The clam'rous people carry their refentment;
Our dying Thebans from his punishment
Expect their fafety. Old men, women, children,
United by misfortunes, breath forth vengeance;
Pronounce him guilty, and cry out that heav'n
Demands his blood: can't thou refift the torrent,
Defend, or fave him?
Even though Thebes fhou'd lift the murth'rous hand
Against her queen, beneath her smoaking walls
To crush Jocafta, ne'er wou'd I betray
Such injur'd innocence; but ftill I fear
The tongue of flander: well thou know'ft my heart Once figh'd for Philoctetes; now, Egina,
Will they not fay I facrifice to him
My fame, my gods, my country, and my husband? Will they not fay Jocafta loves him still ?
Calm thy vain fears; thy paffion had no witness
Think'st thou that a princess
Can e'er conceal her hatred or her love?
O no! on ev'ry fide the eager eyes
Of courtiers look upon us: thro' the veil
Of feign'd refpect, with fubtle treachery
They search our hearts, and trace out ev'ry weakness.
Nought can escape their sharp malignant fight;
A little word, a figh, or glance betrays us;
Our very filence shall be made to speak
Our thoughts; and when their busy artifice,
Spite of ourselves, hath drawn the fecret from us,
Then their loud cenfures caft invidious light
O'er all our actions, and th'inftructed world
Is quickly taught to eccho ev'ry weakness.
But what haft thou to fear from calumny?
What piercing eye can wound Jocafta's fame?
Who knows thy love, will know thy conqueft o'er it;
Will know thy virtue ftill fupported thee.
It is that virtue which diftreffes me;
I look, perhaps, with too fevere an eye
On my own weakness, and accuse myself
Unjustly; but the image ftill remains
Of Philoctetes, 'grav'd within my heart
Too deep for time or virtue to efface it;
And much I doubt, if when I ftrive to fave him,
I act not lefs from justice than from love:
My pity hath too much of tenderness;
I tremble oft, and oft reproach myself
And O! if he would liften to Jocafta,
Never return, never behold me more;
Fly from this fatal, this distressful scene,
And fave my
life and fame. But what detains him?
Why haftes he not? Egina, fly
PHILOCTETES, EGINA, JOCSATA.
O Prince, my foul is on the rack; I blush
To fee the man whom duty bids me fhun,
Which fays I fhould forget and not betray thee.
Doubtless thou know'ft the dreadful fate that hangs
Demand my life; but they have fuffer'd much,
And therefore, tho' unjust, I pity them.
Yield not thyself a victim to their rage:
Away, begone; as yet thou art thyself
The master of thy fate; but this perhaps
Is the last minute that can give me pow'r
To fave thee: far, O fly far from Jocafta;
And, in return for added life, I beg thee
But to forget 'twas I who thus preferv'd it.
I cou'd have wifh'd, Jocafta, thou had'ft fhewn
More ftrength of mind, and lefs compaffion for me;
Prefer'd with me my honour to my life,
And rather bade me dye than meanly quit
My station here: I yet am innocent,
But in obeying thee I should be guilty.
Of all the bleffings heav'n beftowed upon me,
My honour and my fame alone remain
Untouch'd. O! do not rob me of a treasure
So precious to me; do not make me thus
Unworthy of Jocafta. I have liv'd,
Liv'd to fulfil the fate allotted to me;
Have pafs'd my facred word to Oedipus,
And whatsoe'er fufpicions he may cherish,
I am a ftranger to the breach of honour.
O Philoctetes, let me here intreat thee,
By the juft gods, by that ill-fated paffion,
Which once infpir'd thy breast, if aught remains
Of tender friendship, if thou ftill remember'st
How much my happiness on thine depended,
Deign to prolong a glorious life, and days.
That should have been united with Jocafta's..
PHILOCTETES..
To thee devoted I wou'd have them ftill
In equal tenor flow, and worthy of thee;
I've liv'd far from thee, and fhall die content,
If thy regard attends me to the tomb.
Who knows but heav'n may yet refuse to see
This bloody facrifice; perhaps, in mercy
It guided me to Thebes to fave Jocasta ;
Shorten'd my days, perhaps, to lengthen thine..
Happy event! the blood of innocence
May be accepted; mine is not unworthy.
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