e to interrupt
The solitude of her whom thou hast wrong'd--
That scanty grace shall earn thee this reply.--
First, for our union. Trust me, 'twixt us two
The brazen footed Fury ever stalks,
Waving her hundred hands, a torch in each,
Aglow with angry fire, to keep us twain.
Now, for thyself. Thou com'st with well-cloak'd joy,
To announce the ruin of my husband's house,
To sound thy triumph in his widow's ears,
To bid her share thine unendanger'd throne.
To this thou would'st have answer. Take it: Fly!...
Cut short thy triumph, seeming at its height;
Fling off thy crown, supposed at last secure;
Forsake this ample, proud Messenian realm;
To some small, humble, and unnoted strand,
Some rock more lonely than that Lemnian isle
Where Philoctetes pined, take ship and flee!
Some solitude more inaccessible
Than the ice-bastion'd Caucasian Mount
Chosen a prison for Prometheus, climb!
There in unvoiced oblivion sink thy name,
And bid the sun, thine only visitant,
Divulge not to the far-off world of men
What once-famed wretch he there did espy hid.
There nurse a late remorse, and thank the Gods,
And thank thy bitterest foe, that, having lost
All things but life, thou lose not life as well.

_Polyphontes_

What mad bewilderment of grief is this?

_Merope_

_Thou_ art bewilder'd; the sane head is mine.

_Polyphontes_

I pity thee, and wish thee calmer mind.

_Merope_

Pity thyself; none needs compassion more.

_Polyphontes_

Yet, oh! could'st thou but act as reason bids!

_Merope_

And in my turn I wish the same for thee.

_Polyphontes_

All I could do to soothe thee has been tried.

_Merope_

For that, in this my warning, thou art paid.

_Polyphontes_

Know'st thou then aught, that thus thou sound'st the alarm?

_Merope_

Thy crime! that were enough to make one fear.

_Polyphontes_

My deed is of old date, and long atoned.

_Merope_

Atoned this very day, perhaps, it is.

_Polyphontes_

My final victory proves the Gods appeased.

_Merope_

O victor, victor, trip not at the goal!

_Polyphontes_

Hatred and passionate envy blind thine eyes.

_Merope_

O Heaven-abandon'd wretch, that envies thee!

_Polyphontes_

Thou hold'st so cheap, then, the Messenian crown?

_Merope_

I think on what t