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Orest. Ah, were those wishes from her heart, my


I'd fly in transport

Pyl. Hear!-the king approaches

[Flourish within.

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 giv'n into your hands,
Pyrrhus, instead of granting what they ask,
To speed his love and win the Trojan dame,
Will make it inerit to preserve her son.
But, see; he comes.

Orest. Mean while, 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.

Enter PYRRHUS, PHOENIX, 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 states with widows and with orphans,
For which they call for vengeance on his son.
Who knows what he may one day prove? Who

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 vour 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 enterprize 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 the 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?

Orest. 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-fancy'd ills, and dangers out of sight.

Orest. Sir, call to mind the unrivall'd strength of

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 mixt 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 heaps, Whelm'd under Troy. His death had then been just. "When age and infancy, alike in vain,

"Pleaded their weakness; when the heat of conquest, "And horrors of the sight, rouz'd all our rage, "And blindly hurry'd us thro' scenes of death." 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.

Orest. 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 even here.-Prevent them, sir, in time.
Pyr. No! let them come; since I was born to wage
Eternal wars.
Let them now turn their arms

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.

Orest. Shall Greece then find a rebel son in Pyrrhus Pyr. Have I then conquer'd to depend on Greece? Orest. 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, tho' not her father's slave. I may in time give proofs, that I'm a lover; But never must forget, that I'm a king.

Meanwhile, sir, you may see fair Hellen's daughter; I know how near in blood you stand ally'd.

That done, you have my answer, prince. The Greeks,

No doubt, expect your quick return. [Ex. Orest. &c.

Phan. Sir, do you send your rival to the princess?
Pyr. I am told, that he has lov'd her long.
Phan. If so,

Have you
not cause to fear the smother'd flame
May kindle at her sight, and blaze a-new?
And she be brought to listen to his passion.

Pyr. Ay, let them, Phoenix, let them love their fill !
Let them go hence; let them depart together:
Together let them sail for Sparta : all my ports
Are open to them both. From what constraint,
What irksome thoughts, should I be then reliev'd!
Phan. But, sir,-

Pyr. I shall another time good Phoenix, Unbosom to thee all my thoughts-for, see, Andromache appears.


Pyr. May I, madam,

Flatter my hopes so far as to believe

You come to seek me here?

Andr. This way, sir, leads

To those apartments where you guard my son.
Since you permit me, once a day, to visit
All I have left of Hector and of Troy,
I go to weep a few sad moments with him.

I have not yet, to-day, embrac'd my child;
I have not held him in my widow'd arms.

Pyr. Ah, madam, should the threats of Greece prevail,

You'll have occasion for your tears, indeed?

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