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[MEROPE advances towards the sleeping AEPYTUS,
with the axe uplifted. At the same moment ARCAS
re-enters.

Arcas (to the Chorus)

Not with him to council did the King
Carry his messenger, but left him here.

[Sees MEROPE and AEpytus.

O Gods!…

Merope

Foolish old man, thou spoil’st my blow!

Arcas

What do I see?…

Merope

A murderer at death’s door.
Therefore no words!

Arcas

A murderer?…

Merope

And a captive
To the dear next-of-kin of him he murder’d.
Stand, and let vengeance pass!

Arcas

Hold, O Queen, hold!
Thou know’st not whom thou strik’st….

Merope

I know his crime.

Arcas

Unhappy one! thou strik’st—-

Merope

A most just blow.

Arcas

No, by the Gods, thou slay’st—-

Merope

Stand off!

Arcas

Thy son!

Merope

Ah!…

[She lets the axe drop, and falls insensible.

AEpytus (awaking)

Who are these? What shrill, ear-piercing scream
Wakes me thus kindly from the perilous sleep
Wherewith fatigue and youth had bound mine eyes,
Even in the deadly palace of my foe?–
Arcas! Thou here?

Arcas (embracing him)

O my dear master! O
My child, my charge beloved, welcome to life!
As dead we held thee, mourn’d for thee as dead.

AEpytus

In word I died, that I in deed might live.
But who are these?

Arcas

Messenian maidens, friends.

AEpytus

And, Arcas!–but I tremble!

Arcas

Boldly ask.

AEpytus

That black-robed, swooning figure?…

Arcas

Merope.

AEpytus

O mother! mother!

Merope

Who upbraids me? Ah!…
[seeing the axe.

AEpytus

Upbraids thee? no one.

Merope

Thou dost well: but take….

AEpytus

What wav’st thou off?

Merope

That murderous axe away!

AEpytus

Thy son is here.

Merope

One said so, sure, but now.

AEpytus

Here, here thou hast him!

Merope

Slaughter’d by this hand!…

AEpytus

No, by the Gods, alive and like to live!

Merope

What, thou?–I dream—-

AEpytus

May’st thou dream ever so!

Merope (advancing towards him)

My child? unhurt?…

AEpytus

Only by over joy

Merope

Art thou, then, come?…

AEpytus

Never to part again.

[They fall into one another’s arms. Then MEROPE,
holding AEPYTUS by the hand, turns to THE
CHORUS.

Merope

O kind Messenian maidens, O my friends,
Bear witness, see, mark well, on what a head
My first stroke of revenge had nearly fallen!

The Chorus

We see, dear mistress: and we say, the Gods,
As hitherto they kept him, keep him now.

Merope

O my son! str.
I have, I have thee … the years
Fly back, my child! and thou seem’st
Ne’er to have gone from these eyes,
Never been torn from this breast.

AEpytus

Mother, my heart runs over; but the time
Presses me, chides me, will not let me weep.

Merope

Fearest thou now?

AEpytus

I fear not, but I think on my design.

Merope

At the undried fount of this breast,
A babe, thou smilest again.
Thy brothers play at my feet,
Early-slain innocents! near,
Thy kind-speaking father stands.

AEpytus

Remember, to revenge his death I come!

Merope

Ah … revenge! ant.
That word! it kills me! I see
Once more roll back on my house,
Never to ebb, the accurst
All-flooding ocean of blood.

AEpytus

Mother, sometimes the justice of the Gods
Appoints the way to peace through shedding blood.

Merope

Sorrowful peace!

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 Gods 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 passest here?

AEpytus

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