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[to AEPYTUS.

Number it with the thousand rumours vain,
Figments of plots, wherewith intriguers fill
The enforced leisure of an exile’s ear.
Immersed in serious state-craft is the King,
Bent above all to pacify, to rule,
Rigidly, yet in settled calm, this realm;
Not prone, all say, averse to bloodshed now.–
So much is due to truth, even tow’rds our foe.

[to LAIAS.

Do I, then, give to usurpation grace,
And from his natural rights my son debar?
Not so! let him–and none shall be more prompt
Than I to help–raise his Messenian friends;
Let him fetch succours from Arcadia, gain
His Argive or his Spartan cousins’ aid;
Let him do this, do aught but recommence
Murder’s uncertain, secret, perilous game–
And I, when to his righteous standard down
Flies Victory wing’d, and Justice raises then
Her sword, will be the first to bid it fall.
If, haply, at this moment, such attempt
Promise not fair, let him a little while
Have faith, and trust the future and the Gods.
He may; for never did the Gods allow
Fast permanence to an ill-gotten throne.–
These are but woman’s words–yet, Laias, thou
Despise them not! for, brother, thou and I
Were not among the feuds of warrior-chiefs,
Each sovereign for his dear-bought hour, born;
But in the pastoral Arcadia rear’d,
With Cypselus our father, where we saw
The simple patriarchal state of kings,
Where sire to son transmits the unquestion’d crown,
Unhack’d, unsmirch’d, unbloodied, and have learnt
That spotless hands unshaken sceptres hold.
Having learnt this, then, use thy knowledge now.

The Chorus

Which way to lean I know not: bloody strokes
Are never free from doubt, though sometimes due.

Laias

O Merope, the common heart of man
Agrees to deem some deeds so dark in guilt,
That neither gratitude, nor tie of race,
Womanly pity, nor maternal fear,
Nor any pleader else, shall be indulged
To breathe a syllable to bar revenge.
All this, no doubt, thou to thyself hast urged–
Time presses, so that theme forbear I now;
Direct to thy dissuasions I reply.
Blood-founded thrones, thou say’st, are insecure;
Our father’s kingdom, because pure, is safe.
True; but what cause to our Arcadia gives
Its privileged immunity from blood,
But that, since first the black and fruitful Earth
In the primeval mountain-forests bore
Pelasgus, our forefather and mankind’s,
Legitimately sire to son, with us,
Bequeaths the allegiance of our shepherd-tribes,
More loyal, as our line continues more?–
How can your Heracleidan chiefs inspire
This awe which guards our earth-sprung, lineal kings?
What permanence, what stability like ours,
Whether blood flows or no, can yet invest
The broken order of your Dorian thrones,
Fix’d yesterday, and ten times changed since then?–
Two brothers, and their orphan nephews, strove
For the three conquer’d kingdoms of this isle;
The eldest, mightiest brother, Temenus, took
Argos; a juggle to Cresphontes gave
Messenia; to those helpless Boys, the lot
Worst of the three, the stony Sparta, fell.
August, indeed, was the foundation here!
What follow’d?–His most trusted kinsman slew
Cresphontes in Messenia; Temenus
Perish’d in Argos by his jealous sons;
The Spartan Brothers with their guardian strive.
Can houses thus ill-seated, thus embroil’d,
Thus little founded in their subjects’ love,
Practise the indulgent, bloodless policy
Of dynasties long-fix’d, and honour’d long?
No! Vigour and severity must chain
Popular reverence to these recent lines.
Be their first-founded order strict maintain’d–
Their murder’d rulers terribly avenged–
Ruthlessly their rebellious subjects crush’d!
Since policy bids thus, what fouler death
Than thine illustrious husband’s to avenge
Shall we select? than Polyphontes, what
More daring and more grand offender find?
Justice, my sister, long demands this blow,
And Wisdom, now thou see’st, demands it too.
To strike it, then, dissuade thy son no more;
For to live disobedient to these two,
Justice and Wisdom, is no life at all.