How I have us'd him; and would shun his presence. In Sparta's court, and triumph'd in her charms? I cannot bear the thought! Cleo. You wrong yourself With unbecoming fears. He knows too well Your beauty and your worth. Your lover comes not And breathe his ardent passion at your feet. This Trojan boy, I should with speed embark, And with their embassy return to Greece. Cleo. What would you more? Orestes comes in time To save your honour. Pyrrhus cools apace : Prevent his falsehood, and forsake him first. I know you hate him; you have told me so. Her. Hate him! My injur'd honour bids me hate him. Th' ungrateful man, to whom I fondly gave My virgin heart; the man I lov'd so dearly; The man I doated on! Oh, my Cleone! How is it possible I should not hate him? Cleo. Then give him over, madam. Quit his court; And with Orestes Her. No! I must have time To work up all my rage! To meditate Will be but too much quicken'd by the traitor. If Pyrrhus can provoke you, he has done it. Her. Why dost thou heighten my distress? I fear Let us begone! I leave him to his captive: I'll stay, till by an open breach of contract, Cleo. Ah, madam, whither does your rage transport you? Andromache, alas! is innocent. A woman plung'd in sorrow; dead to love: And when she thinks on Pyrrhus, 'tis with horror. I made no secret of my passion too him, My eyes, my tongue, my actions spoke my heart. Her. His ardour too was an excuse to mine: With other eyes he saw me then!—Cleone, Thou mayst remember, every thing conspir'd To favour him: my father's wrongs aveng'd; The Greeks triumphant; fleets of Trojan spoils; His mighty sire's, his own immortal fame; His eager love;-all, all conspir'd against me! -But I have done: I'll think no more of Pyrrhus. Orestes wants not merit; and he loves me. My gratitude, my honour, both plead for him: And if I've power over my own heart, 'tis his. Cleo. Madam, he comes Her. Alas, I did not think He was so near!-I wish I might not see him. Enter ORESTES. How am I to interpret, sir, this visit! Is it a compliment of form, or love? Orest. Madam, you know my weakness. 'Tis my fate To love unpity'd: to desire to see you; And still to swear each time shall be the last. Her. Why will you, prince, indulge this mournful tale ? It ill becomes the ambassador of Greece To talk of dying and of love. Remember Orest. My embassy Is at an end, for Pyrrhus has refus'd To give up Hector's son. Protects the boy. Some hidden power [Aside. Her. Faithless, ungrateful man! Orest. I now prepare for Greece. But e'er I go, Would hear my final doom pronounc'd by youWhat do I say I do already hear it! My doom is fixt: I read it in your eyes. Her. Will you then still despair? be still suspicious? What have I done? Wherein have I been cruel ? 'Tis true, you find me in the court of Pyrrhus : Have I ne'er wept in secret? Never wish'd Orest. Wish'd to see Orestes! Oh joy! oh ecstacy? My soul's intranc'd ? Her. You are Orestes, The same unalter'd, generous, faithful lover: Her. Believe me, prince, Were you as Pyrrhus, I should hate you! I should be blest! I should be lov'd as he is!- While he neglects your charms, and courts another. Her. And who has told you, prince, that I'm neg lected? Has Pyrrhus said—(Oh, I shall go distractedď!) Who think thus meanly of me?——— -Sir, perhaps, |