Who sadly ask me, what, if not revenge,
Kept me, their mother, from their side so long?
Or how reply to thee, my child last-born,
Last-murder'd, who reproachfully wilt say:
_Mother, I well believed thou lived'st on_
_In the detested palace of thy foe,_
_With patience on thy face, death in thy heart,_
_Counting, till I grew up, the laggard years,_
_That our joint hands might then together pay_
_To our unhappy house the debt we owe._
_My death makes my debt void, and doubles thine--_
_But down thou fleest here, and leav'st our scourge_
_Triumphant, and condemnest all our race_
_To lie in gloom, for ever unappeased._
What shall I have to answer to such words?--
No, something must be dared; and, great as erst
Our dastard patience, be our daring now!
Come, ye swift Furies, who to him ye haunt
Permit no peace till your behests are done;
Come Hermes, who dost friend the unjustly kill'd,
And can'st teach simple ones to plot and feign;
Come, lightning Passion, that with foot of fire
Advancest to the middle of a deed
Almost before 'tis plann'd; come, glowing Hate;
Come, baneful Mischief, from thy murky den
Under the dripping black Tartarean cliff
Which Styx's awful waters trickle down--
Inspire this coward heart, this flagging arm!
How say ye, maidens, do ye know these prayers?
Are these words Merope's--is this voice mine?
Old man, old man, thou had'st my boy in charge,
And he is lost, and thou hast that to atone!
Fly, find me on the instant where confer
The murderer and his impious setter-on--
And ye, keep faithful silence, friends, and mark
What one weak woman can achieve alone.

_Arcas_

O mistress, by the Gods, do nothing rash!

_Merope_

Unfaithful servant, dost thou, too, desert me?

_Arcas_

I go! I go!--The King holds council--there
Will I seek tidings. Take, the while, this word:
Attempting deeds beyond thy power to do,
Thou nothing profitest thy friends, but mak'st
Our misery more, and thine own ruin sure.

[ARCAS _goes out_.

_The Chorus_

I have heard, O Queen, how a prince, _str._ 1.
Agamemnon's son, in Mycenae,
Orestes, died but in name,
Lived for the death of his foes.

_Merope_

Peace!

_The Chorus_

What is it?

_Merope_

Alas,