While I foretell thy fate: that office done,—
No more I boast th' ambitious name of friend,
But sink among thy slaves, without a murmur.
IRENE.
Did regal diadems invest my brow,
Yet should my soul, still faithful to her choice,
Esteem Aspasia's breast the noblest kingdom.
ASPASIA.
The soul, once tainted with so foul a crime,
No more shall glow with friendship's hallow'd ardour:
Those holy beings, whose superiour care
Guides erring mortals to the paths of virtue,
Affrighted at impiety, like thine,
Resign their charge to baseness and to ruin[a].
[a] In the original copy of this tragedy, given to Mr. Langton, the
above speech is as follows; and, in Mr. Boswell's judgment, is
finer than in the present editions:
"Nor think to say, here will I stop;
Here will I fix the limits of transgression,
Nor farther tempt the avenging rage of heaven.
When guilt, like this, once harbours in the breast,
Those holy beings, whose unseen direction
Guides, through the maze of life, the steps of man.
Fly the detested mansions of impiety,
And quit their charge to horrour and to ruin."
See Boswell, i. for other compared extracts from the first sketch.
—ED.
IRENE.
Upbraid me not with fancied wickedness;
I am not yet a queen, or an apostate.
But should I sin beyond the hope of mercy,
If, when religion prompts me to refuse,
The dread of instant death restrains my tongue?
ASPASIA.
Reflect, that life and death, affecting sounds!
Are only varied modes of endless being;
Reflect, that life, like ev'ry other blessing,
Derives its value from its use alone;
Not for itself, but for a nobler end,
Th' Eternal gave it, and that end is virtue.
When inconsistent with a greater good,
Reason commands to cast the less away:
Thus life, with loss of wealth, is well preserv'd,
And virtue cheaply say'd, with loss of life.
IRENE.
If built on settled thought, this constancy
Not idly flutters on a boastful tongue,
Why, when destruction rag'd around our walls,
Why fled this haughty heroine from the battle?
Why, then, did not this warlike amazon
Mix in the war, and shine among the heroes?
ASPASIA.
Heav'n, when its hand pour'd softness on our limbs,
Unfit for toil, and polish'd into weakness,
Made passive fortitude the praise of woman:
Our only arms are innocence and meekness.
Not then with raving cries I fill'd the city;
But, while Demetrius, dear, lamented name!
Pour'd storms of fire upon our fierce invaders,
Implor'd th' eternal pow'r to shield my country,
With silent sorrows, and with calm devotion.