Your counsel now, grave man, his majesty Tec. Apollo [He takes the casket. Inspire my intellect !-The Prince of Argos Is entertained ? Arm. He is; and has demanded Our princess for his wife; which I conceive 75 Tec. My duty to the king, good peace to Sparta, And fair day to Armostes ! Arm. Like to Tecnicus! [Exeunt. SCENE II. The Palace. ITHOCLES' Apartment. Soft music. A song within, during which PROPHILUS, BASSANES, PENTHEA, and GRAUSIS pass over the stage. BASSANES and GRAUSIS re-enter softly, and listen in different places. SONG. Can you paint a thought? or number Can you count soft minutes roving No, O, no! yet you may 5 ΙΟ ་ The bedposts sure are steel or marble.-Soldiers Upon the sloth of luxury, they heighten Cinders of covert lust up to a flame. 20 Grau. What do you mean, my lord? speak low; We must forbear; his sleep hath newly left him. Bass. 30 By any means; 'tis fit. Yes, I will, sir. [Exeunt. Pro. Pray, gentlewoman, walk too. Grau. The scene opens; ITHOCLES is discovered in a chair, and PENTHEA beside him. 1th. Sit nearer, sister, to me; nearer yet: We had one father, in one womb took life, Were brought up twins together, yet have lived At distance, like two strangers : I could wish That the first pillow whereon I was cradled Had proved to me a grave. Pen. You had been happy : Then had you never known that sin of life Which blots all following glories with a vengeance, For forfeiting the last will of the dead, For whom you had your being. Ith. 35 41 Sad Penthea, Thou canst not be too cruel; my rash spleen For which mine's now a-breaking. Pen. 45 Not yet, Heaven, I do beseech thee! first let some wild fires Scorch, not consume it! may the heat be cherished With desires infinite, but hopes impossible! Ith. Wronged soul, thy prayers are heard. Pen. Here, lo, I breathe, A miserable creature, led to ruin By an unnatural brother! Ith. I consume In languishing affections for that trespass; Pen. The handmaid to the wages Of country toil drinks the untroubled streams 51 55 Ith. The labourer doth eat his coarsest bread, Earned with his sweat, and lies him down to sleep; While every bit I touch turns in digestion 61 To gall as bitter as Penthea's curse. Put me to any penance for my tyranny, Pen. Pray kill me, 65 Rid me from living with a jealous husband; Ith. How does my lord esteem thee? Pen. Such an one As only you have made me; a faith-breaker, Pen. 70 I do not, Ithocles; For she that's wife to Orgilus, and lives Is at the best a whore. Wilt kill me now? 75 The ashes of our parents will assume Some dreadful figure, and appear to charge Thy bloody guilt, that hast betrayed their name Ith. After my victories abroad, at home I meet despair; ingratitude of nature 80 Hath made my actions monstrous: thou shalt stand And married wives shall to thy hallowed shrine 85 Pure turtles, crowned with myrtle; if thy pity One finger but to ease it. Pen. O, no more! Ith. Death waits to waft me to the Stygian banks, And free me from this chaos of my bondage; And till thou wilt forgive, I must endure. Pen. Who is the saint you serve? Ith. 91 Friendship, or nearness Of birth to any but my sister, durst not Have moved that question; 'tis a secret, sister, 95 I dare not murmur to myself. Pen. Let me, By your new protestations I conjure ye, |