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| Character | Ithocles?Penthea??? | |
|---|---|---|
| Scene type / Who are | Brothers/Sisters | |
| Type | Dramatic | |
| Year | 1630 | |
| Period | 17th Century | |
| Genre | Romance, Tragedy, Drama | |
| Description | Ithocles regrets having ruined his sister's happiness | |
| Location | ACT III, Scene 2 | |
Summary
The play is set in ancient Greece Sparta. Orgilus and Penthea are two lovers who are set to marry. Penthea's brother, Ithocles (a powerful general), forbids the marriage and forces his sister to marry Bassanes, a general. Orgilus, in order to remain in Sparta, close to his beloved Penthea, pretends to leave the city but remains in disguise. After the wedding, Bassanes turns out to be a very possessive and jealous husband, often mistreating Penthea.
In this scene Penthea confronts her brother Ithocles and accuses him to be the cause of her unhappiness. Ithocles regrets having forced his sister into an unhappy marriage.
In this scene Penthea confronts her brother Ithocles and accuses him to be the cause of her unhappiness. Ithocles regrets having forced his sister into an unhappy marriage.
Written by Administrator
| Excerpt |
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| [Ithocles sits on a chair. Penthea is beside him] Ith. Sit nearer, sister to me; nearer yet. We had one father, in one womb took life, Were brought up twins together, yet have liv'd At distance, like two strangers. I could wish That the first pillow whereon I was cradled Had prov'd to me a grave. Pen. You had been happy: Then had you never known that sin of life Which blots all following glories with a vengeance, For forfeiting the last will of the dead, From whom you had your being. Ith. Sad Penthea, Thou canst not be too cruel; my rash spleen Hath with a violent hand pluck'd from thy bosom A love-blest heart, to grind it into dust; For which mine 's now a-breaking. Pen. Not yet, Heaven, I do beseech thee! First let some wild fires Scorch, not consume it! may the heat be cherisht With desires infinite, but hopes impossible! Ith. Wrong'd soul, thy prayers are heard. Pen. Here, lo, I breathe, A miserable creature, led to ruin By an unnatural brother! Ith. I consume In languishing affections for that trespass; Yet cannot die. Pen. The handmaid to the wages Of country toil drinks the untroubled streams With leaping kids and with the bleating lambs, And so allays her thirst secure; whiles I Quench my hot sighs with fleetings of my tears. Ith. The labourer doth eat his coarsest bread, Earn'd with his sweat, and lies him down to sleep; While every bit I touch turns in digestion To gall as bitter as Penthea's curse. Put me to any penance for my tyranny, And I will call thee merciful. Pen. Pray kill me, Rid me from living with a jealous husband; Then we will join in friendship, be again Brother and sister. — Kill me, pray; nay, will ye? Ith. How does thy lord esteem thee? Pen. Such an one As only you have made me; a faith-breaker, A spotted whore: — forgive me, I am one In act, not in desires, the gods must witness. Ith. Thou dost belie thy friend. Pen. I do not, Ithocles; For she that's wife to Orgilus, and lives In known adultery with Bassanes, Is at the best a whore. Wilt kill me now? The ashes of our parents will assume Some dreadful figure, and appear to charge Thy bloody guilt, that hast betray'd their name To infamy in this reproachful match. Ith. After my victories abroad, at home I meet despair; ingratitude of nature Hath made my actions monstrous. Thou shalt stand A deity, my sister, and be worshipp'd For thy resolved martyrdom; wrong'd maids And married wives shall to thy hallowed shrine Offer their orisons, and sacrifice Pure turtles, crown'd with myrtle; if thy pity Unto a yielding brother's pressure lend One finger but to ease it. Pen. O, no more! Ith. Death waits to waft me to the Stygian banks, And free me from this chaos of my bondage; And till thou wilt forgive, I must endure. Pen. Who is the saint you serve? Ith. Friendship, or [nearness] Of birth to any but my sister, durst not Have mov'd that question; ['t is] a secret, sister, I dare not murmur to myself. Pen. Let me, By your new protestations I conjure ye, Partake her name. Ith. Her name? — 't is — 't is — I dare not. Pen. All your respects are forg'd. Ith. They are not. — Peace! Calantha is — the princess — the king's daughter — Sole heir of Sparta. — Me, most miserable Do I now love thee? For my injuries Revenge thyself with bravery, and gossip My treasons to the king's ears, do: — Calantha Knows it not yet, nor Prophilus, ray nearest. Pen. Suppose you were contracted to her, would it not Split even your very soul to see her father Snatch her out of your arms against her will, And force her on the Prince of Argos ? Ith. Trouble not The fountains of mine eyes with thine own story; I sweat in blood for't. Pen. We are reconcil'd. Alas, sir, being children, but two branches Of one stock, 't is not fit we should divide: Have comfort, you may find it. Ith. Yes, in thee; Only in thee, Penthea mine. Pen. If sorrows Have not too much dull'd my infected brain, I'll cheer invention for an active strain. Ith. Mad man! why have I wrong'd a maid so excellent! |
