Classic and Contemporary Poetry
AGRIPPINA; A FRAGMENT OF A TRAGEDY, by THOMAS GRAY Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: Tis well, begone! Your errand is perform'd Last Line: Whether she fear'd, or wish'd to be pursued. | ||||||||
DRAMATIS PERSONAE AGRIPPINA, the Empress-mother. NERO, the Emperor. POPPAEA, believed to be in love with OTHO. OTHO, a young man of quality, in love with POPPAEA. SENECA, the Emperor's Preceptor. ANICETUS, Captain of the Guards. DEMETRIUS, the Cynic, friend to SENECA. ACERONIA, Confidant to AGRIPPINA. SCENE.--The Emperor's villa at Baiae. ACT I. SCENE I. AGRIPPINA. ACERONIA. Agrip. 'Tis well, begone! your errand is perform'd. [Speaks as to Anicetus entering. The message needs no comment. Tell your master, His mother shall obey him. Say you saw her Yielding due reverence to his high command: Alone, unguarded and without a lictor As fits the daughter of Germanicus. Say, she retir'd to Antium; there to tend Her household cares, a woman's best employment. What if you add, how she turn'd pale and trembled: You think, you spied a tear stand in her eye, And would have dropp'd, but that her pride restrain'd it? (Go! you can paint it well) 'twill profit you, And please the stripling. Yet 'twould dash his joy To hear the spirit of Britannicus Yet walks on earth: at least there are who know Without a spell to raise, and bid it fire A thousand haughty hearts, unus'd to shake When a boy frowns, nor to be lured with smiles To taste of hollow kindness, or partake His hospitable board: they are aware Of th' unpledg'd bowl, they love not aconite. Acer. He's gone: and much I hope these walls alone And the mute air are privy to your passion. Forgive your servant's fears, who sees the danger Which fierce resentment cannot fail to raise In haughty youth, and irritated power. Agrip. And dost thou talk to me, to me of danger, Of haughty youth and irritated power, To her that gave it being, her that arm'd This painted Jove, and taught his novice hand To aim the forked bolt; while he stood trembling, Scar'd at the sound, and dazzled with its brightness? 'Tis like, thou hast forgot, when yet a stranger To adoration, to the grateful steam Of flattery's incense, and obsequious vows From voluntary realms, a puny boy, Deck'd with no other lustre, than the blood Of Agrippina's race, he liv'd unknown To fame, or fortune; haply eyed at distance Some edileship, ambitious of the power To judge of weights and measures; scarcely dar'd On expectation's strongest wing to soar High as the consulate, that empty shade Of long-forgotten liberty: when I Oped his young eye to bear the blaze of greatness; Shew'd him where empire tower'd, and bade him strike The noble quarry. Gods! then was the time To shrink from danger; fear might then have worn The mask of prudence; but a heart like mine, A heart that glows with the pure Julian fire, If bright ambition from her craggy seat Display the radiant prize, will mount undaunted, Gain the rough heights, and grasp the dangerous honour. Acer. Through various life I have pursued your steps, Have seen your soul, and wonder'd at its daring: Hence rise my fears. Nor am I yet to learn How vast the debt of gratitude which Nero To such a mother owes; the world, you gave him, Suffices not to pay the obligation. I well remember too (for I was present) When in a secret and dead hour of night, Due sacrifice perform'd with barb'rous rites Of mutter'd charms, and solemn invocation, You bade the Magi call the dreadful powers, That read futurity, to know the fate Impending o'er your son: their answer was, If the son reign, the mother perishes. Perish (you cried) the mother! reign the son! He reigns, the rest is heav'ns; who oft has bade, Ev'n when its will seem'd wrote in lines of blood, Th' unthought event disclose a whiter meaning. Think too how oft in weak and sickly minds The sweets of kindness lavishly indulg'd Rankle to gall; and benefits too great To be repaid, sit heavy on the soul, As unrequited wrongs. The willing homage Of prostrate Rome, the senate's joint applause, The riches of the earth, the train of pleasures That wait on youth, and arbitrary sway: These were your gift, and with them you bestow'd The very power he has to be ungrateful. Agrip. Thus ever grave and undisturb'd reflection Pours its cool dictates in the madding ear Of rage, and thinks to quench the fire it feels not. Say'st thou I must be cautious, must be silent, And tremble at the phantom I have raised? Carry to him thy timid counsels. He Perchance may heed 'em: tell him too, that one Who had such liberal power to give, may still With equal power resume that gift, and raise A tempest that shall shake her own creation To its original atoms--tell me! say This mighty emperor, this dreaded hero, Has he beheld the glittering front of war? Knows his soft ear the trumpet's thrilling voice, And outcry of the battle? Have his limbs Sweat under iron harness? Is he not The silken son of dalliance, nurs'd in ease And pleasure's flow'ry lap?--Rubellius lives, And Sylla has his friends, though school'd by fear To bow the supple knee, and court the times With shows of fair obeisance; and a call, Like mine, might serve belike to wake pretensions Drowsier than theirs, who boast the genuine blood Of our imperial house. [Cannot my nod] Rouse [up] eight hardy legions, wont to stem With stubborn nerves the tide, and face the rigour Of bleak Germania's snows [?] Four, not less brave, That in Armenia quell the Parthian force Under the warlike Corbulo, by me Mark'd for their leader: these, by ties confirm'd, Of old respect and gratitude, are mine. Surely the Masians too, and those of Egypt, Have not forgot my sire: the eye of Rome, And the Praetorian camp have long rever'd, With custom'd awe, the daughter, sister, wife, And mother of their Caesars. Ha! by Juno, It bears a noble semblance. On this base My great revenge shall rise; or say we sound The trump of liberty; there will not want, Even in the servile senate, ears to own Her spirit-stirring voice; Soranus there, And Cassius; Vetus too, and Thrasea, Minds of the antique cast, rough, stubborn souls, That struggle with the yoke. How shall the spark Unquenchable, that glows within their breasts, Blaze into freedom, when the idle herd (Slaves from the womb, created but to stare, And bellow in the Circus) yet will start, And shake 'em at the name of liberty, Stung by a senseless word, a vain tradition, As there were magic in it? Wrinkled beldams Teach it their grandchildren, as somewhat rare That anciently appear'd, but when, extends Beyond their chronicle--oh! 'tis a cause To arm the hand of childhood, and rebrace The slacken'd sinews of time-wearied age. Yes, we may meet, ungrateful boy, we may! Again the buried Genius of old Rome Shall from the dust uprear his reverend head, Rous'd by the shout of millions: there before His high tribunal thou and I appear. Let majesty sit on thy awful brow, And lighten from thy eye: around thee call The gilded swarm that wantons in the sunshine Of thy full favour; Seneca be there In gorgeous phrase of labour'd eloquence To dress thy plea, and Burrhus strengthen it With his plain soldier's oath, and honest seeming. Against thee, liberty and Agrippina: The world, the prize; and fair befall the victors. But soft! why do I waste the fruitless hours In threats unexecuted? Haste thee, fly These hated walls that seem to mock my shame, And cast me forth in duty to their lord. My thought aches at him; not the basilisk More deadly to the sight, than is to me The cool injurious eye of frozen kindness. I will not meet its poison. Let him feel Before he sees me. Yes, I will be gone, But not to Antium--all shall be confess'd, Whate'er the frivolous tongue of giddy fame Has spread among the crowd; things, that but whisper'd Have arch'd the hearer's brow, and riveted His eyes in fearful extasy: no matter What; so't be strange, and dreadful.--Sorceries, Assassinations, poisonings--the deeper My guilt, the blacker his ingratitude. And you, ye manes of ambition's victims, Enshrined Claudius, with the pitied ghosts Of the Syllani, doom'd to early death, (Ye unavailing horrors, fruitless crimes!) If from the realms of night my voice ye hear, In lieu of penitence, and vain remorse, Accept my vengeance. Though by me ye bled, He was the cause. My love, my fears for him, Dried the soft springs of pity in my heart, And froze them up with deadly cruelty. Yet if your injur'd shades demand my fate, If murder cries for murder, blood for blood, Let me not fall alone; but crush his pride, And sink the traitor in his mother's ruin. SCENE II. OTHO, POPPAEA. Otho. Thus far we're safe. Thanks to the rosy queen Of amorous thefts: and had her wanton son Lent us his wings, we could not have beguil'd With more elusive speed the dazzled sight Of wakeful jealousy. Be gay securely; Dispel, my fair, with smiles, the tim'rous cloud That hangs on thy clear brow. So Helen look'd, So her white neck reclin'd, so was she borne By the young Trojan to his gilded bark With fond reluctance, yielding modesty, And oft reverted eye, as if she knew not Whether she fear'd, or wish'd to be pursued. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HYMN TO ADVERSITY by THOMAS GRAY ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE by THOMAS GRAY ODE ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT, DROWNED IN A TUB by THOMAS GRAY ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE by THOMAS GRAY ODE ON THE SPRING by THOMAS GRAY ON LORD HOLLAND'S SEAT NEAR MARGATE, KENT by THOMAS GRAY ON THE DEATH OF RICHARD WEST by THOMAS GRAY THE BARD; A PINDARIC ODE by THOMAS GRAY THE PROGRESS OF POESY; A PINDARIC ODE by THOMAS GRAY THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN: A FRAGMENT by THOMAS GRAY |
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