Classic Poem

SCENE V.

Pyrrhus, PHOENIX.

P YRRHUS .

H E well, Phoenix, the love is the master?
Your eyes do they refuse encor of knowing me?

PHOENIX .

Oh, I recognize you, and it just anger,
And all the Greeks, Lord, you make yours!
This is no longer the plaything of a servile flame
This is Pyrrhus, the son and rival of Achilles,
The glory at the end back under its laws,
Trojan triumphs again.

PYRRHUS .

Say rather that today begins my victory.
Today I just enjoy my glory;
And my heart, as proud as you saw submitted
Have believed in love a thousand enemies defeated.
Considers Phoenix, disorders that I avoid,
What a crowd: pain love brings in its train,
As friends, I was going to sacrifice duties,
What dangers. . . . . had a look fait'oublier me!
All Greeks conspirators fondoient on a rebel.
Trouvois I enjoy losing myself for it.

PHOENIX .

Yes, I blessed the Lord, the happy cruelty
Makes you. . . . .

PYRRHUS .

You've seen how she treated me.
I pensois, seeing his alarmed tenderness,
That his son had to send me the unarmed;
I was going to see the success of his embraces;
I found that tears mixed with fits of passion.
The misery sours and, increasingly fierce,
Hundred times Hector noin came out of his mouth.
Vain to his son I assurois my rescue:
"This is Hector, faid she always kissing;
"That his eyes, his mouth, and already his audacity;
"It is himself, it is you, dear husband, I kiss.
And what is his thought? She waiting on this day
I left him a son to feed his love?

PHOENIX .

Without doubt this is the price you gardoit ungrateful.
But let the Lord.

PYRRHUS .

I see what flatters:
Reassures her beauty, and, despite my anger,
The proud have expected me to his knees.
I verrois mine, Phoenix, a quiet eye.
She is the widow of Hector, and I am the son of Achilles:
Too much hatred between Andromache and Pyrrhus.

PHOENIX .

So start, Lord, to me not to tell more.
Go see Hermione, and happy to please him,
Forget his feet until your anger.
Yourself to come and have this marriage:
Is this a rival he takes a rest?
He does not like that too much.

PYRRHUS .

Do you think, if I marry,
Andromache in his heart will not be jealous?

PHOENIX .

What always Andromache occupies your mind!
What does it matter, O God, his joy or his anger?
What charm, despite you, draws you to it?

PYRRHUS .

No, I have not told everything he say.
My anger in his eyes has appeared only half.
She does not know how much I am his enemy.
Back ahead. I want to defy his view,
And give my hatred free range.
Come see all its attractions, Phoenix, humiliated.
Come on.

PHOENIX .

Come on, Lord, you lay at his feet.
Go, swearing him your soul adores
A new contempt encourage yet.

PYRRHUS .

I see, you think ready to apologize
My heart runs after her and tries to appease.

PHOENIX .

Like it's pretty.

PYRRHUS .

I love: a thankless
Who hates me even more flattered that my love,
No parents, no friends, no hope on me?
I can lose his son, maybe I should.
Foreign. . . . nay, slave in Epirus,
I give him his son, my soul, my empire;
And I can not win in his perfidious heart
Rank other than his persecutor?
No, I swear: my revenge is certain.
We must once justify his hatred.
I give her son. What tears will flow!
What name his pain will she call me?
What a sight for it has today!
She dies, Phoenix, and I'll be the cause:
He is set myself a dagger in the breast.

PHOENIX .

And why do pop the purpose?
Why do you sometimes consult your weakness?

PHYRRHUS .

I hear you. But sorry remains of tenderness.
Do you fear for my anger so feeble fight?
Of a love that goes out is the last burst.
Come on. At your advice, Phoenix, I surrender.
Should he give his son? Should we see Hermione?
Yes, see it, Lord, and vows submitted
Protest him. . . . .

PYRRHUS .

Doing everything I promised.