Nor must they prostitute its majesty,
To swell a subject's pride, howe'er deserving.
Dymas. What the king grants me-
What a king ought not, that he cannot give ;
And what is more than meet from princes' bounty,
Is plunder, not a grant. Think you, his honour
A perquisite belonging to your place,
As favourite paramount? Preserve the king
From doing wrong, though wrong is done for you;
And shew, 'tis not in favour to corrupt thee.
Dymas. I sought not, Sir, this honour.
True majesty's the very soul of kings;
And rectitude's the soul of majesty :
If mining minions sap that rectitude,
The king may live, but majesty expires:
And he that lessens majesty, impairs
That just obedience public good requires ;
Doubly a traitor, to the Crown, and State.
Dymas. Must I refuse what Philip's pleas'd to give? Demetrius. Can a king give thee more than is his Own? Know, a king's dignity is public wealth;
On that subsists the nation's fame, and power.
Shall fawning sycophants, to plump themselves,
Eat up their master, and dethrone his glory?
What are such wretches? What, but vapours foul,
From fens and bogs, by royal beams exhal❜d,
That radiance intercepting, which should cheer
The land at large.? Hence subjects' hearts grow cold,
And frozen loyalty forgets to flow :
But, then 'tis slipp'ry standing for the minion :
Stains on his ermin, to their royal master
Such miscreants are; not jewels in his crown.
If you persist, Sir-But, of words, no more!
To me, to threat, is harder than to do!
Dymas. Let me embrace this genuine son of Empire. When the debates divide the doubtful land,
Should I not know the prince most fit to reign?
I've try'd you, as an eagle tries her young,
And find, your dauntless eye is fix'd on glory.
I'll to the king, and your commands obey.--
We must give young men opiates in a fever.
Yes, boy, I will obey thee, to thy ruin.
Erixine shall strike thee dead for this.
Demetrius. These Statesmen nothing woo, but Gold and Power.
I'm a bold advocate for other love;
Though, at their bar, indicted for a fool.
When reason, like the skilful charioteer,
Can break the fiery passions to the bit,
And, spite of their licentious sallies, keep
The radient track of glory; passions, then,
Are aids and ornaments. Triumphant reason,
Firm in her seat, and swift in her career,
Enjoys their violence, and, smiling, thanks
Their formidable flame, for high renown.
Take then my soul, fair maid! 'tis wholly thine;
And thence I feel an energy divine.
When objects, worthy praise, our hearts approve,
Each virtue grows on consecrated love :
And, sure, soft passion claims to be forgiv❜n,
When love of beauty is the love of heav'n.
Erixine. 'TIS plain! 'tis plain! this marriage gains her father.
He join'd to Rome the crown. Thy words were true:
He woos the diadem; that diadem which I
Despis'd for him. O, how unlike our loves!
But it is well; he gives me my revenge.
Wed Dymas' daughter! What a fall is there?
Not the world's empire could repair his glory.
Delia. Madam, you can't be mov'd too much!-But why
More now than at the first?
For who, that lov'd like me, could have believ`d ?
I disbeliev'd what Pericles reported;
And thought it Perseus' art to wound our loves.
But when the good Antigonus, sworn friend
To false Demetrius, when his word confirm'd it,
Then passion took me, as the northern blast
An autumn leaf. O gods! the dreadful whirl!
But, while I speak, he's with her: Laughs and plays ;
Mingles his dalliance with insulting mirth;
To this new goddess offers up my tears;
Yes, with my shame and torture, woos her love.
I see, hear, feel it! O these raging fires!
Can then the thing we scorn give so much pain?
Delia. Madam, these transports give him cause to triumph.
Erixine. I vent my grief to thee; he ne'er shall know it.
If I can't conquer, I'll conceal my passion;
And stifle all its pangs beneath disdain.
Delia. The greatest minds are most relenting too : If then Demetrius should repent his crime
Erixine. If still my passion burns, it shall burn inward:
On the fierce rack in silence I'll expire,
Before one sigh escape me-- He repent!
What wild extravagance of thought is thine?
But did he? Who repents, has once been false :
In love, repentance but declares our guilt;
And injur'd honour-shall exact its due.
In vain his love, nay mine should groan in vain!
Both are devoted. Vengeance, vengeance, reigns!
Our first love murder'd, is the sharpest pang
A human heart can feel.
The king approaches.
Enter the KING, &c.
King. Madam, at length we see the dawn of peace, And hope an end of our domestic jars.
The jealous Perseus can no longer fear
Demetrius is a Roman; since this day
Makes him the son of Dymas, Rome's worst foe.
Erixine. Already, Sir, I've heard, and heard with joy, Th' important news.
King.
To make our bliss run o'er,
You, Madam, will complete what heav'n begins;
And save the love-sick Perseus from despair:
That marriage would leave Rome without pretence
To touch our conquest; and forever join
To these dominions long-disputed Thrace.
Erixine. Though Thrace by conquest stoops to Macedon, I know my rank, and would preserve its due. With meditated coldness have I heard Prince Perseus' vows; unwilling to consent, Before restor❜d to my forefathers throne, Lest that consent should merit little thanks, As flowing less from choice than your command: But since the Roman pride will find account In my persisting still; and Philip suffer ; I quit the lofty thought on which I stood, And yield to your request.
Indulgent gods ! Blest moment! how will this with transport fill The doubtful Perseus, after years of pain!
Dymas. My lord, I've heard what past, and give you joy
Of Perseus' nuptials, which your state requires :
But for Demetrius'-think of those no more,
Far from accepting such a load of glory,
I bring, I bring, my lord, this forfeit head
Due to my bold refusal.
Fall from his promise; and impose on thee
Forc'd disobedience to my royal pleasure?
Dymas. No, my most honour'd lord, there, there's my
Fond of the maid, with ardour he press'd on:
But should I dare pollute his blood with mine?
But you, Sir, authorize it-still more base,
To wrong a master so profusely kind.
King. That man is noble on whom Philip smiles.
Come, come, there's something more in this-explain.
Dymas. Why am I forc'd on this ungrateful office?
Yet can't I tell you more than fame has told;
Which says Demetrius is in league with Rome.
Why weds ambition then an humble maid,
But to gain me to treason? What then follows?
They'll say the subtle statesman plann'd this marriage,
To raise his blood into his master's throne.
No, Sir, preserve my fame; let life suffice.
Pericles. Sir, your ambassadors arriv'd from Rome.
King. Ha! I must read it-this will tell me more.
O princess! now our only comfort flows
From your indulgence to my better son.
This dreadful news precipitates my wish.
To keep rapacious Rome from seizing Thrace
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