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A hall in the palace.
Rodogune, Eunice.
RODOGUNE
God gave my heart and mind; they are not hers
To force into this vile adultery.
I am a Parthian princess, of a race
Who choose one lord and cleave to him for ever
Through death, through fire, through swords, in hell, in heaven.
EUNICE
The Queen's too broken. It was Phayllus said it.
He has leaped into the saddle of affairs
And is already master. What can we hope for,
Left captive in such hands? Not Syria's throne
Shall you ascend beside your chosen lord,
But as a slave the bed of Timocles.
RODOGUNE
If we remain! But who remains to die ?
In Parthian deserts, in Antiochus' tents!
There we can smile at danger.
EUNICE
Yes, oh, yes!
Deserts for us are safe, not Antioch. Come.
Antiochus and Philoctetes enter from without.
ANTIOCHUS
I sought for you, Eunice, Rodogune.
To saddle! for our bridal pomp and torches
Are other than we looked for.
Phayllus enters from within with Theras.
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– 408
PHAYLLUS
Today, no later.
The Egyptian rebel ravishes our queen!
Help! help!
ANTIOCHUS
Off, Syrian weasel!
He flings off Phayllus and goes out with
Eunice, Rodogune, Philoctetes.
PHAYLLUS
Theras, pursue them!
Theras hastens out; Phayllus
rushes to the window.
Antiochus escapes! Oppose him, sentinels.
A thousand pieces for his head! he's through.
O for a speedy arrow!
Timocles enters with Cleone.
TIMOCLES
Who escapes ?
PHAYLLUS
Thy brother, forcing with him Rodogune,
And with them fled Eunice.
TIMOCLES
Rodogune!
PHAYLLUS
By force he carried her.
TIMOCLES
O no, she went
Smiling and glad. O thou unwise Phayllus,
Why dost thou stay with me, a man that's doomed?
He will come back and mount his father's throne
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– 409
And rule the nations. Why would'st thou be slain?
All, all's for him and ever was. I have had
Light loves, light friends, but no one ever loved me
Whom I desired. So was it in our boyhood's days,
So it persists. He is preferred in heaven
And earth is his' and his humanity.
Even my own mother is a Niobe
Because he has renounced her.
PHAYLLUS
I understand,
Seeing this, the reason.
TIMOCLES
Why should he always have the things I prize ?
What is his friendship but a selfish need
Of souls to unbosom himself to, who will share,
Mirror and serve his greatness ? Yet it was he
The clear discerning Philoctetes chose;
Upon his shoulder leaned my royal uncle
Preferring him to admonish and to love;
On me he only smiled as one too light
For praise or censure. What's his kingliness
But a lust of grandiose slaughter, an ambition
Almost inhuman and a haughty mind
That lifts itself above the highest heads
As if his mortal body held a god
And all were mean to him ? Yet proudest men,
Thoas, Theramenes, Leosthenes,
Become unasked his servants. What's his love?
A despot's sensual longing for a slave,
Carnal, imperial, harsh, without respect,
The hunger of the vital self, not raised,
Refined, uplifted to the yearning heart.
Yet Rodogune, my Rodogune to him
Has offered up her moonlit purity,
Her secret need of sweetness. O she has
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– 410
Unveiled to him her sweet proud heart of love.
She would not look at me who worshipped her.
You too, Phayllus, go, Cleone, go
And serve him in his tents: the future's there,
Not on this brittle throne with which the gods
In idle sport have mocked me.
PHAYLLUS
There must be a man
Somewhere with this!
CLEONE
You shall not speak so to him.
Look round. King Timocles, and see how many
Prefer you to your brother. I am yours,
Phayllus works for you, princely Nicanor
Protects you, famed Callicrates supports.
Your mother only weeps in fear for you,
Not passion for your brother.
TIMOCLES
Rodogune
Has left me.
PHAYLLUS
We will have her back. Today
Began, today shall end this rash revolt.
Rise up. King Timocles, and be thyself,
Possess thy throne, recover Rodogune.
TIMOCLES
I cannot live unless you bring her back.
PHAYLLUS
That is already seen to. My couriers ride
Before them to Thrasyllus on the hills.
Their flight will founder there.
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– 411
TIMOCLES
O subtle, quick
And provident Phayllus! Thou, thou, deviser,
Art the sole minister for me. Cleone,
The gods have made thee wholly beautiful
That thou might'st love me.
He goes out with Cleone.
PHAYLLUS
Minister! That's something,
Not all I work for.
(to Theras who enters)
Well?
THERAS
He has escaped.
Your throw this time was bungled. Chancellor.
PHAYLLUS
I saw this rapid flight, but afterwards ?
THERAS
The band of Syrian Phliaps kept the gates.
We shouted loud, but he more quick, more high,
Like some clear-voiced Tyrrhenian trumpet cried,
"Syrians, I am your king," and they at once,
"Hail, glorious King!" and followed at his word,
Galloping, till on the Orient road they seemed
Like specks on a white ribbon.
PHAYLLUS
Let them go.
There's yet Thrasyllus. Or if he returns,
Though gods should help, though victory march his friend,
I am here to meet him.
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– 412
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