_aepytus_

And yet the only peace to us allow'd.

_Merope_

From the first-wrought vengeance is born A long succession of crimes.

Fresh blood flows, calling for blood.

Fathers, sons, grandsons, are all One death-dealing vengeful train.

_aepytus_

Mother, thy fears are idle; for I come To close an old wound, not to open new.

In all else willing to be taught, in this Instruct me not; I have my lesson clear.-- Arcas, seek out my uncle Laias, now Conferring in the city with our friends; Here bring him, ere the king come back from council.

That, how to accomplish what the G.o.ds enjoin, And the slow-ripening time at last prepares, We two with thee, my mother, may consult; For whose help dare I count on, if not thine?

_Merope_

Approves my brother Laias this intent?

_aepytus_

Yes, and alone is with me here to share.

_Merope_

And what of thine Arcadian mate, who bears Suspicion from thy grandsire of thy death, For whom, as I suppose, thou pa.s.sest here?

_aepytus_

Sworn to our plot he is; if false surmise Fix him the author of my death, I know not.

_Merope_

Proof, not surmise, shows him in commerce close----

_aepytus_

With this Messenian tyrant--that I know.

_Merope_

And entertain'st thou, child, such dangerous friends?

_aepytus_

This commerce for my best behoof he plies.

_Merope_

That thou may'st read thine enemy's counsel plain?

_aepytus_

Too dear his secret wiles have cost our house.

_Merope_

And of his unsure agent what demands he?

_aepytus_

News of my business, pastime, temper, friends.

_Merope_

His messages, then, point not to thy murder?

_aepytus_

Not yet, though such, no doubt, his final aim.

_Merope_

And what Arcadian helpers bring'st thou here?

_aepytus_

Laias alone; no errand mine for crowds.

_Merope_

On what relying, to crush such a foe?

_aepytus_

One sudden stroke, and the Messenians' love.

_Merope_

O thou long-lost, long seen in dreams alone, But now seen face to face, my only child!

Why wilt thou fly to lose as soon as found My new-won treasure, thy beloved life?

Or how expectest not to lose, who com'st With such slight means to cope with such a foe?

Thine enemy thou know'st not, nor his strength.

The stroke thou purposest is desperate, rash-- Yet grant that it succeeds--thou hast behind The stricken king a second enemy Scarce dangerous less than him, the Dorian lords.

These are not now the savage band who erst Follow'd thy father from their northern hills, Mere ruthless and uncounsell'd wolves of war, Good to obey, without a leader nought.

Their chief hath train'd them, made them like himself, Sagacious, men of iron, watchful, firm, Against surprise and sudden panic proof.

Their master fall'n, these will not flinch, but band To keep their master's power; thou wilt find Behind his corpse their hedge of serried spears.

But, to match these, thou hast the people's love?