Pyl. Why thus unkind?

Why will you envy me the pleasing task
Of generous love, and sympathising friendship?
Ores. Thou miracle of truth! But hear me on.
When in the midst of my disastrous fate,
I thought how the divine Hermione,

Deaf to the vows, regardless of my plaints,
Gave up herself, and all her charms, to Pyrrhus;
Thou may'st remember, I abhorr'd her name,
Strove to forget her, and repay her scorn.
made my friends, and even myself, believe
My soul was freed. Alas! did not see,
That all the malice of my heart was love.
Triumphing thus, and yet a captive still,
In Greece I landed; and in Greece I found
The assembled princes all alarm'd with fears,
In which their common safety seem'd concern'd.
I join'd them: for I hop'd that war and glory
Might fill my mind, and take up all my thoughts;
And that my shatter'd soul, impair'd with grief,
Once more would reassume its wonted vigour,
And every idle passion quit my breast.

Pyl. The thought was worthy Agamemnon's son.
Ores. But see the strange perverseness of my stars,
Which throws me on the rock I strove to shun!
The jealous chiefs, and all the states of Greece,
With one united voice complain of Pyrrhus;
That now, forgetful of the promise giv'n,
And mindless of his godlike father's fate,
Astyanax he nurses in his court;
Astyanax, the young, surviving hope
Of ruin'd Troy; Astyanax, descended

From a long race of kings-great Hector's son,
Pyl. A name still dreadful in the ears of Greece!
But, prince, you'll cease to wonder why the child
Lives thus protected in the court of Pyrrhus,
When you shall hear the bright Andromache,
His lovely captive, charms him from his purpose;
The mother's beauty guards the helpless son.

Ores. Your tale confirms what I have heard; and hence Spring all my hopes. Since my proud rival wooes

Another partner to his throne and bed,
Hermione may still be mine. Her father,
The injur'd Menelaus, thinks already

His daughter slighted, and th' intended nuptials
Too long delay'd. I heard his loud complaints
With secret pleasure; and was glad to find
Th' ungrateful maid neglected in her turn,
And all my wrongs aveng'd in her disgrace.
Pyl. Oh, may you keep your just resentments warm!
Ores. Resentments! O my friend, too soon I found
They grew not out of hatred. I am betray'd:

I practise on myself, and fondly plot
My own undoing. Goaded on by love,
I canvass'd all the suffrages of Greece;
And here I come, their sworn ambassador,
To speak their jealousies, and claim this boy.

Pyl. Pyrrhus will treat your embassy with scorn.
Full of Achilles, his redoubted sire,

Pyrrhus is proud, impetuous, headstrong, fierce;
Made up of passions: will he then be sway'd,
And give to death the son of her he loves?
Ores. Oh, would he render up Hermione,
And keep Astyanax, I should be blest!
He must; he shall: Hermione is my life,
My soul, my rapture! I'll no longer curb
The strong desire that hurries me to madness:
I'll give a loose to love; I'll bear her hence;
I'll tear her from his arms; I'll-O, ye gods!
Give me Hermione, or let me die!

But tell me, Pylades, how stand my hopes?
Is Pyrrhus still enamour'd with her charms?
Or dost thou think he'll yield me up the prize,
The dear, dear prize, which he has ravish'd from me?
Pyl. I dare not flatter your fond hopes so far;
The king indeed, cold to the Spartan princess,
Turns all his passion to Andromache,
Hector's afflicted widow. But in vain,
With interwoven love and rage, he sues
The charming captive, obstinately cruel.
Oft he alarms her for her child, confin'd
Apart; and when her tears begin to flow,

As soon he stops them, and recals his threats.
Hermione a thousand times has seen
His ill-requited vows return to her;
And takes his indignation all for love.
What can be gather'd from a man so various?
He may, in the disorder of his soul,
Wed her he hates, and punish her he loves.
Ores. But tell me how the wrong'd Hermione
Brooks her slow nuptials, and dishonour'd charms?
Pyl. Hermione would fain be thought to scorn
Her wavering lover, and disdain his falsehood;
But, spite of all her pride and conscious beauty,
She mourns in secret her neglected charms,
And oft has made me privy to her tears;
Still threatens to be gone, yet still she stays,
And sometimes sighs, and wishes for Orestes.

Ores. Ah, were those wishes from her heart, my friend, I'd fly in transport[Flourish within.

Pyl. Hear! The king approaches

To give you audience. Speak your embassy
Without reserve: urge the demands of Greece;
And, in the name of all her kings, require
That Hector's son be given into your hands.
Pyrrhus, instead of granting what they ask,
To speed bis love, and win the Trojan dame,
Will make it merit to preserve her son.
But, see: he comes!

Ores. Meanwhile, my Pylades,

Go, and dispose Hermione to see

Her lover, who is come thus far, to throw

Himself, in all his sorrows, at her feet. [Exit Pylades.

Enter PYRRHUS, PHENIX, and Attendants.

Before I speak the message of the Greeks,

Permit me, sir, to glory in the title

Of their ambassador; since I behold
Troy's vanquisher, and great Achilles' son,
Nor does the son rise short of such a father:
If Hector fell by him, Troy fell by you.
But what your father never would have done,
You do. You cherish the remains of Troy;

And, by an ill-tim'd pity, keep alive

The dying embers of a ten years' war.

Have

you so soon forgot the mighty Hector? The Greeks remember his high brandish'd sword, That fill'd their state with widows and with orphans ; For which they call for vengeance on his son. Who knows what he may one day prove? Who knows But he may brave us in our ports, and fill'd With Hector's fury, set our fleets on blaze? You may, yourself, live to repent your mercy. Comply then with the Grecians' just demands; Satiate their vengeance, and preserve yourself.

Pyr. The Greeks are for my safety more concern'd Than I desire. I thought your kings were met On more important counsel. When I heard The name of their ambassador, I hop'd Some glorious enterprise was taking birth. Is Agamemnon's son dispatch'd for this? And do the Grecian chiefs, renown'd in war, A race of heroes, join in close debate, To plot an infant's death? What right has Greece To ask his life? Must I, must I alone, Of all her scepter'd warriors, be deny'd To treat my captive as I please? Know, prince, When Troy lay smoking on the ground, and each Proud victor shar'd the harvest of the war, Andromache, and this her son, were mine;

Were mine by lot. And who shall wrest them from me? Ulysses bore away old Priam's queen;

Cassandra was your own great father's prize.

Did I concern myself in what they won?
Did I send embassies to claim their captives?

Ores. But, sir, we fear for you, and for ourselves.
Troy may again revive, and a new Hector
Rise in Astyanax. Then think betimes-

Pyr. Let dastard souls be timorously wise:
But tell them, Pyrrhus knows not how to form

Far fancied ills, and dangers out of sight.

Ores. Sir, call to mind the unrivall'd strength of Troy; Her walls, her bulwarks, and her gates of brass; Her kings, her heroes, and embattled armies.

Pyr. I call them all to mind; and see them all
Confus'd in dust; all mix'd in one wide ruin!
All but a child, and he in bondage held.

What vengeance can we fear from such a Troy?
If they have sworn to extinguish Hector's race,
Why was their vow for twelve long months deferr'd?
Why was he not in Priam's bosom slain?

He should have fall'n among the slaughter'd beaps,
Whelm'd under Troy. His death had then been just.
My fury then was without bounds; but now,
My wrath appeas'd, must I be cruel still?
And, deaf to all the tender calls of pity,
Like a cool murderer, bathe my hands in blood?
An infant's blood? No, prince; go bid the Greeks
Mark out some other victim; my revenge
Has had its fill. What has escap'd from Troy
Shall not be sav'd to perish in Epirus.

Ores. I need not tell you, sir, Astyanax
Was doom'd to death in Troy; nor mention how
The crafty mother sav'd her darling son.

The Greeks do now but urge their former sentence:
Nor is't the boy, but Hector, they pursue;
The father draws their vengeance on the son:
The father, who so oft in Grecian blood

Has drench'd his sword; the father, whom the Greeks
May seek e'en here. Prevent them, sir, in time.

Pyr. No! let them come; since I was born to wage Eternal wars. Let them now turn their arins On him who conquer'd for them. Let them come; And in Epirus seek another Troy.

"Twas thus they recompens'd my godlike sire; Thus was Achilles thank'd. But, prince, remember, Their black ingratitude then cost them dear.

Ores. Shall Greece then find a rebel son in Pyrrhus? Pyr. Have I then conquer'd to depend on Greece? Ores. Hermione will sway your soul to peace, And mediate 'twixt her father and yourself. Her beauty will enforce my embassy.

Pyr. Hermione may have her charms, and I May love her still, though not her father's slave. I may, in time, give proofs that I'm a lover;