I ask thee not to approve thy husband's death, No, nor expect thee to admit the grounds, In reason good, which justified my deed. With women the heart argues, not the mind. But, for thy children's death, I stand assoil'd-- I saved them, meant them honour; but thy friends Rose, and with fire and sword assailed my house By night; in that blind tumult they were slain. To chance impute their deaths, then, not to me. _Merope_ Such chance as kill'd the father, kill'd the sons. _Polyphontes_ One son at least I spared, for still he lives. _Merope_ Tyrants think him they murder not they spare. _Polyphontes_ Not much a tyrant thy free speech displays me. _Merope_ Thy shame secures my freedom, not thy will. _Polyphontes_ Shame rarely checks the genuine tyrant's will. _Merope_ One merit, then, thou hast; exult in that. _Polyphontes_ Thou standest out, I see, repellest peace. _Merope_ Thy sword repell'd it long ago, not I. _Polyphontes_ Doubtless thou reckonest on the help of friends. _Merope_ Not help of men, although, perhaps, of Gods. _Polyphontes_ What Gods? the Gods of concord, civil weal? _Merope_ No! the avenging Gods, who punish crime. _Polyphontes_ Beware! from thee upbraidings I receive With pity, nay, with reverence; yet, beware! I know, I know how hard it is to think That right, that conscience pointed to a deed, Where interest seems to have enjoin'd it too. Most men are led by interest; and the few Who are not, expiate the general sin, Involved in one suspicion with the base. Dizzy the path and perilous the way Which in a deed like mine a just man treads, But it is sometimes trodden, oh! believe it. Yet how _canst_ thou believe it? therefore thou Hast all impunity. Yet, lest thy friends, Embolden'd by my lenience, think it fear, And count on like impunity, and rise, And have to thank thee for a fall, beware! To rule this kingdom I intend; with sway Clement, if may be, but to rule it--there Expect no wavering, no retreat, no change. And now I leave thee to these rites, esteem'd Pious, but impious, surely, if their scope Be to foment old memories of wrath. Pray, as thou pour'st libations on this tomb, To be deliver'd from thy foster'd hate, Unjust suspicion, and erroneous fear. [POLYPHONTES _goes into the palace._ THE CHORUS _and_ MEROPE _approach the tomb with their offerings._ _The Chorus_