And Murdering Plays, which they miscall Reviving.  
Our Sense is Nonsense, through their Pipes conveyed;  
Scarce can a Poet know the Play He made;  
'Tis so disguised in Death: Nor thinks 'tis He  
That suffers in the Mangled Tragedy.  
Thus Itys first was killed, and after dressed  
For his own Sire the Chief Invited Guest.  
I say not this of thy successful Scenes;  
Where thine was all the Glory, their's the Gains;  
With length of Time, much Judgement, and more Toil,  
Not ill they Acted, what they could not spoil:  
Their Setting-Sun still shoots a glimmering Ray,  
Like Ancient Rome, Majestic in decay:  
And better gleanings, their worn Soil can boast,  
Then the Crab-Vintage of the Neighbouring Coast.  
This difference, yet the judging World will see;  
Thou Copiest Homer, and they Copy thee.   
JOHN DRYDEN.   

PROLOGUE.  By Henry St. john's, Esq 

HOW hard's the Poet's task, in these our days,  
Who such dull Palates is condemned to please,  
As Damn all Sense, and only Fustian praise:  
Charmed with Heroic Nonsense, lofty strains,  
Not with the Writers, but the Player's pains,  
And by the Actor's Lungs, judge of the Poet's Brains.   

Let Scribbling Judges, who your Pleasures serve,  
Live by your Smiles, or by your Anger starve,  
To please you in your vain Fantastic way,  
Renounce their Judgement, to secure their Pay:  
By written Laws, our Author would be tried,  
And writes as if Athenians should decide,  
With Horace and the Stagyrite for Guide.  
Applause is welcome, but too dearly bought,  
Should we give up one rule, those mighty Masters taught.  
Yet some, methinks, I here and there descry  
Who may with Ancient Rome and Athens vie;  
To whose Tribunal, we submit with Joy:  
To them, and only them; for not to wrong ye  
'Twould be a shame to please the most among ye.   

Chiefly the softer Sex, he hopes to move,  
Those tender Judges of Heroic Love:  
To that bright Circle, he resigns his Cause,  
And if they Smile, he asks no more Applause.    

EPILOGUE.  By Bevill higgon's, Esq 

WHat will the Galleries, nay Boxes say?  
There's not one Man destroyed in all our Play.  
Murder and Blood have long possessed the Stage,  
And pleased the Genius of a Barbarous Age,  
But since the Poet's task's the Soul to move,  
And with his Objects, make you Grieve or Love,  
Surviving Wretches should more pity find  
Than they who die, and leave their Woes behind.   

On Athen's Stage, when Greece the World gave Law.  
Hr sprightly Dames our Agamemnon saw;  
They shared his Sorrows, did his Fate bemoan,  
And always made the Hero's wrongs their own.  
But then the World was Gay, and Nature Young,  
men's Passions were more high, and Fancy strong;  
Poets could either raise, or make so sad,  
That going Home, whole Audiences ran Mad.  
In vain we would your colder Hearts inspire,  
And blow up Flames, without the Seeds of Fire.   

Three thousand Years ago, illustrious Dames  
Attended Camps, and gave the Hero's Flames;  
Now every Wench; when Battered and Decayed,  
To Flanders fled, where straight the Rampant Jade  
At once the Colonel served, and the Brigade.   

If Poets have the Privilege of Laws  
To challenge Juries; who must try their Cause,  
To judge of Wit, the Critic be debarred,  
Who often Damns, what he ne'er saw nor heard;  
Besides, he still to Poets bears a spite,  
For never yet was Critic, who could write.   

For You, the Viler Rabble of the Pit,  
Who want good Nature, tho' you have no Wit,  
Maliciously you imitate the Times,  
Like Judges try the Men, and not their Crimes;  
With Noise and Nonsense whom you hate decry,  
And if demanded, give no reason why,  
But when no pity can the Torrent stem,  
Attaint the Poet, whom you can't condemn.  
'Tis on that shining Circle we depend, [To the Ladies.  
For You——  
Our Poet writes, in gratitude defend:  
Of Love and Honour, he a Pattern meant,  
And took the bright Ideas, that you lent:  
Your Picture drawn, show then the Painter Grace  
Who fails, in an inimitable Face.    

Persons Names.  
Agamemnon, King of Argos, General of the Allies at the Siege of Troy; In Love with Chruseis. Mr. Betterton. Achilles, General of the Myrmidons. Mr. Verbruggen. Nestor, A Graecian-Commander. Mr. Bowman. Ulysses, Another Commander of the Greeks. Mr. Sandford. Patroclus, The Friend of Achilles. Mr. Scudemore. Chryses. High Priest of Phoebus, Father of Chruseis. Mr. Kynaston. Chalcas, A Grecian Soothsayer. Mr. Freeman. Talthybius, and Eurybates, Captains of the King's Guard. Mr. Baily.  Officers, Guards, and Attendants to the King.  
WOMEN.  Chruseis, In Love with Agamemnon. Mrs. Barry. Briseis, Mistress to Achilles. Mrs. Bracegirdle Artemis, A Woman attendant to Chruseis. Mrs. Prince.  Other Women Attendants to Chruseis.   
The Scene is of the Grecian Fleet and Camp before TROY.   
Heroic Love.  

ACT I. SCENE I.  Agamemnon's Pavilion. Enter Chryses the Priest, and Chalcas the Soothsayer. Chr. 
SEE him I will, and Must.  Chal. 
See him you may, but wait a better time.  Chr. 
Chalcas, What time? Whose time shall Chryses wait?  
Shall I, who to th'assembled Gods can say,  
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 Leisure wait?  
I say, I will be heard, and now.  Chal. 
Forgive me, Holy Chryses, Prince of Prophets;  
Thou Oracle, unerring when thy Gods  
Enlighten thee to speak their dark Decrees,  
But Humane born, retaining Humane frailties,  
Your Reason by your Passion is misled;  
To temperate Tongues, Unbiased by resentment  
Trust your Demands; Or failing to persuade  
You may provoke. For tho' the King be mild,  
Inclined to Good, of easy Disposition,  
Yet he's of hasty temper, catching Fire,  
As the best Natures, are indeed most apt:  
Surprise him not, nor work him unprepared,  
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 Blessings,  
And deem the Barren Womb, a Curse? O Marriage!  
Unhappy! Most unhappy of all States!  
Matching with sorrows, Teeming still with more,  
The Vexed Womb, seems to bring forth to Vex,  
Producing none but to Disgrace or Ruin  
The rash Begetters. Had Helen never been,  
Troy were safe: Or had Chruseis been un-born  
Greece had been well revenged— O fatal Pair!  
Most Mischievous where most Beloved: Pleasing  
an yet Destroying. Not Medusa kills  
With her envenomed Glances, half so sure,  
Not Hector's Sword, has cost more Argive lives,  
Nor has Achilles' Spear, more dardan's slain,  
Than each of these, with her devouring Eyes.  Chal. 
Well am I pleased to find your Soul thus moved,  
If you can pity, sure you will redress,  
Where Pity rests, there Mercy too will lodge.  
These heavy Vengeances that press so sore  
Are owing to your Prayers, incensing Heaven.  
O Chryses, Chryses, 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 same Pile:  
The sturdy Greeks, unsinewed by Diseases,  
That firmly went, impressing deep the Ground  
On which they trod, with their large lusty strides,  
Now scarcely crawl, supported on their Spears:  
No Friendly Ray, to show us to our Tents,  
But a dim Red, that overcasts the Sky,  
A bloodshot Beam, all dreadful to behold:  
Nor march we now, by any other Light  
But Funeral Fires.  Chr. 
Nought canst thou urge from this  
But that the Gods are just.  Chal. 
The Gods are just, but they are Merciful,  
Were Chryses so, these Woes would have an End.  Chr. 
Th'uninjured at their ease, forgiveness preach  
At second-hand: But all who smart alike,  
Forgive alike: Vengeance is Nature's debt,  
And all who can, will have it strictly paid;  
Forgiveness is the Cunning of Revenge,  
A wise delay, for want of Power to hurt,  
And but Dissimulation at the best;  
Had Chalcas lost a Daughter, thus had I urged  
To him, and he had heard like me.  Chal. 
Of all the Attributes, that Jove can boast,  
Mercy's the most Divine; and of all Men  
The Merciful are pleasing to the Gods.  
Let but a Truce be granted, till we know  
The King's resolve.  Chr. 
No— Not a Moment's respite will I give,  
By dangers I'll awake him from delights,  
Whom Plagues shall spare, the Merciless sword shall cut,  
And who escape the Sword, new Plagues shall reach.  
None rate their Love so high, but they will part  
When Life's the Price— Why do I dally here  
In idle talk? Now, now perhaps, this Moment,  
The Sacrilegious Ravisher's at work,  
And shall I wait, till his hot fit be done?  
Show me the way, and let me rush upon him—  [Going. Chal. 
Have but an hour's patience, Reverend, Chryses,  [stops him. 
Nestor is gone, and with him wise Ulysses,  
achilles' too: A Council is convened  
Where your Demands, will fully be made known;  
You shall have Justice.  Chr. 
I will have Justice, Chalcas, and look to't,  
For once I give your humour way— But know  
And mark it well— Chryses must have Justice,  
Or Agamemnon perish.  Chal. 
Doubt it not Chryses, all will be amended.  
But Oh! how much I fear  [Aside. 
So much I know he loves!  Exeunt Chryses and Chalcas. Enter Agamemnon and Chruseis. Ag. 
O my Chruseis, why these altered Looks?  
Why weeps my Love, whose Smiles are all my Joy?  
Those Eyes that wont to dance at my approach,  
And sparkle on me with redoubled light  
Why veil they now, in Clouds when I draw near?  
That charming Voice, that with its cheerful sound  
So cheered my Heart, why is its Language sad,  
Why broken thus with Sighs? Thy gentle hand  
Not to be felt without transporting Joy,  
That when I pressed it, answered to my touch,  
Why feels it now so cold? O tell thy griefs!  
If aught there be in Agamemnon's reach  
Tho' with the Price of Kingdoms to be bought,  
Tho' with the Lives of Millions to be conquered,  
Let but Chruseis speak, and think it sure.  Chru. 
My dearest Lord, you wrong my tender Love,  
Possessing 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 power to fix.  
Arrived at Heaven, there's no returning back:  
Thy Image, my Chruseiss, on my Heart  
Lies like a Shield, where every dart that strikes  
From any other Eye, bounds swiftly back,  
Nor leaves a Dint behind.  Chru. 
O happy Helen!  
Who when the Trumpets call, and the loud Voice  
Of War, provokes the Soldier from his rest,  
Holds fast her Paris, safe embraced he lies,  
Nor call of Honour, takes him from her Arms;  
But I unhappy ay—  Ag. 
Dismiss that Grief.  
The conquering Year's arrived, that Troy must fall,  
Nine years of fruitless pain, so Fates ordained  
We should endure; the Tenth rewards our toil.  
'Tis come, my Fair, nor shall our slumbers more  
Be broke by rude Alarms; But yet a little longer  
And all our task is Love: Close cleaving to thy side  
No cry, To Arms, shall interrupt again  
Our balmy Joys.  Chru. 
Still, still I fear.  Ag. 
Vain are thy fears Chruseiss; but they're kind.  
The Gods are weary of this doubtful strife,  
And now will finish it: The Sun nine years  
Has rose and set in slaughter, and now turns  
His face from Death, and scarce will look abroad,  
But Pale and Sad, winks with a feeble Light  
Upon our Camp, as sick with Humane blood.  Chru. 
Would that were all: But my fore-boding Mind  
Says otherwise. Ill omens haunt my steps,  
Unquiet thoughts disturb my Nights and Days,  
I know not why: And when I meet my Lord,  
Some hand unseen, still thrusts me back again,  
And chides my haste: If I but lift my Eyes  
On yours, some Voice unknown still whispers me,  
Take heed Chruseis, those are guilty Looks:  
Even in the midst of our transporting bliss,  
Where all's devoted to Immortal Love,  
In those dear Arms, where none can lie unblessed,  
The Holy Place where Grief should never enter,  
Sacred to Joy, Even there my Tears pursue me,  
Flowing uncalled.  Ag. 
Well have I marked those Tears,  
And chid thy Eyes, which Rapture could not dry.  
The Gods are Envious sure of our delights,  
Mankind is never happy, but by halves;  
For, from that hour since first I saw my Love  
The public Woes are dated: Then began  
Fevers to rage, and Plagues that thin our Ranks;  
The Lusty Greeks, that wont to march to Battle  
With cheerful Pace, now drag their slothful feet.  
And but in Flight are nimble.  
Heartless our Victims are, and every Bird  
Sinister flies—  Chru. 
Alas! am I the Cause?  Ag. 
Nor You, nor I; Else should we perish too;  
In midst of Sickness, we preserve our Health,  
In midst of Death we Live: The Guiltless 'scape.  
No, my Chruseiss, some kind Power that saw  
These Wounds would break my heart, gave thee to heal 'em;  
That when returning, driven by those Foes  
Whom I was, used to drive, Embracing thus  
I might forget my Griefs: That what I lose abroad  
Might be repaid at home.— Should Troy escape,  
Should Argos too be lost, My Kingdoms all  
Laid waste, and Sceptres wrested from my hand,  
Whilst I can hold Chruseis, I'm a Gainer,  
Within these Arms, I am a Conqueror still.  
Why does my Love not meet my fierce Embrace  
With wonted warmth? Why drop thy Snowy Arms  
That used to clasp me round?— Now by the Gods she Weeps—  
What Griefs are yet untold? Thy gentle Heart  
Beats at thy Breast, like an imprisoned Bird,  
And thy swollen Eyes, like Clouds that paused a while,  
Flow faster than before.  Chru. 
Ah Prince!  Ag. 
Out with it then, give me thy Griefs, Chruseis.  Gru. 
My Father—  Ag. 
What of him?  Chru. 
Is in your Camp arrived—  Ag. 
He's welcome then.  
Fain would I see the Man who gave thee life,  
The Parent of my Joy— By Juno and by Pallas  
Those Guardians of my Arms, were Phoebus' self  
Arrived, whose Minister he is  
That Glorious God, he were not half so welcome,  
Nor should receive more Honours from the King.  Chru. 
Alas, he seeks not Honours: All his thoughts  
Are bent on Heaven, devoted to the Gods,  
Tho' in his Hand he bears a Golden Sceptre,  
Tho' on his Reverend Head, a Crown he wears  
The marks of his high Office, though to King's  
Equal in Dignity, his humble Mind  
Shuns Worldly Pomp—  Ag. 
So humble, and a Priest, my Love! That's strange:  Chru. 
He comes not here, I know it by my fears,  
For Honours, nor for Wealth: for me he comes,  
To take me from your Arms, and from your Bosom,  
And bear me where I ne'er shall see you more.  
Will Agamemnon let him?  Ag. 
What Armies brings he with him in his Train,  
That, he should think, here, in my very Camp,  
To force my Treasure from me?  Chru. 
Legions of Gods attend his Pious call,  
That shoot with Shafts unseen; And O, perhaps  
These Deaths that have already strewed the Plain  
Are owing to his Prayers.  Ag. 
— Thy Fears are needless,  
What is there to offend him in our Loves?  
That from a Captive, you become a Queen,  
That Agamemnon, King of mightiest Kings  
Is Slave to his Chruseiss; That the Man  
Whom Princes serve, serve thee.  Chru. 
Such Honours might perhaps move other Men,  
But Oh! His rigid Virtue, nice, severe,  
Allows to Nature nothing.  Ag. 
If Honours he contemns, we'll give him Gold,  
Wealth he shall have enough to Ransom Kings,  
I'll empty all my Treasures at his Feet:  
Priests will take Gold: Well may they sell their Daughters.  
Who sell their Gods.  Enter Talthybius. Tal. 
The Great Achilles  
With Nestor, and the Prince of Ithaca,  
Approach your Royal Tent.  Ag. 
They sent us word, that somewhat of import  
They would reveal, that does concern us much,  
Our Honour and our Peace, and would restore  
Health to our Soldiers, to our Arms Success.  
Retire my Fair, nor vex thy gentle Mind  
With needless doubts— Tho' Men and Gods conspire  
I'll hold thee fast— My Life, my Soul, Farewell.  He leads her to the Door. Exit Chruseis. Enter Achilles, Nestor, and Ulysses. Uly. 
Health to the King; nor can we wish him better  
In Camps where foul Infections seize on all,  
And mix without distinction, Base and Noble.  Ach. 
Atrides heeds not that; Secure of Love  
What tho' the Soldiers die; the Prince's murmur;  
What tho' Troy stand, so but Chruseis smile;  
The public Griefs are general to all  
But Thee; Oh happy Agamemnon!  Ag. 
The King of Myrmidons, of all Mankind  
Might have spared that reproach; for 'tis well known,  
Brave as he is, oft when the Trumpet sounds,  
He'll loiter——  
For a parting Kiss from his Briseis.  Nest. 
What cruel woes have Women brought to Greece!  
For Empire and for Honour once we fought,  
But the New Mode is Women— Cursed Sex!  
Of all our Plagues, the Worst! Nor will our Camp  
Be free, whilst there's one Woman left.  Ag. 
Old Age may make us all thus Cynical,  
But Nestor once was Young, and then a Woman  
After the tug of a hard Foughten-Field  
Past for a Blessing— But to our Business now.  
At your request, Achilles, we are met,  
First let us sit—,—  They sit. Agamemnon and Achilles in two Chairs of State at the Upper end of the Table: Nestor and Ulysses on each side. 
—— If you have ought to urge  
Of public Good; Aught that can heal our wounds,  
And stay the Vengeance of offended Jove,  
Speak freely, Princes,— Agamemnon's heart  
Bleeds for his People: If the Gods require  
His Life, a Sacrifice to save the rest,  
And to atone their Wrath— The King shall die.  Nest. 
Well have you vowed, O King, and I rejoice  [Rises. 
To find such Piety— O Jove confirm it.  
Kings above other Mortals are required  
To be observant to the Powers divine,  
Since on their Actions, Good or Ill, depends  
The Public Peace— O Gods! what crimes are these!  
Whose Crimes?  
No private Man's, since a whole Nation suffers,  
No little fault, the Vengeance is too great;  
And much I fear, whoever th'offender be,  
This Criminal is obstinate in Guilt:  
For mark it well; these Judgements by degrees  
Grew more, and greater daily: The Disease  
First on our Cattle seized: The generous Horse  
That bore his Rider, safe through armed Ranks  
Snapping in sunder Darts and Spears, than fell  
Unhurt, Untouched— From Beasts it spread to Men;  
The merry Greeks, as at their Cups they sit,  
Drop in the midst of Laughter— As some huge Tower  
At which Men gaze, astonished at its strength,  
If Waters undermine, and Springs unseen  
Sap its foundation, Unawares comes down  
And covers with its ruins all the Place,  
So look our strong Battalions, and so fall  
Whole Ranks at once, and the Dead lie on heaps.  
O Phoebus! Stay thy hand that shoots unseen,  
All Pestilence, all Fevers are from thee,  
These shafts are thine, restrain thy murdering wrath,  
For pious Agamemnon, King of Kings,  
Has vowed to do thee justice.  He sits. Ulysses riseth. Uly. 
Great are our Ills: Too grievous to be born  
Had we a King less Pious— Kings there are  
Who, slaves to their own Wills, regard not Fame,  
What, though their People weep, their Eyes are dry;  
What though they starve, Their Coffers still are full;  
Tho' Heaven by surest tokens of its wrath  
Give warning to repent, They mind not Heaven,  
But still go on, and own no Gods but Lust.  
Such Kings, are hated here, despised hereafter;  
Their memory's are cursed, the Widow's tears  
And Orphans wrongs, revenged upon their Issue.  
What Glories then, O mighty Agamemnon!  
What Honours here, what Praise in aftertimes;  
What Love of Men, what Favour of the Gods,  
Will crown thy pious deeds, who looking down  
With aching heart on thy grieved People's suffering,  
Hast vowed to give whate'er the Gods exact,  
Tho' dear as Life, to stay their Miseries.  Ag. 
Nestor, in Wisdom nearest to the Gods,  
By long experience of three Ages taught,  
O were thy Strength proportioned to thy Mind,  
Achilles would be weak, compared to thee,  
Could but thy Body, bending under Years,  
Act thy high Thoughts, Troy should not stand a Day;  
And thou Ulysses, Prince of Ithaca,  
Forward in Fight, and famed for Stratagem,  
Be witnesses to Men, of what I swear.  
And thou, O Jove, the giver of all Laws,  [Rises, all rise. 
And Phoebus too, who from thy Orb above  
Art conscious to what Mortals do, or say;  
O Seas, O Earth, and you impartial Powers  
Below, who judge and punish Perjury,  
Bear an eternal Record of my Oath.  
If I have erred, and not atone my Crime,  [Sits, all sits. 
Whatever way the Deities ordain,  
If I obey not, as at Aulis once,  
When to appease Diana's cruel rage  
My Iphigenia was led forth to bleed,  
Public Dishonour, and Domestic strife  
Be then my doom— If any other Prince,  
Tho' Menelaus, Ajax, Diomedes,  
Or, though last named, the first of all the Greeks,  
Divine Achilles, honoured as a God,  
Be Author of these Plagues, if through respect,  
Through favour, or through fear; I spear the Guilty,  
On me, and mine, still light this heavy Curse.  Ach. 
Then hear Atrides, what the Gods declare,  
What they require, and who's the Guilty Man,  
'Tis Thou art this Offender—  Ag. 
Ha!  Ach. 
Nay, Frown not, Son of Atreus, for 'tis true:  
Frowns do not fright Achilles, but provoke.  
Apollo is th'offended God, and thou  
The Criminal— But not for Vows forgot,  
Or Hecatombs omitted, come these Plagues,  
But for his Priest, who's Daughter's here detained  
Against his Will— Chryses himself is come  
With his Demands, as Legate from high Heaven,  
And holy Chalcas, who reads every Page  
Of secret Fate, and knows the Hearts of Gods,  
More Plagues denounces, till she be restored.  Ag. 
Chryses and Chalcas are two Lying Priests:  
Thou the Fomenter of Eternal Broils;  
And this a Plot to vex me.  Nest. 
What you have heard, Atrides, is most true,  
Such is the Will of Heaven: But grieve not, King,  
He comes not empty handed to demand  
His Daughter back— The Priest a Ransom brings  
As might content—  Ag. 
The Avarice of a Priest;  
Were I old Nestor, past the Age of Love,  
I might sell mine— I scorn this proffered Treasure;  
My Honour's now concerned to keep my Love,  
Lest the Malicious World, that censures Kings  
Like common Men, should say of Agamemnon  
That like a sordid Slave, he changed for Gold  
All that his Soul held dear.  Ach. 
But like a sordid Slave to Lusts as vile;  
You matter not to sacrifice your Fame,  
To brave the Gods with violated Oaths,  
To sell your Faith, your Glory, and the Lives  
Of Millions, for a Woman.  Ag. 
Proud Myrmidon, provoke me not too far,  
Upon thy Life no more——  Ache 
My Life! Who dares attempt it?  Ag. 
Ha! Who dares——  [They rise, and laying their Hands on their Swords stand in a posture of Drawing. Nestor and Ulysses interpose. Uly. 
Take heed Achilles, and respect the King,  
Who strike at Kings, repeat the Giants crime,  
And strike at Jove.  Nest. to Ag. 
You know his temper, Choleric and Fierce,  
Provoke him not, Atrides, 'tis not well:  
You that should show th'Example of good Order,  
Whom all the Princes and the Kings of Greece  
Have chosen their Leader— For shame, command yourself.  Ag. 
Unconscionable Men! Must I of all the Greeks,  
Must I be robbed, of what the Chance of War  
Has made my Prize? ay, only I, debarred  
Of what to every Centinel's allowed?  
What petty Leader is there in the Camp  
Whom I disturb? When, when did I invade  
Another's Pleasures?— Nestor, Ulysses, speak,  
And Thou, Achilles, Did I ever wrong  
You of your Rights? Or with Lascivious rage  
Force from your Tents, your Captives? Princes speak,  
Why then these wrongs to Me?  Uly. 
Not we, Atrides, but th'Immortal Gods—  Nest. 
Can Agamemnon, that Religious King,  
Who not denied his Daughter to the Gods,  
Refuse a Stranger and a Captive?  Ach. 
Leave, leave him to his Fate, and let Troy stand,  
Whom Heaven abandons, Men in vain support.  
What harm has Troy done us? Nor came we here  
But for his sake, Ungrateful as he is.  
My Troops I'll lead from this Infectious Air,  
And let him moulder here in Plagues alone.  Ag. 
Go when thou wilt; in an unlucky hour  
Thou cam'st— And may ill Fate go with thee.  
Lead hence thy Myrmidons, to Pthia back,  
And plague some other Country with thy Pride:  
Or back to Lycomede's Daughters— whence  
Ulysses forced thee hither, to fulfil  
The musty Prophecies of Doting Priests,  
That Troy, without thy aid, could not be conquered;  
There hide thee in thy Woman's Dress again,  
And with inhospitable Lust debauch  
Some new Deidamia.  Ach. 
Had Mars himself said this—  [Lays his hand on his Sword. Ag. 
Keep in thy Rage: We know that thou canst fight,  
I am thy Witness, who have seen thee pierce  
The Dardan Ranks— So would Thersites fight  
Had he been dipped in Styx: Or had Lame Mulciber  
Wrought him a Coat of Arms not to be pierced.  
What Slave with an invulnerable Skin,  
And with impenetrable Armour on,  
Would be a Coward?  Ach. 
Thus I reply— This Injury's thy last.  [Draws; Nestor and Ulysses hold him. Ag. 
Not so, achilles', there remains behind  
A greater yet— Where are our Guards,  
Talthybius and Eurybates—  Nest. 
Sheath, sheath your Sword—  
The King shall make amends.  Enter Talthybius, Eurybates, and Guard. Uly. 
You were too fierce; and so would you be moved  
Were your beloved Briseis threatened.  Ach. 
Not all his Guards shall save him—  [They hold him, he struggles Ag. 
Hurt not, but keep that roaring Lion in.  
And thou Talthybius, with our choicest Troops  
Haste to Achilles' Tent, and fetch Briseis;  
Kill all that dare resist, 'tis my Command.  Exit Talthybius. 
I'll let thee know, by what thyself shalt feel,  
What 'tis to part two Lovers.  Ach. 
struggling. Thou dar'st not do it—  
By the Gods thou dar'st not.  Ag. 
Thou turbulent Invader of my Love  
Be this thy Punishment, and learn from hence  
How to respect Superior Majesty.  
Now let him lose, to save  [To the Guard. 
His Mistress if he can.  Ach. 
Love calls me hence e'er I can take thy Life;  
But my next Labour my Revenge shall be,  
Tremble, Atrides, that my Hands are free.  Exit Achilles. Uly. 
Oh Gods! What Joy to Priam will this bring,  
What Grief to the Achaeans!  Nest. 
O Agamemnon! this double Violence—  Ag. 
I guess your meaning, Nestor, but intent  
Nor Love, nor Violence, to fair Briseis;  
Untouched with all respect she shall remain  
Till I have humbled this Proud Myrmidon.  
But O Chruseis!  
Love, Piety, and Honour pull at once  
All several ways— Nor know I which to follow.  
O Jove assist me in this doubtful strife,  
And if thou doom'st my Love, Condemn my Life.  Exeunt. 
The End of the First Act.   

ACT II. SCENE I.  The Scene changes to the Tents of Achilles. Enter Achilles and Patroclus. Pat. 
FOrgive their Ignorance—  Ach. 
Their Ignorance was Cowardice, Patroclus.  
I'll hear no more.  
The faithful Dog, flies at the Robbers throat  
That would break in, to force his Master's treasure;  
But Dogs are watchful Servants, true to trust,  
Men are the first to prey upon their Lords,  
In danger they forsake us, shifting still  
From side to side, as they can mend their bargains:  
Are these, are these those daring Myrmidons  
That threaten Hector with their valiant boasts,  
And could they stand Spectators of my wrongs?  
With Arms across, behold my rifled Tent,  
Nor with drawn Swords, and lifted Spears rush in  
To kill the Ravishers—  Pat. 
What could such a handful—  Ach. 
They should have died, if not enough to Conquer,  
Each standing in his Rank, with Shield to Shield,  
Have made a Wall, and barred the Passage up.  
Briseis, O Briseis! art thou lost,  
And do I live? And art thou ravished from me,  
And art thou unrevenged? O hadst thou died!  
Had we been sundered by the common Course  
Of Mortal things, Necessity and Fate  
Th'inevitable doom of wilful Gods,  
Had made these Griefs less painful— Hadst thou been false  
And left me— Then I had hated—  
For Falsehood is a Cure for strongest Passions,  
Contempt succeeds, and to Contempt, Aversion:  
But thou wert true, our Loves were in the Spring,  
And yet we part: A humane Power divides us,  
A Man less worthy than myself has forced thee,  
And I must tamely bear it.  Pat. 
The Gods are sparing even to those they love,  
And stint their Bounties to the Best of Men:  
A Man and never crossed, would be a God.  Ach. 
They should have formed my Nature then to bear,  
They should have made me a tame patient Fool,  
If they had meant to exercise my Patience:  
But they have cast me in a fiery Mould,  
Of wrong Impatient, furious for Revenge.  
Why should they tempt us, where our Virtue fails?  
Why do they give us frailties, yet expect  
That we should act, as free from any Weakness?  
If Nature must resist to all attacks,  
Why is not Nature fortified alike  
In every part? Why are we framed so brittle,  
If we must never break? O had they tried my Courage!  
Had Jove commanded more than Juno bid  
The strong Alcides, he had found me proof:  
But Patience is the Virtue of an Ass  
That trots beneath his burden and is quiet:  
A Man's above it, and I scorn my Load  
Which I'll shake off, or perish.  Pat. 
Oh Love! Thou bane of the most generous Souls!  
Thou doubtful Pleasure! And thou certain Pain!  
What magic's thine, that melts the hardest Hearts?  
That fools the wisest Minds? What Art is this  
That on so long Experience of all Ages,  
So known, so tried a Traitor should be trusted.  Ach. 
Now by th'Immortal Gods, this Rape has pleased her;  
She willing went, delighted with the Change:  
Oh! She could never from her heart forgive  
My Rage at Sacked Lyrnessus; when mounting up  
The mighty Wall, through Darts, and Stones, and Spears,  
I filled the Streets with slaughter of her Friends:  
Her seven Brothers, at her feet lay dead,  
She only scaped, her wondrous Beauty saved her,  
And in the midst of Fury, made me tame.  
Sleep, sleep ye Ghosts, lie quiet in your Graves;  
Briseis has revenged your bloody Deaths,  
Oh! She has thrust a Dagger in my Heart,  
I feel the poisoned Point, Here, here it sticks;  
It tears, and burns, and I shall sleep no more.  Pat. 
Suppose her false: And count this mighty Loss,  
A Woman! and a Woman you've enjoyed!  
Compose yourself, nor let the Great Achilles  
Be thus disturbed about a Trifle.  Ach. 
And art thou False, Briseis; art thou false?  
Was then thy tenderness through Fear, not Love?  
And didst thou, like a Serpent, twine about me  
Only to sting? And does this Parting please?  
O how she clasps Atrides in her Arms!  
So she hugged me, and with her darting Kisses  
Met me half way, as now she meets his Lips.  
How close she clings! and how with rapture melts!  
Achilles is forgot— Or if remembered,  
'Tis but to curse me for her slaughtered Brothers.  Pat. 
If she is false, she is not worth this care:  
If she is true, her Virtue will secure her.  Ach. 
No— She is true— By all the Gods she loves me:  
Her Vows were just, her Tenderness sincere;  
There could be no Deceit in such embraces.  
The Joys she felt, were mighty as my own,  
I saw it in her Eyes, that died away,  
I felt it in her Arms, that clasped me close,  
And in the eagerness of every Kiss,  
Love could not be dissembled in those Moment's.  
But what's her Love, her Virtue, or her Truth?  
The Ravisher has caught her, she must yield:  
O how that Image stings! Now, now he drags her!  
His Lustful Arm, strong twisted in her Hair,  
In his right hand, with his drawn Sword he threatens;  
See! She resists— And with her tender Nails  
She tears his Cheeks, and struggles out of breath;  
On Heaven she calls, on her Achilles calls,  
Help, Help, she cries, I can resist no longer,  
The Ravisher's too strong, and Innocence  
Too weak for Lust— Help, Help, Achilles, help.  
Arm, Arm, Patroclus, let our Squadrons move,  
Draw every Sword to save my Ravished Love;  
Nor leave the slaughter, till the Tyrant lies  
Struck to the Ground, and cut to pieces dies.  [Exit Achilles Pat. 
Love is a Frenzy that the Gods have sent  
To punish Sins; for surest Vengeance meant:  
To Love, is to be doomed in Life to feel  
What after Death, the tortured meet in Hell:  
The Vulture, dipping in Prometheus' side  
His bloody beak, with his torn Liver died.  
Is Love— The Stone that labours up the Hill  
Mocking the Labourer's toil, returning still:  
Is Love— Those streams where Tantalus is cursed  
To sit, and never drink with endless thirst,  
Those loaden Boughs, that with their burden bend  
To court his taste, and yet escape his hand;  
All this is Love: That to dissembled Joys  
Invites vain Men, with real griefs destroys.  (Exit Patroclus. The Scene Changes to Agamemnon's Pavilion. Enter Agamemnon attended. Nestor, Ulysses. Talthybius; whispering the King. Ag. 
'Tis well Talthybius,— be it your care  
To see all fitting Honours paid; we would  
Seem Just, not Terrible: And though our Heart  
Be shut to any other Love, Respect  
Is every Woman's due— Nestor King of Pyle  
What says the Holy Man.  (Exit Talthybius. Nes. 
He'll not be moved.  Ag. 
But did you press him with your utmost art,  
With all that force of Famous Eloquence  
As I have heard you when the Squadrons fly  
Stop Armies in a Rout; make Cowards turn  
And run on certain Death.  Nes. 
All that was fit, I said.  Ag. 
And did you tell him of my wondrous Love,  
How much I grieve, but at this name of parting:  
That I'd to Argos send her Crowned my Queen,  
That she should Reign in Clytaemnestra's stead,  
That I would give him all the Wealth of Greece,  
Empty my Coffers, ransack Kingdoms for him—  Nes. aside.) 
Half the price might purchase the whole Sex.  Ag. 
And did you Weep, my Nestor, could you Weep  
For fad Atrides? Down thy Reverend Cheeks  
Flowed the round drops? Did you add Tears to Words?  Nes. 
I wept indeed——  aside.) 
For a new Helen born.  
That brings more woes to Greece.  Ag. 
Inhuman Priest! Why have the Gods such Servants?  
The Gods are Merciful— But Priests are Bloody,  
Peevish, Hardhearted, Positive and Proud;  
Cursed obstinate Old Man!  Apart to Ulysses.) 
A word Ulysses— Saw you Chruseis?  Uly. 
I did as you commanded; and informed her  
Of this hard decree—— I would I had not.  Ag. 
Thou art a Judge of Tenderness, Ulysses,  
The Fair Penelope, whom thou hast left,  
Oft gives thee waking thoughts— Oh! If to part  
Tho' but to meet again, be such a pain,  
What is't to part for ever?  
How bore she the surprising Sentence?  Uly. 
At first she wept; and as we see the Sun  
Shine through a shower, so looked her beauteous Eyes  
Casting forth Light and Tears together.  Ag. 
You told it not as a thing fixed and certain.  Uly. 
Not wholly fixed, but scarce to be avoided.  
To Tears succeeded Rage, like claps of Thunder,  
And then a Calm— I left her in a Swoon.  Ag. 
Oh my torn Heart!  Enter Chruseis. Chru. 
And must we part? Atrideses must we part?  
And do you say it? Has your Tongue pronounced  
The Sentence of my Death? Have you consented?  
Oh Agamemnon! All my Fears were true,  
My hopes were false, built on your faithless Vows;  
'Tis scarce an hour, since with your Lips to mine,  
Pressing my Body in your eager Arms,  
You Swore, and called down every God to witness  
That nothing ever should divide our Loves,  
And the next News is, that we part for ever.  Ag. 
What will the Fates do with me!  Chru. 
The Greeks, the Greeks will have it; Chalchas has dreamt,  
Nestor has made a Speech, Achilles Frowned,  
And Mighty Agamemnon must obey!  
Has then this Leader of the World in Arms  
No will, no reason of his own? Must he  
Who Governs all, by every one be Governed?  
Had Paris thus, Paris, who was no King,  
No General, of no Authority,  
Had he for a few threats, resigned his Helen,  
Troy had been freed from danger: Priam wept,  
Cassander Prophesied, and Hector raged:  
The People cried aloud to give her back,  
The furious Greeks with Fire and Sword demand her.  
Burn, burn, said he, Proud City, Ilium fall,  
Father, Brothers, Country, perish all,  
But still be Helen mine; My Love be mine.  
Has Paris then, more Love than Agamemnon,  
More Courage, to look danger in the Face,  
Or I less Charms, to make my Lover bold?  Agamemnon stands silent seeming in great distraction of Thought, and looking sometimes steadfastly upon her. Nest. 
Were Agamemnon but a private Man  
So might he love; and to a Woman's arms  
Resign all other care: Tho' that be Weakness.  
But for a King, who has the charge of Nations,  
Entrusted with the glory of his People,  
Of many Kings, confederates in his quarrel,  
The Vengeance of the Gods—  Chru. 
Why should the Gods be angry at our Loves?  
I leave no Husband, no Pollution bring,  
I am no Hellen.  Uly. 
The Gods are absolute; whate'er they will  
Must be obeyed? Nor ought we ask the Cause.  
See how he stands distracted with his Thoughts,  
This way, and that way, moving in his mind;  
Oh! Let him take the Path that honour leads,  
And veil those Eyes, that break his heart with doubts.  Chru. 
My Glory is offended at his doubts,  
Nor shall the Man who had my leave to love  
Forsake me till I please. Try all your Arts,  
Plot, Plot, Ulysses, and thou, Nestor, tempt him  
With all the strength of powerful Eloquence,  
Join Greeks and Heaven; Ambition, Piety,  
Like Gods tugging at the Chain of Jove,  
I will oppose my Eyes, and bring him back.  Ag. 
Oh Chruseis!  Uly. 
Had Iphigenia been thus obstinate,  
Our Fleet at Aulis might have anchored still.  
But she came forth a Victim to the Gods  
And cheerfully obeyed their cruel call:  
Th'assembly wept; She only, she, looked glad,  
And offered to the Knife her willing Throat  
To save her Father— Can a Mistress be  
Less kind and tender than a Daughter?  Chru. 
O that the Gods commanded but my death,  
How gladly would I die! To Die and Part  
Is a less Evil— But to Part and Live  
There, there's the Torment— Change, ye Gods, my doom;  
Take, take my Life t'atone your bloody wrath;  
Come lead me to the Altar, let me bleed;  
Is there a single drop within these Veins,  
Is there a Limb, that I would leave unmangled,  
To give my dearest Agamemnon Joy.  [Agamemnon takes her in his Arms. Ag. 
Live, Live, Chruseis— Live Immortal— Thus  
And thus Embraced, and be of Life as sure  
As it is sure that we will never part.  Nest. apart to Ulysses. 
This Helen in our Camp  
Is worse than her at Troy— O why have Women Beauty,  
But as the Sirens Voice? To ruin  
All they meet.  Uly. to Nestor. 
Let 'em alone to please themselves a while,  
I have a Plot, shall sunder 'em, when most  
They think themselves secure.  Chru. 
My dear Atrides, may I trust your Love?  
Tell me, my King, whilst thus around thy Neck  
I throw my Arms, and press thee to my Bosom,  
Will you forsake me?  Ag. 
Empire and Victory, be all forsaken,  
All but Chruseis— Yes, ye partial Powers!  
To Plagues add Poverty, Disgrace, and Shame;  
Strip me of all my Dignities and Crowns,  
Not one of all your Curses will be felt  
Whilst I can keep this Blessing. Take, Oh! take  
Your Sceptres back, and give 'em to my Foes;  
Give me but Life, and Love, and my Chruseiss,  
'Tis all I ask of Heaven.  Nest. 
Think of your Oath, Atrides, how you swore—  Chru. 
Yes, he has sworn; Be witness Heaven and Earth,  
Be witness Sun and Moon, and every Star,  
Be witness all ye Gods, that he has sworn:  
Is there an hour, either of Night or Day  
Free from some Oath, of Everlasting Love?  
Think, think on that Atrideses.  Ag. 
Since perjured either way, I'll choose the best;  
Be broke all Oaths, but what I made to thee.  Nest. 
Then farewell Troy— 'Tis better sailing back  
Than stay consuming here with Plagues.  Ag. 
And so we will; to Night we will Embark:  
Draw-in your Anchors, hoise-up every Sail:  
What is this Town, that I should lose one Hour  
Of smiling Love to win it? O Chruseis!  
Thy tender truth, has moved my Soul so much,  
I will be deaf, to every call but thine.  
Be it your care, Ulysses, to dispose  
Our Troops to march.  Uly. 
I'll carry no such orders.  
Nor would they pay Obedience if I should,  
They love your Honour better.  Ag. 
Our cause of War, is Scandalous and Mean,  
The quarrel of a Bully, for a Jilt.  
So many valiant Trojans, as have died  
These fertile Fields, for nine Years space with slaughter,  
And made the swift Scamander run with blood,  
And Menelaus, who in single fight  
Struck to the ground, this Ravisher for dead,  
Has satisfied our Vengeance, and our Honour.  Chru. 
Atrides, no. Your Glory must be mine,  
Nor can you thus retreat without disgrace.  
Believe me, Prince, who lightly weigh their Fame  
Make but ill Lovers: Honour's the strongest Tie,  
That Chain once broke, there's nothing left to bind.  
It is my Pride, that the first Man on Earth  
Loves me: Oh Agamemnon keep that Name,  
Be glorious still— Send for my Cruel Father,  
Thy Love may teach thee Eloquence to move him.  
Remember that Chruseis is at stake,  
Nor think it mean, to Kneel, to Beg, to Weep;  
This be your present Task: I leave you to it,  
Adding no more but thus, and note it well.  
Be constant in this Trial of thy Love,  
Mine may be next: Fate in each other's hand  
Has placed a mighty Trust: Be true to thine,  
Thy are be Love: And Glory shall be mine.  Exit Chruseis. Ag. 
By Mars, her Father's Spirit moved her Tongue,  
And his Prophetic Fury shook her Soul.  Nest. 
Right Woman still—  
Then Foulest, when most Niceness they pretend;  
They'll talk of Honour, whilst they're acting Shame.  Uly. 
She brought these Plagues, yet Counsels you to stay;  
Can this be Love?  Ag. 
Now by the Gods she loves me; Peace, Blasphemers.  
Conceptions may like Oracles be dark  
To humane search, till by Events explained.  
Oh! I have faith, for every word she speaks,  
And when I leave her, may the Furies seize me.  Enter Chalcas. Chal. 
Hear Agamemnon, all ye Princes hear.  
Thus to the Gods, in sacred Synod met  
Has Jove pronounced— Let not one God be seen  
Henceforth to help the Greeks: Ourselves to day  
Will lead the Trojans on, to vengeful Fight:  
Mars whets his Sword, and Phoebus' keens his Darts,  
And the broad Cyclops, forge unerring Bolts;  
Juno and Pallas, and the Friends of Greece  
In vain implore: But Chidden stand aloof,  
Nor dare reply. Yet e'er the Doom be Sealed,  
Or writ by Fate irrevocable down,  
If possible, atone this Wrath of Heaven,  
Appease the Gods, and send Chruseis back,  
The Cause, the cursed Cause of all our Plagues.  Ag. 
Prophet, be dumb.  
I read thy purpose, and I know thee well,  
Thy fatal Voice, ne'er boded good to me:  
Bribed by Achilles still with popular lies,  
Devising Prophecies to cross my Will.  
Think not that I forget, Seditious Priest,  
'Twas thy cursed Tongue, pronounced my Daughter's Death:  
The Gods are Just, and Merciful, and Mild,  
Nor made such harsh Demands. 'Twas Priest-craft all.  Chal. 
From Heaven these warnings come— O hear me, King!  
Be yet advised—  Ag. 
Not Fate's more fixed: Whate'er the Gods have purposed,  
My Purpose is immutable as theirs.  
Nor think me rash, or obstinate in this;  
Debated and Deliberate's my resolve,  
Whatever Eloquence can urge or frame  
I have forethought: And shall I part with love  
More precious than my Life, to save my Life?  
What Fool would barter Blessings for a Curse?  
And Life without Chruseis, is the worst  
That Fate can find.  Chal. 
But Millions are concerned.  Ag. 
And can they better die than for Chruseis?  
The World's a worthless Sacrifice for her  
More worth than thousand Worlds. Let Chaos come,  
Confusion seize on all, whenever we part;  
Interest, Ambition, Piety, Renown,  
Pity, and Reason, I have weighed 'em all,  
But O how light! When Love is in the Scale.  Chal. 
If Love with every breath can drive it thus  
No more let Glory lodge in Humane breast.  Ag. 
The Gods that with unnumbered Eyes look down  
From their high Firmament, all stuck with Lights,  
See nothing half so Glorious or so Bright.  
Glory, that common Mistress of Mankind,  
Courted by all, but by so few possessed,  
For which so many Rivals hourly fall,  
Early I saw, was tempted, and enjoyed.  
But Love has led me to new Realms of Bliss,  
Where Pleasures blossom with Eternal spring,  
Enjoyment's made immortal by desire,  
And Joys flow-in on Joys, and Rapture streams:  
All other sweets are visionary bliss,  
Nothing but Love substantial ecstasy.  Nest. 
Oh! That a Face should thus confound our Reason!  
This is mere Wildness, Frenzy, Raving,—  
Lunatics talk better Sense— If this be Love,  
Why then, to Love, is to be Mad, stark Mad.  Chal. 
Not for thyself, for thou seem'st pleased with ruin:  
But for the Lives and Honours of all Greece  
Do I implore— Nestor, Ulysses, join,  
Entreat him all.——  
Weep Princes for your Glories are at stake,  
Weep all ye Soldiers for your Lives condemned,  
Melt, melt this stubborn King— Oh Agamemnon!  
To thee I kneel, thus hanging on thy Robe,  
Who never wept or knelt but to the Gods;  
Let Pity and let Piety prevail:  
Behold in me, their Representative,  
The Gods of Greece all prostrate at thy Feet,  
To save their Altars that e'er Night are doomed  
A prey to Trojan rage.  Uly. 
Not for myself, or that I fear to die,  
Would I avert these Fates—  Ag. 
Gods, 'tis too much! why am I hunted thus?  
Let loose my Robe—  
O Love! How hard a Fate is thine,  
Obtained with Trouble, and with Pain preserved,  
Never at rest.  Re-enter Chruseis. 
Haste to my Rescue, my Chruseiss come,  
O hide me from these Tyrants, in thy Arms,  
Thou only bring'st me Peace.  Chal. 
She only brings you Ruin.  Nest. 
Infamy.  Uly. 
Inevitable Fate.  Chru. 
I feared th'advantage that my absence gave,  
Forgive my doubts that bring me back again.  
By Gods abandoned, and Mankind pursued;  
All, all are Foes to your Chruse is now,  
Nothing but Love pleads for me.  Ag. 
And Love's enough: What argument so strong?  
Absent and Present, thou art still the same,  
My Faith's the same— What though the Hunter flies,  
The strucken Stag bleeds on.  
Th'impression that thou leav'st upon my Soul  
Lies there so deep, so lively, and so full,  
That Memory recalls no other Thought  
But only Love: And only Love of thee.  Chal. 
Chryses will have a better answer—  Ag. 
No other will I give— So tell him, Prophet:  
O there is wondrous Eloquence in Eyes!  
Let him complain, and arm all Heaven against me:  
Yet stay— Our self will hear what he demands.  
Fain would I reconcile my Love and Fame;  
Judge me, ye Powers! I would be justified  
In all I do— But come what will—  
Gods ye may make us Perish; but not Part.  
Give me thy hand.  
Tho' the Winds beat, and loud the Billows roar,  
Firm stands the Rock, Unshaken from the Shoar:  
Against my Love, though Heaven and Earth combine,  
So will I cleave to Thee, for Ever thine.  
The End of the Second Act.   

ACT III. SCENE I.  Enter from one side of the Theatre Agamemnon, attended: From the other Chryses, followed by Priests. Trumpets sounding. Ag. 
ART thou that Holy Man, so near the Gods,  
Admitted to their Synods, to incline  
Their hearts to Men, to represent our Griefs,  
And move redress for the afflicted World,  
Yet art thyself, obdurate to our Prayers,  
Canst with dry Eyes, behold a Monarch weep,  
And preaching Mercy, yet thyself have none?  Chry. 
Art thou that King renowned for pious deeds,  
Who from far Argos, to the Dardan Coast  
Hast led so many Kings to punish Rapes,  
Yet art thyself, a Ravisher?  Ag. 
Thy Daughter was a Captive of the War,  
My liberal Stars made me the precious Gift:  
Thy right is lost; by Conquest she is mine.  Chry. 
Then as a Captive, I demand her back,  
Paying her Ransom, which by right of War  
None can refuse.  Ag. 
Keep, keep thy sordid Pelf,  
The Gleanings of thy Trade by holy Taxes;  
Should that bright God, whose Minister thou art,  
Who, in his spacious round, from Pole to Pole,  
Surveys the hidden Treasures of the deep,  
Then lifting up his prying Eyes to Land  
Searches the secret bowels of the Earth,  
O should he bid me for my loved Chruseiss  
All that his Eye beholds, his Beams create  
In that vast Circle, of the girded Globe,  
By Mars, it were too little— Priest I tell thee  
She is above all Ransom.  Chr. 
Then ransomless restore her.  Ag. 
Ungrateful Man, are these, are these my thanks?  
When by the right of War I might have sold,  
As others did, thy Daughter for a Slave,  
A Household drudge to some far distant Land,  
I kept her for myself, to be my Queen,  
To raise her, as in Beauty, in degree  
Superior to all others of her Sex:  
What would thy Pride have more?  Chr. 
Consent is free.  
I tell thee King thou shalt not force her from me.  Ag. 
Have I used force? What have I left unsaid?  
What have I left unbid to tempt thy Pride,  
Or glut thy Sacerdotal avarice?  
Will Power and Riches, bend thy stubborn Soul!  
Take Argos, and Micene, all I have—  
Will Prayers and Tears prevail? Behold me Weep.  
Will Adoration touch thee? See me Kneel  
Thus prostrate at thy Feet, as to the Gods.  Chr. 
Were Clytaemnestra Dead——  Ag. 
Were Clytaemnestra Dead! Her doom is sealed;  
Yes, she shall die, she has deserved it long.  
Whilst I pursue my Brother's wrongs at Troy,  
My Brother's Fate has caught me:—  
Whilst I Besiege a vile Adulterer here  
Adultery is got to my own Bed.  Chr. 
How fatal still to thee, and to thy Blood,  
Has Beauty ever been! Aeropè first  
With foulest Incest stained thy Father's Bed;  
Thence followed Rapine, and avenging Wars,  
Murders, at which th' astonished Sun went back,  
And turned aside, and veiled his head in Clouds.  
Thy Brother was the next; and thou the Third;  
Heirs of Adultery: From Sire to Son,  
Pollution, like Inheritance, descends  
On thy whole Race; Nor wilt thou yet be warned.  
Curse, Curse the Sex; hate Women and be Wise.  Ag. 
Chruseis is a Star, without a spot;  
With all her Sex's Charms, without their faults.  
Though there are Seas that Rocks and Quicksands hide,  
And with impetuous rage toss every Bark,  
Are there not Streams that we may safely trust?  
Though from each Soil spring forth the deadliest Roots,  
Are there not fragrant Flowers and wholesome Plants?  Chr. 
I came not here to argue, but demand,  
Nor am I to be moved.  Ag. 
Nor I, Proud Priest.—  
Oh! give me patience, Heaven! 'Tis well, 'tis well,  
Chruseis is thy Daughter, or thy Life  
Should pay thy Arrogance— Hence, hence, be gone,  
Lest I recall my Mercy— If again  
Thou'rt seen returning to my Camp, Thou Diest,  
Neither thy Office, nor thy Gods shall save thee.  Chr. 
Hear me, Apollo! With thy silver Bow  
Shoot these proud Greeks, and double all their Plagues;  
And thou, O Jove, when their Battalions face  
The Trojan Hosts, prepared to join the Battle,  
With Lightning and with Thunder singe their Ranks,  
Drive 'em before their Foes; Burn, Burn their Ships,  
Nor let a Man be seen returning back  
To tell the News in Argos.  Ag. 
Hence Scrietch-Owl.  
My Mortals are a Match for thy best Gods.  
Twice has strong Diomedes, in single Fight,  
Dipped in Immortal Nichor his huge Spear,  
And driven the God of Combat from the Field.  
I dare thy worst, insulting Prophet.  Chr. 
The Curse of Curses; May Domestic broils  
Never forsake thy House; May that Lewd Couple  
Who now Pollute thy Bed, contrive thy Death,  
And perish by the Hands that most have wronged thee.  
Next, May thy Son Orestes, to revenge  
Thy fate, Murder his Mother, then run Mad,  
By Furies haunted. And as thou hast Robbed  
Me of a Daughter, so may thine be forced  
Into some Land unknown, to serve a Priest.  
I pray the Gods, that this may be the Fate  
Of thee and thine; and so I leave thee to it.  [Exit Chryses. Ag. 
Come all these Plagues.— Yet trust me I am moved,  
And somewhat whispers to my Soul,— Thus it shall be.  
The Prophet's Voice, is but the Voice of Fate,  
Thus Perish Agamemnon and his Race.  
My Children too! In what have they Offended?  
From Son to Son shall Vengeances descend,  
Guilty and Innocent alike involved!  
Can this be Justice, Gods.? Why am I Cursed  
But for my Father's Crimes? Thyestes Incest;  
Thy Blasphemies, Oh Atreus! cry aloud  
For Judgement still, and bloody Expiation.  
Command our Priests do present Sacrifice;  
By Prayers the Gods are moved.  
Forward Eurybates.—  [Exit Agamemnon and Train. Enter Nestor and Ulysses. Nes. 
'Tis better be a Dog, than be a Man;  
Instinct of Nature is the only Guide  
Unerring. Vain Light of Reason! Ah how frail!  
How hard to be kept in, by steadiest bearers,  
Put out by every accidental breath  
That Passion blows! I say again Ulysses,  
What Fool would be a Man, who had the Choice  
Of his own Being? The best, most perfect,  
Are so allayed; the good so mixed with bad;  
Like counterfeited Coin of mingled Metal,  
The Noble part's not currant for the Base.  Uly. 
What pity 'tis, a Man so Brave, so Just,  
Bate but this failing, this one fault of Love;  
A Man resembling more the Gods than Men,  
Should so be lost.—  Nes. 
What hinders us to lose  
The fury of the Soldiers on this Woman?  
Why tear they not this Author of their Woes  
Piecemeal, and hew the Enchantress Limb from Limb?  Uly. 
There Nestor, there's the wonder: As at Troy  
When Helen passes through the crowded streets,  
Who cursed her out of sight, straight bless aloud  
And cry she's worth the War; Who would not Fight,  
Though sure to Die, to serve such wondrous Beauty?  
So when the Fair Chruseis comes in view,  
Her Beauty reconciles the most enraged;  
The Sick, who know they perish for her sake,  
Crawl from their Tents, to gaze upon her Face,  
And looking on her, feel returns of strength.  
Soldiers and Captains throng in Crowds about her,  
And with loud Cries, approve their General's Love,  
And with one Voice, consent to their own ruin.  
To lose the sight of her, seems what they fear  
More than the loss of Life or Victory.  
Thus desperate are our ills.—  
But we will yet retrieve him—  
If Human Wit or Artifice can find  
A remedy, spite of himself he shall be safe.  Nes. 
Vain Boaster of thy Wit! O Flatterer!  
Is there in Art a remedy for Love?  
For Love thus obstinate!  Uly. 
Nestor there is.  
Himself has furnished us the Means, the Ground  
Whereon to build— 'Tis Jealousy shall do't.  
Th' Arrival of Briseis shall effect it,  
And with this little spark, I'll light a flame,  
Shall purge our Air of all this Love-infection.  
Already have I urged our fair destroyer,  
And vexed her mind with sharp anxieties:  
I left her pondering, doubtful, and perplexed,  
And see, she comes— How thoughful!  
Let us retire— when this has worked,  
The dose shall be repeated.  Nes. 
I guess which way thou driv'st: Succeed it Gods!  
'Tis our last throw of Fortune.  [Exeunt. Enter Chruseis, Artemis, and other Women Attendants. Chru. 
Said you so hot and passionate!  Art. 
Worse, Madam, worse than I can tell you.  Chru. 
And so they parted!  Art. 
On such ill terms, better they'd never met.  Chru. 
Then farewell all my hopes; And all ye joys  
Of Love, for ever— Ah! farewell—  
Love, what is Love? state me that question right,  
Let me consider— Is it to quench desire,  
To follow Nature roving after Sense?  
This is self-love, unquiet to possess  
For its own ease; the brutal Love of Beasts.  
'Tis vile, 'tis shameful, I abhor the thought.  
Then what is Love? Stay— let me think again.  
Is it to fix our Wishes on one Object?  
Pleased only when the thing we love is pleased;  
Partaking of its sorrows, seeking its good;  
Desirous more to give than to receive;  
Willing to part with all, with Fortune, Life;  
Choosing all Miseries, satisfied, rejoiced  
With any Ruin that's the means of Safety  
To the Man beloved.— Ay— this is Love,  
True Love, Heroic Love: 'Tis Generous, 'tis Divine.  
Say, Artemis; think'st thou no Woman yet  
Loved thus?  Art. 
None, Madam,— that I e'er heard of.  Chru. 
I tell thee then, there will be one e'er Night,  
Thanks to your kindness, Gods.— But that's a secret.  
Why, why am I picked out to be the first?  
The first,— perhaps, and last.— The Custom is,  
From Man to Man to wander with our wishes,  
Meeting, and parting, as it seems convenient:  
These are called happy; these enjoy the Goods  
Of Life and Fortune; all the World's their own;  
Pleasure's their Mate; their hearts are still at ease.  
But have these Virtue? No.— Is Virtue then  
Given to make us wretched? Ah! sad Portion,  
Fatal to all that have thee! shunned on Earth,  
Depressed, and shown but in severest Trials,  
Condemned to solitude, then shining most  
When black Obscurity surrounds— Poor, poor,  
But ever beautiful.  Art. 
Your thoughts are much disturbed; you think too much.  Chru. 
Could I not think, I were most happy.  
But to the purpose—  
Something I must resolve, quickly resolve,  
For Fate comes on apace, and treads us near.  
To stay is to undo the Man I love;  
Shall I, shall I do that?  Art. 
Ulysses, Madam.  Ulysses Entering. Chru. 
Ha! thou hast roused a thought! no; 'tis impossible:  
To doubts an injury: to suspect a Friend  
Is breach of Friendship: Jealousies a Seed  
Sown but in vicious Minds: prone to mistrust,  
Because apt to deceive— I'll think no more on't.  
Draw near, Ulysses, let me view thee well.  
Look up, look on my facè, erect and bold,  
That humble Cringe, and that malicious Smile,  
Those downcast Eyes betray thy treacherous Soul:  
I tell thee, Greek, thou hast a lying look.  
My Love's above thy Malice.  Uly. 
Far be all Malice from my honest meaning;  
But thus unwelcome Truths are still received:  
No Secret have I told, nor idle Rumour,  
But public Certainties.— Briseis Rape  
Is now the common talk of every tongue;  
But for what end, what purpose;— far be't from me  
T' interpret;— such Violence indeed  
Looks strange, exceeding strange, to have no meaning.  
And thus much may I add, without offence;  
When Ladies can foresee approaching Change,  
'Tis good to be beforehand with a Lover;  
Better to leave than to be left. But you know best;  
I advise nothing— He has sworn, say you,  
Not to forsake; and having raised your hopes  
To that degree, 'twere cruel to delude:  
Yet I have known many an eager Lover  
Protesting Love to death, defying Ruin,  
When Reason and all Remedies have failed,  
Cured by another Love. Nothing so common  
As Love excluding Love. For just as Poison  
Is expelled by Poison; so one Woman  
Drives another out. Frown not, nor be displeased;  
What I suggest, is meant but to forewarn.  Chru. 
What you suggest, is false; is false, Ulysses.  
Beware the Vengeance of an injured Lover:  
Not Blasphemy's more hateful to the Gods,  
Than to a Lover is his Faith traduced.  Uly. 
It may be false, and it may not. 'Tis wise to arm  
'Gainst every Ill that's barely possible.  
You have his Word; the Gods his Oath: he loves you,  
And loves he not the Gods? Both ways engaged;  
To part, and not to part. But now we saw him  
Doubting and unresolved, perplexed to choose:  
Who once has doubted, may do so again.  
And why this other Woman? Why Briseis  
Just at this time, just now, the very moment  
When Fate pronounced your parting? Implies it not  
Design of Change? Intention to supply  
The space in Love, that Destiny has doomed?  
And seems it not to say,— Take, take her, Gods,  
But let me first provide a Successor.  
Love, like an eager Gamester, overlooks;  
But Reason, an impartial stander-by,  
Sees this and more.  Chru. 
Reason seems Malice when it comes from thee;  
This might have weight from any other mouth.  
From men professing treachery and deceit,  
Even Truth itself's suspected.—  
I know you false, insinuating, sly;  
I know Atrides just, and full of honour,  
Nor will I doubt his truth.  Uly. 
The King is just, and you are just to think it:  
Oh 'tis a wondrous proof of strong Esteem,  
Not to mistrust a Friend, though there were ground:  
And here are grounds, weighty appearances;  
I say, in any other man 'twould look suspicious;  
That's all— But sure the King is full of honour.  
Oaths indeed in Love, differ from other Cases;  
They bind, that's true. But as in vanquished Towns,  
The Conquered to the Conqueror takes an Oath:  
Yet if another comes, of greater Power,  
And drives him out, that former Oath is nulled:  
Nor is it Perjury to swear anew,  
For who can help his Fate: Just so in Love,  
Men swear.— And so observed.— 'Tis Constancy.  Chru. 
Who would be wicked, and yet fear the name;  
Excuse their yielding still by pleading Force.  
But speak Ulysses, truly if thou canst;  
For I would know my danger. You have seen  
This Miracle. Report still adds—  
And smallest things are magnified by Fame.  
Is she indeed so dangerous?  Uly. 
What Images shall Eloquence prepare,  
To paint a Form so perfect and Divine?  
Others by slow degrees advance in Love,  
And step by step, and leisurely get ground:  
We Article with Judgement ere we yield,  
Reason rejecting oft, where Fancy's fond.  
She, seizeth hearts, not waiting for Consent;  
Like sudden Death, that snatches unprepared;  
Like Fire from Heaven, scarce seen so soon as felt.  
All other Beauties seem inferior Stars,  
At her appearance, vanishing apace;  
When e'er she mounts, they set.  Chru. 
'Tis worth my Pride to brave a Foe so Fair:  
Cease, cease, my Eyes to Weep, resume your Power,  
Your Glory in this Battle is concerned:  
Approach thou Rival for my Monarch's heart;  
I'll face thy Beauties, with as many more,  
With Eyes opposed to Eyes, and Charms to Charms,  
I'll fight it out, and Combat for his Love,  
And let him be inconstant if he can.  Uly. 
None who have Eyes but must allow your power;  
If she has any equal it is you.  
But Fortune holds the Scale for all Events;  
Light is the Balance where Desert is weighed,  
If but a Grain of better Luck against it.  
How many Beauties, scarce regarded pass,  
While Thousands with worse Faces gather Crowds?  
Beauty itself owes many slaves to Luck.  
In dangers imminent, retreats are wise;  
And a new Face has strange prevailing Charms.  Chru. 
From Cowardice, not Prudence, springs Despair.  
Who doubt their Fortune, are not Wise, but Fear.  Uly. 
Her's are the Odds, by being Unenjoyed;  
Were there but that, O 'tis a powerful Charm!  
Th' Ill-favoured, and the Ugly, and the Old,  
Pass with this Charm, the Charm of being New.  Chru. 
I see your snare: The Greeks would have me gone;  
The King resists, and you would bait his Eyes  
With a new Beauty, to supplant my power:  
You counsel flight, lest I should stay and Conquer:  
Therefore I'll stay, to add this Triumph more.  
Thou plott'st against thyself, Vain, vain, Projector!  
My Honour needs no Lessons you can give;  
I see my way, and will consult my Fame.  Enter Briseis Guarded and led in Struggling. Bri. 
Let go, ye Slaves, How dare you disobey?  
Achilles will not leave me unrevenged.  
How dare you touch with Impious hands what's his?  
If not his Wrath that keeps the World in Terror,  
Then fear my Frown that makes Achilles tremble.  Uly. to Chruseis. 
I must acqaint the King with her arrival;  
Forgive the Office, Madam.—  [Exit Ulysses. Bri. 
lose me, I say.—  Chr. 
Stand off, ye Ravishers— And let my Eye  
Take a just view of this Imperious Beauty.  
Let go your Impious hold— 'tis my Command.  They leave her at Liberty, and stand at distance. She comes forward. Bri. 
Whose Voice is this that has more Power than mine?  
With shame this freedom I receive, that's owed  
To any other Frown but to my own.  Chr. 
If you'd be absolute, you should have stayed  
Where you were so— but here 'tis I Command.  Bri. 
If here you Reign, thank Fortune for your Power,  
That never brought Briseis here till now.  Chr. 
Survey me well, and as you look grow Humbler.  Bri. 
I have surveyed, and I confess you fair,  
I like you well— but like myself much better.  Chr. 
Nature this comfort has to none denied,  
That all are Wits and Beauties to themselves.  Re-enter Ulysses. Uly. 
Thus Agamemnon greets the fair Briseis:  
Brightest of Beauties, Hail! Welcome, as once  
Chruseis was, ere yet the Curse of Heaven  
Made her and Ruin one— Welcome as Venus,  
Would she abandon Troy to side with Greece:  
Forgotten be this Day, all sorrows past,  
For here are endless Joys— unmarkt the Sun  
Now shrowds his Beams— for here are brighter Rays.  
Sound, Sound our Trumpets, and our Timbals, Sound  
Triumph through all our Camp— for Victory  
Not shows a form so Fair.  Chr. 
Thou dost belly him, basely thou bely'st him,  
These Words are thine, this Welcome is thy own.  
It is the fate of Kings to be so served,  
Ill Ministers profaning thus their Names  
With acts unknown to them.  
Think not to practise Treason and escape:  
Offended Majesty, and injured Love  
Shall find thee out, and thunder on thy head:  
Traitor they shall.  Bri. 
I easily believe his Homage true,  
Nor thank him for't— but take it as my due.  Chr. 
Foolish self flatterer! how my Agamemnon  
Will turn to scorn thy senseless Vanity!  Bri. 
How I shall triumph to behold thy rage  
For a lost Love! not Conqueror's delight  
In winning Towns and Kingdoms from each other,  
More than we Women to take Lovers—  
Though fancy may be nice and tied to one,  
Pride is insatiate and demands a Crowd.  
My Beauty, like Achilles, fights at all.  
Oh, 'tis a glorious sight! to see the Men  
Gazing with Eyes, that glow with Rapture on us,  
To hear them cry aloud, Oh Gods how charming!  
To have a Train attending up and down,  
Watching at every turn to catch a Glance,  
Breathing their Wishes after us in sighs:  
Oh how we triumph! and with scornful toss  
We tread along in State, and look Disdain!  Uly. aside.] 
O sympathy of Mind! well-suited Pair!  
Happy Achilles! happy Briseis! two so like,  
So much the same; how blessed were they to meet!  
How firm and lasting must their Passion be!  
Strong as self-love! In them 'tis nothing else:  
As in a Glass each their own Image sees,  
And loving, in each other they enjoy,  
And hug their own Reflection—  Chru. 
Proportion thy endeavours to thy strength:  
To such vain things, no Grief of heart's like this,  
To labour to be liked, to sue for Praise  
With greedy eyes, and still to be deceived:  
Go somewhere else to practise thy Designs;  
Here like a common thing thou'lt pass along,  
And unregarded, scarce attract one Eye.  Uly. to Briseis.] 
Forgive the Anguish of a rivaled Beauty;  
When Ladies rail, 'tis Envy, not Dislike.  
'Tis plain she fears, by counselling to go,  
Nor dares to stand the trial with your Eyes:  
Stay and assert your Empire over Man,  
Which Heaven designed, creating you so fair.  Bris. 
Wise, wise Ulysses.— I remember well,  
Oft I have seen you in Achilles' Tent:  
For nice Discernment, and deep Wisdom famed.  
Yes, she would have me go, I see her Cunning;  
But I will stay to get her Lovers from her,  
And then I'll leave you all, to break your hearts.  
I come not like a Conqueror to remain,  
I have a better Country of my own;  
But mean to show the Terror of my Eyes,  
To burn, consume, to ravage, and away.  To the Guards.] 
Come show me to this King, who waits to die,  
I long to let the killing Arrow fly.  To Chruseis.] 
Follow, and witness to thy own Disgrace;  
I challenge thee— to meet me on the place.  [Exit Briseis with the Guard. Uly. to Chruseis.] 
Judge better now of my Advice.  Chr. 
Traitor avoid me; from my sight, be gone;  
The King shall know thy Malice, and revenge it.  
Avoid my sight—  
Glory that bid me go, now bids me stay,  
To clear my King; that you and all may see,  
Rather than live with her, he'll die with me.  
The End of the Third Act.   

ACT IV. SCENE I.  Scene changes to the Tents of Achilles. Enter Achilles and Patroclus. Ach. 
THE Gods have taken Vengeance from our hands,  
And seem resolved to do our Work alone;  
Like sprightly Steeds broke from their Mangers lose,  
That toss in Air their Necks, and neigh aloud;  
So march the Trojans from behind their Walls:  
They clash their Armour, and they shake their Spears,  
And with loud Cries provoke the Greeks to Battle.  Pat. 
Oh Achilles!  Ach. 
Why weeps Patroclus in this hour of Joy?  
Vengeance is sure; his Foes upon his Foes  
Shall do Achilles right. Rejoice, Rejoice:  
O give me Music; found aloud, Rejoice,  
Till every Valley echoes back, Rejoice.  
Let all our Myrmidons be seen to day,  
With Garlands crowned, as at a Feast of Triumph;  
Let Songs of Joy be heard in every Tent;  
And like the Corybantes crush the Ground,  
Each drumming in his hand a Brazen Cymbal.  
Now by the Gods, the Myrmidon that weeps  
Today's a Traitor, and shall die.  Pat. 
That Traitor is Patroclus:— Death's my choice,  
Rather than live to see my Friends destroyed.  Ach. 
Has then Patroclus any other Friend,  
More loved than his Achilles? Wouldst thou die,  
Rather than live to see my Wrongs revenged?  Pat. 
No, by the Gods I'd die to bring thee Vengeance:  
Thy Foes are mine: But let our Wrath be just,  
Not brutal. What Wrongs hast thou received  
From any other Greek, but Agamemnon?  
And must all perish for the Crimes of one?  Ach. 
Perish like dogs: I laugh to see 'em bleed;  
Their dying Groans are Music to my ears;  
My Rage makes no distinction: All are Foes,  
That to my Foes are Friends.— Away Patroclus,  
How canst thou pity them, and yet love me?  Pat. 
O Gods! Let never Rage like this possess  Patroclus. 
O hard-hearted, cruel Prince,  
Thou surely were't not of a Goddess born,  
Nor was the good Aeacides thy Sire:  
Sprang from the Sea thou seem'st, begot by Storms,  
And thy impenetrable Heart's a Rock.  Ach. 
Take heed, Patroclus, lest thy ill-timed Pity  
Provoke me too; and I forget our Friendship.  Pat. 
Forget it, do; and bury in my Breast  
Thy bloody Blade: I'll not outlive the day  
That brings such foul dishonour to my Country.  
Think not that I'll stand by, a tame Spectator.  
If Greece must fall, then fall Patroclus too.  
I'll to the Fight.  Ach. 
Now by the Gods thou shalt not;  
With my drawn Sword I'll bar the Passage up,  
And see what Myrmidon dares help the Greeks.  Pat. 
That Myrmidon am I.— Dishonour brand me,  
If I not go; or falling on the Point  
Of my own Sword, give freedom to my Soul,  
That does disdain to live beyond its Honour.  Ach. 
Is this thy Love, Patroclus?  Pat. 
That I do love thee, well thou know'st, Achilles:  
Command me to cut off a Limb, I'll do't.  
Let but this Day be past, on which depends  
The Safety and the Glory of all Greece;  
This Day of such Importance to the Public,  
And then thy private Grudge shall be my own.  
To single Fight I'll challenge Agamemnon;  
Let us preserve him for our own Revenge.  
'Tis base to see a Foe oppressed with odds;  
Make Vengeance sure, but let it then be brave.  Ach. 
Thou hast o'ercome me; and my Heart, like Wax,  
Melts at thy Tears, and can deny thee nothing.  
Go then, Patroclus, where thy Glory calls:  
And thou alone of all the Greeks be safe.  
What mean my eyes by these unusual drops?  
No: Thou must stay. Oh! think again, Patroclus.  
The good Maenetius, when at Pthia last  
We parted, gave thee, weeping, to my Charge;  
Take here, said he, all that my Soul holds dear,  
And safe return him, to support my Age.  
Well have I kept my Word; behind my Shield  
I placed thee still; my Body was thy Armour;  
Still side by side we fought, and never parted.  
My Friend, my-dearest Friend, why wilt thou leave me?  Pat. 
At night I'll come all glorious back again,  
And fill your Tents with Spoils of slaughtered Foes.  
The Greeks and Trojans that beheld me fight  
Beneath your Buckler, sheltered by your Sword;  
And think Patroclus is too weak alone;  
Shall see that I can fight without a Guard.  Ach. 
Oh cruel Honour! that obliges thee  
To go, and me to stay. My Soul till now  
ne'er felt such strife; not when I lost Briseis.  
Then wilt thou go?  Pat. 
O melt me not with so much Tenderness:  
My heart that beat but now with Manly Virtue,  
Is softened like a Woman's.  Ach. 
Go then, whilst all thy Courage is upon thee,  
But go attended like Achilles' Friend;  
Take all my Troops, and put my Armour on;  
Look like Achilles, like Achilles' fight;  
Be thou victorious, perish all the rest;  
Let Agamemnon, like a beaten Slave,  
Fly to his Ships, and there be burnt or drowned;  
Let Fire and Sword all other Greeks destroy,  
Till Thou and I, alone, are left to conquer Troy.  Exeunt severally. The Scene returns to Agamemnon's Pavilion. Enter Nestor and Ulysses, seeming in discourse with Chruseis. Nes. 
Let but some modest Matron come in view,  
How unregarded and unmarkt she goes:  
O let her pass, they cry, she's good for nothing.  
But let some flaunting Minx come prancing by,  
All Eyes are on her, and all Necks are bowed;  
Oh how they strive and justle to get nearest!  
Hide, hide your Heads, ye Gods, from Mortal Worship,  
When such as these, divide our Adorations.  Uly. 
It looks more like a Triumph, than a Rape:  
To joyful Tunes the merry Timbrels play,  
While Captive Queens like Minstrels dance and sing.  
Trumpets and Tymbals sound Olympus high;  
The Voice of Victory made a Call to Lust:  
In graceful Order each Battallon's drawn;  
And in the Front our Princes stand in Arms,  
Shining with Gold, and nod their stately Plumes,  
Saluting as she passes.— Armour thats Proo  
To Swords and Spears, and to the Javelins Thrust,  
Gives easy Passage to one Glance of hers;  
Whilst with disdainful State she treads along,  
And looks regardless of such petty Conquest;  
None but their King, their General.— But hark!  
Again the Trumpets— This way bends the Sound;  
Sure she approaches— Madam, will you meet  
The Show— It may be worth your Curiosity.  Chr. 
D'ye mock me, Greek? Am I become your scorn?  
I thank ye, Gods, though Love is mine no more,  
Yet Vengeance is.— Ungrateful Man!  
And was I kept with so much Form of Truth,  
To be but left with greater Infamy!  
Forsaken! Oh the disgraceful word! False!  
Is he false? No, let him if he dares—  
I'll stay, that he may perish.  Exit Chruseis. Nes. 
Nay then we are again outwitted.  Uly. 
Is't not in Art to tempt a Woman once  
To stray from Wickedness? Or to beguile her  
Into good? Are then their Stars so strong,  
That they are fated to be mischievous?  Enter Agamemnon attended. Ag. 
Bid Diomedes with his Aetolian Horse,  
Observe 'em from you Hill.—  
To live and conquer is the Noblest Fate,  
But the next Glory is a Gallant Death.  
Success, O Jove, and Victory are thine,  
Fortune is thine; my Honour is my own:  
Facing my Doom, with my drawn Sword I'll stand,  
Nor turn my Back upon thy wrathful Bolt.  Uly. 
Yet might I advise—  Ag. 
Still the same Argument.  
Thou know'st my Answer.— I am fixed.  
I see my Fate, ye Gods, and I accept it;  
Life is not worth the Price you ask— To live  
With her I love, was my first Wish— My next,  
Is to die with her.  Uly. 
But this word more, and I have done.—  Ag. 
Spare thyself the pains— Thy words, like Winds  
Against an Oak, regardless whistle by;  
The Leaves are troubled, but the Root is fixed.  
I say, thou may'st displease, but canst not move.  
I am not to be moved.  Uly. 
Then hear me as an Advocate for Love,  
The Friend of Love:— For what so sweet in Love  
As Change. If you must love, then love  
Like other men: Love like th'Immortal Gods,  
Variety; the Luxury of Love.  Ag. 
I understand thee not. Trust me, Ulysses,  
I fear thy Brain is troubled.  Uly. 
Thus I unfold the Riddle.— Briseis Rape  
I neither counselled nor approved; you know it:  
Much urged, and much provoked, against your Nature,  
Unwilling to all Violence, you did it.  
Make the best use of what is past recall;  
Take her, and give Chruseis to the Gods:  
So shall you love, and be victorious still,  
Live and enjoy. Exchanges like to this,  
Love does allow and practise every hour.  
She's handsome, and a Woman, a kind Woman,  
What would you more? And what does Love require,  
But beautiful and kind?  Ag. 
Far be such wicked Counsellors from Kings:  
How dar'st thou, Traitor, tempt my honest heart  
To such vile Purposes. When I am false,  
Forsake me all that's true. What! parcel Love  
Like common Dole, by Scraps, to every Eye  
That hungers after Lust! shall I do this?  
No. My frank Soul gives largely, all at once,  
Nothing by halves. True Love has no Reserves.  
Yes, my Chruseiss, I am only thine;  
Only and all. The Soul that's snatched by Death,  
Returns no more: Nor will her Eyes give back  
The Heart she keeps in her Eternal Chain.  Uly. 
Behold Briseis entering— Timely she comes  
To end this Argument: her Eyes will plead  
More strongly than my Tongue: To them I leave it.  [Exit Ulysses. Enter Officers and Attendants, Then Briseis. Agamemnon approaches her, bowing respectfully. Ag. 
Forgive me, Madam—  Bri. 
ere thou speak'st, hear me: Thy vain Intent  
I easily divine. 'Tis Love thou'dst mention.—  Ag. 
With needless Fears—  Bri. 
Approach me not—  
Perhaps you thought, because I loved Achilles,  
'Twas possible some other might succeed.  
If once some Man, more charming than the rest,  
Has found the way to melt a Woman's heart,  
Straight every Fool presumes to be as welcome.  Ag. 
Give me but leave—  Bri. 
No; you shall never have my leave to Love.  
Or did you think, because your Empire's wider  
In Power and Wealth, exceeding my Achilles,  
With higher Offers to corrupt my Faith?  
Though Hearts for Hearts, uncertainly prevail,  
Riches and Power are Baits that never fail:  
He makes most progress in a Woman's Breast,  
Who Proffers highest, not who Loves her best.  
These are the insolent remarks of Men,  
With which we know you all arraign our Sex;  
But learn to the confusion of thy hopes,  
I would not change for Mars,— much less for thee.  Ag. 
Think not that I mean—  Bri. 
I care not what you mean— Thou dar'st not Greek,  
Not for thy life offend Divine Achilles.  
When he withdraws his Arm, your Glory sinks,  
Achilles is the Pillar of your Cause,  
The Prop of Greece, and Terror of the Trojans,  
And Thou, without him, Nothing.  Enter Chruseis. Chr. 
Think not I come to interrupt your Joys,  
Ungrateful King, I know I am unwelcome:  
As willingly as thou hast made this Choice,  
So willingly, Chruseis does confirm it,  
Take, Take her, Traitor, Take her to your Arms,  
Falsest of Greeks, who are of Men the falsest:  
I quit you of all Vows, of all Engagements  
Give her my Oaths that you repent you made,  
And I repent, that ever I received.  
To Briseis.] Nor triumph thou; for were he worth my keeping,  
Thou shouldst not have him yet: The Gift I make  
Is of a thing I scorn.  Bri. 
I scorn as much to take it.  Ag. 
What means Chruseis?  Chru. 
Oh Agamemnon! hadst thou but been true,  
Hadst thou been constant but a little longer,  
Couldst thou have persevered, but yet one hour,  
My Virtue had prepared, for Thee, for Me,  
Such proofs of Love, so passionate and noble,  
Such Scenes of Glory, delicate and nice,  
As had amazed Mankind— But thou hast ruined all;  
O squanderer of Fame! Thy Honour, Mine,  
'Tis lost, 'Tis gone, for ever past recall:  
A perjured Lover, and forsaken Mistress,  
Is all the name, that's left for both—  Ag. 
Who's perjured? who forsaken?  Chru. 
Seek not to hide what I have heard, and seen,  
Nor be so Vain, to think thy falsehood grieves:  
My only grief is that I ever loved,  
To cease to do it, is a pleasure to me.  
Hadst thou been true, I had been great, but wretched:  
But thou art false, and what I lose in glory,  
Will be made up in Ease, for Falsehood cures;  
A generous Love disdains to harbour Traitors:  
My Heart deceived, for want of knowing Thee,  
Received thee in, a Robber, not a Guest,  
But on discovery, thus turns thee out,  
Unworthy to be there:  
Unworthy of good Usage.  Ag. 
Have I been false?— By the immortal Gods—  Chru. 
Yes, Thou canst swear, and swear, I know it well:  
But swear not by the Gods, whom thou hast mocked,  
Nor yet to me, who can believe no more:  
But swear to her, for she is yet to learn  
How well thou canst deceive— O what are Men!  
How impiously they play with Perjury!  
Traitor, I know the Value of your Oaths,  
Ulysses told me—  Ag. 
What has Ulysses told you?  Chru. 
What I have seen.  Ag. 
Ulysses is a Traitor— speak Briseis,  
Be thou my Witness— Have I mentioned love?  Bri. 
I would not give you leave.  Chru. 
Thou art condemned— thy Witness has condemned thee;  
Thou'rt Perjured doubly— Perjured to us both—  
Thou wouldst have sworn, would she have heard thee swear,  
And now thou wouldst recant, because she scorns thee.  Bri. 
Though I commanded silence to myself,  
And my nice Ear disdained to hear thy Love,  
Who bids thee make a secret of thy Passion?  
My scorn were lost, were not thy love proclaimed;  
To Me be silent, To the World be loud;  
Begin by telling her; I give thee leave.  Ag. 
To her alone—  Chru. 
I'll spare thee the confession.  
'Tis a stale story, and I know enough.  
Wouldst thou then own it? Brave me to my face?  
Thou dar'st not— No— Thou art not yet so hardened.  
Why dost thou tremble when I look upon thee?  
When thou wouldst speak, upon thy falt'ring Tongue,  
The Accents die; All Arguments of guilt!  
Thy Colour goes and comes upon thy face,  
And thy young treason blushes to be seen.  
The Murdered Body, at the Murdrer's touch  
Will bleed afresh: nor can Betrayers bear  
The sight of one betrayed, without confusion.  
Thou fear'st me still, I read it in thy Eyes,  
And in thy Limbs, that scarce support thy Body,  
Oh! that I could look thee dead.—  Ag. 
My wounded Soul is on its flight—  Bri. 
Die quickly then, for I'm in haste to go,  
Die at my feet, that I may spurn thee Dead,  
To show my scorn— How dar'st thou look  
When I am by, on any Face but mine?  Chru. 
Look on, look on,— Gaze till thy Eyeballs burst,  
And rolling round thy sight from Charm to Charm,  
Survey me all, and then repent thy change.  
Gaze till thou'rt mine again; till falling down  
Low at my Feet, thou dost expire with shame.  
There is a secret struggle in thy Soul,  
I see thou wouldst return, but 'tis too late;  
For know, Atrides, thou beholdest thy last.  He kneels.] 
Sink lower, lower, hide thee under ground,  
Thou'rt odious to my Eyes, and I can bear  
Thy sight no longer.  Ag. 
Hear me Chruseis.  Rises.] 
Would either hear, both might be satisfied.  
Ye both have dreamed, and each of ye believes  
The Visions of her sleep— would you but hear—  Chru. 
Oh that I ne'er had heard, nor ever seen;  
'Tis past, 'tis past, Atrides, Love's no more,  
My Heart is harder now, than once 'twas soft;  
Farewell for ever— Yet forgive him, Gods!  
Not on his head, but on his faithless Sex  
Revenge the Cause of poor abandoned Truth:  
Nor let it be by Famine, or Disease;  
Nor yet by Thunder, nor tempestuous Blast;  
Nor Fire nor Sword, nor by consuming Wars;  
Let us Revenge ourselves; commit to us  
This mighty Charge— No Vengeance like a Woman's.  
Let Falshood punish Falsehood: Let Deceit  
And Treachery be only Women's Arts.  
Henceforth, through rolling Ages, Let there be  
Not one Example of a Woman Faithful.  
Let all be Helen's, perjured Devils all.  
Let every Husband, be a noted Cuckold,  
Give 'em not Wives to comfort, but to plague:  
Let Love be all a trick, and a pretence,  
And every Woman be a bosom Serpent.  
The Gods have granted— And methinks I read  
The Page of Fate, and find it first for ever,  
That not a Woman shall be born hereafter  
But shall deceive some Man— Debates arise,  
Dissensions reign, Pollution be triumphant,  
And Jealousies and Jars, Confound the World.  [Exit Chruseis. Bris. 
My Conquest is complete: She flies, she flies,  
And has avowed the triumph of my Eyes.  
So may all thrive, who dare my Empire brave,  
Like her despair, and be Mankind my Slave.  
How pleased will be Achilles, when he knows,  
My Beauty, has revenged him on his Foes:  
I go to tell him, nor will be delayed,  
Stir not to stop me— For I'll look thee dead.  [Exit Briseis. Ag. 
Go where I never may behold thee more  
Thou Imp of thy Achilles— Like a Child  
I struck, and hit myself; I raised a storm  
And perish in't: the means of my revenge  
Has turned to my own ruin: And the load  
I cast, has weighed me after it, and sunk me.  
'Tis just ye Gods, your Providence has caught  
My foolish Wrath, and my own act of Vengeance  
Becomes revenge for him? 'Gainst whom 'twas meant.  [Sees Ulysses entering. 
Art thou there Traitor? Com'st thou then to watch  
The workings of thy Poison on our Loves?  
Safer thou d'st met a Tygress hunting out  
The Thief that robbed her Young—  Ulys. 
What I have done—  Ag. 
What thou hast done— Undo— Or thou shalt die—  [Seizes hold of him. 
Thou shalt be torn by Horses, racked alive  
Buried quick— I'll have thee hewed to pieces—  
Prometheus Vulture, and Ixion's Wheel  
The Stone, the Sieve; The Tortures of the Damned  
Are but slight pains— Thou shalt be more than damned—  
Find out Chruseis straight—  [Thrusts him away. 
Confess thy Fraud, unravel her mistake,  
Convince her of my Love and Innocence:  
I fear her Wrath, more than the Wrath of Heaven.  
Appease her well— And let me find her gentle—  [Seizes him again. 
See this be done— look to't— Away—  [Thrusts him towards the Door. 
Why send I him?  
On Wings of Love, the Lover's self should fly,  
Love has a thousand ways, and all I'll try,  
And at her feet, be justified or die.  [Exeunt all. 
The End of the Fourth Act.   

ACT V. SCENE I.  [The Tent of Achilles. Achilles and Briseis meeting. Br. 
JOY to Achilles— fly to my embrace  
My Hero and my God.  
Henceforth no more let any sound of War.  
Awake thy rage— My Eyes shall conquer for thee.  
Joy to Achilles— Agamemnon dies,  
Chruseiss in despair has left the Camp,  
Briseis is returned triumphant back,  
Thy Foes are perishing, thy Mistress safe,  
I bring thee Glory and Revenge and Love;  
Joy to Achilles, everlasting Joy!  Ach. 
And is it given me thus again to hold thee,  
Thus to devour thee with a Thousand Kisses  
With clasping Arms, embracing and embraced  
To taste a Thousand Joys— O 'tis illusion all!  
The Dream and Vision of distracted thought!  
Speak shining Creature, every sense awakes  
To find thee out— Art thou indeed Briseis?  Br. 
I am, I am Briseis— Believe thy Eyes,  
Believe thy touch— No Vision nor a Dream,  
But thy Briseis— thine.  
I thank you Gods! tho' parting was a pain,  
The joy to meet, is ample satisfaction.  Ach. 
Art thou the same? In every thing the same?  
Answer me that— Ah No!  
The stain of violation is upon thee  
The ruddy spot, fresh ardent on thy Face.  
Curse on that thought!—  
Was then the Ravisher so quickly cloyed?  
So hasty to return Pollution back?  
Didst thou resist? Or didst thou early yield?  
Answer again to that— thus let me Swear thee,  
Thus holding up thy hands erect to Heaven:  
Mettest thou with willing warmth his brutal lust?  
Hadst thou thy share of Bliss? with amorous rage  
Improving Joy with Art?— But why do I inquire?  
Thy Cheeks are burning with th'adulterer mark,  
His Print is on thy lips: Thy melted Eyes  
Yet glow with languished lustre— Hell and Furies!  Br. 
Curse me if I forgive thee such a thought;  
Were I like other Women, I should weep  
To be thus grossly questioned— But my Soul  
Is formed of sparks, as fiery as thy own.  
Thus I confront thy Jealousy with rage,  
And meet thy insolence, with wrath as loud.  
Thou know'st me, and hast read my inmost Mind,  
If after this, thou yet canst have a doubt  
If thou canst tell thyself— I can be false,  
Thou art not worth my Answer.—  Ach. 
I knew thou wouldst deny: All Women will.  
What have we for your truth, but your bare words?  
The subtle path is trodden without print,  
Not the least footstep to be traced for proof.  
But willing or unwilling, 'tis the same:  
He has enjoyed you.—  Br. 
No matter if he has— I'll tell thee nothing.  Ach. 
O that thou wert a Man?  Br. 
O That I were! By Venus I'd chastise thee—  
Why was I not a Man? A greater far  
Had then been born, and fiercer than Achilles.  Ach. 
Answer directly— or by Mars—  Br. 
By Mars I swear, and by as many Gods  
That nothing will I Answer— Not till I see thee  
Crouched on the ground, and crawling on thy knees  
Implore forgiveness, for thy vile suspicion.  
Guess at the past; I'll tell thee what's to come,  
If he has not enjoyed, be sure, he shall:  
Who without reason doubts, deserves that Vengeance,  
No Woman is without it— I go, to reap  
This fruit of thy offence— And so farewell  [going. Ach. 
Be true or false— Thou art too much to lose,  
Nor shalt thou go—  [holds her. 
Thy fiery Rage, has spread around my Soul  
And Love has caught the flame—  
Be what thou wilt— Art thou not heavenly Fair?  
Thy Beauty, in this moment's, all my care,  
Nothing is certain, but the Joy alone,  
Whilst I possess, I'm sure thou art my own.  [Exeunt. The Scene changes to Agamemnon's Pavilion. Trumpets sound without. Enter Agamemnon leading Chruseis. Nestor and Ulysses enter from the opposite part of the Stage. Nes. [To Agamemnon] 
O stain of Honour! Oh inglorious Prince!  
Unworthy Leader of so many Kings,  
Have then thy Crimes dispirited thy Soul  
That here aloof, thou hidest thee in thy Tent  
When the ranged Battle calls thee forth to Fight?  
But guilt makes Cowards: who with such a load  
Of Impious Lust, and wilful Perjury  
Can Face a Foe, or venture into Danger?  Ag. 
If I am guilty 'tis the Fault of Heaven,  
That by exacting more than Man can do  
Becomes itself unjust— My deeds to day  
Shall shame thy words, when thou beholdest me fight.  
'Tis peace at Home, my angered Love's appeased,  
And I am ready now for War— The stoutest Hearts  
Shall trembling beat, to follow where I lead.  Nes. 
Appease the Gods, no matter who beside  
Is angry, or displeased.  Ag. 
Chruseis is appeased, nor cares Atrides  
Who frowns, when she is kind— One kiss my Love;  
The Trumpets call, the Soldier must obey:  
These Trojans shall repent ere night, who force  
Thy Agamemnon from thy gentle Arms.  
And vex our Loves, with such unquiet part's.  Chru. 
Yet e'er you go, hear your Chruseiss speak:  
The Gods alone can tell, who shall return  
Of those that go to Battle: Hear me then:  
And I am glad to have such Witnesses.  [Too Nest. and Ulys.] Ag. 
What would Chruseis say?  Chru. 
The danger's terrible that calls you forth,  
Who knows but this may be our last Farewell.  
Thus then upon my knees, I thank my Lord  
For his past goodness— Oh! inspire me Heaven  
How to be grateful, and instruct my Soul  
How I may give my King, some mark of Love  
Equal to his to me.  Ag. 
Rise, Rise Chruseis.  
This needs not, Love; for I am much thy debtor.  Chru. 
No. I will tell, that summing up th'Account  
My grateful heart, may reckon its vast debt.  
All that I am, my Honour and Life,  
I hold but from your bounty.  
In a sacked Town, when the licentious Soldier  
Spares neither Age, nor Sex: When Slaughters blind  
And rages through the Streets without distinction;  
When Rape is privileged, and Murder free,  
You saved me from the Fury of the Sword,  
You saved me from Pollution, raised me trembling,  
Bade me not fear, and bore me safe from danger.  
Nor was this all.—  Ag. 
Enough, Enough Chruseis.  
You owed your Preservation to yourself,  
Your Beauty was your Guard— what barbarous heart,  
O what inhuman hand, could hurt such brightness?  Chru. 
My fears renewed, when Captives set to Sale,  
I heard the loud laments of weeping Virgins,  
Exposed to price, and sold to Slavery.  
No Royalty nor Beauty was exempt,  
But only served to raise the Purchase higher.  
Then did my King a second time preserve me,  
And set me above Price.  Ag. 
And well thou didst deserve it, my Chruseiss.  
Not Jove who has the Power of either Globe,  
Can say what thou art worth.  Chru. 
Beyond my Hopes, unasked, and unexpecting  
Life, Liberty, and Honour you preserved,  
And undeserving added to my wishes  
What more than Life, or Liberty I prize,  
Your Love: And tho' you had the Power to force  
Your Captives will with surest Violence,  
You left me free, t'accept or to refuse,  
But who could have refused?  Ag. 
Thou never were't my Captive: I was thine  
From the first moment that my Eye beheld thee:  
I overcame thy Country, but thou me:  
What I have done, I did but as a Slave,  
The Service of the Conquered to the Conqueror,  
Mercy was thine, and only thine: My Part  
Was but the Duty of a Lover.  Chru. 
With patience hear, for nothing will I add,  
Nor take from Truth; but state a just account.  
My Country lost, when by the right of War,  
Nothing was left, that we could call our own,  
You proffered Crowns, would raise me to your Empire:  
Your generous Love, agreeing with my Virtue,  
Offered no terms, that I could blush to hear.  Ag. 
What trifling Merchandise are Crowns and Kingdoms  
Compared to thee— How shall I thank thy goodness  
Who wouldst accept? Oh! could I give the World,  
One kiss of thine, but thus to touch thy Lips,  
I were a gainer, by the vast exchange.  Chru. 
The kiss you take, is paid by that you give,  
The Joy is mutual, and I'm still in debt.  
O there's a mighty sum that's yet untold:  
To shorten then, and pass a thousand proofs,  
All precious, but too numberless to name:  
Now when the Gods, grown envious of our Joys,  
The Gods that will admit in humane Life  
No Raptures like their own, and such were ours,  
Now when they turn our Blessings to a Curse,  
When every kiss you take, must lose a Battle,  
And thousands are Condemned, for each Embrace,  
When Empire, Victory, and O perhaps  
Your precious Life, must all be Sacrificed  
Or your Chruseiss left, Then, than my King  
When his Friends weep, and unrelenting Gods  
Threaten aloud, when Earth and Heaven combine  
To part our Loves, and sunder us for ever,  
Then Agamemnon constant to his Vows  
Renounces Glory, to be true to Love,  
And death and shame, prefers with his Chruseis,  
To Life, to Conquest and Renown, without her.  
O what amends, Ah! how shall I repay  
Thy wondrous Truth?  Ag. 
Thus my Chruseiss, thus—  
Embrace me close, and join thy Lips to mine:  
There's no security in other Joys,  
Here happiness is riveted alone,  
Here nothing fades, nothing decays; the sweets  
Immortal are, and never cease to spring.  Chru. 
So loving, and so loved, why must we part?  Ag. 
Part my Chruseis! 'Tis unkindly feared:  
I thought thou hadst been satisfied, my Love,  
No, I can die, but we will never part.  Chru. 
And yet we must: Oh! we must part, Atrides.  
There's no defence against the Will of Jove,  
No Force can turn, or Policy evade  
What Destiny decrees immutable:  
Nothing can be, that Fate has doomed shall not.  Ag. 
What means my Love, by these mysterious Words?  Chru. 
As one who fears to die, but is condemned,  
Still strives to trifle time with idle talk,  
And seeks pretences to put off the hour,  
So I— But what am I resolving?  
As I approach the Precipice's brink  
So steep, so terrible appears the depth,  
I fear— And yet I must— Who says I must?  
Not Agamemnon— He had rather die,  
So had Chruseis: Parting is worse than death  
To both— and will to both bring death—  
If he must die, then let him die embraced  
As he desires— Now shoot your Lightning Gods!  
Whilst thus I hide him, hit him if you can,  
Thus clinging with my Body close to his,  
Thus will I cover him— kill me, kill me,  
I'll die to keep him safe— Oh Agamemnon!  Ag. 
There is a strange disorder in thy, Thoughts,  
Something thou wouldst unfold, and know'st not how:  
My Soul has caught thy Fears, I tremble too  
I know not why— 'Tis the first time that e'er  
My Courage failed me in thy Arms.  
Some mighty ill, and sudden sure is coming,  
And let it come— Spare but my Love ye Gods  
All other ills are nothing.  Chru. 
My Head grows giddy— Oh that I were Mad:  
Madness brings ease 〈◊〉 Reason, Reason alone  
Feels Sorrow: Folly and Madness are exempt.  
No State of humane Life is to be envied,  
But Lunacy and Folly: None can be happy  
Who can feel Pain: To want the Sense to Grieve  
Is the best measure of Felioity,  
So much are we the Slaves of humane Chance,  
And from the Moment of our Births exposed  
To the malignant influence of Stars.  [She stands weeping. Nes. 
This is mere Foolery— Sir will you go?  Enter Talthybius and Eurybates. Eury. 
Where, where's the King?  Ag. 
What would thy haste portend?  Eury. 
To Arms, to Arms: The Trojans led by Mars  
With Hector by his side, surround our Camp;  
Who never durst beyond the Scaean Gate  
Till now advance, enclose our Trenches round:  
We who Besieged, are now ourselves Besieged.  Ag. 
Be short: Speak to the purpose: What has passed?  Talth. 
Divine Sarpedon, Son of Thundering Jove  
Began th'Attack: Patroclus stood the Charge,  
And slew him with his Spear, Jove looking on.  Eury. 
Then fell Patroclus, Slain by Hector's Hand—  Ulys. 
Patroclus' Slain?  Ag. 
He has not left  
'Mong all the Greeks, a braver Man behind him.  Nes. 
How just is Providence in all its Works!  
How swift to overtake us in our Crimes!  
Achilles who alone, of all the Greeks  
Rejoiced to day, becomes the deepest Mourner:  
None are so hateful to the Gods as those  
Who with hard hearts, delight in other's Grief.  Ulys. 
'Twere fit his Body were conveyed with speed  
To stern Achilles; who sits laughing now,  
Waiting the Greeks distress; The sight may move  
Revenge, and bring him to the Field.  Ag. 
I scorn his little Aid— Talthybius say  
What's now a doing?  Talth. 
The Trojans are again drawn off, pausing  
Upon their loss; but seem to meditate  
Some new Attempt: And all expect  
A bloody day.  Ag. 
Thou shalt not die, Patroclus, unrevenged.  
Bid our battalions draw upon the Plain;  
We'll Fight 'em hand to hand, upon the square,  
Let Cowards skulk in Trenches, Face to Face  
I meet my Foe— Thus I invoke you, Gods,  
Asking but this, no more— Stand Neuter.  
'Tis time that we were gone— Hast with our Orders.  [Exeunt Talthybius and Eurybates. 
[To Chruseis] It shakes my very Soul, my poor dear Love,  
To leave thee thus— I go, but to return  
Victorious back.  
Thus we have parted oft, and met again,  
Much thou wouldst grieve; but in this manner never.  [Chru.] 
Yes we have parted, and again we met,  
When next we part, 'tis never to meet more.  
I am your Murderer by my fatal stay,  
For me, the sullen Sun withholds his beams,  
And shoots these Shafts, and heads 'em all with Plagues:  
For me, the Gods withdraw their wonted aids,  
For me, they lead the Trojans to the Field,  
Shall I consent? And shall I help the Foes  
Of Agamemnon? I obstruct the means  
Of his deliverance? Will then my Love  
Do nothing for my Lord, who would do all  
For me? No Agamemnon, no—  
For me you must not die, nor be disgraced,  
Live Agamemnon, live: Be great, be glorious,  
While by a voluntary Exile, I  
Appease my cruel Father, and his Gods,  
And doom myself to save thy Life and Honour.  Ulys. 
Oh unexpected turn! O wondrous Virtue!  
Glorious resolution! henceforth be styled  
The Saviour of the Greeks.  Ag. 
Peace Sycophant, nor dare to soothe her frenzy:  
These thoughts are but the vapours of a Mind  
Disturbed: Reason shall soon dispel the fume,  
And disappoint your cursed malicious Joy.  [To Chru.] 
I know thou canst not mean, what thou hast said  
Yet my Heart pants, and every Nerve is shaken.  
Upon my Forehead sits a damp like death,  
My Blood runs cold, I feel the Channel freeze,  
Scarce will my trembling Limbs, support my Weight,  
But shake like Cowards on a day of Battle.  
Is this well done Chruseis?  Chru. 
Your generous Love, has showed the way to mine,  
Fearing to part, you firmly choose your Ruin,  
Fearing your Ruin, I consent to part:  
To part, of every evil is the worst,  
All other ills you choose, but I choose that,  
Love prompting you, to perish for my sake,  
Prompts me to keep you safe, whate'er it cost;  
Empire and Life, and Glory, are your Victims,  
The Joys of Life, and Love itself are mine.  Nes. 
Well argued still: Pray Heaven she be in earnest.  Ag. 
Thy Love is grown a wondrous Sophister:  
Such Arguments but ill become thy Faith:  
Canst thou pretend to love me, and yet leave?  
No, 'tis impossible in love, to part  
With what we love: Confess, confess the truth,  
And say thou dost not love; own, own thy Falsehood,  
Racant thy Vows, or yet resolve to stay.  Chru. 
Yes I would stay, were I the only threatened,  
Were the doom mine, and did the Thunder roll,  
And the blue Lightning shoot alone at me,  
I'd choose to die like thee, and not to part,  
In these dear Arms, I'd wait the stroke of Jove  
And perish pleased; like thine should be my choice.  
For thee, for thee, this Ruin is prepared,  
Not on my Head, but thine, the Vengeance falls,  
And for my sake, my Presence is the cause,  
Chruseis is the Murderer of Atrides,  
The Cup of Pleasure, is the Bowl of Death,  
The Gods have mixed it with the deadliest Poison,  
Nor dare I give thee more.  Ag. 
O give it on,  
There is such pleasure in the killing draught  
'Tis worth the dying for.  Chru. 
Be calm, be calm Atrides, think again,  
Consult your reason, and be then convinced,  
Were your Case mine, you would resolve like me,  
You would, you would, you could not see me perish,  
And know yourself the cause.  Ag. 
O Chruseis.  Chru. 
Is there a proof in love that you would give  
And shall not I? Oh! 'tis a cruel proof,  
But it must be, 'tis past, 'tis past recall.  
Come back, come back Renown that turned away,  
Return ye Laurels, to my Monarch's brow,  
Love like a scorching Sun has dried ye up,  
And burned your growth, and kissed away your sweets,  
But Love is now self banished for your sakes,  
With his own hand he cuts his root away,  
And leaves you room to spread.  Ag. 
O cursed estate of Kings! O fatal Glory!  
O Victory's dear-bought! Pernicious Greatness!  
What must I lose to purchase the vain breath  
Of Fools and Sycophants, the Voice of fame!  
Oh! what a Jewel must be thrown away  
To get a bauble! what substantial pleasures,  
How many hours of Love and of content  
Are lost and sacrificed for senseless trifles!  
All Heroes are but Lunatics miscalled  
That cheat themselves, and part with all that's precious  
For Toys and Gew Gawes.  Chru. 
The Gods have for themselves alone reserved  
A quiet state: Kings are their Stewards here  
Entrusted with the Conduct of the World:  
And like good careful servants, must submit  
Their single profit, to the general welfare.  
Had Agamemnon been a private Man,  
Some Shepherd, or an humble Villager,  
Our Loves had then been happy.  Ag. 
Take back your Office, Gods, Your Royal Thraldom;  
I'll be your Slave, no longer on these terms:  
Here I discharge myself of Kingly burden,  
Divest myself of Power and Dignities,  
Of Crowns and Sceptres, your Imperial Loads.  
Be constant to thy Word— Thy Agamemnon  
Will make himself the thing that thou hast wished,  
A Shepherd, or an humble Villager:  
In some far Cave, remote from interruption,  
We'll love away our lives; Not the least Dream  
Of Glory, shall invade our lone Recess.  
These Arms shall be the Circle of my Wishes,  
Thy Eyes, the only Lights that I'll adore:  
Morning and Night, I'll sacrifice to them,  
Be they propitious, let them shine upon me,  
I'll own no other Gods.  Chru. 
My Virtue shrinks within the close embrace,  
O let me fly, I cannot stand the Combat,  
Another such, and we are lost for ever.  [Trumpets within. 
Hark! Hark! the Trumpets sound, the Clash of Swords.  
Draws near, The Gods have given me notice,  
The slaughter is renewed, and every Man  
That falls, Chruseis is his Murderer.  
Have patience Gods, but yet a little while,  
I come, I come, your will shall be fulfilled,  
Give me but time to take one last embrace,  
Let me thus rush upon him—  
Once more, for my whole life, and then come Death  
Come Madness, any thing but Life or sense  
My dearest, dearest Agamemnon.  Ag. 
Thus will I clasp thee fast, Thus, thus for ever.  
In vain, In vain thou'lt struggle to get loose,  
Not Men nor Gods shall cut thee from my Arms,  
I'll die, but I will never quit my hold.  Chru. 
Thus let us kneel: Thus locked in my Embrace,  
Whilst I implore the Gods, with this last Prayer.  
Oh all ye Powers! that unrelenting see  
These Griefs, and have denied our loves your mercy,  
Accept the sacrifice that here I make,  
The noblest Love, the truest: undefiled  
With the least stain. If aught is due to Virtue  
Let the reward of what I do, be his,  
And let not me outlive this fatal day.  
Deprived of Love, upon his precious head  
Double all other blessings: Crown his Life  
With honours equal to his noble mind,  
Let him not pass a day without some triumph,  
Let him not have a Foe in Earth or Heaven,  
Or if he must have Foes, make 'em his means  
Only to come at Glory— Please his Nights and Days  
With something new, and every hour be blessed,  
That the remembrance of his lost Chruseiss  
May sit more light upon his heart— One kiss,  
And then no more, Oh Agamemnon 'tis the last,  
Farewell for ever— His Lips are cold,  
Speechless and Pale! And on my bosom droops  
His Head like a dead weight— Help Princes help  
And raise him gently—  [They raise him: He stands supported between 'em: they weeping over him. 
O can I see him thus—  
And leave him— Yes I must, for should he speak  
I could not stir, his Words would root me here.  
My Brain is touched— I feel it— here it is—  
At this dead-lift, thou'rt welcome honest Frenzy;  
The King shall conquer now, he shall, he shall,  
Right shall triumph, the Ravisher shall bleed,  
I'll be the Champion, and begin the charge,  
Thus at one stroke, I cut off all the Gods,  
And leave the Trojans, helpless to themselves,  
They run, they run— O cruel Reason, worst of Foes,  
Why art thou come again?  
O Nestor! Oh Ulysses! pity me,  
Forgive the ills that have already happened,  
All will be well, the Gods are now appeased.  
Fight for the King, and when the Battles join,  
Do you, your duty, as I have done mine.  [Exit Chruseis. Ulys. 
Scarce was my aching heart, more pierced with grief  
When from my own Penelope I parted.  [Ag. coming to himself. 
The Gods have doomed in vain, They shall not have her.  
Where is Chruseis?  Uly. 
Her noble Virtue has obeyed  
The cruel call of strong necessity,  
And she who would have died to stay, is gone  
That you may live.  Ag. 
Thou hast done this Ulysses, 'twas thy Plot,  
Thou hast been working long against our loves  
Thy Life shall answer it—  Uly. 
O rob her not of Glories all her own,  
Be hers the praise entire, as was the deed.  
I hate myself for that I injured once  
So good, such noble nature— O she is  
And to all Ages shall remain  
The brightest Pattern of Heroic Love  
And perfect Virtue, that the World e'er knew.  Nest. 
Trust me Atrides, much I grieve your loss,  
But Glory waits, to make you full amends.  Ag. 
Thus than I draw— Blood shall be shed for tears:  
Where Death is to be found, there let me go,  
Who gives it, is my Friend, and not my Foe,  
Unite, unite ye dardan's and ye Gods,  
Despair's undaunted, and defies all Odds,  
A● me let every Spear and Javelin fly,  
In Fight not now to conquer, but to die.  [Exit Agamemnon. [Flourish of Trumpets. Nes. 
Mark, mark Ulysses, how the Gods preserve  
The Men they love, even in their own despite;  
They guide us, and we Travel in the Dark;  
But when we most despair to hit the way  
And lest expect, we find ourselves arrived.  Uly. 
Fate holds the strings, and Men like Children, move  
But as they're led: Success is from above.  
The End.   

Books Printed for Francis Saunders.  
THE Temple of Death by the Marquis of Normanby. Horace of the Art of Poetry, made English by the Earl of Roscommon. The Duel of the Staggs, by the Honourable Sir Robert Howard. Together with several Poems by the Earl of Rochester and Orrery, Sir Charles Sedly, Sir George Etheridge, the Honourable Mr. Montague, Mr. Granvill, Mr. Dryden, Mr. Chetwood, and Mr. Tate. With several Poems by the Honourable Madam Wharton, in 8 vo.  
An Essay on Poetry by the Marquis of Normanby, the same in Latin by an other Hand, with several other Poems, viz. An Epistle to the Lord Chamberlain on His Majesty's Victory in Ireland, by the Honourable Mr. Montague.  
An Epistle to the Honourable Mr. Montague on His Majesty's Voyage to Holland, by Mr. Stepny. An Epistle to Monsieur Boileau, by Mr. Arwaker. A Poem on the Promotion of several Eminent Persons in Church and State, by Mr. Tate.  
To which are added the following Poems, viz. An Ode in Memory of the late Queen, by a Person of Quality.  
A Poem on the late Conspiracy, by Mr. Stepny in Folio. Mr. Dryden's Plays in 3 Vol. Mr. Shadwell's Plays in one Vol. Sir Charles Sedley's, Sir George Etheridge's, and Mr. Wycherly's Plays in one Vol.  
Mr. Shakespeare's Plays, Beaumond and Fletcher's Plays, Ben. Johnson's Works, Mr. Cowley, Mrs. Phillips, Mr. Waller, Sir John Sucklin, and Sir John Denham's Poems.   

Books newly Printed for Hen. Playford, and Sold at his Shop in the Temple-Change, Fleetstreet, 1698.  
Orpheus Britanicus, a Collection.  
OF the Choicest Songs for one two and three Voices, Composed by Mr. Henry Purcell, together with such Symphonies for Violins or Flutes to many of them; and a through Base to each Song Figured for the Organ, Harpsichord, or Theorbo Lute; all which are placed in their several Keys; according to the Order of the Gamut. Price Bound 18 Shillings.  
The Second Part of the Musical Companion, containing all Mr. Purcel's choice Catches; to which is now added a Sheet more never Printed in the former Editions. Price Stitched 2 s. 6 d.  
Miscellanea Sacra, Poems on Divine and Moral Subjects, the Second Edition with Additions of Poems and Meditations in Prose, Collected by N. Tate, Servant to His Majesty. Price Bound 2 s. 6 d.  
Europe's Revels 3 new Songs, Set by Mr. John Eccles, viz. The Dialogue, Raredshew, and Irish Howl. Price 6 d.  
The Introduction to the Skill of Music, the 13 Edition, to which is added the whole Art of Composition made more Plain and Easie, by Mr. Hen. Pursell. Price Bound 2 s.  
The Second Part of the Dancing-Master; to which is added a Sheet of 12 Dances, beginning with a new Tune called Europe's Revels, in all 48 new Dances. Price Stitched 1 Shilling.   

Books Printed for Benj. took, at the Middle-Temple-Gate in Fleetstreet.  
NUMISMATA: A Discourse of Medals, Ancient and Modern; together with some Account of the Heads and Effigies of Illustirous and Famous Persons, in Sculps and Taille-Douce, of whom we have no Medals extant; and of the use to be derived from them. To which is added, A Digression concerning Physiognomy. By John Evelyn, Esq S. R. S. Folio.  
Fables of Aesop, and other eminent Mythologists; with Morals and Reflections, By Sir Roger L'Estrange. Folio.  
Sir Richard Baker's Chronicle of the Kings of England, from the Time of the Roman Government, unto the Death of King James I. Whereunto is added, The Reigns of K. Charles I. and K. Charles II. The Ninth Impression Corrected, Folio.  
A Caralogue of Books Printed in England since the Dreadful Fire of London 1666. to the End of Michaelmas Term, 16●●: With an Abstract of the General Bills of Mortality since 1660. and the Titles of all the Classic Authors, Cum Notis Variorum, and those for the use of the Dauphin, Folio.  
A New Theory of the Earth, from its Original to the Consummation of all things: Wherein the Creation of the World in Six days; the Universal Deluge, and the General Conflagration, as laid down in the Holy Scriptures, are shown to be perfectly agreeable to Reason, and Philosophy. With a large Introductory Discourse concerning the Genuine style, and Extent of the Mosaic History of the Creation. By William Wis●●● M. A. Chaplain to the Right Reverend the Bishop of Norwich, and Fellow of Clare-Hist in Cambridge. 8 vo.  
Memoires and Observations Topographical, Physical, Mathematical, Mechanical, Natural, Civil, and Ecclesiastical; Made in a late Journey through the Empire of China, and Published in several Letters. By Lovis le Comte, Jesuit, Confessor to the Duchess of Burgunay, one of the Royal Mathematicians, and lately Missionary into the 〈◊〉 Countries: Illustrated with Figures. The Second Edition, very much Corrected, with the Addition of a Map of China, and a Table. 8 vo.  
The Psalms of David in English Metre, Translated from the Original, and suited to all the Tunes now sung in Churches, with the Additions to several New. By Luke Milbourn, a Presbyter of the Church of England 12 o.  
The ●he Gallants: A Comedy. As it is Acted at the Theatre in Little-Lincolns-Inn-Fields. Written by the Honourable George Granvill. Esq.  
〈◊〉: A Tragedy. As it is Acted at the Theatre Royal, by His Majesty's Servants. By Thomas Southern, Gent.  
The Lover's Luck: A Comedy. As it is Acted at the Theatre in Little-lincolns' Inn-Fields. By His Majesty's Servants. By Mr. duke. These three Printed for Henry Playford and Benjamin took.