And thou shalt have it! Yes, because thou _hast_ For twenty years forborne 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 the future hath in store. _Polyphontes_ To-day I reign; the rest I leave to Fate. _Merope_ For Fate thou wait'st not long; since, in this hour---- _Polyphontes_ What? for so far Fate hath not proved my foe-- _Merope_ Fate seals my lips, and drags to ruin thee. _Polyphontes_