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1 


AW 

i/  (P' 


C        A        T       O. 

A 

T      R       A.      GT     E      D      Y. 

WRITTEN       BY 

MR.       A    D    D    I    S    O    N. 

Marked  with  the  Variations  in  the 

M  A  N   A   G  E   R's     BOOK, 

; 

AT       THE 

in 


Ecce  Speftdculum  dignum,  ad  quod  refpiriat,  intentus  open 
fuo,  Deus  !  Ecce  par  Deo  dignumy  <vir  'fortis  cum  mala. 
fortuna  compofitus  !  ^Non  <video,  inquam,  quid  habeat  in 
terris  Jupiter  pulckriusy  Ji  converters  animum  welif, 
quant  ut  fpettet  Catonem,  jam  partibus  non  feme  I  fraftis, 
nihilotninus  inter  ruinas  publicas  erettum* 

Sen.  de  Divin.  Prov. 


LONDON: 

Printed    for    J.  RIVINGTON  and  SONS;    W.    STRAHAN; 

-W.   OWEN    and   SON;  T.    LONGMAN  j  R.  BALDWIN  j 

L.  DAVIS;  T.    and   W.   LOWNDES  ;    S.  BLADON;  R. 

HORSFIELDJ  T.  CADELL;  J.KOBSON;  G.  ROBINSON  j 

W.  NICOLL  j  B.  LAW,  and  W.  FLEXNEY. 


M.DCC.LXXXIV. 


Reader  Is  defired  to  obferve,  that  the  Paflages  omitted  in  the 
Reprefentation  at  the  Theatres  are  here  preferved,  and  marked  with 
inverted  Commas,  as, in  Line  15,  Page  17.] 


VERSES 

To  the  AUTHOR  of  the 
TRAGEDY    OF     CATO, 


WHILE  you  the  fierce  divided  Britons  awe, 
And  Cato  with  an  equal  virtue  draw; 
While  Envy  is  itfelf  in  wonder  lofty 
And faftions  ft  rive  who  Jhall  applaud  you  moft  ; 
Forgive  the  fond  ambition  of  a  friend, 
Who  hopes  himfelf,  not  you,  to  recommend  r 
And  joins  th*  applaufe  which  all  the  learn'd  beftow 
On  one,  to  whom  a  perfect;  work  they  owe. 
To  my  *  light  fcenes  I  once  infcrib'd  your  name, 
And  impotently  ftrove  to  borrow  fama; 
Soon  will  that  die,  which  adds  thy  name  to  mine: 
Let  me,  then,  live,  join'd  a  work  of  thine. 

RICHARD  STEELE, 

*  Tender  Huflband,  dedicated  to  Mr.  Addifca, 


THO'  Cato  mines  in  Virgil's  epic  fong, 
Prefcribing  laws  among  th'  Elyjtan  throng  ; 
Though  Lucan's  verfe,  exalted  by  his  name, 
O'er  Gods  themfelves  has  rais'd  the  hero's  fame  : 
The  Roman  ilage  did  ne'er  his  image  fee, 
Drawn  at  full  length  ;  a  talk  referv'd  for  thee. 
By  thee  we  view  the  finifti'd  figure  rife, 
And  awful  march  before  our  ravifh'd  eyes  ; 
We  hear  his  voice,  averting  virtue's  caufe  : 
His  fate  renew'd  our  deep  attention  draws, 
Excites  by  turns  our  various  hopes  and  fears, 
And  all  the  patriot  in  thy  fcene  appears. 

A  2  On 


[    4    ] 

On  TV^r's  banks  thy  thought  was  firft  infpir'd  ; 
'Twas  there,  to  fome  indulgent  grove  retir'd, 
Rome^  ancient  fortunes  rolling  in  thy  mind, 
Thy  happy  Mufe  this  manly,  work  defign'd  : 
Or  in  a  dream  thou  faw'fl  Rome's  genius  fland, 
And,  leading  Cato  in  his  facred  hand, 
Point  out  th'  immortal  fubjecl:  to  thy  lays, 
And  aik  this  labour,  to  record  his  praife. 
'Tis  done  — the  hero  lives,  and  charms  our  age  ! 
While  nobler  morals  grace  the  Britijk  ilage. 
Great  Shakefpeare's  ghoft,  the  folemn  ftrain  to  bear, 
(Methinks  1  fee  the  laurel'd  (hade  appear  !) 
Will  hover  o'er  the  fcene,  and  wond'ring  view 
His  fav'rite  Brutus  rival'd  thus  by  you. 
Such  Roman  greatnefs  in  fuch  aftion  mines, 
.Such  Roman  eloquence  a'dorn  your  lines, 
That  fure  the  Sibyls  books  this  year  foretold, 
And  in  fome  myilic  leaf  was  feen  inroll'd, 

Rome,  turn  thy  mournful  eyes  from  Africk^  Ihore, 
Nor  in  her  fands  thy  Cafe's  tomb  explore ! 
When  thrice  fix  hundred  times  the  circling  fun, 
His  annual  race  mall  through  the  zodiac  run, 
An  ifle  remote  his  monument  mail  rear, 
And  ev'ry  generous  Bri'ton  pay  a  tear.' 

J.  HUGHES, 


WHAT  do  we  fee  !  Is  Cato  then  become 
A  greater  name  in  Britain  than  in  Rome  ? 
Does  mankind  now  admire  his  virtues  more, 
Though  Lucan,  Horace,  Virgil,  wrote  before  ? 
How  will  pofterity  this  truth  explain  ? 
*'  Cato  begins  to  live  in  Anna's  reign:5' 
The  world's  great  chiefs,  in  council  or  in  arms, 
Riie  in  your  lines  with  more  exalted  charms  ; 
IlJuitrious  deeds  in  diilant  nations  wrought, 
And  virtues  by  departed  heroes  taught ; 
Raffe  in  your  foul  a  pure  immortal  flame, 
Adorn  your  life,  and  confecrate  your  fame'; 

To 


[     5     J 

To  your  renown  all  ages  you  fubdue, 
And  Ctefar  fought,  and  Cato  bled  for  you. 

All  Souls  College \  Oxon.  EDWARD  Yo  u  N  c  E . 


*     i  ^IS  nobly  done  thus  to  enrich  the  ftage, 

And  raife  the  thoughts  of  a  degen'rate  age ; 
To  mew  how  endlefs  joys  from  freedom  fpring, 
How  life  ia  bondage  is  a  worthless  thing. 
The  inborn  greatnefs  of  your  foul  we  view, 
You  tread  the  paths  frequented  by  the  few  ; 
With  fo  much  ftrength  you  write  and  fo  much  eafe, 
Virtue  and  fenfe  '   how  duril  you  hope  to  pleafe  r 
Yet  crowds  the  fentiments  of  ev'ry  line 
Impartial  clap'd,  and  own'd  the  work  divine. 
Ev'n  the  four  critics,  who  malicious  came, 
Eager  to  cenfure,  and  refolv'd  to  blame, 
Finding  the  hero  regularly  rife, 
Great  while  he  lives,  but  greater  when  he  dies, 
Sullen  approv'd,  too  obftinate  to  melt, 
And  ficken'd  with  the  pleafures  which  they  felt. 
Not  fo  the  fair  their  paffions  fecret  kept, 
Silent  they  heard,  but  as  they  heard,  they  wept ; 
When  glorioufly  the  blooming  Marcus  dy'd, 
And  Cato  told  the  Gods,  Pm  fathfied. 

See  !  how  your  lays  the  Eritijh  youth  inflame  » 
They  long  to  fhoot  and  ripen  into  fame, 
Applauding  theatres  difiurb  their  reit, 
And  unborn  Caios  heave  in  ev'ry  brcail ; 
Their  nightly  dreams,  their  daily  thoughts  repeat, 
And  pulfes  high  with  fancy'd  glories  beat. 
So,  griev'd  to  view  the  Marathonian  fpoils, 
The  young  Themijtocks  vow'd  equal  toils  ; 
Did  then  his  fchemes  of  future  honours  craw 
From  the  long  triumphs  which  with  tears  he  faw. 

How  (hall  1  your  unrival'd  worth  proclaim, 
Loft  in  the  fpreading  circle  of  your  fame  ! 
We  faw  you  the  great  William's  praife  rehearfe, 
And  paint  Britannia's  joys  in  Romqn  verfe. 

A  3  We 


[    6    ] 

We  heard  at  diftance,  foft  enchanting  flrains, 

From  blooming  mountains,  and  Italian  plains. 

Virgil  began  in  Englijb  drefs  to  mine, 

His  voice,  his  looks,  his  grandeur  ftill  divine: 

From  him  too  foon  unfriendly  you  withdrew, 

But  brought  the,  tuneful  Ovid  to  our  view. 

Then  the  delightful  theme  of  ev'ry  tongue, 

Til'  immortal  Marltfrcugb  was  your  darling  fong. 

From  clime  to  clime  the  mighty  vi<5tor  flew, 

From  clime  to  clime  as  fwiftly  you  purfue. 

Still  with  the  hero's  glovv'd  the  poet's  flame, 

Still  with  his  conqueits  you  enlarg'd  your  fame. 

With  boundlefs  raptures  here  the  mufe  could  Avell, 

And  on  your  Rofamond  for  ever  dwell : 

There  opening  iweets,  and  ev'ry  fragn.-.t  flow'r 

Luxuriant  fmile,  a  never  fading  bovv'r  ! 

Next,  human  follies  kindly  to  expofe, 

You  change  from  number?,  but  not  fink  in  profe  ; 

Whether  in  viiionary  fcenes  you  play, 

Refine  our  taltes,  or  laugh  our  crimes  away. 

Now,  by  the  bufkin'd  mufe  you  mine  confeft, 

The  patriot  kindles  in  the  poet's  breaft. 

Such  energy  of  fenfe  might  pleafure  raife, 

Tho'  unembellifh'd  with  the  charms  of  phrafe  : 

Such  charms  of  phrafe  would  with  fuccefs  be  crown'd, 

Tho'  nonfenfe  flow'd  in  the  melodious  found. 

The  chafleft  virgin  needs  no  blufhes  fear, 

The  learn'd  themfelves,  not  uninftru&ed,  hear. 

The  libertine,  in  pleafures  us'd  to  roll, 

And  idly  {port  with  an  immortal  foul, 

Here  comes,  and  by  the  virtuous  heathen  taught, 

Turns  pale,  and  trembles  at  the  dreadful  thought. 

Whene'er  you  traverfe  vail  Numidias  plains, 
What  fluggifh  Briton  in  his  iile  remains  ? 
When  Juba  feeks  the  tiger  with  delight, 
We  beat  the  thicket,  and  provoke  the  fight; 
By  the  defcription  warm'd,  we  fondly  fweat, 
And  in  the  chilling  call  wind  pant  with  heat. 
What  eyes  behold  not,  how  the  fir  earn  refines,  ^ 

'Till  ky  degrees  the  f oat  ing  mirror  ffiines  ? 

While 


[    7    ] 

While  hurricanes  in  circling  eddies  playt 
Tear  up  thefands^  and '  ftveep  whole  plains  away, 
We  fhrinkr  with  horror,  and  confefs  our  fear, 
And  all  the  fudden  founding  ruin  hear. 
When  purple  robes,  diftain'd  with  blood,  deceive, 
And  make  poor  Marcia  beautifully  grieve  ; 
When  me  her  fecret  thoughts  no  more  conceals, 
Forgets  the  woman,  and  her  flame  reveals; 
Well  may  the  prince  exult  with  noble  pride, 
Not  for  his  Libyan  crown,  but  Roman  bride. 

But  T  in  vain  on  fingle  features  dwell, 
While  all  the  parts  of  the  fair  piece  excel. 
So  rich  the  ftore,  fo  dubious  is  the  feaft, 
We  know  not  which  to  pafs,  or  which  to  tafte. 
The  mining  incidents  fo  juftly  fall, 
We  may  the  whole  new  fcenes  of  tranfport  call. 
Thus  jewellers  confound  our  wand'ring  eyes, 
And  with  variety  of  gems  furprize  : 
Here/apktres,  here  the  Sardian  ftone  is  feen, 
The  topaz  yellow,  and  the  jafper  green. 
The  coftly  brilliant  there,  confus'dly  bright, 
From  num'rous  furfaces  darts  trembling 
The  different  colours  mingle  in  a  blaze, 
Silent  we  Hand,  unable  where  to  praife, 
In  pleafure  fweetly  loft  ten  thoufand  ways. 


I 


TO O  long  hath  love  engrofs'd  Britannia's  ftage, 
And  fung  to  foftnefs  all  our  tragic  rage  : 
By  that  alone  did  empires  fall  or  rife, 
And  fate  depended  on  a  fair  one's  eyes : 
The  fweet  infection,  mix'd  with  dang'rous  art, 
Debas'd  our  manhood,  while  it  footh'd  the  heart. 
You  fcorn  to  raife  a  grief  yourfelf  mult  blame, 
Nor  from  our  weaknefs  fteal  a  vulgar  fame  ; 
A  patriot's  fall  muft  juftly  melt  the  mind, 
And  tears  flow  nobly,  Ihed  for  all  mankind. 

A  How 


[•  8   3- 

How  do  our  fouls  with  gen'rous  pleafure  glow  I 
Our  hearts  exulting,  while  our  eyes  o'erflow, 
When  thy  firm  hero  flands  beneath  the  weight  . 
Of  all  his  fufPrings,  venerably  great ; 
Rome's  poor  remains  ftill  melt'ring  by  his  fide,    - 
With  confcious  virtue,  and  becoming  pride. 

The  aged  oak  thus  rears  his  head  in  air, 
His  fap  exhaufted,  and  his  branches  bare  ; 
'Midft  ilorms  and  earthquakes  he  maintains  his  ftate, 
Fixt  deep  in  earth,  and  faften'd  by  his  weight : 
His  naked  boughs,  ftill  lend  the  mepherds  aid, 
A&d  his  old  trunk  projects  an  aweful  (hade. 

Amidft  the  joys  triumphant  peace  bellows, 
Our  patriots  fadden  at  his  glorious  woes, 
Awhile  they  let^he  world's  great  bus'nefs  wait, 
Anxious  for  Rome,  and  £gh  for  Cato's  fate. 
Here  taught  how  ancient  heroes  rofe  to  fame, 
Our  Britons  crowd,  and  catch  the  Roman  flame  t 
Where  ftates  and  fenates  well  might  lend  an  ear, 
And  kings  and  priefts  without  a  blufli  appear. 

France  boafts  no  more,  but,  fearful  to  engage, 
Now  firil  pays  homage  to  her  rival's  ftage ; 
Haftes  to  learn  thee,  and  learning  mall  fubmit, 
Alike  to  Britifo  arms,  m&-BritiJh  wit: 
No  more  ihe'll  wonder,  (fprc'd  to  do  us  right,). 
Who  think  like  Romans,  could  like  Romans  fight. 

Thy  Oxford  fmiles  this  glorious  work  to  fee, 
And  fondly  triumphs  in  a  fon  like  thee. 
The  fenates,  confuls,  and  the  Gods  of  Rome, 
Like  old  acquaintance  at  their  native  home, 
la  thee  we  find  :  each  deed,  each  word  expreft, 
And  ev'ry  thought  that  fwell'd  a  Roman  breaft. 
We  trace  each  hint  that  could  thy  foul  infpire, 
With  Virgil's  judgment,  and  with  Lucan's  fire: 
We  know  thy  worth,  and  give  us  leave  to  boaft, 
We  moil  admire,  becaufe  \ve  know  thee  moft. 


THO.  TICKELL. 
Qxon* 

SIR, 


I    9    I 
SIR, 

HEN  yourgen'rous  labour  firil  I  view'd, 


w 


And  Cato's  hands  in  his  own  blood  embru'd, 
That  fcene  of  death  fo  terrible  appears, 
My  foul  could  only  thank  you  with  her  tears. 
Yet  with  fuch  wondrous  art  your  fkilful  hand 
Does  all  the  paffions  of  the  foul  command, 
That  ev'n  my  grief  to  praife  and  wonder  turn'd, 
And  envy'd  the  great  death  which  firft  I  mourn'd. 

What  pen,  but  yours,  could  draw  the  doubtful  itrife 
Of  honour  Struggling  with  the  love  of  life  ? 
Defcribe  the  patriot,  obilinately  good, 
As  hov'ring  o'er  eternity  he  Itood  : 
The  wide,  th'  unbounded  ocean  lay  before 
His  piercing  fight,  and  Heav'n  the  diihnt  more, 
Secure  of  endlefs  blifs,  with  fearlefs  eyes, 
He  grafps  the  dagger,  and  its  point  denes, 
And  rufhes  out  of  life  to  match  the  glorious  prize. 

How  would  oldN  Rome  rejoice  to  hear  you  tell 
How  juft  her  patriot  liv'd,  how  great  he  fell  I 
Recount  his  wondrous  probity  and  truth, 
And  form  new  J#b&  in  the  Britifo  youth. 
Their  gen'rous  fowls,  when  he  refigns  his  breath, 
Are  pleas'd  with  ruin,  and  in  love  with  death  ; 
And  when  her  conq'rihg  fword  Britannia  draws, 
Refolve  to  perilh,  or  defend  her  caufe. 
Now  firft  on  dlbion's  theatre  we  fee 
A  perfect  image  of  what  man  mould  be ; 
The  glorious  chara6ter  is  now  expreft,    , 
Of  virtue,  dwelling  in  a  human  breaft, 
Drawn  at  full  length  by  your  immortal  lines, 
In  Cato's  foul,  as  in  her  Heav'n,  fhe  {nines. 

All  Souls  College,  DIGBY  COTES. 

Oxon, 


A  5  Left 


Left  with  the  Printer  by  an  unknown  Hand. 

NOW  we  may  fpeak,  fmce  Cato  fpeaks  no  more  ; 
'Tis  praife  at  length,  'twas  rapture  all  before  ; 
When  crouded  theatres  with  lo's  rung, 
Sent  to  the  fkies,  from  whence  thy  genius  fprung; 
Ev'n  civil  rage  a-while  in  thine  was  loft, 
And  factions  ftrove  but  to  applaud  thee  moft  ; 
Nor  could  enjoyment  pall  our  longing  tafte, 
But  ev'ry  night  was  dearer  than  the  laft. 

As  when  old  Rome,  in  a  malignant  hour 
Depriv'd  of  fome  returning  conqueror, 
Her  debt  of  triumph  to  the  dead  difcharg'd, 
For  fame,  for  treafure,  and  her  bounds  enlarged  ; 
And  while  his  godlike  figure  mov'd  along, 
Alternate  paflions  fir'd  th'  adoring  throng ; 
Tears  flow'd  from  ev'ry  eye,  and  Ihouts  from  ev'ry 

tongue : 

So  in  thy  pompous  lines  has  Cato  far'd» 
Grac'd  with  an  ample,  though  a  late  reward :        '; 
A  greater  victor  we  in  him  revere  ; 
A  nobler  triumph  crowns  his  image  here. 

With  wonder,  as  with  pleafure,  we  furvey 
A  theme  fo  fcanty  wrought  into  a  play  ; 
So  vaft  a  pile  on  fuch  foundations  plac'd  : 
Like  Amman's  temple  rear'd  on  Libya's  wafte : 
Behold  its  glowing  paint !  its  eafy  weight ! 
Its  nice  proportions !  and  ftupendous  height ! 
How  chafte  the  conduct !  how  divine  the  rage  ! 
A  Roman  worthy  on  a  Grecian  itage  ! 

But  where  mall  Gators  praife  begin  or  end  ; 
Inclin'd  to  melt,  and  yet  untaught  to  bend, 
The  firmeft  patriot,  and  the  gentleft  friend  ? 
How  great  his  genius  when  the  trailer  crowd 
Ready  to  ftrike  the  blow  their  fury  vow'd  ; 
Quell'd  by  his  look,  and  lift'ning  to  his  lore, 
Learn,  like  his  paflions,  to  rebel  no  more  I 


When, 


[  -II  ] 

When,  lavifh  of  his  boiling  blood,  to  prove 
The  cure  of  ilavifh  life,  and  flighted  love, 
Brave  Marcus  new  in  early  death  appears, 
While  Cato  counts  his  wounds,  and  not  his  years; 
Who  checking  private  grief,  the  public  mourns, 
Commands  the  pity  he~fo  greatly  fcorns. 
But  when  he  ilrikes  (to  crown  his  gen'rous  part) 
That  honeft,  ftaunch,  impracticable  heart ;' 
No  tears,  no  fobs  purfue  his  panting  breath  5 
The  dying  Roman  (names  the  pomp  of  death. 
O  facred  freedom,  which  the  powers  beflx/w 
To  feafon  bleflings,  and  to  foften  woe  ; 
Plant  of  our  growth,  and  aim  of  all  our  cares, 
The  toil  of  ages,  and  the  crown  of  wars  : 
If,  taught  by  thee,  the  poet's  wit  has  flow'd 
In  flrains  as  precious  as  his  hero's  blood  ; 
Pieferve  thofe  ftrains,  an  everlafting  charm 
To  keep  that  blood,  and  thy  remembrance  warm; 
Be  this  thy  guardian  image  ftill  fecure, 
In  vain  mail  force  invade,  or  fraud  allure ; 
Our  great  Palladium  mall  perform  its  part, 
Fix'd  and  enfhrin'd  in  ev'ry  Britijh  heart. 


THE  mind  to  virtue  is  by  verfe  fubdu'd  ; 
And  the  true  poet  is  a  public  good. 
This  Britain  feels,  while,  by  your  lines  infpir'd, 
Her  free-born  fons  to  glorious  thoughts  are  fir'd. 
In  Rome  had  you  efpous'd  the  vanquim'd  caufe, 
Inflam'd  her  fenate>  and  upheld  her  laws; 
Your  manly  fcenes  had  liberty  reilor'd, 
And  giv'n  the  juft  fuccefs  to  Cato's  fword  ; 
O'er  Cafar's  arm-s  your  genius  had  prevail'd  ; 
And  the  mufe  triumph'd  where  the  patriot  fail'd. 

AMB»  PHILLIPS, 


A  6  P  R 


PROLOGUE, 


wake  the  foul  by  tender  flrokes  of  art, 
To  raife  the  genius,  and  to  mend  the  hearty 
5T0  make  mankind  in  confcious  virtue  bold, 
Live  o'er  each  fcene,  and  be  what  they  behold  : 
For  this  the  tragic  mufe  firft  trod  the  ftage, 
Commanding  tears  to  ftream  through  every  age  ; 
^Tyrants  no  more  their  favage  nature  kept, 
And  foes  to  virtue  wondered  how  they  wept. 
Our  author  Jhuns  by  vulgar  fprings  to  move 
*I'he  hero's  glory  or  the  virgin's  love  ; 
In  pitying  love  vje  but  our  weaknefs  foow9 
And  wild  ambition  well  deferves  its  woe. 
fiere  tears  Jhall  flow  from  a  more  generous  caufe, 
Such  tears  as  patriots  Jhed  for  dying  laws: 
He  bids  our  breajis  with  ancient  ardour  rife, 
And  calls  forth  Roman  drops  from  BrhjOv'grfT, 
Virtue  confefs'd  in  human  Jhape  he  draws, 
What  Plato  thought  ,  and  God-like  Cato  was  : 
No  common  objeft  to  your  feght  difplays, 
But  what  with  pleafure  Heaven  itfelf  furveys  ; 
A  brave  man  ftruggling  in  the  Jlorms  of  fate, 
And  greatly  falling  with  a  falling  ftate  ! 
While  Cato  gives  his  little  fenate  laws, 
What  bofom  beats  not  in  bis  country's  caufe  ? 
Who  fees  him  aft,  but  envies  every  deed  ? 
Who  hears  him  groan,  and  does  not  wijb  to  bleed? 
Ev'n  when  proud  Caefar,  'midft  triumphal  cars, 
*The  fpoih  of  nations,  and  the  pomp  of  wars, 
Ignobly  vajn,  and  impotently  great? 
Shew  d  Rome  her  CatoV  Jigure  drawn  in  flate^ 
As  her  dead  father's  reverend  image  paft, 
Vbe  pomp  was  darken  d,  and  the  day  o'ercaft, 
¥he  triumphed  ceased—  tears  guflid  from  every  eyt, 
*Tbe  world's  great  victor  pafs'd  unheeded  by  ; 
tier  laft  good  man  dejetted  Rome  adored, 
And  honoured  Ca&far'.r  lefs  than  CatoV  fword. 

Britons  attend  :  Be  worth  like  this  approv'49 
And  Jhew  you  have  the  virtue  to  be  mov'd. 
With  homft  /corn  the  firjl  fam'd  Cato  viewed 

Itarning  arts  from  Greece,  <wbv*f*  fubdl?  d. 

Our 


PROLOGUE.  13 

Our  fcenes  precarioujly  fubfift  too  long 
On  French  tranjlation  and  Italian  fong, 
Dare  to  haiie  fenfe  yourfel--ves  ;  ajjert  the  ft  age, 
Be  juftly  warmed  with  your  oivtr  native  raget 
Such  Plays  alone  Jhould  pleafe  a  Britifh  ear, 
As  Cato'j  felf  had  not  difdairid,  to  hear. 


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A    C    T.I. 

Enter  Portias  and  Marcus. 

Par.  *  |  AHE  dawn  is  over-caft,  the  morning  low'rs* 

And  heavily  in  clouds  brings  on  the  day, 
The  great,  th'  important  day,  big  with  the  fate 

Of  Cato  and  of  Rome our  father's  death 

Would  fill  up  all  the  guilt  of  civil  war,  ^ 

And  clofe  the  fcene  of  blood.     Already  Ccefar 
Has  ravag'd  more  than  half  the  globe,  and  fees 
Mankind  grown  thin  by  his  dellruftive  fword : 
Should  he  go  farther,  numbers  would  be  wanting 
To  form  new  battles,  and  fupport  his  crimes. 
Ye  gods,  what  havock  does  ambition  make 
Among  your  works ! 

Marc.  Thy  Heady  temper,  Portius, 
Can  look  on  guilt,  rebellion,  fraud  and  Ctefar, 
In  the  calm  lights  of  mild  philofophy  ; 
I'm  tortur'd,  ev'n  to  madnefs,  when  I  think 
On  the  proud  viftor:  ev'ry  time  he's  nam'd 
Pbarfaiia  rifes  to  my  view  ! — I  fee 
Th'  infulting  tyrant  prancing  o'er  the  field, 
Strew'd  with  Rome's  citizens,  and  drench'd  in  flaughter, 
His  horfe's  hoofs  wet  with  patrician  blood ! 
O  Portius  !  is  there  not  fome  chofen  curfe, 
Some  hidden  thunder  in  the  flores  of  Heav'n, 
Red  with  uncommon  wrath,  to  blaft  the  man 
Who  owes  his  greatnefs  to  his  country's  ruin  ? 

For.  Believe  me,  Mar.cus,  'tis  an  impious  greatnefs, 
And  mix'd  with  too  much  horror  to  be  envy'd  j 
How  does  the  luftre  of  our  father's  actions, 
Through  the  dark  cloud  of  ills  that  cover  him, 

Break 


16.  C        A        T        O. 

Breakout,  and  burn  with  more  triumphant  brightnefsf 

His  fuff'rings  fhine,  and  fpread  a  glory  round  him  j 

Greatly  unfortunate,  he  fights  the  caufe 

Of  honour,  virtue,  liberty,  and  Rome. 

His  fword  ne'er  fell,  but  on  the  guilty  head  ; 

Oppreffion,  tyranny,  and  pow'r  ufurp'd, 

Draw  all  the  vengeance  of  his  arm  upon  'em. 

Marc.  Who  knows  not  this  ?    But  .what  can  Cato  do 
Againfl  a  world,  a  bafe,  degen'rate  world, 
That  courts  the  yoke,  and  bows  the  neck  to  Cttfar? 
Pent  up  in  Utica,  he  vainly  forms 
A  poor  epitome  of  Roman  greatnefs,  , 
And,  cover'd  with  Numidian  guards,  directs 
A  feeble  army,  and  an  empty  fenate, 
Remnants  of  mighty  battles  fought  in  vain. 
By  Heav'n,  fuch  virtues,  join'd  with  fuch  fuccefs, 
Diftracls  my  very  foul  :  our  father's  fortune 
Would  almoft  tempt  us  to  renounce  his  precepts. 

Per.  Remember  what  our  father  oft  has  told  us : 
The  ways  of  Heav'n  are  dark  and  intricate, 
Puzzled  in  mazes,  and  perplex'd  with  errors, 
Our  undemanding  traces  them  in  vain, 
Loll  and  bewilder  d  in  the,fruitlefs  fearch  ; 
Nor  fees  with  how  much  art  the  windings  run, 
Nor  where  the  regular  confufion  ends. 

Marc.  Thefe  are  fuggeftions  of  a  mind  at  eafe  : 
O  Port/us,  didft  thou  tafle  but  half  the  griefs 
That  .wring  my  foul,  thou  couldfl  not  talk  thus  coldly. 
Pailion  unpicied,  and  fuccefslefs  love, 
Plant  daggers  in  my  heart,  and  aggravate 
My  other  griefs.     Were  but  my  Lucia  kind— 

For.  Thou  feeft  not  that  thy  brother  is  thy  rival ; 
But  I  muft  hide  it,  for  I  know  thy  temper. 
Now,  Marcus,  now  thy  virtue's  on  the  proof: 
Put  forth  thy  utmofl  ftrength,  work  ev'ry  nerve, 
And  call  up  all  thy  father  in  thy  foul : 
To  quell  the  tyrant,  love,  and  guard  thy  heart  . 
On  this  weak  fide,  where  moft  our  nature  fails, 
Would  be  a  conqueft  worthy  Cafe's  fon. 

Marc.  Portius,  the  eounfel  which  I  cannot  take, 
Inftead  of  healing,  but  upbraids  my  wcaknefs. 

Fid 


C        A        TO.  ij. 

Bid  me  for  honour  plunge  into  a  war 
Of  thickeft  foes,  and  rum  on  certain  death, 
Then  fhalt  thou  fee  that  Marcus  is  not  flow 
To  follow  glory,  and  cqnfefs  his  father. 
Love  is  not  to  be  reafon'd  down,  or  loft 
in  high  ambition,  or  a  thirft  of  greatnefs ; 
*Tis  fecond  life,  it  grows  into  the  foul, 
Warms  ev'ry  vein,  and  beats  in  ev'ry  pulfe, 
I  feel  it  here :  my  refolution  melts — 

For.  Behold  young  Juba,  the  Numidian  prince, 
With  how  much  care  he  forms  himfelf  to  glory, 
And  breaks  the  fiercenefs  of  his  native  temper, 
To  copy  out  our  father's  bright  example. 
He  loves  our  filter  Marcia,  greatly  loves  her  ; 
'  His  eyes,  his  looks,  his  aftions,  all  betray  it ;' 
But  flill  the  fmotherd  fondnefs  burns  within  him  ; 
1  When  moll  it  fwells,  and  labours  for  a  vent,' 
The  fenfe  of  honour,  and  defire  of  fame 
Drive  the  big  paffion  back  into  his  heart. 
What !  (hall  an  African,  lhall  Juba?*  heir, 
Reproach  great  Cato's  fon,  and  (hew  the  world 
A  virtue  wanting  in  a  Roman  foul ! 

Marc.  Portzus,  no  more  !  your  words  leave  flings  be- 

hind  'em. 

Whene'er  did  Jubay  or  did  Portius,  (hew 
A  virtue  that  has  caft  me  at  a  diilance, 
And  thrown  me  out  in  the  purfuits  of  honour? 

Por.  Marcus,  I  know  thy  gen'rous  temper  well  ; 
Fling  but  th'  appearance  of  difhonour  on  it, 
It  (traight  takes  fire>  and  mounts  into  a  blaze. 

Marc.  A  brother's  fufPrings  claim  a  brother's  pity. 

Por.  Heav'n  knows  I  pity  thee.     Behold  my  eyes 
Ev'n  whilil  I  fpeak— do  they  not  fwim  in  tears? 
Were  but  my  heart  as  naked  to  thy  view, 
Marcus  would  fee  it  bleed  in  his  behalf. 

Marc.  Why  then  doil  treat  me  with  rebukes,  inflead 
Of  kind  condoling  cares,  and  friendly  forrow  ? 

Por.  O  Marcus  !  did  I  know  the  way  to  eafe 
Thy  troubled  heart,  and  mitigate  thy  pains, 
Marcus,  believe  me,  I  could  die  to  do  it. 

Marc.  Thou  bed  of  brothers,  and  thou  belief  friends! 

Pardon 


!&  C        A        T        O. 

Pardon  a  weak,  diftemper'd  foul,  that  fwells 
With  fudden  guils,  and  fmks  as  Toon  in  calms, 
The  fport  of  paffions.     But  Sempronius  comes  : 
He  muft  not  find  this  foftnefs  hanging  on  me.    [Ex.  Mar. 
Enter  Sempronius. 

Sem.  Confpiracies  no  fooner  mould  be  form'd 
Than  executed.     What  means  Portius  here  ? 
I  like  not  that  cold  youth.     I  muft  diflemble, 
And  fpeak  a  language  foreign  to  my- heart.  [Afide* 

Good-morrow,  Portius  ;  let  us  once  embrace, 
Once  more  embrace,  while  yet  we  both  are  free. 
'To-morrow,  mould  we  thus  exprefs  our  friend fhip, 
Each  might  receive  a  flave  into  his. arms. 
This  fun,  perhaps,  this  morning  fun's  the  laft, 
That  e'er  mall  rife  on  Roman  liberty. 

Par.  My  father  has  this  morning  call'd  together 
To  this  poor  hall,  his  little  Roman  fenate, 
(The  leavings  of  Pharfalia]   to  confult 
If  yet  he  can  oppofe  the  mighty  torrent 
That  bears  down  Rome,  and  all  her  gods  before  it, 
Or  muft  at  length  give  up  the  world  to  Ctefar. 

$em.  Not  all  the  pomp  and  majefty  of  Rome 
Can  raife  her  fenate  more  than  Cato's  prefence. 
His  virtues  render  our  affembly  awful, 
They  ftrike  with  fomething  lilce  religious  fear, 
And  make  ev'n  Ctffar  tremble  at  the  head 
Of  armiss  flufh'd  with  conqueft.     O  my  Portius* 
Could  I  but  call  that  wond'rous  man  my  father, 
Would  but  thy  filter  Marcia  be  propitious 
To  thy  friend's  vows,  I  might  be  blefs'd  indeed  ! 

For.  Alas,  Sempronius  !  wouldft  thou  talk  of  love 
To  Marcia,  whilft  her  father's  life's  in  danger ; 
Thou  might'ft  as  well  court  the  pale,  trembling  veftaly 
WThen  fhe  beholds  the  holy  flame  expiring. 

Sem,  The  more  I  fee  the  wonders  of  thy  race, 
The  more  I'm  charm'd.      Thou  muft  take  heed,  my 
The  world  has  all  its  eyes  on  Cato's  fon  ;-  [Portius  ; 

Thy  father's  merit  fets  thee  up  to  view, 
And  ihews  thee  in  the  faireft  point  of  light, 
To  make  thy  virtues  or  thy  faults  confpicuous. 

Par* 


C        A        T        O.  19 

For.  Well  doft  thou  feem  to  check  my  lingering  here 
On  this  important  hour — I'll  ftraight  away, 
And  while  the  fathers  of  the  fenate  meet 
In  clofe  debate,  to  weigh  th'  events  of  war, 
I'll  animate  the  foldiers  drooping  courage 
With  love  of  freedom,  and  contempt"of  life  ; 
I'll  thunder  in  their  ears  their  country's  caufe, 
And  try  to  roufe  up  all  that's  Roman  in  'em. 
'Tis  not  in  mortals  to  command  fuccefs, 
But  we'll  do  more,  Sempronius,  we'll  deferve  it.       [Exit, 

Sem.  Curfe  on  the  {tripling !  how  he  apes  his  fire  ? 
Ambitiouily  fententious — But  I  wonder 
Old  Syphax  comes  not :  his  Numidian  genius 
Is  well  difpos'd  to  mifchief,  were  he  prompt 
And  eager  on  it;  but  he  mud:  be  fpurr'd, 
And  ev'ry  moment  quicken'd  to  the  courfe. 
—Cato  has  us'd  me  iW  :  he  has  refus'd 
His  daughter  Marc'ia  to  my  ardent  vows. 
Befides,  his  baffled  arms,  and  ruin'd  caufe, 
Are  bars  to  my  ambition.     Gofer's  favour, 
That  fhow'rs  down  greatnefs  on  his  friends,  will  raife  me 
To  Rome's  firft  honours.     If  I  give  up  Cato, 
I  claim,  in  my  reward,  his  captive  daughter. 

But  Syphax  comes 

Enter  Syphax. 
Sj.   Semprcnius,  all  is  ready  ; 

I've  founded  my  Numidians,  man  by  man, 

And  find  them  ripe  for  a  revolt :  they  all 

Complain  aloud  of  Cafe's  difcipline, 

And  wait  but  the  command  to  change  their  mafler. 
Semp.  Believe  me,  Syphax,  there's  no  time  to  walte  $ 

Ev'n  whilft  we  fpeak  our  conqueror  comes  on, 

And  gathers  ground  upon  us  ev'ry  moment. 

Alas !  thou  know'ft  not  C&far's  aclive  foul, 

With  what  a  dreadful  courfe  he  rufhes  on 

From  war  to  war.     In  vain  has  nature  form'd 

Mountains  and  oceans  to  oppofe  his  paffage ; 

He  bounds  o'er  all;  victorious  in  his  march, 

The  Alps  and  Pyreneans  fink  before  him  ; 

Through  winds  and  waves,  and  ftorms  he  works  his  way, 

Impatient  for  the  battle ;  one  day  more 

Will 


20  C        A        T        O. 

Will  fet  the  vi&or  thund'ring  at  our  gates. 
But,  tell  me,  haft  thou  yet  drawn  o'er  young  Juba  ! 
That  ftill  would  recommend  thee  more  to  C&far, 
And  challenge  better  terms. 

Sy.  Alas,  he's  loft  ! 

He's  loft,  Sempronius ;  all  his  thoughts  are  full 
Of  Cafo's  virtues — But  I'll  try  once  more, 
(For  ev'ry  inftant  I  expect  him  here) 
If  yet  I  can  fubdue  thofe  ftubborn  principles 
Of  faith  and  honour,  and  I  know  not  what, 
That  have  corrupted  his  Numidian  temper, 
And  ftruck  th'  infection  into  all  his  foul. 

Sem.  Be  fare  to  prefs  upon  him  ev'ry  motive. 
Jufa's  fur  render,  fmce  his  father's  death, 
Would  give  up  Africk  into  C<efar's  hands, 
And  make  him  lord  of  half  the  burning  zone. 

Sj.  But  is  it  true,  Sempronius,  that  your  fenate 
Is  call'd  together?    Gods !  thou  muft  be  cautious; 
Cato  has  piercing  eyes,  and  will  difcern 
Our  frauds,  unlefs  they're  covered  thick  with  art. 

Sem.  Let  me  alone,  good  Sypbax,  I'll  conceal 
,  My  thoughts  in  paffion,   ('tis  the  fureft  way  ;) 
I'll  bellow  out  for  Rome,  and  for  my  country, 
And  mouthe  at  C<efary   'till  I  make  the  fenate. 
Your  cold  hypocrify's  a  ftale  device, 
•  A  worn-out  trick :  would'ft  thou  be  theught  in  earneft, 
Cloath  thy  feign'd  zeal  in  rage,  in  fire,  in  fury  ! 
Sy.  In  troth,  thou'rt  able  to  inftrucl  grey  hairs, 
And  teach  the  wily  African  deceit. 

Sem.   Once  more  be  fure  to  try  thy  fkill  on 
Mean  while  I'll  haften  to  my  Roman  foldiers, 
Inflame  the  mutiny,  and  underhand 
Blow  up  their  difcontents,  'till  they  break  out 
Unlook'd  for,  and  difcharge  therafelves  on  Cato. 
Remember,  Sypbax,  we  muft  work  in  hafte : 
Oh,  think  what  anxious  moments  pafs  between 
The  birth  of  plots,  and  their  laft  fatal  periods. 
Oh,  'tis  a  dreadful  interval  of  time, 
Fill'd  up  with  horror  all,  and  big  with  death  I 
Deftruclion  hangs  on  ev'ry  word  we  fpeak, 
On  ev'ry  thought,  'till  the  concluding  ftroke 

Deter* 


C        A        T        O.  2i 

Determines  all,  and  clofes  our  defign.  [Exit. 

Sy.  I'll  try  if  yet  I  can  reduce  to  reafon 
This  headftrong  youth,  and  make  him  fpurn  at  Cafo. 
The  time  is  fhort ;  Cafar  comes  ruihing  on  us— 
But  hold !  young  Juba  fees  me,  and  approaches. 

\Enter  Juba. 

.  Jub.  Syphax,  I  joy  to  meet  thee  thus  alone. 
I  have  obferv'd  of  late  thy  looks  are  fall'n, 
O'ercafl  with  gloomy  cares  and  difcontent. 
Then  tell  me,  Sypbax,  I  conjure  thee,  tell  me, 
What  are  the  thoughts  that  knit  thy  brow  in  frowns, 
And  turn  thine  eye  thus  coldly  on  thy  prince  ? 

•Sy.  JTis  not  my  talent  to  conceal  my  thoughts, 
Or  carry  fmiles  and  funmine  in  my  face, 
When  difcontent  fits  heavy  at  my  heart ; 
I  have  not  yet  fo  much  the  Roman  in  me. 

Jub.  Why  doft  thou  caft  out  fuch  ungen'rous  terms 
Againft  the  lords  and  fov'reigns  of  the  world  ? 
Doft  thou  not  fee  mankind  fall  down  before  them, 
And  own  ths  force  of  their  fuperior  virtue  ? 
Is  there  a  nation  in  the  wilds  of  Afric, 
Amidli  our  barren  rocks,  and  burning  fands, 
That  does  not  tremble  at  the  Roman  name  ? 

Sy.  Gods !  where's  the  worth  that  fets  thefe  people  up 
Above  her  own  Numidia's  tawny  fons  ? 
Do  they  with  tougher  iinews  bend  the  bow  ? 
Or  flies  the  jav'lin  fwifter  to  its  mark, 
Launch'd  from  the  vigour  of  a  Roman  arm  ? 
Who  like  our  active  African  inftructs 
The  fiery  fteed,  and  trains  him  to  his  hand  ? 
Or  guides  in  troops  th'  embattled  elephant, 
Laden  with  war  r     Thefe,  ttosfe  are  arts,  my  prince, 
In  which  your  Zama  does  not  ftoop  to  Rome. 

Jub.  Thefe  all  are  virtues  of  a  meaner  rank; 
Perfections  that  are  plac'd  in  bones  and  nerves. 
A  Roman  foul  is  bent  on  higher  views  : 
To  civilize  the  rude,  unpolifh'd  world, 
Ancl'  lay  it  under  the  reftraint  of  laws ; 
To  make  man  mild,  and  fociable  to  man  : 
To  cultivate  the  wild,  licentious  favage, 
With  wifdom-,  difciplirte,  and  lib'ral  arts ; 

The 


22  C        A        T        O. 

The  embellilhments  of  life  :  virtues  like  thefe 
Make  human  nature  mine,  reform  the  foul, 
And  break  our  fierce  barbarians  into  men. 

£y.  Patience,    kind  Heav'ns — excufe  an  old  man's 

warmth. 

What  are  thefe  wond'rous  civilizing  arts, 
This  Roman  poliih,  and  this  fmooth  behaviour, 
That  render  man  thus  traftable  and  tame  ? 
Are  they  not  only  to  difguife  our  pafllons, 
To  fet  our  looks  at  variance  with  -our  thoughts, 
To  check  the  ftarts  and  fallies  of  the  foul, 
And  break  off  all  its  commerce  with  the  tongue : 
In  Ihort  to  change  us  into  other  creatures 
Than  what  our  nature  and  the  gods  defign'd  us  ? 

Jub.  To  ftrike  thee  dumb  :  turn  up  thy  eyes  to  Cato ; 
There  may'ft  thou  fee  to  what  a  god-like  height 
The  Roman  virtues  lift  up  mortal  man, 
While  good,  andjuft,  and  anxious  for  his  friends, 
He's  ftill  feverely  bent  againft  himfelf; 
'  Renouncing  fleep,  and  reft,  and  food,  and  eafe, 
'  He  ftrives  with  thiril  and  hunger,  toil  and  heat,' 
And  when  his  fortune  fets  before  him  all 
The  pomps  and  pleafures  that  his  foul  can  wifh, 
His  rigid  virtue  will  accept  of  none. 

Sy.  Believe  me,  prince,  there's  not  an  African 
That  travel  fes  our  vaft  Numidian  defarts 
In  quefl  of  prey,  and  lives  upon  his  bow, 
But  better  pra&ifes  thefe  boafted  virtues. 
Coarfe  are  his  meals,  the  fortune  of  the  chace, 
Amidit  the  running  ftream  he  flakes  his  thirft, 
Toils  all  the  day,  and  at  th'  approach  of  night, 
On  the  firft  friendly  bank  he  throws  him  down, 
Or  refts  his  head  upon  a  rock  'till  morn; 
Then  rifes  frefh,  purfues  his  wonted  game, 
And  if  the  following  day  he  chance  tcwfind 
A  new  repaft,  or  an  un tailed  fpring, 
Bleffes  his  flars,  and  thinks  it  luxury. 

Jub.  Thy  prejudices,  Sjphax,  won't  difcern 
What  virtues  grow  from  ignorance  and  choice, 
Nor  how  the  hero  differs  from  the  brute. 
'  But  grant  that  others  could  with  equal  glory 

'  Look 


C        A        T        O.  23 

c  Look  down  on  pleafures,  and  the  baits  of  fenfe,* 
Where  mall  we  find  the  man  that  bears  affliction, 
Great  and  majeftic  in  his  griefs,  like  Calo  ? 
*  Heav'ns !  with  what  ftrength,  what  fteadinefs  of  mind, 
'  He  triumphs  in  the  midft  of  all  his  fuff'rings !' 
How  does  he  rife  againft  a  load  of  woes, 
And  thank  the  Gods  that  throw  the  weight  upon  him  ! 
Sy.  'Tis  pride,  rank  pride,  and  haughtinefs  of  foul ; 
I  think  the  Romans  call  it  Stoicifm. 
Had  not  your  royal  father  thought  fo  highly 
Of  Roman  virtue,  and  of  Cato's  caufe, 
He  had  not  fall'n  by  a  flave's  hand  inglorious : 
Nor  would  his  ilaughter'd  army  now  have  lain 
On  Afric  fands,  disfigur'd  with  their  wounds, 
To  gorge  the  wolves  and  vultures  of  Numidia. 

Jub.  Why  dolt  thou  call  my  forrows  up  afrefh  ? 
My  father's  name  brings  tears  into  my  eyes. 

Sy.    Oh,  that  you'd  profit  by  your  father's  ills  ! 
Jub.    What  wouldft  thou  have  me  do  ? 
Sy.    Abandon  Cafo. 

Jub.    Syphaxy  I  mould  be  more  than  twice  an  orphan 
By  fuch  a  lofs. 

Sy.    Aye,  there's  the  tie  that  binds  you  ! 
You  long  to  call  him  father.     Marcia's  charms 
Work  in  your  heart  unfeen,  and  plead  for  Cato. 
No  wonder  you  are  deaf  to  all  I  fay. 

Jub.  Syphaxj  your  zeal  becomes  importunate; 
I've  hitherto  permitted  it  to  rave, 
And  talk  at  large ;  but  learn  to  keep  it  in, 
Left  it  mould  take  more  freedom  than  I'll  give  it. 
Sy.    Sir,  your  great  father  never  us'd  me  thus. 
Alas,  iie's  dead  !  but  can  you  e'er  forget 
The  tender  forrows,  and  the  pangs  of  nature, 
'  The  fond  embraces,  and  repeated  bl  filings, '- 
Which  you  drew  from  him  in  your  laft  farewel  ? 
Still  muit  I  cherifti  the  dear,  fad  remembrance, 
At  once  to  torture  and  to  pleafe  my  foul. 
The  good  old  king  at  parting  wrung  my  hand, 
(His  eyes  brim-full  of  tears)  then  fighing,  cry'd, 

Pr'ythee  be  careful  of  my  fon! His  grief 

"  S well'd  up  fo  high,  he  could  not  utter  more. 


24  C        A        T        O. 

Jub.  Alas !  thy  {lory  melts  away  my  foul ; 
That  befl  of  fathers  !  how  fhall  I  difcharge 
The  gratitude  and  duty  which  T  owe  him  ? 

Sy.    By  laying  up  his  counfels  in  your  heart. 

Jub.    His  counfels  bade  me  yield  to  thy  directions  ; 
Then,  Sypbax,  chide  me  in  fevereft  terms, 
Vent  all  thy  paffion,  and  I'll  ftand  its  fhock, 
Calm  and  unruffled  as  a  fummer  fea, 
When  not  a  breath  of  wind  flies  o'er  its  furface. 

Sy.    Alas !  my  prince,  I'd  guide  you  to  your  fafety. 

Jub.    I  do  believe  thou  vvouldft  ;  but  tell  me  how  ? 

Sy.  Fly  from  the  fate  that  follows  Cafor's  foes. 

Jub.    My  father  fcorn'd  to  do  it. 

Sy.    And  therefore  dy'd. 

Jub<    Better  to  die  ten  thoufand  thoufand  deaths, 
Than  wound  my  honour. 

Sy.    Rather  fay  your  love. 

Jub.    Syphax,  I've  promis'd  to  preferve  my  temper. 
Why  wilt  thou  urge  me  to  confefs  a  flame 
I  long  have  flifled,  and  would  fain  conceal  ? 

Sy.  ^Believe  me,  prince,  tho'  hard  to  conquer  love, 
'Tis  eafy  to  divert  and  break  its  force. 
Abfence  might  cure  it,  or  a  fecond  miftrefs 
Light  up  another  flame,  and  put  out  this. 
The  glowing  dames  of  Zama's  royal  court 
Have  faces  fluih'd  with  more  exalted  charms  ; 
The  fun  that  rolls  his  chariot  o'er  their  heads, 
Works  up  more  fire  and  colour  in  their  cheeks  ; 
Were  you  with  thefe,  my  prince,  you'd  foon  forget 
The  pale,  unripen'd  beauties  of  the  North. 

Jub.    'Tis  not  a  fet  of  features,  or  complexion, 
The  tincture  of  a  fkin,  that  I  admire: 
Beauty  foon  grov*s  familiar  to  the  lover, 
Fades  in  his  eye,  and  palls  upon  the  fenfe. 
The  virtuous  Mar  da  tow'rs  above  her.fex  : 
True,  fhe  is  fair,  (Oh,  how  divinely  fair  !) 
But  flill  the  lovely  maid  improves  her  charms 
With  inward  greatnefs,  unaffected  wifdom, 
And  fanctity  of  manners  ;  Cato's  foul 
Shines  out  in  every  thing  fhe  acts  or  fpeaks, 
While  winning  mildnefs  and  attractive  fmiles 

B,  Dwell 


C        A        T        O.  25 

Dwell  in  her  looks,  and  with  becoming  grace 
Soften  the  rigour  of  her  father's  virtue. 

Sy.  How  does  your  tongue  grow  wanton  in  her  praife ! 
But  on  my  knees  I  beg  you  would  confider 

Jub.  Hah!    'Syfbax,    is't  not  ihe? — She  moves  this 

way : 

And  with  her  Lucia,  Lucius's  fair  daughter. 
My  heart  beats  thick — I  pr'ythee,  Sjpbax,  leave  me. 

Sy.  Ten  thoufand  curfes  faften  on  'em  both ! 
Now  will  this  woman,  with  a  fmgle  glance, 
Undo  -what  I've  been  laboring  all  this  while. 

[Exit  Syphax-. 
Enter  Marcia  and  Lucia. 

'Jub.  Hail,  charming  maid !    how  does  thy  beauty 

fmooth 

The  face  of  war,  and  make  ev'n  horror  fmile  ! 
At  fight  of  thee  my  heart  makes  off  its  forrovvs  ; 
I  feel  a  dawn  of  joy  break  in  upon  me, 
And  for  a  while  forget  th'  approach  of  Ctefar, 

Mar.  I  fliould  be  griev'd,  young  prince,  to  think  my 

prefcnce 

Unbent  your  thoughts,  and  flacken'd  'em  to  arms, 
While  warm  with  flaughter,  our  victorious  foe 
Threatens  aloud,  and  calls  you  to  the  fiekl. 

Jub.  O  Marcia,  let  me  hope  thy  kind  concerns 
And  gentle  wifhes  follow  me  to  battle  ! 
The  thought  will  give  new  vigour  to  my  arm, 
Add  itrength  and  weight  to  my  defcending  fword, 
And  drive  it  in  a  tempeil  on  the  foe. 

Mar.  My  pray'rs  and  wifhes  always  mail  attend 
The  friends  of  Rome,  the  glorious  c.aufe  of  virtue, 
And  men  approv'd  of  by  the  gods  and  Cato. 

Jub.  That  Juba  may  deferve  thy  pious  cares, 
I'll  gaze  for  ever  on  thy  god-like  father, 
Tranfplanting,  one  by  one.,  into  my  life, 
His  bright  perfections,  'till  I  mine  like  him. 

Mar.  My  father  never  at  a  time  like  this, 
Would  lay  out  his  great  foul  in  words,  and  waHe 
Such  precious  moments. 

Jub.  Thy  reproofs  are  jufl, 
Thou  virtuous  maid ;  I'll  haflen  to  my  troops, 

B  And 


26  C        A        T        O. 

And  fire  their  languid  fouls  with  Cato's  virtue. 
If  e'er  I  lead  them  to  the  field,  when  all 
The  war  fhall  ftand  rang'd  in  its  juft  array, 
And  dreadful  pomp  ;  then  will  I  think  on  thee, 

0  lovely  maid  !  then  will  I  think  on  thee. 
And  in  the  (hock  of  charging  hofts,  remember 
What  glorious  deeds  mould  grace  the  man,  who  hopes 
For  Mar  da's  love.  [Exit  Juba, 

Luc.  Marcia,  you're  too  fevere  : 

How  cou'd  you  chide  the  young  good-natur'd  prince, 
And  drive  him  from  you  with  fo  ftern  an  air. 
A  prince  that  loves  and  doats  on  you  to  death  ? 

Mar.  'Tis  therefore,  Lucia,  that  I  chide  him  from  me. 
His  air^  his  voice,  his  looks,  and  honeft  foul, 
Speak  all  fo  movingly  in  his  behalf, 

1  dare  not  truft  myfelf  to  hear  him  talk. 

Luc.  Why  will  you  fight  againft  fo  fvveet  a  paflion, 
And  fteel  your  heart  to  fuch  a  world  of  charms  ? 

Mar.  How,  Lucia  !   wouldfl  thou  have  me  link  away 
In  pleafmg  dreams,  and  lofe  myfelf  in  love, 
When  ev'ry  moment  Cafo's  life's  at  ftake  ? 
C#far  comes  arm'd  with  te-rror  and  revenge, 
And  aims  his  thunder  at  my  father's  head. 
Should  not  the  fad  occafion  fvvallovv  up 
My  other  cares,  '  and  draw  them  all  into  it  ?' 

Luc.  Why  have  not  I  this  conftancy  of  mind, 
Who  have  fo  many  griefs  to  try  its  force  ! 
Sure,  nature  form'd  me  of  her  fofteft  mould, 
Enfeebled  all  my  foul  with  tender  pallions, 
And  funk  me  ev'n  below  my  own  weak  fex : 
Pity  and  love,  by  turns,  opprefs  my  heart. 

Mar.  Lucia,  difburthen  all  thy  cares  on  me, 
And  let  me  mare  thy  moft  retir'd  diftrefs. 
Tell  me  who  raifes  up  this  conflict  in  thee? 

Luc.  I  need  not  blufh  to  name  them,  when  I  tell  thee 
They're  Marcia's  brothers,  and  the  fons  of  Cato. 

Mar.  They  both  behold  thee  with  their  fitter's  eyes, 
And  often  have  reveal'd  their  paflion  to  me. 
•*  But  tell  me,  whofe  addrefs  thou  fav'refl  moft? 
'  I  long  to  know,  and  yet  I  dread  to  hear  it. 

'  Luc.  Which  is  it  Marcia  wilhes  for  ? 

5  *  Mar. 


G        A        T        O.  27 

*  Mar.  For  neither 

*  And  yet  for  bath — The  youths  have  equal  mare 

*  In  Mania's  wifhes,  and  divide  their  lifter:* 
But  tell  me  which  of  them  is  Lucia's  choice? 

'  Luc.  M'arcia,  they  both  are  high  in  my  efteem, 
'  But  in  my  love — Why  wilt  thou  make  me  name  him  ! 
c  Thou  know'ft  it  is  a  blind  and  foolifh  paffiorv, 
e  Pleas'd  and  difgufted  with  it  knows  not  what— 

'  Mar.  O  Lucia,  I'm  perplex'd,  Oh,   tell  me  which 

*  I  mult  hereafter  call  my  happy  brother?' 

Luc.  Suppofe   'twere   Portius,    could  you  blame  my 

choice  ^ 

O  Porttus,  thou  haft  ftol'n  away  my  foul ! 
'  With  what  a  graceful  tehdernefs  he  loves ! 
(  And  breathes  the  fofteft,  the  fmcereft  vows  ! 
'  Complacency,  and  truth,  and  manly  fweetnefs, 

*  Dwell  ever  on  his  tongue,  and  fmooth  his  thoughts.* 
Marcus  is  c.ver-warm,  his  fond  complaints 

Have  fo  much  earneftnefs  and  paflion  in  them, 
I  hear  him  with  a  fecret  kind  of  horror, 
And  tremble  at  his  vehemence  of  temper. 

Mar.  Alas,  poor  youth  !   '  how  canlt  thou  throw  him 
from  thee  ? 

*  Lucia,  thou  know'ft  not  half  the  love  he  bears  thee? 
'  Whene'er  he  fpeaks  ef  thee,  his  heart's  in  flames, 

'  He  fends  out  all  his  foul  in  ev'ry  word, 

'  And  thinks,  and  talks,  and  looks  like  one  tranfported. 

*  Unhappy  youth!'     How  will  thy  coldnefs  raife 
7'empefts  and  ilorms  in  his  afflicted  bofom  ! 

I  dread  the  confequence. 

Luc.  You  feem  to  plead 
Againft  your  brother  For  tins. 

Mar.  Heav'n  forbid  ! 
Had  Par  tins  been  the  unfuccefsful  lover, 
The  fame  companion  would  have  falPn  on  him. 

Luc .  Was  ever  virgin  love  diftreft  like  mine  ! 
Portius  himfelf  oft  falls  in  tears  before  me, 
As  if  he  mourn'd  his  rival's  ill  fuccefs, 
Then  bids  me  hide  the  motions  of  my  heart, 
Nor  mew  which  way  it  turns.     So  much  he  fears ! 
The  fad  effects  that  it  will  have  on  Marcus. 

B  2  <  M*r. 


^8  C         A        T         O. 

'  Mar.  He  knows  too  well  how  eafily  he's  fir'd, 
'  And  wou'd  not  plunge  his  brother  in  defpair, 
•'  But  waits  for  happier  times,  and  kinder  moments. 

•'  Luc.  Alas,  too  late  I  find  myfelf  involv'd 
'*  In  endlefs  griefs,  and  labyrinths  of  woe, 

*  Born  to  afflict  my  Mania's  family, 

••*  And  fow  diffention  in  the  hearts  of  brothers. 

*  Tormenting  thought !  it  cuts  into  my  foul.' 
Mar.  Let  us  not,  Lucia ,  aggravate  our  forrows., 

But  to  the  gods  fubmit  th'  event  of  things. 

-Our  lives,  difcolour'd  with  our  prefent  woes, 

May  ftill  grow  bright,  and/mile  with  happier  houra. 

So  the  pure  limpid  ftream,  when  foul  with  ftains 
Of  rufhing  torrents,  and  defcending  rains, 
Works  itfelf  clear,,  and  as  it  .runs,  refines, 
'Till,  by  degrees^  the  floating  mirror  mines, 
Reflects  each  flow'r  that  on  the  border  grows,, 
And  a  new  heav'n  in  its  fair  bofom  ftjowa.  \JZxeunt. 


C     T         II. 

"•"••»£*•>' 

SCENE,  the  Senate.     Lucius,  Sejnpronius,  and 
Senators. 


R 


Let  us  remember  we  a,re£ato's  friends, 

And  aft  like  men  who  claim  that  glorious  title. 

Luc.  Cato  will  focn  be  here,"  and  open  to  us 
Th'  occafion  of  our  meeting.     Hark!  he  comes  ! 

[  A  found  of  i  rumpets. 
May  all  the  guardian  gods  of  Rome  direct  him  ! 

JLiiter  Caio. 

Cato.  Fathers,  we  once  again  are  met  in  council ; 
Cse/ar's  approach  has  fiammon'd  us  together, 
And  Rome  attends  her  fate  from  our  refolves. 
How  mall  we  treat  this  bold  afpiring  man  ? 
Succefs  ftill  follows  him,  and  backs  his  crimes  ; 
Pbarfalia  gave  him  Rome,  Egypt  has  iince 
Receiv'4  his  yoke,  and  the  whole  Nile  is  CV/ir's. 

Why 


C        A        T        O,  2 

Why  fhould  I  mention  Juba's  overthrow, 

And  Scipio's  death  ?     Numidia^  burning  fands 

Still  fmoke  with  blood.     'Tis  time  we  mould  decree" 

What  courfe  to  take.     Our  foe  advances  on  us, 

And  envies  us  even  Libia's  fultry  defarts. 

Fathers,  pronounce  your  thoughts  :   are  they  iliil  fix'd- 

To  hold  it  out  and  fight  it  to  the  laft  ? 

Or  are  your  hearts  fubdued  at  length,  and  wrought 

By  time,  and  ill  fuccefs,  to  a  fubmiffion  : 

Setnp  ro  nius,  fpe  a  k . 

Sem.  My  voice  is  ftill  for  war. 
Gods  !  can  a  Roman  fenate  long  debate' 
Which  of  the  two  to  choofe,  flav'ry  or  death  ! 
No,  let  us  rife  at  once,  gird  on  our  fwords, 
And  at  the  head  of  our  remaining  troops, 
Attack  the  foe,  break  through  the  thick  array 
Of  his  throng'd  legions,  and  charge  home  upon  him. 
Perhaps  fome  arm,  more  lucky  than  the  reft, 
May  reach  his  heart,  and  free  the  world  from  bondage.. 
Rife,  fathers,  rife  !  'tis  Rome  demands  your  help  ; 
Rife,  and  revenge  her  flaughter'd  citizens, 
Or  mare  their  fate !  the  corps  of  half  her  fenate 
Manure  the  fields  of  Fbejfaly*  while  we 
Sit  here  deliberating  in  cold  debates, 
If  we  mould  facrifice  our  lives  to^honour, 
Or  wear  them  out  in  fervitude  and  chains. 
Roufe  up,  for  fhame!  our  brothers  of  Pharfa.Ha 
Point  at  their  wounds,  and  cry  aloud — To  battle  1 
Great  Pompey's  made  complains  that  we  are  flow ; 
And  Scipio's  ghoft  walks  unreveng'd  amongft  us. 

Cato.  Let  not  a  torrent  of  impetuous  zeal 
Tranfport  thee  thus  beyond  the  bounds  of  reafon: 
True  fortitude  is  'feen  in  great  exploits 
That  juitice  warrants,  and  that  wifdom  guides, 
All  elfe  is  tow'ring  fri*hzy  and  diih-action. 
Are  not  the  lives  of  thofe  who  draw  the  fword 
In  Rome's  defence  intrulled  to  our  care  ? 
Should  we  thus  lead  them  to  a  field  of  flaughter, 
Mighi  not  th'  impartial  world  with  reafon  fay, 
We  lavifh'd  at  our  deaths  the  blood  of  thoufands> 
To  grace  our  fall,  and  make  our  ruin  glorious  ? 
Lucius,  we  next  would  know  what's  your  opinion. 

B  3,  L*c 


30  CAT        O. 

Luc .  My  thoughts,  I  muft  confefs,  are  turn'd  on  peace. 
Already  have  our  quarrels  fill'd  the  world 
With  widows  and  with  orphans  :  Scytbia  mourns 
Our  guilty  wars,  and  earth's  remoteft  regions 
Lie  half  unpeopled  by  the  feuds  of  Rome  : 
'Tis  time  to  fheathe  the  fword,  and  fpare  mankind, 
It  is  not  C<ffar,  but  the  gods,  my  fathers, 
The  gods  declare  againfl  us,  and  repel 
Our  vain  attempts.     '  To  urge  the  foe  to  battle,, 
'   (Prompted  by  blind  revenge  and  wild  defpair) 
*  Were  to  refufe  th'  awards  of  Providence, 
'  And  not  to  reft  in  Heav'n's  determination.' 
Already  have  we  Ihewn  our  love  to  Rorne> 
Now  let  us  mew  fubmiffion  to  the  gods. 
We  took  up  arms,  not  to  revenge  ourfelves, 
But  free  the  commonwealth ;  when  this  end  fails, 
Arms  have  no  farther  ufe.     Our  country's  caufe, 
That  drew  our  fwords,  now  wrefts  'em  from  our  hands* 
And  bids  us  not  delight  in  Reman  blood 
Unprofitably  med.     What  men  could  do, 
Is  done  already  :  Heav'n  and  earth  will  witnefs, 
If  Rome  muft  fall,  that  we  are  innocent. 

'  Sem.  This  fmooth  difccurfe,  and  mild  behaviour,  oft 
'  Conceal  a  traitor— -fomething  whifpers  me 
'  All  is  not  right — Cato>  beware  of  Lucius. 

[Afide  to  Cato.* 

Caio.  Let  us  appear  nor  rafh  nor  diffident ; 
Immoderate  valour  fwells  into  a  fault ; 
And  fear  admitted  into  public  councils 
Betrays  like  treafon.     Let  us  mun  Jem  both. 
Fathers,  I  cannot  fee  that  our  affairs 
Are  grown  thus  defp'rate;  we  have  bulwarks -round  us  j. 
Within  our  walls  are  troops  inur'd  to  toil 
In  Jtfrtc's  heat,  and  feafon'd  to  the  fun  ; 
Numidia's  fpacious  kingdom  lies  behind  us, 
Ready  to  rife  at  its  young  prince's  call. 
While  there  is  hope,  do  not  diftruft  the  gods  : 
But  wait  at  leaft  'till  Gofer's  near  approach 
Force  us  to  yield.     'Twill  never  be  too  late 
To  fue  for  chains,  and  own  a  conqueror. 

Why 


C        A        T        O.  '31 

Why  mould  Rome  fall  a  moment  ere  her  time  ?' 

No,  let  us  draw  her  term  of  freedom  out 

In  its  full  length,   and  fpin  it  to  the  laft, 

So  fhall  we  gain  {till  one  day's  liberty  : 

And  let  me  perifh,  but  in  Cafo's  judgment, 

A  day,  an  hour  of  virtuous  liberty, 

Is  worth  a  whole  eternity  in  bondage. 

Enter  Marcus. 

Mar.  Fathers,  this  moment,  as  I  watch' d  the  gate, 
Lodg'd  on  my  poft,  a  herald  is  arriv'd 
From  Ctefar's  camp,  and  with  him  comes  old  Decius, 
The  Roman  knight ;  he  carries  in  his  looks 
Impatience,  and  demands  to  fpeak  with  Cato. 

Cato.  By  your  permiffion,  fathers bid  him  enter. 

[Exit  Marcus. 

Decins  was  once  my  friend,  but  other  profpefts 
Have  loos'd  thofe  ties,  and  bound  him  fait  to  Cetfar. 
His  meffage  may  determine  our  refolves. 

Enter  Decius. 

Dec.  Ctffar  fends  health  to  Cato—  _$ 

Cato.  Cou'd  he  fend  it 

To  Cato's  flaughter'd  friends  it  would  be  welcome. 
Are  not  your  orders  to  addrefs  the  fenate? 

Dec.  My  bufmefs  is  with  Cato ;  Cafar  fees 
The  ftraits  to  which  you're  driven  ;  and,  as  he  knows 
Cato's  high  worth,  is  anxious  for  your  life. 

Cato.  My  life  is  grafted  on  the  fate  of  Rome. 
Wou?d  he  fave  Cato,  bid  him  fpare  his  country. 
Tell  your  dictator  this ;  and  tell  him,  Cato 
Difdains  a  life,  which  he  has  power  to  offer. 

Dec.  Rome  and  her  fenators  fubmit  to  C#far ; 
Her  gen'rals  and  her  confuls  are  no  more, 
Who  check'd  his  conquefts,  and  deny'd  his  triumphs. 
Why  will  not  Cato  be  this  C<e/ar's  friend  ? 

Cato.  Thofe  very  reafons  thou  haft  urg'd  forbid  it. 
Dec.  Catot  I've  orders  to  expostulate, 
And  reafon  with  you,  as  from  friend  to  friend  : 
Think  on  the  ftorm  that  gathers  o'er  your  head, 
And  threatens  ev'ry  hour  to  burft  upon  it; 
Still  may  you  ftand  high  in  your  country's  honours, 
Do  but  comply,  and  make  your  peace  with  Ccefart 
B  4 


32  CATC. 

Rome  will  rejoice,  and  caft  its  eyes  on  Gate, 
As  on  the  fecond  of  mankind. 

Cato.  No  more : 
I  mufl  not  think  of  life  on  fuch  conditions. 

Dec.  Ceefar  is  well  acquainted  with  your  virtues, 
And  therefore  fets  this  value  on  your  life. 
Let  him  but  know  the  price  of  Cato's  friendfhip, 
And  name  ydur  terms. 

Cato.  Bid  him  difband  his  legions, 
Reftore  the  commonwealth  to  liberty, 
Submit  his  actions  to  the  public  cenfure, 
And  (land  the  judgment  of  a  Roman  fenate. 
Bid  him  do  this,  and  Cato  is  his  friend. 

Dec.  Cato,  the  world  talks  loudly  of  your  wifdom— - 

Cato.  Nay,  more,  tho*  Cato's  voice  was  ne'er  employ 'd 
To  clear  the  guilty,  and  to  varnifh  crimes, 
Myfelf  \vill  mo'int  the  roitrum  in  his  favour, 
And  ftrlve  to  gain  his  pardon  from  the  peopk. 

Dec.  A  ftyle  like  this,  becomes  a  conqueror. 

Cato.  Decius,  a  ftyle,  like  this,  becomes  a  Romnn* 

'Bee.  What  is  a  Roman,  that  is  Cafar's  foe  ? 

Cato.  Greater  than  Ceefar:  he's  a  friend  to  virtue. 

Dec.  Confider,  Cato,  you're  in  Utica, 
And  at  the  head  cf  your  own  little  fenate; 
.  You  don't  now  thunder  in  the  Capitol, 
With  all  the  mouths  of  Rome  to  fecond  you. 

Cato.  Let  him  confider  that,  who  drives  us  hither  ; 
'Ti$  C&far's  fword  has  made  Rome's  fenate  little, 
And  thinn'd  its  ranks.     Alas  !  thy  dazzled  eye 
Beholds  this  man  in  a  falfe  glaring  Ught, 
Which  conqueft  and  fuccefs  have  thrown  upon  him  ; 
Did'ft  thou  but  view  him  right,  thou'dft  fee  him  blade 
With  murder,  treafon,  facrilege,  and  crimes, 
That  ftrike  my  foul  with  horror  but  to  name  'em. 
I  know  thou  lock'it  on  me,  as  on  a  wretch 
Befet  with  ills,  and  cover' d  with  misfortunes ; 
But,  by  the  gods  I  fwear,  millions  of  worlds 
Shou'd  never  buy  me  to  be  like  that  C<efar. 

Dec.  Does  Cato  fend  this  anfvver  back  to  Cat/ar, 
For  all  his  gen'rous  cares  and  jyoffer'd  friendfhip  ? 

Cato.  His  cares  for  me  are  infolent  and  vain  : 

Preftimp- 


C        A        T        O.  55 

Prefumptuous  man  !  the  gods  take  care  of  Cato. 
Wou'd  Cfpfar  Ihew  the  greatnefs  of  his  foul, 
Bid  him  employ  his  care  for  thefe  my  friends, 
And  make  good  ufe  of  his  ill-gotten  pow'r, 
By  Ihelt'ring  men  much  better  than  himfelf. 

Dec.  Your  high  unconquer'd  heart  makes  you  forget 
You  are  a  man,  you  rum  on  your.deftrucTion. 
.But  I  have  done.     When  I  relate  hereafter 
The  tale  of  this  unhappy  embafl'y, 
All  Rome  will  be  in  tears.  [Exit  Decius. 

Sent.  CatOy  we  thank  thee. 
The  mighty  genius  of  immortal  Rcme 
Speaks  in  thy  voice;  thy  foul  breathes  liberty. 
Csefar  will  (brink  to  hear  the  words  thou  utter'ft* 
And  fhudder  in  the  midft  of  all  his  conquefts. 

Luc.  The  fenate  owns  its  gratitude  to  Cato, 
V/ho  with  fo  great  a  foul  confutes  its  fafety, 
And  guards  our  lives  while  he  neglects  his  own. 

Sem.  Semfrcnizis  gives  no  thanks  on  this  account- 
Lucius  feems  fond  of  life ;  but  what  is  life  ? 
'Tis  not  taftalk  about,  and  draw  frefh  air 
From  time  to  time,  or  gaze  upon  the  fun ; 
'Tis  to  be  free.     When  liberty  is  gone, 
Life  grows  infipid,  and  has  loft  its  relifh. 
Oh,  could  my  dying  hand  but  lodge  a  fword 
In  dffar's  bofom,  and  revenge  my  country ! 
By  Heav'ns  I  could  enjoy  the  pangs  of  death, 
And  fmile  in  agony. 

Luc.  Others-,  perhaps, 
May  ferve  their  country  with  as  warm  a  zeal, 
Though  'tis  not  kindled  into  fo  much  rage. 

Sem.  This  fober  conduct  is  a  mighty  virtue 
In  lukewarm  patriots. 

Cato.   Come  ;   no  more,  Sempronius, 
All  here  are  friends  to  Rime,  and  to  each  other. 
Let  us  not  weaken  ilill  the  weaker  fide 
By  our  divilkms. 

Sem.  Cato,  my  refentments 
Are  facrific'd  to  Rome — I  ft  and  reprov'd. 

Cato.  Fathers,  'tis  time  you  come  to  a  refolve. 

Luc,  Cuto,  we  all  go  into  your  opinion, 
B 


34  CAT        Q. 

Catfar's  behaviour  has  convinced  the  fenate 
We  ought  to  hold  it  out  till  terms  arrive. 

Sem.  We  ought  to  hold  it  out  'till  death ;  but, 
My  private  voice  is  drown'd  amidft  the  fenate's. 

Cato.  Then  let  us  rife,  my  friends,  and  ftrive  to  nil 
This  little  interval,  this  paufe  of  life, 
(While  yet  our  liberty  and  fates  are  doubtful) 
With  refolution,  friendmip,  Roman  bravery, 
And  all  the  virtues  we  can  crowd  into  it  j 
That  Heav'n  may  fay  it  ought  to  be  prolonged. 
Fathers,  farewel — The  younrg  Numidian  prmce 
Comes  forward,-  and  expefts  to  know  our  counfels. 

\Exeunt  fenator^. 
jr  .£»/??•  J  aba. 

Juba>  the  Roman  fenate  has  refolv'd, 
Till  time  give  better  profpefts,  ftill  to  keep 
The  fword  unlheath'd,  and  turn  its  edge  on  C<?/ar. 

Jub.  The  refolution  fits  a  Roman  fenate; 
But,  Gate,  lend  me  for  a  while  thy  patience, 
And  condefcend  to  hear  a  young  man  fpeak,- 
My  father,  when  fome  days  before  his  death 
He  order'd  me  to  march  for  Utica, 
(Alas !  I  thought  not  then  his  death  fo  near  !) 
Wept  o'er  me,  pre&'d  me  in  his  aged  arms, 
And,  as  his  griefs  gave  way,  my  fon,  faid  he,, 
Whatever  fortune  fhall  befall  thy  father, 
Be  Cato's  friend  ;  he'll  train  thee  up  to  great 
And  virtuous  deeds  ;  do  but  obferve  him  well, 
Thoul'tfhun  misfortunes,  or  thoul't  learn  to  bear  ?enu 

Cato.  Juba,  thy  father  vras  2  worthy  prince, 
And  merited,  alas !  a  better  fate  ; 
But  Heav'n  thought  otherwife, 

Jub.  My  father's  fate, 
In  fpite  of  all  .the  fortitude  that  mines 
Before  my  face  in  C«/o's  great  example, 
Subdues  my  foul,  and  fills  my  eyes  with  tears. 
Cato.  It  is  an  honeft  forrow,  and  becomes  thee. 
Jub.  My  father  drew  refpeft  from  foreign  climes  : 
The  kings  of  Afric  fought  him  for  their  friend  ; 
4  Kings  far  remote,  that  rule,  as  fame  reports, 

*  Behind  the  hidden  fources  of  the  Nile, 

*  In  diftant  worlds,  on  t'other  fide  the  fun  :' 

Oft 


C        AT        0.  35 

Oft  have  their  black  amba/Tadors  appear'd, 
Loaden  with  gifts,  and  fill'd  the  courts  of  Zama. 

Cato.  I  am  no  ftranger  to  thy  father's  greatnefs. 

Juba.  I  would  not  boaft  the  greatnefs  of  my  father, 
But  point  out  new  alliances  to  Cato. 
Had  we  not  better  leave  this  Utica, 
To  arm  Numldia  in  our  caufe,  and  court 
Th'  affiftance  of  my  father's  powerful  friends  ; 
Did  they  know  Cato,  our  remoteit  kings 
Would  pour  embattled  multitudes  about  him ; 
Their  fwarthy  holts  would  darken  all  our  plains, 
Doubling  the  native  horror  of  the  war, 
And  making  death  more  grim. 

Cato.  And  can'il  thou  think 
Cato  will  fly  before  the  fword  of  Ceefar  ! 
Reduc'd,  like  Hannibal,  to  feek  relief 
From  court  to  court,  and  wander  up  and  down 
A  vagabond  in  dfric  ? 

Jub.  Cato,  perhaps 

I'm  too  officious ;  but  my  forward  cares 
Wou'd  fain  preferve  a  life  of  fo  much  value. 
My  heart  is  wounded,  when  I  fee  fuch  virtue 
Afflicted  by  the  weight  of  fuch  misfortunes. 

Cato.  Thy  noblenefs  of  foul  obliges  me. 
But  know,  young  prince,  that  valour  foars  abov€ 
What  the  world  calls  misfortune  and  affliction. 
Thefe  are  not  ills  ;  elfe  would  they  never  fall 
On  Heav'ns  firft  fav'rites  and  the  belt  of  men. 
The  gods,  in  bounty,  work  up  ftorms  about  us, 
That  give  mankind  occafion  to  exert 
Their  hidden  ftrength,  and  throw  out  into  practice 
Virtues  which  fhun  the  day,  and  lie  conceaPd 
In  the  fmooth  feafons  and  the  calms  of  life. 

Jub.  I'm  charm'd  whene'er  thou<  talk'ft  ;  I  pant-for 

virtue^ 
And  all  my  foul  endeavours  at  perfection* 

Cato.  Doft  thou  love  watchings,  abfUnence,  and  toil. 
Laborious  virtues  all  ?     Learn  them  from  Cato : 
Succefs  and  fortune  muft  thou  learn  from  Ca>far. 

The  beft  good  fortune  that  can  foil  on  Juba, 

B6  The 


$&  C       A       T     -  O. 

The  whole  fuccefs  at  which  my  heart  afpircs., 
Depends  on  Cato. 

Cato.  What  does  Juba  fay  ? 
Thy  words  confound  me. 

Jub.  I  would  fain  retract  them, 
Give  'em  me  back  again  :  they  aim'd  at  nothing. 

Cato.  Tell  me  thy  wifh,  young  pririce  ;  make  not  my 
A  ftranger  to  thy  thoughts.  [ear 

Jub.  Oh !  they're  extravagant  j 
Still  let  me  hide  them. 

Cato.  What  can  Juba  afk 
That  Cato  will  refufe  ? 

Jub.  I  fear  to  name  it, 
Marcia — inherits  all  her  father's  virtues* 
Cato.  What  would'ft  thou  fay  ? 
Jub.  Cato,  thou  haft  a  daughter. 
Caio.  Adieu,  young  prince  j  I  would  not  hear  a  word 
Should  leflen  thee  in  my  efteem.     Remember 
*The  hand  of  fate  is  over  us,  and  Heav'n 
Exacts  feverity  from  all  our  thoughts. 
Jt  is  not  how  a  time  to  talk  of  aught 
But  chains,  orconqueft;  liberty,  or  death;  [Exit* 

Enter  Syphax. 

Sy.  How's  this,  my  prince  !  What,  cover'd  with  con- 
You  look  as  if  yon  ftern  philofopher  ».     [fufion? 

Had  juft  now  chid  you. 
Jub.  Syphax ,  I'm  undone  ! 
Sv.  I  know  it  well. 
Jut.  Cato  thinks  meanly  of  me* 
Sy.  And  fo  will  all  mankind. 
Jub.  I've  open'd  to  him 
The  weaknefs  of  my  foul,  my  love  for  Marcia. 

Sy.  Cato's  a  proper  perfon  to  intruft 
A  love-tale  with ! 

Jub.  Oh,  I  could  pierce  my  heart, 
My  foolifh  heart.     Was  ever  wjretch  like  Juba  ? 

Sy.  Alas,  my  prince,  how  are  you  chang'd  of  late! 
I've  known  young  Juba  rife  before  the  fun, 
To  beat  the  thicket  where  the  tyger  ilept, 
Or  feek  the  lion  in  his  dreadful  haunts  : 
How  did  the  colour  mount  into  your  cheeks, 

When 


CAT.       O.  n 

When  firil  you  rous'd  himNto  the  chace !  I've  feea  you» 
Ev'n  in  the  Lylian  dog-days,  hunt  him  down, 
Then  charge  him  clofe,  provoke  him  to  the  rage 
Of  fangs  and  claws,  and,  ftooping  from  your  horfe, 
Rivet  the  panting  favage  to  the  ground. 
Jub.    Pr'ythee,   no  more. 
By.    How  would  the  old  king  fmile 
To  fee  you  weigh  the  paws,  when  tipp'd  with  gold, 
And  throw  the  ihaggy  fpoils  about  your  fhoulders  ! 

Jub*    Syphax,  this  old  man's  talk  (tho*  honey  flow'd 
In  ev'ry  word)  wou'd  now  lofe  all  its  fweetnefs. 
Cato's  difpleas'd,  and  Marcia  loft  for  ever. 

Sj.  Young  prince,  I  yet  cpuld  give  you  good  advice, 
fiflarcia  might  ftill  be  yours. 

Jub.    What  fay'ft  thou,  Syphax  ? 
By  Heav'ns,  thou  turn'ft  me  all  into  attention. 
Sy.    Marcia  might  ftill  be  yours. 
Jub.    As  how,  dear  Sypbax '?  Vtt»  ': 

Sy.    Juba  commands  £lumi$t?s  hardy  troops, 
Mounted  on  fteeds  unus'd  to  the  reftraint 
Of  curbs  or  bits,  and  fleeter  than  the  winds. 
Give  but  the  word,  we'll-fnatch  this  damfel  up, 
And  bear  her  off. 

Jub.    Can  fuch  difhoneft  thoughts 
Rife~up  in  man  ?  Would'ft  thou  feduce  iny  youth  . 
To  do  an  acl  that  would  deltroy  my  honour  ? 

$y.    Gods,  I  could  tear  my  hair  to  hear  you  talk  ! 
Honour's  a  fine  imaginary  notion, 
That  draws  in  raw  and  unexperienc'd  men 
To  real  mifchiefs,  while  they  hunt  a  fhadow. 

Jub.    Would'fl  thou  degrade  thy  prince  into  a  ruffian  ? 
Sy.  The  boafted  anceftors  of  thefe  great  men, 
Whofe  virtues  you  admire,  were  all  fuch  ruffians. 
This  dread  of  nations,   this  almighty  Rome, 
That  comprehends  in  her  wide  empire's  bounds 
All  under  Heav'n,  was  founded  on  a  rape  ; 
Your  Scipios,  C<efars,  Pompeys,  and  your  Catos, 
(The  gods  on  earth)  are  all  the  fpurious  brood 
Of  violated  maids,  of  ravilh'd  Sabines. 

Jub.    Syphax,  I  fear  that  hoary  head  of  thine 
Abounds  too  much  in  our  Numidtan  wiles. 


Sj;  Indeed,  my  prince,  you  want  to  know  the  world. 
You  have  not  read  mankind ;  your  youth  admires 
The  throes  and  fwellings  of  a  Roman  foul, 
Cato's  bold  flights,  th'  extravagance  of  virtue. 

Jub.  If  knowledge  of  the  world  makes  man  perfidious, 
May  Juba  ever  live  in  ignorance  I 

Sy+    Go,  go  ;  you're  young. 

Jub.   Gods,  muft  I  tamely  bear 
This  arrogance  unanfwer'd  !  Thour't  a  traitor, 
A  falfe  old  traitor. 

Sy.    1  have  gone  too  far.  [J/Me. 

Jub.    Cato  (hall  know  the  bafenefs  of  thy  foul. 

Sjr.  I  muft  appeafe  this  ftorm,  or  perifh  in  it.    [Afide. 
Young  prince,  behold  thefe  locks,  that  are  grown  white 
Beneath  a  helmet  in  your  father'?  battles. 

Jub.    Thofe  locks 'fhall  ne'er  protect  thy  infolence. 

Sy.    Muft  one  ram  word,  th'  infirmity  of  age, 
Throw  down  the  merit  of  my  better  years  ? 
This  the  reward  of  a  whole  life  of  fervice  ! 
— -Curfe  on  the  boy  !  how  fteadily  he  hears  me  !     [Apde*- 

Jub.    Is  it  becaufe  the  throne  of  my  forefathers 
Still  Hands  unfill'd,  and  that  Numidia's  crown 
Hangs  doubtful  yet  whofe  head  it  mall  inclofe, 
Thou  thus  prefum'ft  to  treat  thy  prince  with  fcorn? 

Sy.  Why  will  you  rive  my  heart  with  fuch  expreffions  ? 
Does  not  old  Syphax  follow  you  to  war  ? 
What  are  his  aims  ?  Why  does  he  load  with  darts 
His  trembling  hand,  and  crufh  beneath  a  cafque 
His  wrinkled  brows  ?  What  is  it  he  afpires  to  r 
Is-  it  not  this,?  to  meet  the  flow  remains, 
His  laft  poor  ebb  of  blood  in  your  defence  ? 

Jub.  Sypbax,  no  more  !  I  would  not  hear  you  talk. 

Sy.    Not  hear  me  talk  !  what,  when  my  faith  to  Juba, 
My  royal  matter's  fon,  is  call'd  in  queftion  ? 
My  prince  may  ftrike  me  dead,  and  I'll  be  dumb ; 
But  whiliil  live  I  muft  not  hold  my  tongue, 
And  languiih  out  old  age  in  his  difpleafure. 

Jub.    Thou  know'ft  the  way  too  well  into  ray  Keart. 
I  do  believe  thee  loyal  to  thy  prince. 

$j.   What  greater  inftance  can  I  give  ?  I've  offer'd 

To 


C        A        T        O.  39 

To  do  an  aftion  which  my  foul  abhors, 
And  gain  you  whom  you  love,  at  any  price. 

Jub.    Was  this  thy  motive  ?    I  have  been  too  hafly. 

Sy.    And  'tis  for  this  my  prince  has  call'd  me  traitor. 

Jub.    Sure  thou  miilak'ft  ;  I  did  not  call  thee  fo. 

Sy.    You  did,  indeed,  my  prince,  you  call'd  me  traitor* 
Nay,  further,  threaten'd  you'd  complain  to  Cato. 
Of  what,  my  prince,  would  you  complain  to  Cato  ? 
That  Syphax  loves  you,  and  would  facrifice 
His  life,  nay,  more,  his  honour,  in  your  fervice. 

Jub.    Sypbax,  I  know  thou  lov'ft  me ;  but  indeed' 
Thy  zeal  for  Juba  carry'd  thee  too  far. 
Honour's  a  facred  tie,  the  law  of  kings, 
The  noble  mind's  diftinguiming  perfection, 
That  aids  and  ftrengthens  virtue  where  it  meets  her, 
And  imitates  her  aftions  where  me  is  not : 
It  ought  not  to  be  fported  with. 

Sy.    By  Heav'ns, 

I'm  ravifh'd  when  you  talk  thus,  tho*  you  chide  me ! 
Alas !  I've  hitherto  been  ns'd  to  think 
A  blind  officious  zeal  to  ferve  my  king 
The  ruling  principle,  that  ought  to  burn; 
And  quench  all  others  in  a  fubjecl's  hearth 
Happy  the  people  who  preferve  their  honour 
By  the  fame  duties  that  oblige  their  prince. 

Juki    Sypbax,  -thou  now  begin 'ft  to  fpeak  thyfelf, 

Numidid's  grown  a  fcorn  among  the  nations, 

For  breach  of  public  vows.     Our  Punic  faith 

Is  infamous,  and  branded  to  a  proverb. 

Sypbax,  we'll  join  our  cares,  to  purge  away 

Our  country's  crimes,  and  clear  her  reputation. 

Sy.  Believe  me,  prince,  you  make  old  Sypbax  weep, 

To  hear  you  talk — but  'tis  with  tears  of  joy. 

If  e'er  your  father's  crown  adorn  your  brows, 

Numidia  will  be  bleft  by  Cato's  lectures. 

Jub.    Syphax,  thy  hand  ;  we'll  mutually  forget 

The  warmth  of  youth,  and  frowardnefs  of  age  ; 

Thy  prince  efteems  thy  worth,  and  loves  thy  perfon. 

If  e'er  the  fceptre  comes  into  my  hand, 

Sypbax  fhall  ftand  the  fecond  in  my  kingdom. 


4o  C        A        T        O. 

Sy.    Why  will  you  overwhelm  my  age  with  kindnefs  ? 
My  joy  grows  burdenfome,  I  (han't  fupport  it. 

Jub.    Syphax,  farewell.     I'll  hence,  and  try  to  find 
Some  bleft  occafion  that  may  fet  me  .right 
Jn  Cato's  thoughts.     I'd  rather  have  that  man 
Approve  my  deeds,  than  worlds  for  my  admirers.     [Exit. 

Sy.    Young  men  foon  give,  and  foon  forget  aftronts ; 
Old  age  is  flow  in'  both — A  falfe  old  traitor !  — 
Thefe  words,  rafh  boy,  may  chance  to  coft  thee  dear. 
My  heart  had  Hill  fome  foolifh  fondnefs  for  thee : 
But  hence  1  'tis  gone  :  I  give  it  to  the  winds : 
C<e/ar,  I'm  wholly  thine. — 

Enter  Sempronius. 
All  hail,  Sempronius! 
Well,  Cato's  fenate  is  refolv'd  to  wait 
The  fury  of  a  fiege  before  it  yields. 

Sent.    Syphax,  we  both  were  on  the  verge  of  fate  : 
Lucius  declar'd  for  peace,  and  terms  were  offer'd 
To  Cato,  by  a  meflenger  from  Cafar. 
Shou'd  they  fubmit  ere  our  defigns  are  ripe, 
We  both  muft  perifh  in  the  common  wreck, 
Loft  in  the  gen'ral  undiflinguifh'd  ruin. 
Sy.    But  how  Hands  Cato  ? 
Sem.    Thou  haft  feen  mount  Atlas  : 
Whilft  ftorms  and  tempefts  thunder  on  its  brows, 
And  oceans  break  their  billows  at  its  feet, 
It  ftands  unmov'd,  and  glories  in  its  height : 
Such  is  that  haughty  man  ;  his  tow'ring  foul, 
'Midft  all  the  mocks  and  injuries  of  fortune, 
Rifes  fuperior,'  and  looks  down  on  C&far. 
Sy.    But  what's  this  meffenger  ? 
Sem.    I've  praftis'd  with  him, 
And  found  a  means  to  let  the  viclor  know 
That  Syphax  and  Semprenius  are  his  friends. 
But  let  me  now  examine  in  my  turn  : 
Is  Juba  fix'd  ? 

Sy.    Yes — but  it  is  to  Cato. 
I've  try'd  the  force  of  every  reafon  on  him, 
Sooth'd  and  carefs'd  ;   been  angry,  footh'd  again  ; 
Laid  fafety,  life,  and  int'reft  in  his  fight. 
But  all  are  vain,  he  fcorns  them  all  for  Cato, 

Sew, 


A         T        O.  41- 

Sem:    Come,  'tis  no  matter ;  we  mail  do  without  him, 
He'll  make  a  pretty  figure  in  a  triumph, 
And  ferve  to  trip  before  the  victor's  chariot. 
Sypkax,  I  now  riay  hope  thou  haft  fqrfook 
Thy  Jubcfs  caufe,  and  vvifheft  Af«r<r/>  mine. 

Sy.    May  fhe  be  thine  r.*  faft  as  thou  would'ft  have  her. 

Sem.    Sypkax,  I  love  that  woman  ;  tho'  I  curfe 
Her  and  myfelf,  yet,  fpite  of  me,  I  love  her. 

Sy.    Make  Cato  fure,  and  give  up  Utica^ 
Cafar  will  ne'er  refufe  thee  fuch  a  trifle. 
But  are  thy  troops  prepar'd  for  a  revolt  ? 
Does  the  fedition  catch  from  man  to  man, 
And  run  among  their  ranks  ? 

Sem.    All,  all  his  ready, 

The  factious  leaders  are  our  friends,  that  fpread 
Murmurs  and  difcontents  among  the  foldiers ; 
They  count  their  toilfome  marches,  long  fatigues* 
Unufual  fallings,  and  will  bear  no  more 
This  medley  of  philofophy  and  war. 
Within  an  hour  they'll  (form  the  fenate-houfe. 

Sy.    Mean  while  I'll  draw  up  my  Numidian  troops 
Within  the  fquare,  to  exercife  their  arms. 
And  as  I  fee  occafion,  favour  thee. 
I  laugh  to  think  how  your  unmaken  Cato 
Will  look  aghaft,  while  unforefeen  deftruction  v 
Pours  in  upon  him  thus  from  every  fide. 

§o,  where  our  wide  Nimidian  waftes  extend, 
Sudden,  th'  impetuous  hurricanes  defcend. 
Wheel  through  the  air,  in  circling  eddies  play, 
Tear  up  the  fands,  and  (weep  whole  plains  away. 
The  helplefs  traveller,  with  wild  furprife 
Sees  the  dry  defart  all  around  him  rife, 
And,  fmother'd  in  the  duity  whirlwind,  dies. 

{Exeunt, 


\ 


ACT 


42  C        A        T        O. 

ACT       III. 

Enter  Marcus  and  Portius, 

Marc.  f  I  AHANKS  to  my  ftars,  I  have  not  rang'd  abo-ut 
J[      The  wilds  of  life,  ere  I  could  find  a  friend  ;. 
Nature  firil  pointed  out  my  Povtius  to  me, 
And  early  taught  me,  by  her  facred  force, 
To  love  thy  perfon,  ere  I  knew  thy  merit, 
Till  what  was  inftinft,  grew  up  into  friendfhip. 

For.    Marcus,  the  friendfhips  of  the  world  are  oft 
Confed'racies  in  vice,  or  leagdes  of  pleafure  j 
Ours  has  fevereft  virtue  for  his  bafis, 
And  fuch  a  friendmip  ends  not  but  with  life. 

Marc,    Portiusy  thou  know'ft  my'foul  in  all  its  weaknef«r 
Then  pr'ythee  fpare  me  on  its  tender  fide. 
Indulge  me  but  in  love,  my  other  paflions 
Shall  rife  and  fall  by  virtue's  niceft  rules. 

Par.    When  love's  well-tim'd,  'tis  not  a  fault  to  love. 
The  ftrong,  the  brave,  the  virtuous,  and  the  wife, 
Sink  in  the  foft  captivity  together. 
I  would  not  urge  thee  to  difmifs  thy  paflion, 
(I  know  'twere  vain)  but  to  fupprefs  its  force, 
Till  better  times  may  make  it  look  more  graceful. 

Marc.    Alas !  thou  talk'fl  like  one  who  never  felt 
Th'  impatient  throbs  and  longings  of  a  foul 
That  pants  aad  reaches  after  diftant  goo^. 
A  lover  does  not  live  by  vulgar  time  : 
Believe  me,  Portius,  in  my  Lucia's  abfence 
Life  hangs  upon  me,  and  becomes  a  burden ; 
And  yet,  when  I  behold  the  charming  maid, 
I'm  ten  times  more  undone  ;  while  hope  and  fear, 
And  grief,  and  rage,  and  love,  rife  up  at  once, 
And  with  variety  of  pain  diftract  me.. 

Par.    What  can  thy  Portius  do  to  give  thee  help  ? 

Marc.    Portius,  thou  oft  enjoy 'ft  the  fair-one's  prefence  •; 
Then  undertake  my  caufe,  and  plead  it  to  her 
With  all  the  flrejigth  and  heat  of  eloquence 
Fraternal  love  and  friendfhip  caa  infpire_ 

Tell 


C        A        T        O.  43 

Tell  her  thy  brother  languishes  to  death, 
And  fades  away,  and  withers  in  his  bloom  ; 
That  he  forgets  his  fleep,  and  loaths  his  food, 
That  youth,  and  health,  and  war  are  joylefs  to  him  : 
Defcribe  his  anxious  days,  and  reftlefs  nights, 
And  all  the  torments  that  thou  fee'ft  me  fuffer. 

Par.    Marcus,  I  beg  thee  give  me  not  an  office 
That  fuits  with  me  fo  ill.     Thou  know'ft  my  temper. 

'Marc.    Wilt  thou  behold  me  finking  in  my  woes, 
And  wilt  thou  not  reach  out  a  friendly  arm, 
To  raife  me  from  amidft  this  plunge  of  forrows  ? 

For.    Marcus,  thou  can'il  not  afk  what  I'd  refufe. 
But  here,  believe  me,  I've  a  thoufahd  reafons  -  - 

Marc.    I  know  though  fay  my  paflion's  out  of  feafon, 
That  Cato's  great  example  and  misfortunes 
Should  both  confpire  to  drive  it  from  my  thoughts. 
But  what's  all  this  to  one  that  loves  like  me  ? 
O  Portiust  Portius,  from  my  foui  I  wifh 
Thou  didft  but  know  thyfelf  what  'tis  to  love! 
Then  wouldft  thou  pity  and  affift  thy  brother. 

Por.    What  mould  I  do  !  If  I  difclofe  my  paflion 
Our  friendfhip's  at  an  end  ;  if  I  conceal  it, 
The  world  will  call  me  falie  to  a  friend  and  brother. 


Marc.    But  fee  where  Lucia,  at  her  wonted  hour, 
Amid  the  cool  of  yon  high  marble  arch, 
Enjoys  the  noon-day  breeze  1  Obferve  her,  Portius  ; 
That  face,  that  fhape,  thofe  eyes,  that  heav'n  of  beauty  ! 
Obferve  her  well,  and  blame  me  if  thou  canfl. 

Par.    She  fees  us,  and  advances  - 

Marc.    I'll  withdraw, 

And  leave  you  for  a  while.     Remember,  Portius, 
Thy  brother's  life  depends  upon  thy  tongue.  [Exit.. 

»  Enter  Lucia. 

Luc.    Did  not  I  fee  your  brother  Marcus  here  ? 
Why  did  he  fly  the  place,  and  fhun  my  prefence  ? 

Per.    O  Lucia,  language  is  too  faint  to  (hew 
His  rage  of  love  ;  it  preys  upon  his  life  ; 
He  pines,  he  fickens,  he  defpairs,  he  dies  : 
1  His  pafiions  and  his  virtues  lie  confus'd, 
'  And  mixt  together  in  fo  wild  a  tumult, 

«  That 


W  CAT        O: 

*  That^the  whole  man  is  quite  disfigur'd  in  hinT. 

'  Heavens !  would  one  think  'twere  poflible  for  lore 

*  To  make  fuch  ravage  in  a  noBle  foul.' 

O  Lucia  !  I'm-diftreft  ;  my  heart  bleeds  for  him  : 
Ev'n  now,  while  thus  I  Hand  bleft  in  thy  prefence, 
A  fecret  damp  of  grief  comes  o'er  my  thoughts, 
And  I'm  unhappy,  tho'  thou  fmil'ft  upon  me. 

Luc.    How  wilt  thou  guard  thy  honour,  in  the  mock 
Of  love  and  friendfhip  ?  Think  betimes,  my  Porting 
Think  how  the  nuptial  tie,  that  might  enfure 
Our  mutual  blifs,  would  raife  to  fuch  a  height 
Thy  brother's  griefs,  as  mig'ht  perhaps  deftroy  him. 

Per.    Alas,  poor  youth!     What  doll  thou  think,  my 
His  gen'rous,  open,  undefigning  heart  [Lucia  % 

Has  begg'd  his  rival*  to  folicit  for  him  ; 
Then  do  not  ftrike  him  dead  with  a  denial ; 
But  hold  him  up  in  life,  and  cheer  his  foul 
With  the  faint  glimmering  of  a  doubtful  hope  : 
Perhaps  when  we  have  pafs'd  thefe  .gloomy  hours, 
And  weather'd  out  the  ftorra  that  beats  upon  us-— - 

Lpt*    Noi  Perittu,  no  ;  I  fee  thy  fitter's  tears, 
Tliy  father's  anguifb,  and  thy  brother's  death, 
In  rhe  purfuit  of  our  ill-fated  loves : 
And,  Pcrttus,  here  I  fvvear,  to  Heav'n  I  fwear,. 
To  Heav'n  and  all  the  powers  that  judge  mankind, 
Never  to  mix  my  plighted  hands  with  thine, 
While  fuch  a  cloud  of  mifchiefs  hangs  about  us, 
But  to  forget  our  loves,  and  drive  thee  out 
From  all  my  thoughts  as  far — as  I  am  able. 

Par.    What  haft  thou  faid  !  I'm  thunder- flruck — recall 
Thofe  hafty  words,  or  I  am  loft  for  ever. 

Luc.    Has  not  the  vow  already  pafs'd  my  lips  ? 
The  gods  have  heard  it,  and  'tis  feal'd  in  Heav'n.  • 
May  all' the  vengeance  that  was  ever  pour'd 
On  perjur'd  heads  overwhelm  me,  if  1  break  it. 

Per.    Fix'd  in  aftonifhment,  J  gaze  upon  thee, 
Like  one  juft  blafted  by  a  ftroke  from  Heav'n> 
Who  pants  for  breath,  and  ftiffens,  yet  alive, 
In  dreadful  looks ;  a  monument  of  wrath  ! 

4  Luc.    At  length  I've  acted  my  fevereft  part, 
'  I  feel  the  woman  breaking  in  upon  me, 

1  And 


A        T         O.  45 

t  And  melt  about  my  heart ;  my  tears  will  flow. 
{  But  oh,  I'll  think  no  more !  the  hand  of  fate 
'  Has  torn  thee  from  me,  and  1  muft  forget  thee. 

*  Par.    Hard-hearted  cruel  maid! 
'  Luc.    Oh,  flop  thofe  founds, 

'  Thofe  killing  founds !   Why  dofl  thou  frown  upon  me*? 
'  My  blood  runs  cold,  my  heart  forgets  to  heave, 
'  And  life  itfelf  goes  out  at  thy  difpleafure. 

*  The  gods  forbid  us  to  indulge  our  loves  ; 

1  But  oh  !  I  cannot  bear  thy  hate,  and  live. 

*  For.    Talk  not  of  love,  thou  never  knew'il  its  force. 

*  I've  been  deluded,  led  into  a  dream 

'  Of  fancy'd  bHfs.     O  Lucia,  cruel  maid  ! 

'  Thy  dreadful  vow,  loaden  with  death,  flill  founds 

*  In  my  ftunn'd  ears.     What  mall  I  fay  or  do  ? 

*  Quick  let  us  part !  Perdition's  in  thy  prefenee, 

'  And  horror  dwells  about  thee  ! — Ha  !  me  faints  ? 

*  Wretch  that  1  am,  what  has  my  rafhnefs  done:! 

*  Lucia,  thou  injar'd  innocence  !  thou  be  ft 

4  And  lovelieft  of  thy  fex !  awake,  my  Lucia, 

*  Or  Portius  rumes  on  his  fword  to  join  thee. 
'  — Her  imprecations  reach  not  to  the  tomb, 

*  They  (hut  .not  out  fociety  in  death — 

*  But  ah  !  me  moves,  life  wanders  up  and  down 

*  Through  all  her  face,  and  lights  up  ev'ry  charm. 

*  Luc.    O  Portius,  was  this  well — to  frown  on  her 

*  That  lives  upon  thy  fmiles  ?     To  call  in  doubt 

*  The  faith  of  one  expiring  at  thy  feet, 

4  That  loves  thee  more  than  ever  woman  lov'd  ? 
4  — What  do  I  fay  ?  my  half-recover'd  fenfe 

*  Forgets  the  vow  in  which  my  foul  is  bound. 

*  Deftru&ion  Hands  betwixt  us ;  we  muft  part. 

*  Par.  Name  not  the  word,  my  frighted  thoughts  run 

*  And  ftartle  into  madnefs  at  the  found.'  [back, 
Luc.  4  What  wouldft  thou  have  me  do  -?  Confider  well 

4  The  train  of  ills  our  love  would  draw  behind  it.1 
Think,  Portius,  think  thou  feeft  thy  dying  brother 
Stabb'd  at  his  heart,  and  all  befmear'd  with  blood, 
Storming  at  Heav'n  and  thee  !  Thy  awful  fire 
Sternly  demands  the  caufe,  th'  accurfed  caufe, 
That  robs  him  of  his  fpn  :  poor  Marcia  trembles, 

Then 


46  C        A        T        O.  . 

Then  tears  her  hair,  and  frantic  in  her  griefs > 
Calls  out  on  Lucia.  What  could  Lucia  anfwer, 
Or  how  Hand  up  in  fuch  a  fcene  of  forrovv  r 

Par.    To  my  confufion,  and  eternal  grief, 
I  mull  approve  the  fehtence  that  deftroys  me. 

The  mift  that  hung  about  my  mind,  clears  up ; 

And  now,  athwart  the  terrors  that  thy  vow 

Has  planted  round  thee,  thou  appear'ft  more  fair, 

More  amiable,  and  rifeft  in  thy  charms. 

Lovelieft  of  women  !  Heav'n  is  in  thy  foul ; 

Beauty  and  virtue  mine  for  ever  round  thee, 

Bright'ning  each  other:  thou  art  all  divine.' 

Luc.     Portius,   no  more  ;  thy  words  moot  thro*  my 
Melt  my  refolves,  and  turn  me  all  to  love,  [heart, 

Why  are  thofe  tears  of  fondnefs  in  thy  eyes  ? 
Why, heaves  thy  heart  ?    Why  fwells  thy  foul  with  for- 
It  foftens  me  too  much — farewel,  my  Portius ;        [row  ? 
Farewel,  tho'  death  is  in  the  word, — for  ever  ! 

Par.  Stay,  Lucia,  ftay  !  What  doft  thou  fay  ?  For  ever  ? 

Luc.  Have  I  not  fworn  ?  If,  Portius,  thy  fuccefs 
Muft  throw  thy  brother  on  his  fate,  farewel — 
Oh,  how  mall  I  repeat  the  word  !  for  ever. 

Per.    f  Thus  o'er  the  dying  lamp  th'  unileady  flame 
'  Hangs  quivering  on  a  point,  leaps  off  by  fits, 
'  And  falls  again,  as  loth  to  quit  its  hold.' 
—Thou  muft  not  go,  my  foul  ftill  hovers  o'er  thee, 
And  can't  get  loofe. 

Luc.   If  the  firm  Pcrfius  makes 
To  hear  of  parting,  think  what  Lucia  fuffers  ! 

Par.    'Tis  true,  unruffled  and  ferene,  I've  m&t 
The  common  accidents  of  life,  but  here 
Such  an  unlook'd-for  ftorm  o'f  ills  fails  on  me, 
It  beats  down  all  my  ftrength.     I  cannot  bear  it. 
We  muft  not  part. 

Luc «    What  doft  thou  fay  ?  Not  part ! 
Haft  thou  forgot  the  vow  that  I  have  made  ? 
Are  there  not  heav'ns,  and  gods,  that  thunder  o'er  us  ? 
— But  fee  thy  brother  Marcus  bends  this  way  : 
I  ficken  at  the  iight.     Once  more,  farewel, 
Farewel,  and  know  thou  wrong'ft  me,  if  thou  think'ft 
Ever  was  love,  or  ever  grief,  like  mine.     [Exit.  Lucia. 

Enter 


'€        A        T        O.  47 

Enter  Marcus. 

M??r.  ,  Portius,  what  hopes  ?  How  (lands  fhe  ?  Am  I 
To  life  or  death  ?  [doom'd 

For.    What  wouldft  thou  have  me  fay  ? 

Marc.    What  means  this  penlive  pofture  ?  Thou  ap- 
Like  one  amaz'd  and  terrify'd.  [pear'fl 

For.    I've  reafon. 

Marc.     Thy   down-caft    looks,    and    thy    diforder'd 
Tell  me  iny  fate.     I  afk  not  the  fuccefs  [thoughts, 

My  caufe  has  found. 

For.    I'm  griev'd  I  undertook  it. 

Marc.  What !  does  the  barbarous  maid  infult  my  heart, 
My  aching  heart,  and  triumph  in  my  pains  ? 
That  I  could  caft  her  from  my  thoughts  for  ever ! 

For.    Away,  you're  too  fufpicious  in  your  griefs  j  - 
Lucia,  though  fvvornr  never  to  think  of  love, 
Compaflionates  your  pains,  and  pities-you. 

Marc.    Compaffionates  my  pains,  and  pities  me  ! 
What  is  compaffion,  when  'tis  void  of  love  ? 
Fool  that  I  was  to  choofe  fo  cold  a  friend 

To  urge  my  caufe  ! Compaflionates  my  pains ! 

Pr'ythee  what  art,  what  rhet'ric  didft  thou  ufe 
To  gain  this  mighty  boon  ? — She  pities  me  ! 
To  one  that  afks  the  warm  returns  of  love, 
Companion's  cruelty,  'tis  fcorn,  'tis  death *• 

For,  Marcus,  no  more ;  haveldeferv'd  this  treatment  ? 

Marc.  What  have  I  faid !  O  Portius,  Oh  !  forgive  mej 
A  foul  exafperated  in  ills  falls  out 
With  ev'ry  thing,  its  friend,  itfelf — but  hah  ! 
What  means  that  fhout,  big  with  the  founds  of  war  ? 
What  new  alarm  ? 

For.    A  fecond,  louder  yet, 
Swells  in  the  winds,  and  comes  more  full  upon  us. 

Marc.    Oh,  for  fome  glorious  caufe  to  fall  in  battle  ! 
Lucia,  thou  haft  undone  me  ;  thy  difdain 
Has  broke  my  heart :  'tis  death  muft  give  me  eafe. 

For.    Quick,  let  us  hence.     Who  knows  if  Cato's  life 
"Stands  fure  ?  O  Marcus,  1  am  warm'd,  my  heart 
Leaps  at  the  trumpet's  voice,  and  burns  for  glory. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter 


48  CAT        Q, 

'Enter  Sempronius,  with  the  'Leaders  vf  the  Mutiny* 

Sem.    At  length  the  winds  are  rais'd,  "the  ftorm  blows 
iBe  it  your  care,  my  friends,  to  keep  it  up  [high. 

In  its  full  fury,  and  direct  it  right, 
Till  it  has  -fpent  itfelf  on  Cato's  head. 
Mean  while  I'll  herd  among  his  friends,  and  feem 
One  of  the  number,  that  whatever  arrive, 
My  friends,  and  fellow-foldiers  may  be  fafe.  [Exit. 

\ft  Lead.  We  are  all  fafe,  -Semproniia  is  our  friend. 
•Sempronius  is  as 'brave  a  man  as  Cato. 
"But  hark  !  he  -enters.     Bear  up  boldly  to  him  ; 
3e  fare  you  beat  down,  and  bind  him  faft. 
This  day  will  end  our  toils,  and  give  us  reft.: 
Fear  nothing,  for  S'empronius  is  our  friend, 

Re-enter  Sempronius,  with  Cato,  Lucius,  Portius, 
and  Marcus. 

Cato.    Where  are  thefe  bold  intrepid  fons  of  war, 
That  greatly  turn  their  backs  upon  the  foe, 
.And  to  their  general  fend  a  brave  defiance  ? 

Sem.  Curfe  on  their  daftard  fouls,  they  ftand  aftonifli'd, 

[Afuie. 

Cato.    Perfidious  men  !   And  will  you  thus  difhonour 
Your  paft  exploits,  and  fully  all  your  wars  ? 
Do  you  confefs  'twas  not  a  zeal  for  Rome> 
Nor  love  of  liberty,  nor  thirlt  of  hono'ur, 
Drew  you  thus  far ;  but  hopes  to  mare  the  fpoil 
Of  conquer'd  towns,  and  plunder'd  provinces? 
Pir'd  with  fuch  motives,  you  do  well  to  join 
With  Cato's  foes,  and  follow  Cte/ar's  banners. 
Why  did  I  'fcape  th'  envenom'd  afpic's  rage, 
And  all  the  fiery  monfters  of  the  de(art, 
To  fee  this  day  ?    Why  could  not  Cato  fall 
Without  your  guilt !  Behold,  ungrateful  men, 
Behold  my  bofom  naked  to  your  Iwords, 
And  let  the  man  that's  injur'd  ftrike  the  blow. 
Which  of  you  all  fufpecls  that  he.  is  wrong'd, 
Or  thinks  he  fuffers  greater  ills  than  Cato  ? 
Am  I  diftinguifli'd  from  you  but  by  toils, 
Superior  toils,  and  heavier  weight  of  cares  ? 
Painful  pre-eminence ! 

Sew. 


C        A        T        a  49 

Sem.    By  Heav'ns  they  droop  ! 
Confufion  to  the  villains  ;  all  is  loft.  [Afide* 

*  Cato.    Have  you  forgotten  Libya's  burning  wafte, 
Its  barren  rocks,  parch' d  earth,  and  hills  of  fand> 
Its  tainted  air,  and  all  its  broods  of  poifon  ? 
Who  was  the  firft  to  explore  th'  untrodden  path, 
When  life  was  hazarded  in  ev'ry  ftep  ? 

Or,  fainting  in  the  long  laborious  march,  \ 

When  on  the  banks  of  an  unlook'd-for  ftream 
You  funk  the  river  with  repeated  draughts, 
Who  was  the  laft  in  all  your  hoft  that  thirfted  ? 

Sem.    If  fome  penurious  fource  by  chance  appear'd, 
Scanty  of  waters,  when  you  fcoop'd  it  dry, 
And  offer'd  the  full  helmet  up  to  Cato,    , 
Did  he  not  dafh  th'  untafted  moifture  from  him  ? 
Did  he  not  lead  you  through  the  mid-day  fun, 
And  clouds  of  duft  ?     Did  not  his  temples  glow 
In  the  fame  fultry  winds,  and  fcorching  heats  ? 

Cato.    Hence,  worthlefs  men !  hence !  and  complain 
You  could  not  undergo  the  toil  of  war,  [to  Ceefar* 

Nor  bear  the  hardships  that  your  leader  bore. 

Luc.    See,  Cato,  fee  the  unhappy  men  ;   they  weep  !• 
Fear  and  remorfe,  and  ferrow  for  their  crime/ 
Appear  in  ev'ry  look,  and  plead  for  mercy. 

Cato.  Learn  to  be  honeft  men,  give  up  your  lead«rSj 
And  pardon  (hall  defcend  on  all  the  reft. 

Sem.    Cato,  commit  thefe  wretches  to  my  care  : 
Firft  let  'em  each  be  broken  on  the  rack. 
Then  with  what  life  remains,  impal'd  and  left 
To  writhe  at  leifure  round  the  bloody  ftake, 
There  let  'em  hang,  and  taint  the  fouthern  wind. 
The  partners  of  their  crime  will  learn  obedience, 
When,  they  look  up  and  fee  their  fellow  traitors 
Stuck  on  a  fork,  and  black'ning  in  the  fun. 

'  Luc.  Sempronius,  why,  why  wilt  thou  urge  the  fare 

*  Of  wretched  men  ? 

'  Sem.    How  !  wouldft  thou  clear  rebellion  ? 

*  Lucius  (good  man)  pities  the  poor  offenders 

r  That  would  imbrue  their  hands  in  Cato'a  blood.' 

Cato.    Forbear,  Sempronius  ! — fee  they  fuffer  death, 
But  in  their  deaths  remember  they  are  men  ; 

^  Strain 


-5o  CAT        O. 

Strain  not  the  laws  to  make  their  tortures  grievous. 
Lucius,  the  bafe  degen'rate  age  requires 
Severity,  and  juflice  in  its  rigour : 
This  awes  an  impious,  bold  offending  world, 
Commands  obedience,  and  gives  force  to  laws. 
When  by  juft  vengeance  guilty  mortals  periih, 
The  gods  behold  their  punifhment  with  pleafure, 
And  lay  th'  uplifted  thunderbolt  afide. 

Sem.    Cafo,  I  execute  thy  will  with  pleafure. 

Cato.    Meanwhile  we'll  facrifice  to  liberty. 
Remember,  O  my  friends,  the  laws,  the  rights, 
The  gen'rous  plan  of  pow'r  deliver'd  down, 
From  age  to  age,  by  your  renown'd  forefathers, 
{So  dearly  bought,  the  price  of  fo  much  blood  :) 
Oh,  kt  it  never  peri  in  in  your  hands  ! 
But  pioufly  tranfmit  it  to  your  children. 
Do  thou,  great  liberty,  infpire  our  fouls, 
And  make  our  lives  in  thy  pofleflion  happy, 
•  Or  our  deaths  glorious  in  thy  juft  defence. 

[Exeunt  Cato,  &c. 

ift  Leader.    Sempronius,  you  have  acted  like  yourfelf. 
One  would  have  thought  you  had  been  half  in  earneft. 

Sem.    Villain,  Hand  off,    bafe,    grov'ling,  worthlefs 

wretches, 
Mongrels  in  faction,  poor  faint-hearted  traitors  ! 

2.d.  Lead.    Nay,  now  you  carry  it  too  far,  Sempronius  ; 
Throw  off  the  mafk,  there  are  ncne  here  but  friends. 

Sem.  Know,  villains,  when  fuch  paltry  flaves  prefume 
To  mix  in  treafon,  if  the  plot  fucceeds, 
They're  thrown  neglected  by  :  but  if  it  fails, 
They're  fure  to  die  like  dogs,  as  you  mail  do. 
Here,  take  thefe  factious  monflers,  drag  'em  forth 
To  fudden  death. 

i/?  Lead.    Nay,  fmce  it  comes  to  this 

Sem.    Difpatch  'em  quick,  but  firft  pluck  «out  their 

tongues, 
Left  with  their  dying  breath  they  fow  fedition. 

[Exeunt  Guards,  with  the  Leaders. 
Enter  Syphax. 

Sj.  0ur  firft  defign,  my  friend,  has  prov'd  abortives 
Still  there  retaains  an  after-game  to  play  ; 

My 


A  O.  5! 

My  troops  are  mounted  ;  their  Numidian  fleeds 
Snuff  up  the  wind,  and  long  to  fcour  the  defert : 
Let  but  Sempronius  head  us  in  our  flight, 
We'll  force  the  gate  where  Marcus  keeps  his  guard, 
And  hew  down  all  that  would  oppofe  our  pa'iTage. 
A  day  will  bring  us  into  C<f/ar's  camp* 

Sent.    Confufion  !  I  have  fail'd  of"  half  my  purpofc  ; 
Mania,  the  charming  Marcia's  left  behind  ! 

Sy.    How  1  will  Sempronius  turn  a  woman's  flave  r 

Sem.    Think  not  thy  friend  can  ever  feel  the  fofc 
Unmanly  warmth  and  tendernefs  of  love. 
Syphaxy  I  long  to  clafp  that  haughty  maid, 
And  bend  her  ftubborn  virtue  to  my  paffion  : 
When  I  have  gone  thus  far,  I'd  caft  her  off. 

Sy.  Well  faid  !  that's  fpoken  like  thyfelf,  Sempronius. 
What  hinders,  then,  but  that  thou  find  her  out, 
And  hurry  her  away  by  manly  force. 

Sem.    But  how  to  gain  admiflion  ?  For  accefs 
Is  given  to  none  but  "Juba,  and  her  brothers. 

Sy.    Thou  malt  have  Juba^  drefs,  and  Jura's  guards, 
The  doors  will  open  when  Numidia's  prince 
Seems  to  appear  before  the  flaves  that  watch  them. 

Sem.  Heav'ns,  what  a  thought  is  there !  Marcia's  my 
How  will  my  bofom  fvvell  with  anxious  joy,  [own  ! 

\^hen  I  behold  her  ftruggling  in  my  arms, 
With  glowing  beauty,  and  diforder'd  charms, 
While  fear  and  anger,  with  alternate  grace, 
Pant  in  her  breaft,  and  vary  in  her  face  ! 
So  Pluto,  feis'd  of  Proferpine,  convey'd 
To  hell's  tremendous  gloom  th'  affrighted  maid, 
There  grimly  fmil'd,  pleas'd  with  the  beauteous  prize. 
Nor  envy'd  Jo<ve  his  funlhine  and  his  fkies.         [Exeunt. 


ACT        IV. 

Enter  Lucia  and  Marcia. 


Luc. 


NOW  tell  me,  Marcia,  tell  me  from  thy  foul, 
If  thou  believ'ft  'tis  poffible  for  woman 
To  fuffer  greater  ills  than  Lucia  fuffers  ? 

C  2  Mar. 


52  CAT        O. 

Mar.    O  Lucia,  Lucia,  might  my  big  fwoln  heart, 
Vent  all  its  griefs,  and  give  a  loofe  to  forrow, 
Mar  da  could  anfwer  thee  in  fighs,  keep  pace 
With  all  thy  woes,  and  count  out  tear  for  tear. 

Luc.    I  know  thou'rt  doom'd  alike  to  be  belov'd 
By  Juba,  and  thy  father's  friend  Sempronius : 
But  which  of  thefe  has  power  to  charm  like  Portius  ! 

Mar.    Still  I  muft  beg  thee  not  to  name  Sempronius, 
Lucia,  I  like  not  that  loud  boifl'rous  man ; 
Juba  to  all  the  brav'ry  of  a  hero 
Adds  fofteft  love  and  more  than  female  fweetnefs ; 
jfuba  might  make  the  proudeft  of  our  fex, 
Any  of  womankind,  but  Marcia,  happy. 

Luc<  And  why  not,  Marcia?  Come,  you  ftrive  in  vain 
To  hide  your  thoughts  from  one  who  knows  too  well 
The  inward  glowings  of  a  heart  in  love. 

Mar.    While  Cato  lives,  his  daughter  has  no  right 
To  love  or  hate,  but  as  his  choice  diredls. 

Luc.  But  mould  this  father  give  you  to  Sempronius  ? 
Mar.  I  dare  not  think  he  will  :  but  if  he  fhouldr— 
Why  wilt  thou  add  to  all  the  griefs  I  fuffer 
Imaginary  ills,  and  fancy *d  tortures  ? 
I.  hear  the  found  of  feet !  They  march  this  way  ! 
Let  us  retire,  and  try  if  we  can  drown 
Each  foftcr  thought  in  fenfe  of  prefent  danger  : 
When  love  once  pleads  admiflion  to  our  hearts 
(In  fpite  of  all  the  virtue  we  can  boaft) 
The  woman  that  deliberates  is  loft.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Sempronius,  drejfcd  like  Juba,  with  Numidian 

Guards. 

.  Sen.    The  deer  is  lodg'd,  I've  track'd  her  to  her  co- 
Be  fure  you  mind  the  word,  and  when  I  give  it       [vert. 
Rufh  in  at  once,  and  feize  upon  your  prey. 
Let  not  her  cries  or  tears  have  force  to  move  you. 
—^—  How  will  the  young  Numidian  rave  to  fee 
His  iniih-efs  loft  !  If  aught  could  glad  my  foul, 
Beyond  th'  enjoyment  of  fo  bright  a  prize, 
'Twould  be  to  torture  that  young,  gay  barbarian. 
— But  hark,  what  noife  !  Death  to  my  hopes  !  'tis  he, 
'Tis  Jubu's  felf !  there  is  but  one  way  left — — 
He  muft  be  murder'd,  and  a  paffage  cut 

Through 


C        A        T        O.  55 

Through  thofe  his  guards — Hah,  daftards,  do  you  trem 
ble  ! 

Or  aft  like  men,  or  by  yon  azure  Heaven  — 
Enter  Juba. 

Jub.    What  do  I  fee  ?  Who's  this,  that  dares  ufurp 
The  guards  and  habit  of  Namibia's  prince  ? 

Sem.  One  that  was  born  to  fcourge  thy  arrogance, 
Prefumptuous  youth  ! 

Jub.    What  can  this  mean  ?  Scmpronius  ! 

Sem.  My  fword  mail  anfxver  thee.  Have  at  thy  heart. 

Jub.   Nay,  then  beware  thy  own,  proud,  barbarous 
man.      [^They  fight,  Sem.  falls,    tiis  guards  furrender* 

Sem.  Curfe  on  my  ftars !   am  I  then  doom'd  to  fall 
By  a  boy's  hand,  disfigur'd  in  a  vile 
Numidian  drefs,  and  for  a  worthlefs  woman  ? 
Gods,  I'm  diftradted  1  this  my  clofe  of  life  ! 
Oh,  for  a  peal  of  thunder  that  would  make 
Earth,  fea,  and  air,  and  Heav'n,  zndCato  tremble !   [Dies. 

Jub.   With  what  a  fpring  his  furious  foul  broke  loofe, 
And  left  the  limbs  ftill  quiv'ring  on  the  ground  ! 
Hence  let  us  carry  off  thofe  flaves  to  Cuto, 
That  we  may  there  at  length  unravel  all 
This  dark  defign,  this  myftery  of  fate. 

{Exit  Juba,  'with  prifoners,  &c. 
Enter  Lucia  and  Marcia. 

Luc-,  Sure  'twas  the  clafli  of  fwords ;  my  troubled  heart 
Is  fo  caft  do'vn,  and  funk  amidft  its  forrows, 
It  throbs  with  fear,  and  aches  at  every  found. 

0  Marcia,  mould  thy  brothers  for  my  fake  !• — 

1  die  away  with  horror  at  the  thought. 

Mar.    See,  Lucia,  fee !    here's   blood  !    here's  blood 

and  murder  I 

Hah  !  a  Numidian  I  Heav'n  preferve  the  prince  ! 
The  face  lies  muffled  up  within  the  garment, 
But,  hah  !  death  to  my  fight !  a  diadem, 
And  royal  robes  !  O  gods  !  'tis  he,  'tis  he  ! 
'  Juba,  the  lovelieft  youth  that  ever  warm'd  ^ 

*  A  virgin's  heart,'  Juba  lies  dead  before  us  ! 

Luc.    Now,  Marcia,  now  call  up  to  thy  afliftaiue 
Thy  wonted  ftrength  and  conftancy  of  mind, 
Thou  can'ft  not  put  it  to  a  greater  trial, 

C  3  Mar. 


54  C        A        T        O. 

Mar.  Lucia,  look  there,  and  wonder  at  my  patience  ; 
Have  I  not  caufe  to  rave,  and  beat  my  breaft, 
To  rend  m.y  heart  with  grief,  and  run  diftra&ed  ! 

Luc.  What  can  I  think  or  fay  to  give  thee  comfort  r 

Mar.  Talk  not  of  comfort,  'tis  for  lighter  ills  : 
Behold  a  fight  that  ftrikes  all  comfort  dead. 

Enter  Juba  liflening. 

I  will  indulge  my  forrows,  and  give  way 
To  all  the  pangs  and  fury  of  defpair  ; 
That  man,  that  belt  of  men,  deferv'd  it  from  me/ 

Jub.  What  do  I  hear  ?   And  was  the  falfe  Semprpnms 
That  beft  of  men  ?  Oh,  had  I  fall'n  like  him, 
And  cou'd  have  thus  been  mourn'd,  I  had  been  happy. 

f  Luc.    Here  will  I  ftand  companion  in  thy  woes, 
'  And  help  thee  with  my  tears ;  when  I  behold 

*  A  lofs  like  thine,  I  half  forget  my  own.' 

Mar.    'Tis  not  in  fate  to  eafe  my  lortur'd  breaft. 

*  This  emp^ty  world,  to  me  a  joylefs  defart, 

*  Has  nothing  left  to  make  poor  Mar  a  a  happy. 

'  Jub.  I'm  on  the  rack  !  was  he  fo  near  her  heart  ? 
'  Mur.  Oh,  he  was  all  made  up  of  love  and  charms  ! 
Whatever  maid  could  wim,  or  man  admire  : 
Delight  of  every  eye  ;  when  he  appear'd, 
A  fecret  pleafure  gladden'd  all  that  faw  him ; 
But  when  taik'd,  the  proudeft  Roman  blufh'd 
To  hear  his  virtues,  and  old  age  grew  wife. 
'  Jub.    I  mall  run  mad ' 

Mar.   O  Juba!  Juba!  Juba!  [J/Me. 

Jub.    What  means  that  voice  ?    Did  me  not  call  on 
Juba? 

Mar.  «  Why  do  I  think  on  what  he  was  !  he's  dead  ! 

*  He's  dead,  and  never  knew  how  much  I  lov'd  him.' 
Lucia,  who  knows  but  his  poor  bleeding  heart, 
Amidft  his  agonies,  remember'd  Marda, 

And  the  laft  words  he  utter'd  call'd  me  cruel ! 
Alas  !  he  knew  not,  haplefs  youth,  he  knew  not 
Mar  da's  whole  foul  was  full  of  love  and  Juba  ! 

Jub.   Where  am  I  ?  Do  I  live?  or  am  indeed 
What  Mar  da  thinks  ?  All  is  Elyfeum  round  me  !      [JJide. 

Mar.  Ye  dear  remains  of  the  molt  lov'd  of  men, 
Nor  mcdefly  nor  virtue  here  forbid 

A  lafl  embrace,  while  thus 

Jub. 


c 


o. 


Jnb.  See,  Marcia,  fee       [Throwing  htmf elf  before  her. 
The  happy  Juba  lives !  He  lives  to  catch 
That  dear  embrace,  and  to  return  it  too 
With  mutual  warmth  and  eagernefs  of  love. 

M#V  With  pleafure  and  amaze  I  ftand  tranfported  I 
.'  Sure  'tis  a  dream  I  dead  and  alive  at  once  1' 
If  tbou  art  Juba,  who  lies  there  ? 

Jub.    A  wretch, 

Difguis^d  like  Juba  on  a  curs'd  defigir. 
'   The  taTe  is  long,  nor  have  I  heard  it  out  r 

*  Thy  father  knows  it  all.'     I  could  not  bear 
To  leave  thee  in  the  neighbourhood  of  death, 
But  flew,  in  all  the  hafte  of  love,  to  find  thee ; 
I  found  thee  weeping,  and  confefs  this  once, 
Am  rapt  with  joy  to  fee  my  Marcia's  tears. 

Mar.   I've  been  furpris'd  in  an  unguarded  hour, 
But  mult  not  now  go  back  ;  the  love  that  lay 
Half  fmother'd  in  my  breaft,  has  broke  through  all 
Its  weak  reftraints,  and  burns  in  its  full  luilre. 
I  cannot,  if  I  would,  conceal  it  from  thee. 

'  Jub.  I'm  loft  in  extafy  ;  and  doft  thou  love, 
'  Thou  charming  maid 

'  Mar.    And  doft  thou  live  to  afk  it  ? 

'  Jub.  This,  this  is  life  indeed  !  life  worth  preferring, 
'  Such  life  as  Juba  never  felt  it  'till  now  ! 

'  Mar.  Believe  me,  prince,  before  I  thought  thee  dead, 

*  I  did  know  myfelf  how  much  I  lov'd  thee. 
c  Jub.    O  fortunate  miftake  ! 

'  Mar.    O  happy  Marcia  /' 

Jub.    My  joy,  my  beft  belov'd,  my  only  wifh  ! 
How  mall  I  fpeak  the  tranfport  of  my  foul  ! 

Mar.  Lucia,  thy  arm.     '  Oh,  let  me  reft  upon  it ! 
'  The  vital  blood,  that  had  forfook  my  heart, 
c  Returns  again  in  fuch  tumultuous  tides, 

*  It  quite  o'ercomes  me.'     Lead  to  my  apartment.— 
O  prince  !  I  blufh  to  think  what  I  have  faid, 

But  fate  has  wrefted  the  confeflion  from  me ; 
Go  on,  and  profper  in  the  paths  of  honour. 
Thy  virtue  will  excufe  my  paifion  for  thee, 
And  make  the  gods  propitious  to  our  love. 

\Exeunt  Mar.  *»</Luc. 
C  4 


56  CATC. 

Jub.    I  am  fo  bleft,  I  fear  'tis  all  a  dream, 
Portune,  thou  now  haft  made  amends  for  all 
Thy  paft  unkindnefs  :  I  abfolve  my  ftars. 
What  tho'  Numidia  add  her  conquer'd  towns 
And  provinces  to  fwell  the  victor's  triumph, 
"Jubn  will  never  at  his  fate  repine  : 

Let  Co-far  have  the  world,  if  Marcza's  mine.  [Ext'f, 

d  march  at  a  diflance. 
Enter  Cato  and  Lucius. 

Luc .  I  ftand  aitcnifh'd  !  What,  the  bold  Sempronius, 
That  ftill  broke  foremoit  thro*  the  crowd  of  patriots, 
As  with  a  hurricane  of  zeal  tranfported, 
And  virtuous  even  to  madnefs— 

Cato.    Truft  me,  Luciys, 
Our  civil  difcords  have  produc'd  fuch  crimes, 
Such  monflrous  crimes,  I  am  furpriz'd  at  nothing. 
.  —  O  Lucius,  I  am  fick  of  this  bad  world  ! 
The  day-light  and  the  fun  grow  painful  to  me. 

Enter  Portius. 

But  fee  wljere  Portius  comes :  what  means  this  hafle  i 
Why  are  thy  looks  thus  chang'd  ? 

For.    My  heart  is  griev'd, 
I  bring  fuch  news  as  will  aifli&  my  father. 

Cato.    Has  Cafar  fhed  more  Roman  blood  ? 

For.    Not  To. 

The  traitor  typhax,  as  within  the  fquare 
Ke  exercis'd  his  troops,  the  fignal  given, 
Flew  oft  at  once  with  his  Numidian  horfe 
To  the  fouth  gate,  where  Marcus  holds  the  watch  j 
I  faw,  and  calPd  to  iiop  him,  but  in  vain  : 
He  tofs'd  his  arm  aloft,  and  proudly  told  me, 
He  would  not  flay  and  perifh  like  Sempronius. 

Cato.    Perfidious  man  !  But  haile,  my  fon,  and  fee 
Thy  brother  Marcus  a<5ts  a  Roman's  part.  [Exit  Por. 

—Lucius,  the  terrent  bears  too  hard  upon  me  : 
Juftice  gives  way  to  force  :  the  conquer'd  world 
Is  Coffer's  !  Cato  has  no  bufinefs  in,  it. 

Luc.    While  pride,  opprefUon,  and  injuitice  reign, 
The  world  will  itill  demand  her  Cato's  prefence. 
In  pity  to  mankind  fubmit  to  Ca/ar, 
And  reconcile  thy  mighty  foul  to  life, 

Cat*. 


SATO.  57 

Cato.  Would  Lucius  have  me  live  to  fwell  the  number 
Of  Ctf/ar's  flaves,  or  by  a  bafe  fubmiffion 
Give  up  the  caufe  of  Rome,  and  own  a  tyrant  ? 

Luc.  The  victor  never  will  impofe  on  Cato 
Ungen'rous  terms.     His  enemies  confefs 
The  virtues  of  humanity  are  C<e/ar's. 

Cato.  Curfe  on  his  virtues !  tlr.y'  ve  undone  his  country. 
Such  popular  humanity  is  treafon — • — 
But  fee  young  Juba  ;   the  good  youth  appears, 
Full  of  the  guilt  of  his  perfidious  fubjefts  ! 

Luc.  Alas,  poor  prince  !  his  fate  deferves  companion* 
Enter  Juba. 

Jub.  I  blufh,  and  am  confounded  to  appear 
Before  thy  prefence,  Cato. 

Cato.  What's  thy  crime  ? 

Jub.  I'm  a  Numi&an. 

Cato.  And  a  brave  one,  too.    Thou  haft  a  Roman  foul. 

Jub.  Haft  thou  not  heard  of  my  falfe  countrymen  ? 

Cato.  Alas,  young  prince !  falfhood  and  fraud  moot  up 

in  ev'ry  foil, 
The  product  of  all  climes — Rome  has  its  Qfsfurs. 

Jub.  JTis  generous  thus  to  comfort  the  diitrefs'd. 

Cato.  'Tis  juft  to  give  applaufe  where  'tis  deferv'd  : 
Thy  virtue,  prince,  has  ftood  the  teft  of  fortune, 
Like  pureft  gold,  that  tortur'd  in  the  furnace, 
Comes  out  more  bright,  and  brings  forth  all  its  weight. 

Jub.  What  (hall  1  anfwer  thee  I     '  My  ravifh'd  heart 
4  O'crflows  with  fecret  joy  :'  I'd  rather  gain 
Thy  praife,  O  Cato,  than  Numi'dta's  empire. 
Enter  Portius. 

P,or.  Misfortune  on  misfortune  !  grief  on  grief ! 
My  brother  Marcus 

Cato.  Hah  !   what  has  he  done  ? 
Has  he  forfook  his  poft  ?     Has  he  giv'n  way  ? 
Did  he  look  tamely  on,  and  let  'em  pafs  ? 

For.  Scarce  had  I  left  my  father,  but  I  met  him 
Borne  on  the  Ihieids  of  his  furviving  foldiers, 
Breathlefs  and  pale,  and  cover M  o'er  with  wounds. 
Long,  at  the  head  of  his  few  faithful  friends, 
He  itood  the  ihcck  of  a  whole  holt  of  foes, 

C  5  Till 


58  CATO. 

Till  obftinately  brave,  and  bent  on  death, 
Cppreft  with  multitudes,  he  greatly  fell. 
Cato.  I'm  fatisfy'd. 
Por.  Nor  did  he  fall  before 

His  fword  had  pierc'd  through  the  falfe  heart  of  Syplax. 
Yonder  he  lies.     I  faw  the  hoary  traitor 
Grin  in  the  pangs  of  death,  and  bite  the  ground. 

Cato.  Thanks  to  the  gods,  my  boy  has  done  his  duty. 
— Portius,  when  I  am  dead,  be  fure  you  place 
His  urn  near  mine. 

Per.  Long  may  they  keep  afunder  ! 
Luc.   O  Cato,  arm  thy  foul  with  all  its  patience  ; 
See  where  the  corpfe  of  thy  dead  fon  approaches  ! 
The  citizens  and  fenators,  alarm'd, 
Have  gather'd  round  it,  and  attend  it  weeping. 

Cato,  meeting  the  corpfe. 

Cato.  Welcome,  rny  fon!  Here  lay  him  down,  my  friends, 
Full  in  my  fight,  that  I  may  view  at  leifure 
The. bloody  cprfe,  and  count  thofe  glorious  wounds. 
— ^-How  beautiful  is  death,  when  earn'd  by  virtue! 
Who  would  not  be  that  youth  ?     What  pity -is  it 
That  we  can  die  but  once  to  ferve  our  country! 
—Why  fits  this  fadnefs  on  your  brows,  my  friends  ? 
I  foou'd  have  blufh'd  if  Cato's  houfe  had  flood 
Secure,  and  flourifh'd  in  a  civil  war. 
<—Portiusy  behold  thy  brother,  and  remember 
Thy  life  is  not  thy  own,  when  Rome  demands  it. 
»       Jub.  Was  ever  man  like  this  ! 

Cato.  Alas,  my  friends, 
Why  mourn  you  thus  !  let  not  a  private  lofs 
Afflift  your  hearts.     'Tis  Rome  requires  our  tears, 
The  miitrefs  of  tHe  world,  the  feat  of  empirej 
The  nurfe  of  heroes,  the  delight  of  gods, 
That  humbled  the  proud  tyrants  of  the  earth, 
And  fet  the  nations  free,  Rome  is  no  more. 
P  liberty  !  O  virtue  !   O  my  country! 

Jub.  Beheld  that  upright  man  !  Rome  fills  his  eyes 
With  tears,  that  flow'd  not  o'er  his  own  dead  fon.    [Afifa. 

Cato.  Whate'er  the  Roman  virtue  has  fubdu'd, 
The  fun's  whole  courfe,  the  day  and  year  are  C<r/ar's; 
For  him  the  felf-devoted  Decii  dy'd, 

The 


CAT        O.  59 

The  Fabii  fell,  and  the  great  Scipios  conquer'd; 
Ev'n  Pcmpey  fought  for  Cafar.     O  my  friends  ! 
How  is  the  toil  of  fate,  the  work  of  ages, 
The  Roman  empire,  fall'n  !  O  curft  ambition  ! 
Fall'n  into  C&/ar's  hands  ?    Our  great  forefathers 
Had  left  him  nought  to  conquer  but  his  country. 

Jub.  While  Cato  lives  Cafar  will  blufli  to  fee 
Mankind  enflav'd,  and  be  afham'd  of  empire. 

Cato.  Ctfjar  afham'd  !   Has  he  not  feen  Pbarfalia  ! 

Luc.  Cato,  'tis  time  thou  fave  thyfelf  and  us. 

Cato.  Lofe  not  a  thought  on  me^,  I'm  out  of  danger, 
Heav'n  will  not  leave  me  in  the  vidlor's  hand. 
Cafar  fhall  never  fay  he  conquer'd  Cato. 
But  O  my  friends,  your  fafety  fills  my  heart 
With  anxious  thoughts :  a  thoufand  fecret  terrors 
Rife  in  my  foul.     How  fhall  I  fave  my  friends  ? 
'Tis  now,  O  Ctefar,  I  begin  to  fear  thee. 

Luc.  C<efar  has  mercy,  if  we  afk  it  of  him. 

Cato.  Then  afk  it,  I  conjure  you  !  let  him  know 
Whate'er  was  done  againft  him,   Cato  did  it. 
Add,  if  you  pleafe,  that  I  requeft  it  of  him, 
'  That  I  myielf,  with  tears,  requeft  it  of  him,' 
The  virtue  of  my  friends  may  pafs  unpunifh'd. 
Juba,  my  heart  is  troubled  for  thy  fake. 
Shou'd  I  advife  thee  to  regain  Numidia, 
Or  feek  the  conqueror  ? — 

Jub.  If  I  forfake  thee 
Whilit  I  have  life,  may  Heav'n  abandon  Juba  ! 

Cato.  Thy  virtues,  prince,  if  I  forefee  aright, 
Will  one  day  make  thee  great  ;  at  Rome  hereafter, 
'Twill  be  no  crime  to  have  been  Cato's  friend. 
Portias,  draw  near:  my  fon,  thou  oft  haft  feen 
Thy  fire  eng-.gM  in  a  corrupted  ftate, 
Wreftling  with  vice  and  faction  :  now  thou  feeft  me 
Spent,  overpower'd,  defpairing  of  fuccefs  ; 
Let  me  advife  thee  to  retreat  betimes 
To  thy  paternal  feat,  the  Sabine  field. 
Where  the  great  Cenfor  toil'd.with  his  own  hands, 
And  all  our  frugal  ancetfors  were  blefs'd 
In  humble  virtues,  and  a  rural  life  j 
There  live  retir'd,  pray  for  the  peace  of  Rome  ; 

"  C  6  Content 


60  C        A        T        O. 

Content  thyfelf  to  be  obfcurely  good. 

When  vice  prevails,  and  impious  men  bear  fway, 

The  poft  of  honour  is  a  private  ftation. 

For.  I  hope  my  father  does  not  recommend 

A  'life  to  Portias,  that  he  fcorns  himfelf. 

Cato.  Farewel,  my  friends !     If  there  be  any  of  you 

Who  dare  not  truft  the  victor's  clemency, 

Know  there  are  fhips  prepar'd  by  my  command, 

(Their  fails  already  op'ning  to  the  winds) 

That  mail  convey  you  to  the  wifh'd-for  port. 

Is  there  aught  elfe,  my  friends,,  I  can  do  for  you  ? 

The  conqueror  draws  near.     Once  more  farewel  ! 

If  e'er  we  meet  hereafter,  we  mall  meet 

In  happier  climes,  and  on  a  fafer  more, 

Where  Ctefar  never  mall  approach  us  more. 

[Pointing  to  bis  dead  f on » 

There  the  brave  youth,  with  love  of  virtue  fir'd, 
Who  greatly  in  his  country's  caufe  expir'd, 
Shall  know  he  conquered.   >  The  firm  patriot  there, 
Who  made  the  welfare  of  mankind  his  care, 
Tho'  ftill  by  faction,  vice,  and  fortune  croft, 
Shall  find  the  gen'rous  labour  was  not  loft.         [Exeunt. 


ACT       V. 

Cztofolut,  fitting  in  a  thoughtful  pojlure  :  in  his  hand  Plato' s 

book  on  the  Immortality  of  the  Soul. 
A  drawn  f word  on   the  table  by   him. 

IT  muft  be  To — Plato,  thou  reafon'ft  well — 
Elfe  whence  this  pleafmg  hope,  this  fond  defire, 
This  longing  after  immortality  ? 
Or  whence  this  fecret  dread,  and  inward  horror, 
Of  falling  into  nought  ?     Why  fhrinks  the  foul 
Back  on  herfelf,  and  ftartles  at  deilru&ion  ? 
'Tis  the  divinity  that,  ftirs  within  us  j 
'Tjs  Heav'n  itfelf  that  points  out  an  hereafter 
And  intimates  eternity  to  man  : 
Eternity  !  thou  pleafmg,  dreadful  thought ! 
Through  what  variety  oT  unuy'd  being, 

Through 


CATO.  i 

Through  what  new  fcenes  and  changes  muft  we  pafs? 

The  wide,  th'  unbounded  profpecl  lies  before  me ; 

But  fhadows,  clouds,  and  darknefs  reft  upon  it. 

Here  will  I  hold.     If  there's  a  power  above 

(And  that  there  is  all  nature  cries  aloud, 

Through  all  her  works)  he  muft  delight  in  virtue; 

And  that  which  he  delights  in  muft  be  happy. 

But  when !  or  where — this  world  was  made  for 

I'm  weary  of  conjectures — this  muft  end  'em. 

[Laying  bis  hand  on  his  fivord» 

Thus  am  I  doubly  arm'd  :  my  death  and  life, 

My  bane  and  antidote  are  both  before  me, 

This  in  a  moment  brings  me  to  an  end; 

But  this  informs  me*  I  mail  never  die. 

The  foul,  fecur'd  in  her  exiftence,  fmiles 

At  the  drawn  dagger,  and  defies  its  point. 
The  liars  mall  fade  away,  the  fun  himfelf 
Grow  dim  with  age,  and  nature  fink  in  years, 
But  thou  ihalt  flourifh  in  immortal  youth, 
Unhurt  amidft  the  war  of  elements, 
The  wreck  of  matter,  and  the  crufh  of  worlds. 
What  means  this  heavinefs  that  hangs  upon  me  ? 
This  lethargy  that  creeps  through  all  my  fenfes? 
Nature  opprefs'd,  and  harafs'd  out  with  care, 
Sinks  down  to  reft.     This  once  I'll  favour  her, 
That  my  awaken'd  foul  may  take  her  flight, 
Renew'd  in  all  her  ftrength,  and  frefh  with  life, 
An  offring  fit  for  Heav'n.     Let  guilt  or  fear 
Difturb  man's  reft,  Cato  knows  neither  of  'em, 
Indiff'rent  in  his  choice  to  fieep  or  die. 

Enter  Portius. 

But,  hah!  how's  this,  myfon?     Why  this  intrufion? 
Were  not  my  orders  that  I  would  be  private  ? 
Why  amldifobey'd? 

Par.  Alas,  my  father  ! 

What  means  this  fword,  this  inftrument  of  death? 
Let  me  convey  it  hence. 
Cato.  Ram  youth,  forbear! 

Por.  Oh,  let  the  pray'rs,  th'  intreaties  of  your  friends, 
Their  tears3  their  common  danger,  wreit  it  from  you ! 


Cafe* 


62  C        A        T        O. 

Cato.  Wouldft  thou  betray  me  ?  Wouldft  thou  give 

me  up, 

A  flave,  a  captive  into  Cafar's  hands  ? 
Retire,  and  learn  obedience  to  a  father, 
Or  know,  young  man  ! — 

For.  Look  not  thus  ilernly  on  me ; 
You  know  I'd  rather  die  than  difobey  yon. 

Cato.  'Tis  well !  again  I'm  matter  of  myfelf. 
Now,  Cafarj  let  thy  troops  befet  our  gates, 
And  bar  each  avenue  ;  thy  gathering  fleets 
O'erfpread  the  fea,  and  ftop  up  ev'ry  port ; 
Cato  ihall  open  to  himfelf  a  pafla'ge, 
And  mock  thy  hopes 

For.  O  fir  I  forgive  your  fon, 
Whofe  grief  hangs  heavy  on  him,  O  my  father  ! 
How  am  I  fare  it  is  not  the  laft  time 
I  e'er  (hall  call  you  fo  !  Be  not  difpleas'd, 
Oh,  be  not  angry  with  me  whillt  1  weep, 
And,  in  the  anguim  of  my  heart,  befeech  you 
To  quit  the  dreadful  purpofe  of  your  foul ! 

Cato.  Thou  haft  been  ever  good  and  dutiful. 

[Embracing  him* 

Weep  not,  my  fon,  all  will  be  well  again ; 
The  righteous  gods,  whom  1  have  fought  to  pleafe, 
Will  fuccour  Cato,  and  preferve  his  children. 

Per.  Your  words  give  comfort  to  my  drooping  heart. 

Cato.  Portius,  thou  may'ft  rely  upon  my  conduct ; 
Thy  father  will  not  act  what  mifbecomes  him. 
But  go,  my  fon,  and  fee  if  aught  be  wanting 
Among  thy  father's  friends ;  fee  them  embark'd, 
And  tell  me  if  the  winds  and  feas  befriend  them. 
My  foul  is  quite  weigh'd  down  with  care,  and  alks 
The  foft  refreftiment  of  a  moment's  fleep.  [Exit. 

Per.  My  thoughts  are  more  at  eafe,  my  heart  revives. 

Enter  Marcia. 

O  Marcia,  O  my  filter,  ftill  there's  hope  1 
Our  father  will  not  call  away  a  life 
So  needful  to  us  all,  and  to  his  country. 
He  is  retir'd  to  reft,  and  feems  to  cherifh 
*  Thoughts  full  of  peace,     He  has  difpatch'd  me  hence 

2  With 


CATO.  63 

With  orders  that  befpeak  a  mind  compos'd, 

And  ftudious  for  the  fafety  of  his  friends. 

Marda,  take  care  that  none  difturb  his  ilumbers.       [Exit* 

Mar.  O  ye  immortal  powers,  that  guard  the  juft, 
Watch  round  his  couch,  and  foften  his  repofe, 
Baniih  his  forrows,  and  becalm  his  foul 
With  eafy  dreams;  remember  all  his  virtues! 
And  mew  mankind  that  goodnefs  is  your  care. 

Enter  Lucia. 

Luc.  Where  is  your  father,  Marcia,  where  is  Cato? 
Mar.  Lucia,  fpeak  low,  he  is  retir'd  to  reft. 
Lucia,  I  feel  a  gentle  dawning  hope 
Rife  in  my  foul.     We  (hall  be  happy  ftill. 

Luc.    Alas !  I  tremble  when  I  think  on  Cato? 
In  every  view,  in  every  thought,  I  tremble  ! 
Cato  is  Hern  and  awful  as  a  god  j 
He  knows  not  how  to  wink  at  human  frailty, 
Or  pardon  weaknefs  that  he  never  felt. 

Mar.  Though  ilern  and  awful  to  the  foes  of  Romey 
He  is  all  goodnefs,  Luciat  always  mild, 
'   Compalfionate  ai-d  gentle  to  his  friends. 
'   Fill'd  with  domeilic  tendernefs,  the-beft,* 
The  kindeft  father  I  have  ever  found  him, 
Eafy  and  good,  and  bounteous  to  my  wimes. 

Luc.  'Tis  his  con  fen  t  alone  can  make  us^blefs'd. 
Marcia,  we  both  are  equally  involv'd 
In  the  fame  intricate,  perplex'd,  diftrefs. 
The  cruel  hand  of  fate  that  has  deltroy'd 
Thy  brother  Marcus,  whom  we  both  lament — 
Mar.   And  ever  mail  lament,  unhappy  youth  ! 
Luc.  Has  fet  my  foul  at  large,  and  now  I  ftand 
Loofe  of  my  vow.     But  who  knows  Gate's  thoughts-? 
Who  knows  how  yet  he  may  difpofe  of  Portius, 
Or  how  he  has  determined  of  thyfelf  ? 

Mar.  Let  him  but  live,  commit  the  reft  to  heav'n. 

Enter  Lucius. 

Luc.  Sweet  are  the  flumbers  of  the  virtuous  man  I 
O  Marcia,  I  have  feen  thy  god-like  father; 
Some  power  invifible  fupports  his  foul, 
And  bears  it  up  in  all  its  wonted  greatnefs. 
A  kind  refrefhing  ileep  is  fali'n  upon  him : 

Ifavv 


64  CATO. 

I  faw  him  ftretch'd  at  eafe,  his  fancy  loft 

In  pleafing  dreams  ;  as  I  drew  near  his  couch, 

He,fmil'd,  and  cry'd,  C<efar,  thou  can'ft  not  hurt  me. 

Mar.  His  mind  ftill  labours  with  Tome  dreadful  thought. 

'  Luc.    Lucia,    why  all    this  grief,    thefe   floods    of 
forrow  ? 

*  Dry  up  thy  tears,  my  child,  we  all  are  fafe 

*  While  Cato  lives — his  prefence  will  protect  us.' 

Enter  Juba. 

Jub.  Lucius,  the  horiemen  are  return'd  from  viewing 
The  number,  flrength,  and  poflufe  of  our  foes, 
Who  now  encamp  within  a  fhort  hour's  march  ; 
On  the  high  point  of  yon  bright  weftern  tower 
We  ken  them  from  afar,  the  fetting  fun 
Plays  on  their  mining  arms  and  burnifh'd  helmets, 
And  covers  all  the  field  with  gleams  of  fire. 

Luc.  Marcia,  'tis  time  we  mould  awake  thy  father. 
C<efar  is  ftill  difpos'd  to  give  us  terms. 
And  waits  at  diitance  'till  he  hears  from  Cato. 

'  Enter  Pcrtius, 

Portius,  thy  looks  {peak  fomewhat  of  importance. 
What  tidings  deft  thou  bring  ?     Methinks  I  fee 
Unufual  gladneis  fparkling  in  thine  eyes. 

Par.  As  I  was  hafting  to  the  pdrt,  where  now 
My  father's  friends,  impatient  for  a  paflage, 
Accufe  the  ling'ring  wind?,  a  fail  arriv'd 
From  Pompcy's  fon,  who  through  the  realms  of  Spain 
Calls  out  for  vengeance  on  his  father's  death, 
And  roufes  the  whole  nation 'up  to  arms. 
Were  Cato  at  their  head  once  more  might  Rome 
Aflert  her  rights,  and  claim  her  liberty. 
But,  hark  !  what  means  that  groan  !  Oh,  give  me  way, 
And  let  me  fly  into  my  father's  prefence.  [Exit. 

Luc.  Catoy  amidft  his  {lumbers,  thinks  on  Rome, 
And  in  the  wild  diforder  of  his  foul 
Mourns  o'er  his  country.     Hah!  a  fecond  groan— r* 
Heav'n  guard  us  all  1 — 

Mar.  Alas !  'tis  not  the  voice 
Of  one  who  fteeps;  'tis  agonizing  pain, 
'Tis  death  is  in  that  found.— 


C         A        T        O.  65 

Re-enter  Portius. 

Par.  O  fight  of  woe  ! 

O  Marcia,  what  we  fear'd  is  come  to  pafs  ! 
Cato  is  falPn  upon  his  fword. — 

Luc.  O  Portius, 

Hide  all  the  horrors  of  thy  mournful  tale 
And  let  us  guefs  the  reft. 

Par.  I've  rais'd  him  up, 

And  plac'd  him  in  his  chair,  where  pale  and  faint, 
He  gafps  for  breath,  and  as  his  life  flows  from  him, 
Demands  toTee  his  friends.     His  fervants  weeping, 
Obfequious  to  his  ordeY,  bear  him  hither. 

Mar.  O  Heav'n  !  afliil  me  in  this  dreadful  hour, 
To  pay  the  laft  fad  duties  to  my  father. 

'  Jub.  Thefe  are  thy  triumphs,  thy  exploits,  O  Cafar! 

'  Luc.  Now  is  Rome  fall'n  indeed  !' 

[Cato  brought  on  in  a  chair  t 

Cato.  Here  fet  me  down— 

Portius,  come  near  me — Are  my  friends  embark'd? 
Can  any  thing  be  thought  of  for  their  fervice  I 
Whilft  I  yet  live,  let  me  not  live  in  vain. 
— O  Lucius,  art  thou  here  ? — Thou  art  too  good- 
Let  this  our  friendfhip  live  between  our  children, 
Make  Portius  happy  in  thy  daughter  Lucia. 
Alas  !  poor  man,  he  weeps  \—^Iarcia,  my  daughter— 
Oh,  bend  me  forward  ! — "Juba  loves  thee,  Marcia. 
A  fenator  of  Rome,  while  Rome  furviv'd, 
Would  not  have  match'd  his  daughter  with  a  king, 
But  Csf/ar's  arms  have  thrown  down  all  diilinclion  ; 
Whoe'er  is  brave  and  virtuous,  is  a  Roman — 
— I'm  fick  to  death — Oh,  when  mail  I  get  loofe 
From  this  vain  world,  th'  abode  of  guilt  and  forrow ! 
And  yet,  methinks,  a  beam  of  light  breaks  in 
On  my  departing  foul.     Alas,  I  fear 
I've  been  too  hafty,     O  ye  powers,  that  fearch 
The  heart  of  man,  and  weigh  his  inmoil  thoughts, 

If  I  have  done  amifs,  impute  it  not! 

The  belt  may  err,  'but  you  are  good,  and — Oh  !    [Dies* 

Luc.  There  fled  the  greateft  foul  that  ever  warm'd 
A  Roman  breaft  ;  O  Cato  !  O  my  friend  1 
Thy  will  fhall  be  religioufly  obferv'd. 

But 


66  C        A        T        O. 

But  let  us  bear  this  awful  corpfe  to 
And  lay  it  in  his  fight,  that  it  may  ftand 
A  fence  betwixt  us  and  the  vi&or's  wrath ; 
Catot  though  dead,  mall  flill  protedl  his  friends, 

From  hence,  let  fierce  contending  nations  know 
What  dire  efFecls  from  civil  difcord  flow. 
'Tis  this  that  ihakes  our  country  with  'alarms, 
And  gives  up  Rcme  a  prey  to  Reman  arms, 
Produces  fraud,  and  cruelty,  and  ftrife, 
And.  robs  the  guilty  world  of  Gate's  life. 

\Exeitnt  omnes. 


EPILOGUE. 


EPILOGUE. 


I 


TffHA  T  odd  fantajlic  things  r<-ve  women  do  ? 

Who  wou  d  not  liftfn  when  young  lovers  wdo  ! 
But  die  a  maidy  yet  have  the  choice  of  two  ! 
Ladies  are  often  cruel  to  their  coft  : 
To  give  you  pain,  them/elves  they  fiunijh  moft. 
Vows  of  virginity  Jhould  well  be  weigh* d ; 
Too  oft  they1  re  canceled,  thai1  in  convents  made, 
ifou'd  you  revenge fuch  rajh  refolves — -you  may  "1 

Be  fpiteful—  and  believe  the  thing  we  fay,  > 

We  hate  you  when  you're  eafely  faid  nay.  3 

How  needlefs,  if  you  knew  us,  were  your  fears  ? 
Let  love  have  eyes,  and  beauty  'will  have  ears. 
Our  hearts  are  formed  as  you  yourf elves  would  chufe% 
Too  proud  to  ajk,  too  humble  to  refufe  : 
We  give  to  merit,  and  to  wealth  we  fell : 
He  fighs  with  moft  fuccefs  that  fettles  well* 
The  ivoes  of  wedlock  with  the  joys  we  mix  ; 
'Tis  beft  repenting  in  a  coach  and  fix. 

Blame  not  our  (onduct,  fence  <we  but  purfue 
Thofe  lively  leffons  we  have  learnt  from  you. 
Tour  breafts  no  more  the  Jire  of  beauty  warms9 
But  wicked  wealth  ufurps  the  pow*r  of  charms. 
What  pains  to  get  the  gaudy  thing  you  hate, 
To  fwell  in  Jhowy  and  be  a  wretch  in  ft  ate. 
At  plays  you  ogle,  at  the  ring  you  bow ; 
Ev'n  churches  are  no  fanttuaries  now. 
Their  golden  idols  all  your  vows  receive, 
She  is  no  goddefs  that  has  nought  to  give. 
Oh,  may  once  more  the  happy  age  appear, 
When  words  were  artlefs,  and  the  thoughts  fincere  : 
When  gold  and  grandeur  were  unenvy'd  things, 
And  courts  lefs  coveted  than  groves  and  fprings  : 
Love  then  Jhall  only  mourn  when  truth  complains, 
And  conjiancy  feel  tranfport  in  its  chains  : 


63  E    P    I    L    O    G    U-'  E, 

Sighs  eivitbfuccefs  their  o<w»  foft  anguijh  tellt 
And  eyes  Jhall  utter  nvhat  the  lips  conceal : 
Virtue  again  to  its  bright  flatten  climb, 
And  beauty  fear  no  enemy  but  time  ; 
<The  fair  Jhall  liflen  to  defert  alone , 
And  etfry  Lucia  find  a  Cato'j  /on* 


/      JV      /     3. 


THEO'DOSIUS: 

OR,    THE 

FORCE     OF    LOVE.. 

A 

TRAGEDY. 

WRITTEN     BY 

NATHANIEL    LEE,    dent. 

Marked  with  the  Variations  in  the 

M  A  N  A  G  E   R's    BOOK, 

AT     THE 

in 


minus  fericulum  ex  magnafaina  quam  ex  mala. 

TACIT, 


LONDON: 

Priqted  for  T.  LONGMAN,  T.  LOWNDES,  R.  WARE, 

S.BLADON,    T.  CASLON,  C.  CORBETT,  and 

WHEILDON  and  Co. 

M.DCC.LXXVII* 


jj*  The  Reader  is  delired  to  obferve,  that  the  pafTages  omitted  in  the 
Reprefentation  at  the  Theatres  are  here  preferved,  and  marked 
with  inverted  Commas  \  as  in  the  three  firfl  Lines  of  Page  6. 


PROLOG    U    E. 


g  opprefs^d,  andfiird  at  loft  with  rare, 
Thus,  in  a  jullen  mood,  rebukes  the  a^t : 
What  loads  of  fame  do  modern  heroes  bear, 
For  an  inp'oi'ious,  long,  and  laxy  war  i 
Wboforfomejkirnijb,  sr  a  fafe  retreat, 
(Not  t»  be  dragged  to  battle)  are  calVd great. 
But,  oh!  what  do  ambitieus  ftatejmen  gain, 
Who  into  private  cbtjls  all  nations  drain  f 
What  fums  of  gold  they  hoard,  is  daily  known 
To  all  men's  ccft,  and  fotne  times  to  their  own. 
TTnur  lawyer  too,   that  like  an  0  yes,  lay^ts, 
That  drowns-the  market  higglers  irrfhe  ftalls, 
That  fee m  begot,  coatfi'o'.d,  and  born  in  brawls, 
Yet  thrives  :  he  and  his- croud  get  what  they  p/eatef 
Swarming  all  term-time  through  the  Strand  like  bees, 
They  bux,  at  Weftminirer,  and  lie  for  fees. 
The  godly,  too,  their  ways  cf  getting  have  ; 
But  none  fo  much  as  your  fanatic  knave  : 
Wifely  the  wealthicft  livings  they  refufe, 
Who  by  tbefattell  oijfapnckt  'would  fafe  j 
Who  witbjhort  hair,  large  ears,  and fmall  blue  bard1, 
True  rogues  !   their  iwn,  not  God's  elefl,  ctmmand. 
Let  pigs,  then,  be  prophane',  but broths  allow *d-t 
PoJJets,  and  cbriftian  caudles,  may  be  good 
Meet-helps,  to  reinforce  a  brother's  brood: 
Therefore  each  female  faint  he  doth  advlfe, 
With  groans,  and  hums,  and  ha^s,  and  goggling  eyest 
To  rub  him  down,  and  make  thefpint  rlje  j 
While,  'with  his  zeal,  tranfported from  the grouna} 
He  mounts,  and fanflijies  thejijiers  round. 
On  poets  only  no  kind  Jiar  e'er  fmilyd: 
Curflfate  has  damn'd  ""em,  ev  ry  mother's,  child  j 
Therefore  he  warns  bis  brothers  of  tbejiage, 
To  write  no  more  for  an  ungrateful  age. 
Think  'what  penurious  wifters  you  have  ferv'd 'j 
Taffo  ran  mad,  and  noble  Spenfery&arW. 
Turn  then,  'whoe'er  tbou  art  that  canji  write  well^ 
Thy  ink  to  gall,  and  in  lampoons  excel: 
Forfwear  all  bonefty,   traduce  the  great, 
Grow  impudent,  and  rail againft  the  Jlate', 
Jiurftingwitbfpleen,  abroad  thy  pajquilsfend, 
And  cbufefome  libel-fpreadcrfcr  thy  ft -end. 
The  wit  and  want  ifTimonpoint  thy  mindy 
And  for  thy  fatirt-fitbjecl  chaoj'e  matkiud. 

A  z 


9R 


cJ 

a 
o 


II  II 


IIIU1 


•^        ^ 

s    o 

s    v 


U 

to 


rHEODOSIUS. 


A     C    T 


I. 


SCENE,  aftately  temple,  which  reprefents  the  Chriftian 
religion,  as  in  its  firft  magnificence ',  being  but  lately 
ejlablijhed  at  Rome  and  Conftantinople.  Thejide-fcenet 
Jheiv  the  horrid  tortures,  with  which  the  Roman  tyrants 
perfecuted  the  church  ;  and  the  fiat  fcene ,  which  is  the  li 
mit  of  the  profpett,  dif covers  an  altar  richly  adorned ; 
before  it  Conftantine,  fuppofed^  knsels,  with  commanders 
about  him,  gazing  at  a  bloody  crofs  in  the  air ;  which 
being  encompaffed  with  many  angels,  offers  itfelf  to  tvieew> 
•with  thefe  word's  diftinttly  written ;  In  hoc  /igno  vin- 
ces.  Inftruments  are  heard,  and  many  attendants  :  the 
minifters  at  divine  fervice  walk  bujily  up  and  down,  till 
Atticus,  the  chief  of  all  the  priejis,  andfuccej/brof  St. 
Chryfoftom,  in  rich  robes,  comes  forward  with  the  pbi- 
lofopher  Leontine  ;  the  waiters  in  ranks  bowing  all  the. 
way  before  him* 

A  Chorus  heard  at  a  diflance. 

PRepare,  prepare  !  the  rites  begin  5 
Let  none  unhallow'd  enter  in  ; 
The  temple  with  new  glory  flunes ; 
Adorn  the  altars,  wafh  the  fhrines, 
And  purge  the  place  from  fm. 

Attic.  O  Leontine  !  was  ever  morn  like  this, 
Since  the  celeflial  incarnation  dawn'd  ? 
I  think  no  day,  fince  that,  fuch  glory  gave 
To  chriftian  altars,  as  this  morning  brings. 

Leon.  Great  fucceffor  of  holy  Ck-ryfojhm^ 

A  3  '  Who 


6  THEODOSIUS. 

'  Who  now  triumphs  above  a  faint  of  honour, 
'  Next  in  degree  to  thofe  bright  fons  of  Heav'n  ; 
'  Who  never  fell  nor  flain'd  their  orient  beams.' 
What  mall  I  anfwer  ?  How  mail  I  approach  you, 
Since  my  converfion,  which  your  breath  infpir'd  ? 

Attic.  To.  fee  this  day,  the  emperor  of  the  eaft 
Leaves  all  the  pleafures  that  the  earth  can  yield, 

*  That  nature  can  beftow,  or  art  invent ; 

'  Jn  his  life's  fpring,  and  bloom  of  gaudy  years 

*  Confined  to  narrow  rooms,  and  gloomy  walks, 
f  Falling  and  exercifes  of  devotion, 

'  Which  from  his  bed  at  midnight  muft  awake  him,' 
To  undergo  the  penance  of  a  cloiiler ; 
Meth'inks,  O  Leontine!  'tis  fomething  more 
Than  yet  philofophy  could. ever  reach. 

Leon.  True,  Atticus  ;  you  have  amaz'd  my  reafon. 

Attic.  Yet  more.    To  our  religion's  Jailing  honour,  • 
Mariana  and  Flavilla,  two  young  virgins, 
Imperial  born,  caft  in  the  faireil  mould 
That  e'er  the  hands  of  beauty  form'd  for  woman ; 
'  The  mirrors  of  our  court,  where  chaftity 

*  And  innocence  might  copy  fpotlefs  luftre ;' 
To-day,  with  Tbeodofius ,  leave  the  world. 

Leon.  Methinks,  at  fuch  a  glorious  refignation, 
Th'  angelic  orders  mould  at  once  defcend, 
'  In  all  the  paint  and  drapery  of  Heav'u  ; 

*  With  charming  voices  and  with  lulling  firings,* 
To'  give  full  grace  to  fuch  triumphant  zeal. 

Attic.  No,  Leontine  :  I  fear  there  is  a  fault ;    • 
For,  when  J  lall  confefs'd  the  emperor,     : 
'  Whether  difguft  and  melancholy  blood, 

*  From  refllefs  paffions,  urg'd  not  this  divorce  :* 
He  only  anfwer'd  me  with  fighs  and  blufhes. 
'Tis  'fare,  his  foul  is  of  the  tend'reft  make  ; 
Therefore  I'll  tax  him  ftridlly  :   but,  my  friend, 
Why  mould  I  give  his  character  to  you, 
Who,  when  his  father  fent  him  into  Perjia, 
Were  by  that  mighty  monarch  then  appointed 
To  breed  him  with  his  fon,  the  prince  7aranes  ? 

Leon.  And  what  will  raife  your  admiration,  is, 
That  two  fuch  diff'rent  tempers  ihould  agree. 
You  know  that  Theodofius  is  compos 'd 


THEODOSIUS.  7 

Of  all  the  foftnefs  that  mould  make  a  woman  : 
Judgment,  almoft  like  fear,  foreruns  his  actions ; 
And  he  will  poife  an  injury  fo  long, 
As  if  he  had  rather  pardon  than  revenge  it. 
But  the  young  Perfian  prince,  quite  oppofite, 
So  fiery  fierce,  that  thofe  who  view  him  nearly, 
May  fee  his  haughty  foul  Hill  mounting  in  his  face  : 
Yet  did  I  ftudy  thele  fo  different  tempers, 
Till  I  at  laft  had  form'd  a  perfecl  union, 
'  As  if  two  fouls  did  but  inform  one  body  :' 
A  friendfhip  that  may  challenge  all  the  world, 
And,  at  the  proof,  be  matchlefs. 

Attic.  I  long  to  read 

This  gallant  prince,  who,  as  you  have  inform'd  me, 
Comes  from  his  father's  court  to  fee  our  emperor. 

Leon.  So  he  intended,  till  he  came  to  Athens, 
And  at  my  homely  board  beheld  my  daughter; 
Where,  as  fate  order'd,  me,  who  never  faw 
The  glories  of  a  court,  '  bred  up  to  books, 
'  In  clofets,  like  a  fybil;  me,  I  fay, 
'  (Long  fmce  from  Perjia  brought  by  me  to  Athens}' 
UnfkilPd  in  charms,  but  thofe  which  nature  gave  her, 
Wounded  this  fcornful  prince.    In  ihort  he  forc'd  me 
To  wait  him  thither,  with  deep  proteftatons, 
That  moment  that  bereft  him  of  the  fight 
Of  Athenais,  gave  him  certain  death. 
But  fee,  my  daughter,  honoured  with  his  prefence. 

\They  retrre. 
Enter  Varanes  and  Athenais. 

Var.  'Tis  ftrange,  O  Athenais!  wond'rous  all ! 
Wond'rous  the  fhrines,   and  wonderful  the  altars. 
The  martyrs,  tho'  but  drawn  in  painted  flames, 
Amaze  me  with  the  image  of  their  fufPrings  : 
Saints  canoniz'd,  that  dar'd  with  Roman  tyrants ; 
Hermits  that  liv'd  in  caves,  and  fed  with  angels. 
By  Oro/mades,  it  is  wond'rous  all  ? 
That  bloody  crofs,  in  yonder  azure  fky,' 
Above  the  head  of  kneeling  Conftantine, 
Infcrib'd  about  with  golden  characters, 
Thou  (halt  o'ercome  in  this  :  if  it  be  true, 
I  fay  again,  by  Heav'n,  'tis  wond'rous  ftrange* 

Athen.  O  prince !  if  thus  imagination  ftirs  you, 
A  fancy  rais'd  from  figures  in  dead  walls, 

A  4  How 


?  T   H   E    O   D   O '  S  I   U   S« 

How  would  the  facred  breath  Q£  Atticus 
Infpire  your  breaft,  purge  all  your  drofs  away, 
And  drive  this  Athenais  from  your  foul, 

*  To  make  a  virgin  room,  whom  yet  the  mold 
'  Of  your  rude  fancy  cannot  comprehend'. 

Var.  What  fays  my  fair  !  Drive  Athenais  from  me  ! 

*  Start  me  not  into  frenzy,  left  I  rail 

*  At  all  religion,  and  fall  out  with  Heav*n  :' 
And  what  is  me,  alas  !  that  would  fupplant  thee  ? 
Were  fhe  the  miftrefs  of  the  world,  as  fair 

As  winterftars,  or  fummer  fetting  funs, 

And  thou  fet  by  in  nature's  plaineli  drefs, 

With  that  chafte  modeft  look,  when  firft  I  faw  thee 

The  heirefs  of  a  poor  philofopher ;         [Recorders  ready* 

I  fwear,  by  all  I  wifh,  by  all  I  love,  tofaurife,} 

Glory  and  thee,  I  would  not  lofe  a  thought, 

Nor  call  an  eye  that  way,  but  rufh  to  thee, 

To  thefe  lov'd  arms,  and  lofe  myfelf  for  ever. 

Athen,  Forbear,  my  lord. 

Far.  O  cruel  Athenais  \ 

Why  doft  thou  put  me  off,  who  pine  to  death  ? 
And  thruft  me  from  thee,  when  I  mould  approach  thee  ?~ 
Can  there  be  aught  in  this  ?  Curfe  then  thy  birth-right, 
Thy  glorious  titles,  and  ill-fuited  greatnefs, 
Since  Athenais  fcorns  thee  :  take  again 
Your  ill-tim'd  honours ;  take  'em,  take  'em,  gods, 
And  change  me  to  fome  humble  villager, 
If  fo  at  laft,  for  toils  at  fcorching  noon, 
In  mowing  meadows,  or  in  reaping  fields, 
At  night  me  will  but  crown  me  with  a  fmile, 
Or  reach  the  bounty  of  her  hand  to  blefs  me. 

Athen.  When  princes  fpeak,  their  fubjects  mould  be 
Yet,  with  humility,  I  would  demand,  [filent : 

Wherein  appears  my  fcorn,  or  my  averfion  ? 
Have  I  not  for  your  fake  abandon'd  home. 
Where  I  had  vow'd  to  fpend  my  calmer  days  ? 
But  you,  perhaps  imagine  it  but  little 
For  a  poor  maid  to  follow  you  abroad, 
Efpecially  the  daughter  of  old  Leontine  5 
Yet  I  muft  tell  you,  prince  • 

Var.  I  cannot  bear 

Thofe  frowns :  I  have  offended,  but  forgive  me  ; 
For  who,  O  Athenais !  that  is  tofs'd 

With 


THEODOSIUS.  9 

With  fuch  tempeftuous  tides  of  love  as  I, 
Can  fleer  a  fteady  courfe  ?  Retire,  my  fair. 

[  R  e  co  rdc  rsflou  r  tjb* 

Hark  !  the  folemnities  are  now  beginning, 
And  Tbeodojius  comes.     Hide,  hide  thy  charms  ; 
If  to  his  clouded  eyes  fuch  day^lhould  break, 
The  royal  youth,  who  doats  to  death  for  love, 
1  fear,  would  forfeit  all  his  vows  to  Heav'n, 
And  fix  upon  the  world,  thy  world  of  beauty.     [Exeunt. 
Enter  Theodofius,  leading  Marina  and  Flavilla,  all  three 
drejfed  in  white,  followed  by    Pulcheria. 

Theo.  Farewel,  Pulcberia  ;    and,  I  pray,  no  more ; 
For  all  thy  kind  complaints  are  loft  upon  me. 
Have  I  not  fworn  the  world  and  I  muft  part  ? 
Fate  has  proclaim'd  it :  therefore  weep  no  more  ; 
4  Wound  not  the  tend'reft  part  of  Theodofiut, 
9  My  yielding  foul,  that  would  expire  in  calms  ;' 
Wound  me  not  with  thy  tears,  and  I  will  tell  thee, 
Yet,  ere  I  take  my  lall  farewel  for  ever, 
The  caufe  of  all  my  fufPrings :  O  my  fitter  ! 
A  bleeding  heart,  the  ftings  of  pointed  love, 
What  conftitution,  foft  as  mine,  can  bear  ? 

Pttlck.  My  lord,  my  emperor,  my  deareft  brother, 
Why,  all  this  while,  did  you  conceal  it  from  me  ? 

tteo.  Becaufe  I  was  afham'd  to  own  my  weaknefs : 
'  I  knew  thy  fharper  wit,  and  ftricler  wifdom 
*  Would  dart  reproofs  which  I  could  not  endure.' 
Draw  near,  O  Attic**  !  and  mark  me  well ; 
For  never  yet  did  my  complaining  fpirit 
Unlade  this  weighty  fecret  on  him, 
Nor  groan  a  fyllable  of  her  opprefiion. 

Attic.  Concealment  was  a  fault ;  but  fpeak'at  large, 
Make  bare  the  wound,  and  I  will  pour  in  balm. 

Theo.  'Tis  folly  all,  and  fondnefs— -O  remembrance! 
Why  doft  thou  open  thus  my  wound  again, 
And  from  my  heart  call  down  thofe  warmer  drops 
That  make  me  die  with  fhame  ?  Hear,  then,  Pulcheria  ; 
Some  few  preceding  days  before  I  left 
The  Perjlan  court,  hunting  one  rooming  early, 
I  loft  myfelf  and  all  'the  company, 
Still  wand'ring  on,  as  fortune  would  direct  me, 
I  pail  a  rivulet,  and  lighted  in 

A  5  The 


io  THEODOSIUS. 

The  fweeteft  folitude  I  ever  favv ; 

When  flrait,  as  if  enchantment  had  been  there, 

Two  charming  voices  drew  me,  till  I  came 

Where  divers  arbours  overlook'd  the  river. 

Upon  the  ofier  bank  two  women  fat, 

Who,  when  their  fong  was  ended,  talk'd  to  one, 

Who  bathing  flood  far  in  the  cryftal  ftream  : 

But,  Oh,  what  thought  can  paint  that  fair  perfection, 

Or  give  a  glimpfe  of  fuch  a  naked  glory  ! 

Not  fea-born  Venus,  in  the  courts  beneath, 

When  the  green  nymphs  firft  kifs'd  her  coral  lips, 

All  polilh'd,  fair,- and  wafh'd  with  orient  beauty, 

Could  in  my  dazzling  fancy,  match  her  brightnefs 

Attic.  Think  where  you  are. 

*Tbeoi  O  fir,  you  muft  forgive  me. 
The  chafle  -enthufiaflic  form  appears 
As  when  I  faw  her ;  yet,  I  fwear,  Pulcberia, 
Had  cold  Diana  been  a  looker  on, 
She  muft  have  prais'd  the  virtues  of  the  virgin. 
'  The  fatyrs  could  not  grin,'  for  {he  was  veiled  : 
From  her  naked  bofom, 

Down  to  her  knees,  the  nymph  was  wrapped  in  lawn  : 
But,  Oh,  for  me,  for  me,  that  was  too  much  ! 
'  Her  legs,  her  arms,  her  hands,"  her  neck,  her  breafls, 
'  So  nicely  fhap'd,  fo  matchlefs  in  their  luftre  ;' 
Such  all-perfection,  that  I  took  whole  draughts 
Of  killing  love,  and  ever  finee  have  languifh'd 
With  ling'ring  furfeits  of  her  fatal  beauty  : 

'  Alas,  too  fatal  fure  1* ^-O  At  tic  us  ! 

Fdrgive  me  !  for  my  ilory  now  is  done. 

The  nymph  was  drefs'd,  and  with  her  two  companions^ 

Having  defcry'd  me,  fhriek'd,  and  fled  away, 

Leaving  me  motionlefs,  till  Lccvtine, 

Th'  initruclor  of  my  youth,  by  chance  came  in, 

And  wak'd  me  from  the  wonder  that  entranc'd  me. 

Attic.  Behold,  my  lord,  the  man  whom  you  have  nam'd 
The  harbinger  of  prince  Varanes  here. 

Enter  Leon  tine. 

Theo.  O  Lcor.tine!  ten  thoufand  welcomes  meet  thee; 
Thou  fofter  father  of  my  tender  youth, 
4  -Wito  rear'd  the  plant,  and  prun'd  it  with  fuch  care ; 

'  How 


THEODOSfUS.  ] 

*   How  mall  I  look  upon  thee,  who  am  fall'n 

'   From  all  the  principles  of  manlier  reafon, 

'  By  thee  infus'd,  to  more  than  woman's  weaknefs !' 

Now,  by  the  nrojefty  divine,  that  awes 

This  facred  place,  I  fwear,  you  moft  not  kneel : 

And  tell  me,  for  I  have  a  thoufand  things 

To  afk  thee,  where,  where  is  my  godlike  friend  ? 

Is  he  arriv'd,  and  mall  I  fee  his  face, 

Before  I'm  cloifter'd  from  the  world  for  ever  ? 

Leon.  He  comes,  my  lord,  with  all  th' expecting  joys 
Of  a  young  promis'd  lover.     From  his  eyes 
Big  hopes  look  forth,   and  boiling  fancy  forms 
Nothing  but  Theodofius  itill  before  him  ; 
His  thought,  his  ev'ry  word  is  Theodofius. 

Theo.  Yet  Leontine,  yet  anfwer  me  once  mote  : 
With  tremblings  I  demand  thee. 
Say — hail  thou  feen,  Oh  !  has  that  heav'nly  form 
Appear'd  to  thee  again  ?— Behold,  he's  dumb  : 
Proceed,  then,  to  the  folemn  laft  farewel ; 
Never  was  man  fo  willing  and  prepar'd. 

Enter  Varanes,  Aranthes,  and  Attendants. 
Far.  Where  is  my  friend  ?  O  where  is  my  belov'd, 
My  Tkeodojtus  ?  Point  him  out,  ye  gods, 
That  I  may  prefs  him  dead  betwixt  my  arms,. 
Devour  him  thus  with  over-hafty  joys, 
That  languifh  at  his  breaft,  quite  out  of  breath, 
And  cannot  utter  more. 

Vbeo.  Thou  mightieft  pleafure, 
And  greateft  bleffing  that  kind  Heav'n  could  fend 
To  glad  my  parting  foul,  a  thoufand  welcomes  ! 
Oh,  when  I  look  on  thee,  new  ftarts  of  glory 
Spring  in  my  breaft,  and  with  a  backward  bound 
I  run  the  race  of  luily  youth  again. 

Var.  By  Heav'n  it  joys  me  too,  when  I  remember 
Our  thoufand  paftimes,  when  we  borrowed  names, 
Alcides  I,  and  thou  my  deareft  'Thefeus  ; 
When  thro'  the  woods  we  chas'd  the  foaming  boar, 
With  hounds  that  open'd  like  Tbejfalian  bulls, 
Like  tigers  flu'd,  and  fanded  as  the  fhore, 
With  ears  and  chefts  that  dafh'd  the  morning  dew; 
Driv'n  with  the  fport,  as  mips  are  tofs'd  in  Sorms, 

A  6  We 


12  THEODOSIUS. 

We  ran  like  hinds,  and  matchlefs  was  our  courfe ; 

Now  fweeping  o'er  the  limit  of  a  hill ; 

Now  with  a  full  career  come  thund'ring  down 

The  precipice,  ar  J  fweat  along  the  vale.  [clouds 

Theo.    O  glorious  time  !    and  when  the  gath'ring 
Have  call'd  us  home,  fay,  did  we  reft,  my  brother .? 
When  on  the  ftage,  to  the  admiring  court, 
We  ftrove  to  reprefent  Alcides^  fury, 
In  all  that  raging  heat,  and  pomp  of  madnefs, 
With  which  the  ftately  Seneca  adorn'd  him ; 
So  lively  drawn,  and  painted  with  fuch  horror, 
That  we  were  forc'd  to  give  it  o'er,  fo  loud 
The  virgins  fhriek'd,  fo  fail  they  dy'd  away. 

Var.  My  Tbfodofius  ftill ;  'tis  my  lov'd  brother  ! 
And  by  the  gods,  we'll  fee  thofe  times  again  ! 
Why,  then,  has  rumour  wrong'd  thee,  that  reported 
Chriftianenthufiafm  had  charm'd  thce  from  us  ; 
That,  drawn  by  priefts,  and  work'd  by  melancholy, 
Thou  hadft  laid  the  golden  reins  of  empire  down, 
And  fworn  thyfelf  a  votary  for  ever. 

cfheo.  'Tis  almoft  true,  and  had  not  you  arriv'd, 
The  folemn  buftnefs  had  by  this  been  ended. 
This  I  have  made  the  emprefs  of  the  eaft, 
My  elder  fitter ;  thefe  with  me  retire, 

Devoted  to  the  pow'r  whom  we  adore. 

Var.  What  pow'r  is  chat,  that  merits  fach  oblations  ? 

I  thought  the  fun  more^great  and  glorious 

Than  any  that  e'er  mingled  with  the  gods ; 

Yet  ev'n  to  him,  my  father  never  ofter'd 

More  than  a  hecatomb  of  bulls  and  horfes. 

Now,  by  thofe  golden  beams  that  glad  the  world, 

I  fwear,  it  is  too  much  ;  for  one  of  thefe, 

But  halffo  bright,  our  god  would  drive  no  more; 

He'd  leave  the  darken'd  globe,  and  in  fome  cave 

Enjoy  fuch  charms  for  ever. 
Attic.  My  lord,  fv-rbear  ; 

Such  language  does  not  fait  with  our  devotions. 

Nothing  prophane  muft  dare  to  murmur  here, 

Nor  ftain  the  hallow'd  beauties  of  the  place. 

Yet  thus  far  \ve  muft  yield,  the  e-mperor 

IK  not enough  prepar'd  to  l?ave  the  world. 

ftp* 


THEODOSIUS.  13 

Var.  Thus  low,  moil  rev'rend  of  this  facred  place, 
I  bow  for  pardon,  and  am  half  converted, 
By  your  permiffion,  that  my  Tkeodojius 
Return  to  my  embraces.     O  my  brother  ! 
Why  doit  thou  droop  ?  There  will  be  time  enough 
For  pray'r  and  failing  and  religious  vows  ; 
Let  us  enjoy,  while  yet  thou  art  my  own, 
All  the  magnificence  of  eaftern  courts. 
I  hate  to  walk  a  laxy  life  away: 
Let's  run  the  race  which  fate  has  fet  before  us, 
And  poft  to  the  dark  goal. 

*  Tbeo.  Cruel  deitiny  i 

*  Why  am  not  I  thus  too  ?  O  my  Varanes  f 

'  Why  are  thefe  coflly  dimes  fet  before  me  ? 

*  Why  do  thefe  founds  of  pleafure  itrike  my  ears  ? 

*  Why  are  thefe  joys  brought  to  my  fick  remembrance, 

*  Who  have  no  appetite  ;   but  am,  to  fenfe, 
'  From  head  to  foot,  all  a  dead  palfy  o'er  ? 

4  Far.  Fear  not,  my  friend,  all  mail  be  well 

*  Again  ;  for  I  have  thoufand  ways,  and  thoufand  flo- 

*  To  raife  thee  up  to  pleafure.     We'll  unlock         [ries 
4  Our  fafteft  fecrets,  med  upon  each  other 

4  Our  tendereit  cares,  and  quite  unbar  thofe  doors 
4  Which  mail  be  mut  to  all  mankind  befide.' 

Attic.  Silence  and  rev'rence  are  the  temple's  dues : 
Therefore,  while  we  purfue  the  facred  rites, 
Be  thefe  obferv'd,  or  quit  the  awful  place. 

*  Imperial  fitters,  now  twin-ftars  of  Heav'n, 
4  Anfwer  the  fuccefFor  of  Cbryfojhnt, 

*  Without  leaft  refervadon  anfwer  me, 

*  By  thofe  harmonious  rules  I  charg'd  ye  learn.* 


. 

Attic.        Canft  thon,  Mftrina,   leave  the  world, 
The  world  that  is  devotion's  bane  : 
Where  crowns  are  toft,  and  fceptres  hurl'd, 
Where  luft  and  proud  ambition  reign  ? 

'  2  Prieft. 


14  T    H   E   O   D    O   S  I  U   S, 

«  2  Prieft.  Can  you  your  coftly  robes  forbear, 
1  To  live  with  us  in  poor  attire  ? 
•  Can  you  from  courts  to  cells  repair, 

*  To  fing  at  midnight  in  our  choir  ? 

<  3  Prieft.  Can  you  forget  your  golden  beds, 

'  Where  you  might  fleep  beyond  the  morn, 
'  On  marts  to  lay  your  royal  heads, 

'  And  have  your  beauteous  trefles  morn  ? 

<  Attic.     Can  you  refolve  to  faft  all  day, 

'  And  weep  and  groan  to  be  forgiv'n  ? 
'  Can  you  in  broken  {lumbers  pray, 

*  And  by  afRiftion  merit  heav'n?' 

Cbor.        Say,  votaries,  can  this  be  done  ? 

While  we  the  grace  divine  implore, 

The  world  has  loft,  the  battle's  won, 

And  fin  mail  never  charm  ye  more. 

Marina  \  The  gate  to  blifs  does  open  ftand, 
finas.    I      And  all  my  penance  is  in  view ; 
The  world,  upon  the  other  hand, 
Cries  out,  Oh,  do  not  bid  adieu  ! 

'  Yet,  facred  Sir,  in  thefe  extremes, 

'  Where  pomp  and  pride  their  glories  tell  j, 

'  Where  youth  and  beauty  are  the  themes, 
«  And  plead  their  moving  eaufe  fo  well ; 

If  auglJt  that's  vain  my  thoughts  poffefs, 

Or  any  paffions  govern  here, 
But  what  divinity  may  blefs, 

Oh,  may  I  never  enter  there  ! 

Fla<villa  >  '  What  can  pomp  or  glory  do, 
fngs*    5      *  Or  what  can  human  charms  perfuade  ? 
'  That  mind  that  has  a  heav'n  in  view, 
'  How  can  it  be  by  earth  betray'd  ? 

•  No  monarch  full  of  youth  and  fame, 

*  The  joy  of  eyes,  and  nature's  pride, 

*  Should  once  my  thoughts  from  heaven  reclaim, 

*  Though  now  he  woo'd  me  for  his  bride.' 

Haite, 


T   H    E    O   D    O    S    I   U   S.  rs 

Hafte,  then,  OK,  hafte,  and  take  us  in, 
For  ever  lock  religion's  door; 

Secure  us  from  the  charms  of  fin, 
And  let  us  fee  the  world  no  more. 

Attlcus  7  Hark,  hark  !  behold  the  heav'nly  choir  : 
Jings.  J  They  cleave  the  air  in  bright  attire; 

And  fee,  his  lute  each  angel  brings, 
And,  hark  !   divinely  thus  he  iings  : 
To  the  powers  divine  all  glory  be  given, 
By  men  upon  earth,  and  angels  in  Heaven. 

[Scene  Jhuts,  and  all  the  Priefts,  with  Marina- <z#</FlavilIa. 
dif appear. 

Pulcb.  For  ever  gone  !   for  ever  parted  from  me  ! 

0  Tkcodofeus  !  till  this  cruel  moment, 

1  never  knew  how  tenderly  I  lov'd  'em  ; 
But  on  this  everlafting  feparation, 
Methinks  my  foul  has  left  me,  and  my  time 
Of  diffolution  points  me  to  the  grave. 

Tbeo.  O  my  Varanes  !  does  not  now  thy  temper 
Bate  fomething  of  its  fire?  Doft  thou  not  melt 
In  mere  companion  of  my  /ifler's  fate, 
And  cool  thyfelf  with  one  relenting  thought  ? 

Far.   Yes  my  dar'd  foul  rolls  inwar4  ;  melancholy, 
Which  I  ne'er  felt  before,  now  comes  upon  me, 
And  I  begin  to  loath  all  human  greatnefs  : 
Oh,  figh  not,  then,  nor  thy  hard  fate  deplore  ; 
For  'tis  refolv'd  we  will  be  kings  no  more  : 
We'll  fly  all  courts,    and  love  mall  be  our  guide  : 
Love,  that's  more  worth  than  all  the  world  befide. 
Vrinces  are  barr'd  the  liberty  to  roam  ; 
The  fetter'd  mind  ftill  languifries  at  home  : 
In  golden  bands  ihe  treads  the  thoughtful  round : 
Bus'nefs  and  cares  eternally  abound  ; 
And  when  for  air  the  goddefs  would  unbind, 
She's  clogg'd  with  fceptres,  and  to  crowns  confin'd. 

[Exeunt, 


i6  T  H   E   O  D  O   S   I  U   S. 

ACT        II. 
SCENE,  the  Palace. 

Enter  Pulcheria,  Julia,  and  Attendants. 

Pulch.  ^IPHESE  packets  for  the  emperor  Honortus  : 

A     Be  fwift,  let  th'  agent  hafte  to  Rams      >  •• 
I  hear,  my  Juliay  that  our  general 
Is  from  the  Goths  return'd  with  conqueft  home. 

Jul.  He  is.     To-day  I  faw  him  in  the  prefence, 
Sharp  to  the  courtiers,  as  he  ever  was, 
Becaufe  they  went  not  with  him  to  the  wars : 
To  yon  he  bows,,  and  fues  to  kifs  your  hand. 

Pulcb.   He  ihall,  my  deareft  Julia  :  oft  I've  told  thee 
The  fecret  of  my  foul  :  if  e'er  I  marry, 
Martian's  my  hufband  ;  he's  a  man,   my  Julia, 
"Whom  I've  lludied  long,  and  found  him  perfect ; 
Old  Rome,  at  every  glance,  looks  through  his  eyes., 
And  kindles  the  beholders.     Some  lharp  atoms 
Run  through  his  frame,  which  I  could  wilh  were  out; 
He  fickens  at  the  foftnefs  of  the  emp'ror, 
An4  fpeaks  too  freely  of  our  female  court, 
Then  fighs,  comparing  it  with  what  Rome  was. 

Enter  Marcian  and  Lucius. 
Ha !  who  are  thefe  that  dare  prophane  this  place 
With  more  than  barb'rous  infolence  ? 

Marc .  At  your  feet,    , 
Behold,  I  caft  the  fcourge  of  thefe  offenders, 
And  kneel  to  kifs  your  hand. 

Pulcb.  Put  up  your  fword  ; 
And,  ere  I  bid  you  welcome  from  the  wars, 
Be  fare  you  clear  your  honour  of  this  rudenefs, 
Or,  Martian,  leave  the  court. 

Marc,  Thus,  then,  madam  : 
The  emperor  receiv  d  me  with  affection, 
Embraced  me  for  myconqueils,  and  retir'd,; 
When  on  a  fudden,  all  the  gilded  flies 
That  buz  about  the  court,  came  flutt'ring  round  me ; 
This,  with  affected  cringes,  and  minc'd  words,      » 
Begs  me  to  tell  my  tale  of  victories ; 

Which 


T  H  E   Q  J>  O    S   J  U   S.  17 

Which  done,   he  thanks  me,  fiips  Behind  his  fellow, 

Whifpers  him  in  the  ear,    then  fmiles  and  liftens, 

While  I  relate  my  ftory  once  again  : 

A  third  comes  in,  and  afks  me  the  fame  favour  ; 

Whereon  they  laugh,  while  I,  ftill  ignorant, 

Go  on;  but  one  behind,  more  impudent, 

Strikes  on  my  moulder,  then  they  laugh'd  outright; 

But  then,  I,  gueffing  the  abufe  too  late, 

Return'd  my  knight  behind  a  box  o'  th'  ear, 

Then  drew,  and  briefly  told  them  they  were  rafcals : 

They,  laughing  ftill,  cry'd  out,  the  general's  muftyj 

Whereon  I  drove  'em,  madam,  as  you  faw. 

This  is,  in  ihort,  the  truth  ;  I  leave  the  judgment 

To  your  own  juftice :  if  I  have  done  ill, 

Sentence  m«,,  and  I'll  leave  the  court  for  ever. 

Pulcb.  Firft;  you  are  welcome,  Mar  dan  ^  from  thewarsj 
And  ftill,  whene'er  occafion  calls  for  arms, 
Heav'n  fend  the  emperor  a  general, 
Renown'd  as  Marcian  !  As  to  what  is  paft, 
I  think  the  world  will  rather  praife  than  cenfure 
Pulcheria,  when  me  pardons  you  the  aft  ion. 

Marc.  Gods,  gods,  and  thou  great  founder  of  old  Rome  f 
What  is  become  of  all  that  mighty  fpirit, 
That  rais'd  our  empire  to  a  pitch  fo  high  ? 
*  Where  is  it  pent  ?  What  but  almighty  power 
'  Could  thus  confine  it,  that  but  fome  few  atoms 
'  Now  run  through  all  the  Eaft  and  Occident?' 

Pulcb.  Speak  calmly,  Marcian'   •     • 

Marc.  Who  can  be  temperate, 

That  thinks  as  I  do,  madam  ?  Why,  here's  a  fellow ; 
I  have  feen  him  fight  againft  a  troop  of  Vandals 
In  your  defence,  as  if  he  lov'd  to  bleed  : 

Come  to  my  arms,  my  dear !  th<?u  canft  not  talk, 

But  haft  a  foul  above  the  proudeft  of  'em, 

0  madam  !  when  he  has  been  all  over  blood, 

And  hack'd  with  wounds  that  feem'd  to  mouth  his 
praifes, 

1  have  fe^n  him  fmile  ftill  as  he  pufh'd  death  from  him, 
And  with  his  actions  rally  diftant  fate. 

*  Pulch.  He  has  a  noble  form.'     s 
Marc.  Yet  ev'n  this  man, 
That  fought  fo  bravely  in  his  country's  caufe, 

This 


i8  T  M  E   O   D    O   S  I  U  S. 

This  excellent  man,  this  morning,  in  the  prefence> 

Did  I  fee  wrong'd  before  the  emperor, 

Scorn'd  and  defpis'd,  becaufe  he  could  not  cringe, 

Nor  plant  his  feet  as  fome  of  them  could  do. 

'  One  faid  his  cloaths  were  not  well  made,  and  damn 'd 

*  His  taylor Another  faid  he  look'd 

'  As  if  he  had  not  loft  his  maidenhead.' 
If  things  are  fuffer'd  to  be  thus,  down  all 
Authority,  pre-eminence,  degree,  and  virtue ; 
Let  Rome  be  never  mention'd ;  no,  i'  th'  name 
Of  all  the  gods,  be  me  forgotten  ever  ! 
Effeminate  Perjians,  and  the  Lydian  foftnefs 
Make  all  your  fights :  Mar cian  mall  out  no  more  ; 
For,  by  my  arms,  it  makes  a  woman  of  me, 
And  my  fwol'n  eyes  run  o'er,  to  think  this  worth, 
This  fuller  honour  than  the  whole  court  holds, 
Should  be  ridiculous  to  knaves  and  fools ; 
'  Should  ftarve  for  want  of  what  is  neceflary 
'  To  life's  convenience,  when  luxurious  bawds 
'  Are  fo  o'er-grown  with  fat,  and  cramm'd  with  riot, 
'  That  they  can  hardly  walk  without  an  engine.' 
Pulch.  Why  did  not  you  inform  the  emperor  ? 
Marc.  Becaufe  he  will  not  hear  me.     Alas,  good  man, 
He  flies  from  this  bad  world ;  and  ftill  when  wars 
A  nd  dangers  come,  he  runs  to  his  devotions, 
To  your  new  thing,  I  know  not  what  you  call  it, 
Which  Conftantine  began. 

Pulch.  Mow,  Martian!  are  not  you 
Of  that  religion  which  the  emp'ror  owns  ? 

Marc.  No,  madam;  if  you'll  fee  my  honefl  thought, 
I  am  not  of  their  principle  that  take 
A  wrong  ;  fo  far  f.om  bearing  with  a  foe, 
I  would  itrike  firft,  like  old  Rome.     '  I  would  forth, 
Elbow  the  neighbouring  nations  round  about, 
Invade,  enlarge  ray  empire  to  the  bounds 
Of  the  too  narrow  univerfe.     Yes,  I  own 
That  I  defpife  your  holy  innovations. 
I'm  for  the  Roman  gods,  for  funeral  piles, 
For  mounting  eagles,  and  the  fancied  greatnefs 
Of  our  forefathers.'     Methinks  my  heated  fpirit 
Could  utter  things  worth  lofing  of  my  head. 

Pulch.  Speak  freely,  Martian^  for  I  know  thee  honefl:. 

Marc* 


THEODOSIUS.  19 

Marc.  O  madam !  long,   long  may  the  emp'ror  live  ! 
But  I  muft  fay  his  gentle  difpofition, 
Suits  not,  alas !    the  oriental  fway: 
Bid  him  but  look  on  Pharamond-,    O  gods  ! 
Awake  him  with  the  image  of  that  fpirit, 
Which,   like  a  pyramid  reversed,    is  grown 
Ev'n  from  a  point,  to  the  moil  dreadful  greatnefs. 
His  very  name  already  makes  the  world; 
AndfUJl  in  perfon  heading  his  fierce  fquadrons, 
Like  the  firft  Co-far  o'er  the  hardy  Gauls, 
He  feems  another  thunder-bolt  of  war.' 
Pulch.  I  oft  have  have  blam'd  my  brother  molt  for  this, 
That  to  my  hand  he  leavs  the  ftate  affairs ; 
And  how  that  founds,  you  know 

Marc.  Forgive  me,   madam  ; 
I  think  that  all  the  greatnefs  of  your  fex, 
Rome's  Clelia,  and  the  fam'd  Semiramisy 
*  With  all  the  Amazonian  valour  too/ 
Meet  in  Pulcheria ;  yet,   I  fay,   forgive  me, 
If  with  reluctance  I  behold  a  woman 
Sit  at  the  empire's  helm,   and  fteer  the  world. 

Pulch.  Iftandrebuk'd 

Marc.   (  Mark  but  the  growing  French  ; 
The  moft  aufpicious  omen  of  their  greatnefs 
That  I  can  guefs,  is  their  late  Salique  law, 
Blefs'd  by  their  priefts,  the  Salii,  and  pronounc'd 
To  tfand  for  ever ;   which  excludes  all  women 
From  the  imperia1  crown.'     But,  Oh!    I  fpeak 
Theleait  of  all  thofe  infinite  grievances, 
Which  make  the  fubjedb  murmur  :   in  the  army, 
Tho'  I  proceeded  ftill  like  Hannibal, 
Andpunifh'd  every  mutineer  with  death; 
Yet,   Oh !   it  ftabb'd  me  through  and  through  the  foul 
To  pafs  the  wretches  doom,  becaufe  I  knew 
Wiih  juftice  they  complain'd  ;  for  hard  they  fought, 
And  with  their  blood  earn'd  that  forbidden  bread, 
Which  fome  at  court,  and  great  ones,  tho'  unnam'd, 
Caft  to  their  hounds,  while  the  poor  foldiers  rcarv'd— 

Pulch.  Your  pity,  too,  in  mournful  fellovvihip, 
No  doubt  might  footh  their  murmurs. 

Marc.   Yes,  it  did ; 
That  I  might  put  them  once  again  in  heart, 

I  faid, 


20  THEODOSIUS. 

I  faid,   'twas,  true,  the  emp'ror  was  to  blame, 

Who  dealt  too  coldly  with  his  faithful  fervants, 

And  paid  their  great  arrears  by  fecond-hands : 

I  promis'd  too,  when  we  return'd  to  court, 

Things  mould  be  mended—- 

But  how,  O  gods,  forgive  my  blood  this  tranfpoit, 

To  the  eternal  fiiame  of  female  counfels, 

And  to  the  blaft  of  ^beodofius*  name, 

Whom  never  warlike  chronicle  mall  mention,  > 

*  Oh,  let  me  fpeak  with  a  Roman  fpirit!' 
We  were  receiv'd  like  undone  prodigals, 

By  curs'd  ungrateful  ftewards,  with  cold  looks, 
Who  yet  got  all  by  thofe  poor  wretches  ruin, 
Like  malefaftors  at  the  hands  of  juftice. 
I  blufh,    I  almoftweep  with  burlh'ng  rage: 
If  thus  receiv'd,  how  paid  our  long  arrears  ? 
Why,  as  intruded  miters  pay  the  rights 
Of  helplefs  widows,  or  the  orphan's  tears. 
O  foldier !  for  to  thee,  to  thee  I  fpeak  it, 
Bawds  for  the  drudgery  of  citizens  wives,      x 
Would  better  pay  debilitated  ftallions.' 
Madam,  I've  faid,   perhaps,  too  much :  if  fb, 
It  matter:  not ;  for  he  who  lies,  like  me, 
On  the  hard  ground,  is  fure  to  fall  no  further. 

Pulch*  I've  given  you  patient  hearing,  honelt  Martian? 
And,   as  far  as  I  can  fee  into  your  temper, 
'  I  fpeak  my  ferioas  judgmeat  in  cold  blood, 
4  With  ftrifteft  confutation  on  the  matter,' 
I  think  this  feeming  plain  and  honeft  Marciant 
An  exquifite  and  moft  notorious  traitor. 
Marc.  Ha  !  traitor ! 

Pulcb.  Yes,    a  moft  notorious  traitor.  [world, 

'  Marc.  Your  grandfather,  whofe  frown  could  awe  the 

*  Wrould  not  have  call'd  me  fo or  if  he  had- — 

'  Pulch.  You  would  have  taken  it' -—But  to  the 

bus'nefs ; 

Was't  not  enough,  O  Heav'n  thou  know'rl;,  too  much ! 
At  firil  to  own  yourfelf  an  infidel, 
A  bold  contemner,  ev'n  to  blafphemy, 
Of  that  religion  which  we  all  profefs, 
For  which  your  heart's  beft  blood  can  ne'er  fu{Ece, 
But  you  muil  dare,  with  a  feditious  army, 

Thus 


THEGDOSIUS.  21 

Thus  to  confpire  againft  the  emperor  ? 

I  mention  not  your  impudence  to  me, 

Taxing  the  folly  of  my  government 

Ev'n  to  my  face  ;  fuch  an  irreverence, 

As  fureno  barb'rous  Vandal  would  have  urg'd; 

Befides  your  libelling  all  the  court,  as  if 

You  had  engrofs'd  the  whole  world's  honefty, 

And  flatt'rers,  fools,  and  fycophants,  and  knaves, 

Such  was  your  language,  did  inhabit  there. 

Marc.  You  wreft  my  honeft  meaning,  by  the  gods 
-  You  do  ;  '  and  if  you  thus  go  on,  I  feel 
«  My  ftruggling  fpirit  will  no  longer  bear  it.' 

Pulcb.  I  thought  the  meaning  of  all  rational  men 
Should  ftill  be  gather'd  out  of  their  difcourfe ; 
Nor  are  you  fo  imprudent,  without  thinking, 
To  vent  fuch  words,  tho'  now  you  fain  would  hide  it. 
You  find  the  guilt,  and  baulk  the  accufation. 
But  think  not  you  mail  'fcape  fo  eafily: 
Once  more  I  do  confront  you  as  a  traitor; 
And,  as  I  am  entrufted  with  full  pow'r, 
Diveft  you,  in  the  name  of  Fbeodojjus, 
Of  all  your  offices,  commiffions,  honours  ; 
Command  you  leave  the  court  within  three  days, 
Loyal,  plain-dealing,  honeft  Martian. 

Marc.  Gods !  gods ! 

Pulcb.  '  What  now?  Ha!    does  the  traitor  murmur? 

*  If  in  three  days — mark  me — 'tis  I  that  doom  thee—?" 

*  Ram,  inconfiderate  man,  a  wretch  beneath 

*  The  torments  I  could  execute  upon  thee!'. 
If  after  three  days  fpace  thou'rt  found  in  court, 
Thou  dy'ft ;  thy  head,  thy  head  mall  pay  the  forfeit. 

*  Now  rage,  now  rail,  and  curfe  the  court; 

*  Saucily  dare  t'  abufe  the  beft  of  princes, 

*  And  let  thy  lavvlefs  tongue  lafh  all  it  can ; 

Do,  like  a  madman,  rave;  deplore  thy  fortune, 

*  While  pages  laugh  at  thee.'     Then  hafte  to  th'  army, 
Grow  popular,  and  lead  the  multitude  ; 

Preach  up  thy  wrong?,  and  drive  the  giddy  beaft 
To  kick  at  C&far*     Nay,  if  thou  weep'ft,  I'm  gone. 
O  Julia!  if  I  ftay,  I  fhall  weep  too. 
Yet  'jtis  but  juft  that  I  the  heart  mould  fee 
Of  him  who  once  raufl  lord  it  over  me*  [jffide. 

[Exeunt  Pulch,  and  Julia. 
Luc, 


22 


THEODOSIUS. 


Luc.  Why  do  you  droop,  fir  ? — Come,  no  more  o'this : 
You  are,  and  mail  be  flill  our  general. 
Say  but  the  word,  I'll  fill  the  Hippodrome 
With  fquadrons  that  mail  make  the  emp'ror  tremble ; 
We'll  fire  the  court  about  his  ears. 
Methinks,  like  Junius  Brutus,  I  have  watch'd 
An  opportunity,  and  now  it  comes  : 
Few  words  and  I  are  friends ;  but,  noble  Martian, 
If  yet  thou  are  not  more  than  general, 
Ere  dead  of  night,    fay  Lucius  is  a  coward. 

Marc .  I  charge  thee,  in  the  name  of  all  the  godsr 
Come  back :  I  charge  thee,  by  the  name  of  friend. 
All's  well,  and  I  rejoice  I  am  no  general. 
But,  hufh  !  within  three  days  we  muft  be  gone; 
And  then,  my  friend,  farewel  to  ceremony  ! 
We'll  fly  to  fome  far  diflant,  lonely  village, 
'Forget  our  former  (late,  and  breed  with  (laves ; 
And  when  night  comes, 
With  bodies  coarfely  fill'd,  and  vacant  fouls, 
Sleep  like  the  laboured  hinds,  and  never  think ; 
For  if  I  think  again,  I  mail  go  mad. 

Enter  Leontine  and  Athenais. 

Therefore,  no  thought.     But  fee,  we're  interrupted. 
O  court!   O   emperor! — Yet  let  death  threaten ; 
I'll  find  a  time;  'till  then,  be  flill,  my  foul— - 
'  No  general  now ;  a  member  of  thy  country, 
4  But  moft  corrupt:  therefore  to  be  cut  off; 
*  Loyal,  plain-dealing,   honeft  Martian ; 
'Aflave,  a  traitor!  O  ye  eternal  gods! ?— •        [Exeunt* 

Leon.  So,  Athenais,  now  our  compliment 
To  the  young  Perjian  prince  is  at  an  end : 
What  then  remains,  but  that  we  take  our  leave, 
And  bid  him  everlaflingly  farewel ; 

Atben.  My  lord ! 

Leon.  I  fay  that  decency  requires 
We  mould  be  gone ;  nor  can  you  ftay  with  honour. 

Athen.  Moft  true,   my  lord. 

Leon.  The  court  is  now  at  peace, 
The  emp'ror's  fillers  are  retir'd  for  ever, 
And  he  himfelf  compos'd :  what  hinders  then, 
But  that  we  bid  adieu  to  prince  Varanes? 

Ah,  fir !  why  will  you  break  my  heart  ? 
3  Leon. 


THEODOSIUS.  23 

Leon.  I  would  not. 

Thou  art  the  only  comfort  of  my  age : 
Like  an  old  tree,  I  Hand  amongfl  the  ftorms ; 
Thou  art  the  only  limb  that  I  have  left  me  ;     [She  kneels. 
My  dear  green  branch !  And  how  I  prize  thee,  child, 
Heav'n  only  knows.     Why  doll  thou  kneel  and  weep  ? 

Athen.  Becaufe  you  are  fo  good,  and  will,  I  hope, 
Forgive  my  fault,  who  firil  occafion'd  it. 

Leon.  I  charg'd  thee  to  receive  and  hear  the  prince. 

Athen.  You  did,  and,  O  my  lord,  I  heard  too  much, 
Too  much,  I  fear,  for  my  eternal  quiet ! 

Leon.  Rife,  Athenais ;  credit  him  who  bears 
More  years  than  thou  :  Varanes  has  deceived  thee. 

Athen.  How  do  we  differ  then  ?  You  j  udge  the  prince 
Impious  and  bafe ;  while  1  take  Heav'n  to  witnefs, 
I  mink  him  the  moft  virtuous  of  men  : 
Therefore,  take  heed,   my  lord,  how  you  accufe  him 
Before  you  make  the  trial.     Alas,   Varanes! 
If  thou  art  falfe,  there's  no  fuch  thing  on  earth 
As  folid  goodnefs,  or  fubftantial  honour. 
A  thoufand  times,  my  lord,  he  has  fworn  to  give  me 
(And  I  believe  his  oaths)  his  crown  and  empire, 
That  day  I  make  him  mailer  of  my  heart. 

Leon.  That  day  he'll  make  thee  miilrefs  of  his  power, 
Which  carries  a  foul  name  among  the  vulgar.' 
No,  Athenais,  let  me  fee  thee  dead, 
Borne  a  pale  corpfe,  and  gently  laid  in  earth  ; 
So  1  may  fay,  Ihe's  chaile,  and  dy'd  a  virgin, 
Rather  than  view  thee  with  thefe  wounded  eyes, 
Seated  upon  the  throne  of  Ifdigerdes, 
The  blaft  of  common  tongues,  the  nobles  fcorn, 
Thy  father's  curfe,  that  is,  the  prince's  whore. 

At  ben.  O  horrid  fuppofition  !  how  I  detefl  it ! 
Be  witnefs,  Heav'n,  that  fees  my  fecret  thoughts ! 

Have  I  for  thjs,  my  lord,  been  taught  by  you 

The  nicefljuftice,  and  fevered  virtue ; 

To  fear  no  death,  to  know  no  end  of  life, 

And  with  long  fearch  difcern  the  highefl  good? 

No,  Athenais :  when  the  day  beholds  thee 

So  fcandaloufly  rais'd,  pride  caft  thee  down, 

The  fcorn  of  honour,  and  the  people's  prey  J* 

To,  cruel  Leontine,  not  to  redeem 

That 


*4  T    H    E    O    D    O    S    I    U    3. 

That  aged  head  from  the  defcending  ax, 
Not  tho*  I  few  thy  trembling  body  rack'd, 
Thy  wrinkles  all  about  thee  filPd  with  blood, 
Would  I  for  empire,   to  the  man  t  love, 
Be  made  the  object  of  unlawful  pleafure. 

Leon.  Oh,    greatly  faid !    And  by  the  blood  which 
Which  runs  as  rich  as  any  Athens  holds,         [warms  me,, 
It  would  improve  the  virtue  of  the  world, 
Jf  ev'ry  day  a  thoufancl  votaries, 
And  thoufand  virgins,  came  from  far  to  hear  thee! 

Athen.  Look  down,   ye  pow'rs,  take  notice,  we  obey 
The  rigid  principles  ye  have  infus'd ; 
Yet,  O  my  noble  father !  to  convince  you, 
Since  you  will  have  it  fo,  propofe  a  marriage ; 
Tho'  with  the  thought  I'm  cover'd  o'er  with  blufhes ; 
Not  that  I  doubt  the  prince  ?  that  were  to  doubt 
The  Heav'ns  themfelves.     I  know  he  is  all  truth : 

But  modefty *•*•  ' 

The  virgin's  troublefome  and  conftant  gueft, 
That,  that  alone  forbids  • 

Leon.  I  wifti  to  Hcav'n 
There  prove  no  greater  bar  to  my  relief. 
Behold  the  prince.     I  will  retire  a  while, 
And,   when  occafion  calls,  come  to  thy  aid.    [Ex.  Leom 
Enter  Varanes  and  Aranthes. 

Var.  To  fix  her  on  the  throne,   to  me  feems  little. 
Were  I  a  god,  yet  would  I  raife  her  higher ; 
This  is  the  nature  of  thy  prince.     But,  Oh! 
As  to  the  world,  thy  jndgment  foars  above  me, 
Andl  amdar'd,  with  this  gigantic  honour; 
Glory  forbids  her  profpecl  to  a  crown, 
Nor  muft  (he  gaze  that  way :  my  haughty  foul, 
That  day  when  fhe  afcends  the  throne  of  Cynw, 
Will  leave  my  body  pale,   and  to  the  ftars 
Retire  in  blufhes,   and  quite  loft  for  ever. 

Aran.  What  do  you  purpofe  then  ? 

Var.  I  know  not  what. 
But  fee,  fhe  comes,  the  glory  of  my  arms, 
The  only  bus'nefs  of  my  inftant  thought, 
My  foul's  beft  joy,  and  all  my  true  repofe. 
I  fwear  I  cannot  bear  thefe  ftrange  defires, 
•Thefe  ftrong  impulfes,  which  will  fhortly  leave  me 
Dead  at  thy  feet— - 

Atken. 


1"    H    E    O    D    O    S    I    U    S.  «c 

Athen.  What  have  you  found,  my  lord, 
In  me  fo  harfh  or  cruel,  that  you  fear 
To  fpeak  your  griefs  ? 

Far.  Firft,  let  me  kneel  and  fwear, 
And  on  thy  hand  feal  my  religious  vow  \ 
Strait  let  the  breath  of  gods  blow  me  from  earth* 
Swept  from  the  book  of  fame,    forgotten  ever, 
If  I  prefer  thee  not,  O  Athen&is! 
To  all  the  Perfian  greatnefs. 

Athen.  I  believe  you  ; 
For  I  have  heard  you  fwear  as  much  before. 

Far.  Haft  thou  ?  Oh,  why  then  did  I  fwear  again  ? 
But  that  my  love  knew  nothing  worthier  of  thee, 
And  could  no  better  way  exprefs  my  pafTion. 

Athen.  O  rife,  my  lord ! 

Far.  I  will  do  every  thing 
Which  Atbenais  bids :  if  there  be  more 
In  nature  to  convince  thee  of  my  love, 
Whifper  it,  Oh,  fome  god !  into  my  ear, 
And  on  her  breaft,   thus  to  her  lift'hing  foul, 
I'll  breathe  the  infpiration.     Wilt  thou  not  fpeak  f 
What,  but  one  figh,   no  more !  can  that  fufftce 
For  all  my  vaft  expence  of  prodigal  lov$  ? 

*  O  Athenais  !  what  mail  I  fay  of  4o> 

*  To  gain  the  thing  I  wifh  ? 

'  Athen.  What's  that,  my  lord  ? 

'  Far.  Thus  to  approach  thee  ftiU  j  thus  to  beho!4 

*  Yet  there  is  more *  [thee— 

Athen.  My  lord,  I  dare  not  hear  you. 

Far.  Why  doft  thou  frown  at  what  thou  doft  not  know  ? 
'Tis  an  imagination  which  ne'er  pierc'd  thee  ; 
Vet,  as  'tis  raviihing,  'tis  full  of  honour. 

Athen.  I  muft  not  doubt  you,  fit:    but,   Oh!  I  trenu 
To  think,  if  IJdigerdes  mould  behold  you,  (fc>le 

Should  hear  you  thus  protefting  to  a  maid 
Of  no  degree,  but  virtue,  in  the  world—— 

Far.  No  more  of  this,   no  more:  for  I  difdain 
All  pomp  when  thou  art  by.     Far  oe  the  noife 
Of  kings  and  courts  from  us,  whofe  gentle  foujs 
Our  kinder  ftarshave  fteer'd  another  way. 
Free  as  the  fore  ft  birds  we'll  pair  together, 
Withoac  rememb'ring  who  our  fathers  were ; 

B  Fly 


26  T    H    E    O    D    O  S    I    U    S. 

Fly  to  the  arbours,  grots,    and  flowery  meads, 

And  in  foft  murmurs  interchange  our  fouls  ; 

Together  drink  the  chryftal  of  the  ftream, 

Or  tafte  the  yellow  fruit  which  autumn  yields ; 

And  when  the  golden  ev'ning  calls  us  home, 

Wi ng  to  our  downy  neft,    and  fleep  till  morn.  [me, 

Athen.  Ah,  prince,  no  more  !  forbear,  forbear  to  charm 
Since  I  am  doom'd  to  leave  you,  fir,   for  ever. 

Far.  Hold,    Atbenais — -— 

Athen.  I  know  your  royal  temper, 
And  that  high  honour  reigns  within  your  breaft, 
Wnich  would  difdain  to  wafte  fo  many  hours 
With  one  of  humble  blood  compar'd  to  you  ; 
Unlefs  rtrong  paffion  fway'd  your  thoughts  to  love  hen 
Therefore  receive,    O  prince  !    arid  take  it  kindly, 
For  none  on  earth  but  you  could  win  it  from  me, 
Receive  the  gift  of  my  eternal  love  : 
'Tis  all  I  can  bellow,  nor  is  it  little ; 
For  fure  a  heart  fo  coldly  chafte  as  mine, 
No  charms  but  yours,  my  lord,  could  e'er  have  warm'd. 

far.  Well  have  you  made  amends  by  this  laft  comfort, 
For  the  cold  dart  you  mot  at  me  before, 
For  this  lalt  goodnefs,  O  my  Athenais  ! 
(For  now,    methinks,  I  ought  to  call  you  mine) 
I  empty  all  my  foul  in  thanks  before  you. 
Yet,   Oh,  one  fear  remains !  like  death  it  chills  me; 
Why  my  relenting  love  did  talk  of  parting!  [fworn 

Athen.  Look  there,   and  ceafe  your  wonder :  1  have 
T'  obey  my  father,  and  he  calls  me  hence— 
Enter  Leontine. 

Far .  Ha,   Leontine!    by  which  of  all  my  aftions 
Have  I  fo  deeply  injur'd  thee,    to  merit 
The  fmarteft  wound  revenge  could  form  to  end  me  ? 

Leon.  Anfweti  me  now,   O  prince !   for  virtue  prompts 
And  honefty  will  dally  now  no  longer.  [roe, 

What  can  the  end  of  all  this  palfion  be  ? 
Glory  requires  the  ftricl  account,  and  afks 
What  you  intend  at  laft  to  Atbenais?    • 

Var.   How,    Leontine! 

Leon.  You  faw  her,   fir,   at  Athens,  faid  you  lov*d  her, 
I  charg'd  her  humbly  to  receive  the  honour, 
And  hear  your  pajSion.     Has  Ihe  not,  fir,  obey -d  me  ? 

Far. 


THEODOSIUS,  27 

Var.  She  has;  I  thank  the  gods ;  but  whither  would'll 

Leon.  Having  refolv'd  to  vifit  Thecdofius,  [thou  ? 

You  fvvore  you  would  not  go  without  my  daughter  ; 
Whereon  I  gave  command  that  me  mould  follow. 

Var.  Yes,  Leontine,  my  old  remembrancer, 
Moft  learn'd  of  all  philofophers,  you  did. 

Leon.  Thus  long  me  has  attended ;  you  have  feen  her, 
Sounded  her  virtues,  and  her  imperfections  ; 
Therefore,  dread  fir,  forgive  this  bolder  charge 
Which  honour  founds  ;  and  now  let  me  demand  you— 

Var.  Now  help,  Aranibes,  or  I'm  dalh'd  forever. 

Aran.  Whatever  happens,  fir,  difdain  the  marriage. 

Leon.  Can  your  high  thoughts  fo  far  forget  themfelves, 
T'admit  this  humble  virgin  for  your  bride? 

Var.  Ha! 

Atben.  He  blulhes,  gods,  and  Hammers  at  the  q-ueftion  ! 

Leon.  Why  do  you  walk,  and  chafe  yourfelf  my  lord  ? 
The  bulineis  is  not  much. 

Var.  How,   Leontine  / 

Not  much !   I  know  that  me  deferves  a  crown  ; 
Yet  'tis  to  reafon  much,  tho*  not  to  love. 
And  fure  the  world  would  blufh  to  fee  the  daughter 
Of  a  philofopher  upon  the  throne  of  Cyrus. 

Atben.  Undone  for  ever  ! 

Leon.  Is  this  your  anfwer,  fir  ? 

Var.  Why  dolt  thou  urge  me  thus,  and  pufti  me  to 
The  very  brink  of  glory  ?  Where,  alas ! 
I  look,  and  tremble  at  the  vaft  defcent ; 
Yet,  even  there,  to  the  vaft  bottom,  down 
My  ram  adventurer,  love,  would  have  me  leap, 
And  grafp  my  Aibenah  with  my  ruin. 

Leon.  'Tis  well,  my  lord*— — — — — 

Var.  Why  doft  thou  then  provoke  me  ! 
I  thought  that  Perjicts  court  had  ftore  of  honour 
To  fatisfy  the  height  of  thy  ambition. 
Befides,  old  man,  my  love  is  too  well  grown, 
To  want  a  tutor  for  his  good  behaviour  : 
What  he  will  do,  he  of  himfelf  will  do, 
And  not  be  taught  by  you 

Leon.  I  know  he  will  not ; 
Fond  tears  away  !  I  know,  I  know  he  will  not ; 

B  2  But 


-2S  ¥  H   K   O   D   O    S  I  U   S. 

But  he  would  buy,  with  his  old  man's  preferment. 
My  daughter's  fliame. 

Var.  Away,  I  fay !  my  foul  difdains  the  motion. 

Leon.  The  motion  of  a  marriage  ;   yes,  I  fee  it : 
Your  angry  looks,  and  haughty  words,  betray  it ; 
I  found  it  at  the  firft.     I  thank  you,  fir, 
You  have  at  laft  rewarded  your  old  tutor 
For  all  his  cares,  his  watchings,  fervices-. 
Yet,  let  me  tell  you,  fir,  this  humble  maid, 
This  daughter  of  a  poor  philofopher, 
Shall,  if  (he  pleafe,  be  feated  on  a  throne 
As  high  as  that  of  the  immortal  Cyrus. 

Var.  I  think  that  age,  and  deep  philofophy, 
Have  crack'd  thy  brain  :  Farewel.  old  Leontine^ 
Retire  to  reft ;  and  when  this  brawling  humour 
Is  rock'd  afleep,  I'll  meet  my  Athenaitt 
And  clear  the  accounts  of  love,  which  thou  haft  blotted 

[Exit 

Leon.  Old  Leonttne  !  perhaps  I'm  mad  indeed. 
But  hold,  my  heart,  and  let  that  folid  virtue, 
Which  I  fo  long  ador'd,  ftill  keep  the  reins. 
O  Athenats  \  But  I  will  not  chide  thee  : 
Fate  is  in  all  our  aclions  j  and,  methinks, 
At  leaft  a  father  judges  fo,  it  has 
Rebuk'd-thee  fmartl)  for  thy  eafmefs : 
There  is  a  kind  of  mournful  eloquence 
In  thy  dumb  grief,  which  fhames  all  clam'rous  forrow 

Athen.  '  Alas,  my  breaftis  full  of  death  ;  methinks 
*  I  fear  ev'n  you 

*  Leon.  Why  fhouldft  thpu  fear  thy  father  ? 

*  Athen.  Becaufe  you  have  the  figure  of  a  mar*  !* 
Is  there,  O  fpeak,  a  pofiibility 

To  be  forgiv'n  ? 

Lecn.  Thy  father  does  forgive  thee, 
And  honour  will ;  but  on  this  hard  condition, 
Never  to  fee  him  more— — 

Atken.  See  him !    O  Heavens ! 

Leon.  Unlefs  it  be,  my  daughter,  to  upbraid  him  t 
Not  though  he  mould  repent,  and  ftrait  return, 

Nay,  proffer  thec  his  crown No  more  of  that. 

Honour  too  cries,  revenge,  revenge  thy  wrongs, 
Revenge  thyfclf,  revenge  thy  injur'd  father. 


T    H'  E    O  P    Q  S  I   U   Si  29 

For  'tis  revenge  fo  wife,  fo  glorious  too, 
As  all  the  world  (hall  praife 

dtben.  Oh,  give  me  leave  ; 
For  yet  t  am  all  tendernefs  :   the  woman, 
The  weak,  the  mild,  the  fond,  the  coward  woman,. 
Dares  not  look  forth.;   but  runs  about  my  bi*eaitr 
And  vifits  all  the  warmer  manfrons  there, 
Where  me  fo  oft  has  harbour'd  falfe  Faranes  ! 
Cruel  Varanes  /  falfe,  forfworn  Vcrtines  / 

Leon.  Is  this  forgetting  him  ?  Is  this  the  courfe 
Which  honour  bios  thee  take  ? 

Athen,  Ah,  fir,  allow 
A  litte  time,  for  love  to  make  his  way  r. 
Hardly  he  won  the  place,  and  many  fighs, 
And  many  tears,  and  thoufand  oaths  it  colt  him, 
And,  Oh  !  I  find  he  will  not  be  difiodg'd 
Without  a  groan  at  parting  hence  for  eve* 
No,  no  !  he  vows  he  will  not  yet  be  'ras'd 
Without  whole  floods  of  grief  at  his  farevvel 
Which  thus  I  facrifice  :  and,  Oh  !  I  fwear, 
Had  he  prov'd  true,  I  would  as  eafily 
Have  empty'd  all  my  blood,  and  dy'd  to  ferve  him, 
As  now  I  med  thefe'  drops,  or  vent  theft?  fighs, 
To  fhew  how  well,  how  perfe&ly  I  lov'd  him. 

Leon.  No  woman,  fure,  but  thou,  fo  low  in  fortune, 
Therefore  "the  nobler  is  thy  fair  example, 
Would  thus  have  griev'd,  becaufe  a  prince  ridorrd '.her^; 
Nor  will  it  be  beliey'd  in  after-times, 
That  there  was  ever  fuch  a  nvaid  in  being : 
Yet  do  I  ftill  advife,  preferve  thy  vjrtue  ; 
And  fince  he  does  difdain  thee  for  his  bride, 
Scorn  thou  to  be     

Atben.  Hold,  fir,  Oh,  hold,  forbear  ;. 
For  my  nice  foul  abhors  the  very  found  : 
Yet  with  the  mame  of  that,  and  the  deiire 
Of  an  immortal  n?.me,  I  am  infpir'd  ! 
All  kinder  thoughts,  are  fied  for  ever  from  me  5: 
All  tendernefs,  as  iff  ne'er  had  lov'd, 
Has  left  my  bofom  colder  than  the  grave. 

Lion.  O  Atbenais  !  on;  'tis  bright  before  thee, 
Purfue  the  track,   and  thou  lhalt  be  a  itar. 

&hen.  Q,L&ontinst  I  fvvear,  my  noblejather, 

B  3    '  TOati 


jo  T   H  E    O   D   O   S   I   U   S 

That  I  will  ilarve  e'er  once  forego  my  virtue  : 

And  thus  Jet's  join  to  contradict  the  world  r 

That  empire  could  not  tempt  a  poor  old  man 

To  fell  his  prince  the  honour  of  his  daughter  : 

And  me  too  match'd  the  fpirit  of  her  father  ; 

Tho'  humbly  born,  and  yet  more  humbly  bred, 

She  for  her  fame  refused  a  royal  bed  ; 

Who,  though  me  lov'd,  yet  did  put  off  the  hour, 

Nor  could  hgr  virtue  be  betray'd  by  pow'r. 

Patterns  like  thefe  will  guilty  courts  improve, 

And  teach  the  fair  to  blufh  at  confcious  love. 

«  Then  let  all  maids  for  honour  come  in  view,] 

*  If  any  maid  can  more  for  glory  do.'  [Exeunt. 


ACT        III. 

Enter  Varanes  and  Aranthes, 

Var.  jT^IOME  to  my  arms,  my  faithful,  dear  Aranthes, 

\^4  Soft  counsellor,  companion  of  my  youth ; 
If  I  had  longer  been  alone,  moil  fure, 
With  the  diftra&ion  that  furrounds  my  heart, 
My  hand  would  have  rebelPd  againft  its  mailer, 
And  done  a  murder  here. 

'  Aran.  The  gods  forbid  ! 

'  Var.  I  fwear  I  prefs  thee  with  as  hearty  joy, 
'  As  ever  fearful  bride  embrac'd  her  man, 

*  When  from  a  dream  of  death  me  wak'd,  a$d  found 
'  Her  lover  fafe  and  fieeping  by  her  fide.' 

Aran.  The  caufe,  my  lord  ? 

far.  Early  thou  knovv'il  laft  night  I  went  to  reft : 
But  long,  my  friend,  ere  flumber  clos'd  my  eyes, 
Long  was  the  combat  fought  'twixt  love  and  glory  ; 
The  fever  of  my  paflion  burnt  me  up  ; 
My  pangs  grew  ilronger,  and  my  rack  was  doubled  : 
'  My  bed  was  all  afloat  with  the  cold  drops 

*  That  mortal  pain  wrang  from  my  labouring  .limbs, 

*  My  groans  more  deep  than  others  dying  gafps ;' 
Therefore  I  charge  thce,  haile  to  her  apartment ', 

*  I  do 


THEODOSIUS.  31 

*  I  do  conjure  thee,  tell  her,   tell  her  all 

'  My  fears  can  urge,  or  fondnefs  can  invent. 

*  "Tell  her  how  I  repent,  fay  any  thing ; 

*  For  any  thing  I'll  do  to  quench  my  fires  ;' 
Say,  I  will  marry  her  now  on  the  inftant : 
Say  all  that  I  would  fay  ;  yet  in  the  end 

My  love  fhall  make  it  more  than  gods  can  utter. 

Aran.   My  lord,  both  Leontine  and  me  are  gone 
From  their  apartment •    • 

Var.  Ha  !  gone,  fay'ft  thou  !  whither  ? 

Aran.  That  was  my  whole  employment  all  this  day. 
But,  fir,  I  grieve  to  fpeak  it,  they  have  left 
No  track  behind  for  care  to  find 'em  out; 
Nor  is  it  pofiible — 

Var.  It  is,  it  mail ; 
I'll  ftruggle  with  impossibilities 
To  find  my  Atkenais  :  not  the  walls 
Of  Athens •,  nor  of  Thebes,  fhall  hide  her  from  me. 
I'll  bring  the  force  of  all  my  father's  arms, 
And  lay  'em  waile,  but  I'll  redeem  my  love. 

0  Leontine  !  morofe  old  Leontine  ! 
Thou  mere  philofopher !  O  cruel  fage, 
Who,  for  one  hafly  word,  one  choleric  doubt, 
Haft  turn'd  the  fcale  :  though  in  thfc  facred  balance 
My  life,  my  glot^  an<V  my  empire  hung ! 

Aran.  Moil  fure,  my  lord,  they  are  retired  to  Athens* 

1  will  fend  poft  to-night 

Var.  No,  no,  Arantbes  : 
Prepare  my  chariots :  for  I'll  go  in  perfon. 
I  fwear,  till  now,  till  I  began  to  fear 
Some  other  might  enjoy  my  Atbenais, 
I  fwear  I  did  not  know  how  much  I  lov'd  her. 
But  let's  away :  I'll  to  the  emperor ; 
Thou  to  the  hafty  management  of  my  bus'nefs : 
*  Prepare  ;  to-day  I'll  go,  to-day  I'll  find  her : 
'  No  more  ;  I'll  take  my  leave  of  'Theodofius, 
f  And  meet  thee  on  the  Hippodrome.     Away  :' 
Let  the  wild  hurry  of  the  matter's  love 
Make  quick  thy  apprehenfion  :  haile,  and  leave  me. 

{Exeunt. 


B  4  SCENE 


32  THEODOSIUS. 


SCENE,  Pulcheria,  Atticus,  Leontine;  ^jvtgiriss  lead* 
ing  Athenais  in  proceffion,  after  her  bapi'ifm,  to  It  cc»~ 
firmed* 

Atticus  fags. 

*  O  Cbryfoftom  !  look  down  and  fee, 

*  An  off'ring  worthy  Heav'n  and  thee  ! 

*  So  rich  the  riftim,  bright  and  fair, 

*  That  me  on  earth  appears  a  ftar  : 
'  dor,          *  Eudofia  is  the  virgin's  name, 

'  And  after-times  mall  fing  her  fame, 

*  Atticus      Lead  her  votaries,  lead  her  in, 

'  Her  holy  birth  does  now  begin. 
'  if  Votary.  In  humble  weeds,  but  clean  array, 

*  Your  hours  fhall  fwcetly  pafs  away, 
'  And  when  the  rites  divine  are  pad, 

'  To  pleafant  gardens  you  fhall  haft<s. 

*  K.d  P*tary.  Where  many  a  flowVy  bed  we  have, 

*  That  emblem  ftill  to  each  a  grave  ; 

'  And  when  within  the  itream  we  look., 
4  With  tears  we  ufe  to  (well  the  brook  :*' 
'  Bat,  Oh,  when  in  the  liquid  glafs, 

*  Our  Heav'n  appears,  we  figh  to  pafs; 

*  Cher*         For  Heav^  alone  we  are  defign'd, 

*  And  all  things  bring  our  Heav'n  to  mind.* 

Athen,  O  princess  !   O  moil  worthy  of  the  world. 
That  is  fubmitted  by  its  emperor  \Kneeh* 

To  your  moil  wife  and  providential  fway  ! 
What  Greek  or  Roman  eloquence  can  paint 
The  rapture  and  devotion  of  my  foul  ! 
J  am  adopted  yours  ;  you  are  my  goddefs, 
That  have  new  form'd,  new  moulded  my  conceptions^ 

And  by  the  platform  of  a  work  divine, 

New  fram'd,  new  built  me  to  your  own  defires  ; 

Thrown  all  the  lumber  of  my  paffions  out, 

And  made  my  heart  a  man  (ion  of  perfection  ! 

Clean  as  an  anchorite's  grot  or  votary's  cell, 

And  fpotlefs  as  the  glories  of  his  fleps 

Whom  we  far  oft  adore.' 
Pubb.  Rife,  Eudofia, 
And  let  me  fold  my  chriilian  in  my  arms  : 
With  this  dear  pledge  of  an  eternal  love, 

T  fcal 


T  H  E  O  D"  O*5"I'trs:'-'  3j.v 

I'feal  thee,  O  Eudefa!  mine  for  ever. 
Accept,  bell  charge,  the  vows  of  my  afFe£lio« :  •' 
For,  by  the  facred  friendfhip  that  I  give  thee, 
I  think  that  Heav'n  by  miracle  did  fend  thee, 
To  cafe  my  cares,  to  help  me  in  my  counfels, 
To  be  my  filter,  partner  in  my  bed, 
And  equally,  through  my  whole  courfe  of  life,  - 
To  be  the  better-part  of  thy  Pdc-keria? 
And  (hare  my  griefs  and  jpys. 
Athen.  No,  <  madam,  no  ; ; 

Excufe  the  cares  that  this  fad  wretch  mu ft  bring  you  £  • 
4  Oh,  rather  let  me  leave  the  world  for  ever  ;J 
Or,  if  I  mull  partake  your  royal  fecrets, 

*  if  you  refolve  tQ  load  me  with  fuch  honour,' 
Let  it  be  far  from  cities,  far  from  courts, 
Where  I  may  fly  all  human  converfation  ; 
Where  I' may  never  fee,  nor  hear,  nor  name, 
Nor  think,  nor  dream,   O  Heav'n  !  if  pofiible,'- 
Of  mankind  more.  - 

*  P-uIcb.  What  now  !  in  tears,  Eudofia-?: 

*  Aihc~.  Far  from  the  guilt  of  palaces,  Oh,  fend  mel  - 
f  Drive  me,  Oh,  drive  me  from  the  traitor  man  ! 

*  So  I  might  'fcape  that  monilep,   let  me  dwell 
'  In  lions  haunts,  or  in  fome  tiger's  den  : 

*  •PJace~me-on  fome  fteep,  craggy,   ruin'd  rock,  <>      „ 

*  That  bellies  out,  juft  dropping  in  the  ocean  :  „    - . 

*  Bury  me  in  the  hollow  of  its  womb,- 

*  Where,  ftarving  on  my  cold  and  flinty  bed, . 
'  I 'may  from  far,  with  giddy  apprehenfion, 

'  'See  infinite  fathoms  down  the  rambling  deep  5  - 
4  Yet  -not  e'en  there,  in  that  vaft  whirl  of 'death,  - 
4  Can  there  be  found  fo  terrible  a  rum, 
{  As  man,   falfe  man,  fmiling,  <leftruclive  man,' 

Pulcb.  Then  thou  haft  lov'd,,  Eudofia.  ©  my  filler  !  '• 
Still  nearer  to  my  heart,  fo  much  the  dearer: 
Becaufe  our  fates  are  like,  and,  hand  in  hand, 
Our  fortunes  lead  us  thro'  the  maze  of  life  : 
I'.m  glad  that  thou  hafl  lov'd  ;  nay,  lovM  with  danger;  : 
Since  thou  haft  'fcap'dthe  ruin.— «*Methink«,  it  lightens  -" 

*  The  weight  of  my  calamities,  that  thou  - 

*  (In  all  things  elfe  fo  perfed  and  divine)  ; 
4  Art  yet  a-kin  to  my  infirmity,* 


34  T   H   E   O   D   O   S   I  U  S. 

'  And  bear'ft  thy  part  in  love's  melodious  ill. 

'  Love,  that  like  bane  perfum'd  infects  the  mind, 

'  That  fad  delight  that  charms  all  woman-kind.* 

Athen.  Yes,  madam,  I  confefs  that  love  has  charm'd 
But  never  mall  again.     *  No,  I  renounce  him  ;       [me, 
Infpire  me,  all  the  wrongs  of  abus'd  women, 
All  you  that  have  been  cozen'd  by  falfe  men ; 
See  what  a  ftricl  example  I  will  make  : 
But  for  the  perjuries  of  one  I  will  revenge  ye 
For  all  that's  paft,  that's  prefent,  and  to  come. 
Pulcb.  '  Oh,  thou  far  more  than  the  moft  mafculine 

virtue ! 

'  Where  our  Aftrea,  where,  Oh,  drowning  brightnefs, 
4  Where  haft  thou  been  fo  long  ?  Let  me  again 
4  Proteft  my  admiration,  and  my  love ; 
'  Let  me  declare  aloud,  while  thou  art  here, 
*  While  fuch  clear  virtue  mines  within  our  circle, 
1  Vice  (hall  no  more  appear  within  the  palace, 
4  But  hide  her  dazzl'd  eyes,  and  this  be  call'd 
4  The  holy  court :  'but,'  lo  the  emp'ror  comes. 
Beauty  like  thine  may  drive  that  far  away, 

That  has  fo  long  entranc'd  lift  foul My  Idrd — — 

Enttr  Theodofius  and  Attendants. 
Theo.  If  yet,  alas  !  I  might  but  hope  to  fee  her  ; 
But,  Oh,  forgive  me,  Heav'n,  this  wilder  ftart, 
That  thus  would  reach  impoiiibility: 
No,  no,  I  never  muft  behold  her  more  ; 
As  well  my  Atticus  might  raife  the  dead, 
As  Leontine  mould  charm  that  form  in  view. 

Pukh.  My  lord,  I  come  to  give  your  grief  a  cure, 
With  purer  flames  to  draw  that  cruel  fire 
That  tortur'd  you  fo  long— Behold  this  virgin 
The  daughter  of  your  tutor  Leontine. 
*rheo.  Ah! 

'  Pulcb.  She  is  your  filter's  charge,  and  made  a  chrif- 
'  And  Athenais  is  Eudojia  now,  [tian, 

"  Be  fure  a  fairer  never  grac'd  religion, 
'  And  for  her  virtue'  me  tranfcends  example.* 

<I'heo.  Oh,  all  you  Weft  above,  how  can  this  be  ? 
Am  I  awake  ?  Or  is  this  pofiible  ?  [A then,  kneels. 

Pulcb.  She  kneels,  my  lord.     Will  not  you  go  and 
raife  her  ? 


THEODOSIUS.  35 

Tkeo.  Nay,  do  thou  raife  her ;  for  I'm  rooted  here  : 
Yet  if  laborious  love  and  melancholy 
Have  not  o'erccme  me,  and  quite  turn'd  me  mad, 
It  mull  be  me,  that  naked  dazzling  fweetnefs  ! 
The  very  figure  of  that  morning  ftar, 
That,  dropping  pearls,  and  medding  dewy  beams, 
Fled  from  the  greedy  waves  when  I  approach'd. 
Anfwer  me,  Leontine;  am  I  dillracled  ? 

Or  is  this  true  ? '  By  thee  in  all  encounters 

f  I  will  be  rul'd,  in  temperance  and  wildnefs, 
*  When  reafon  clalhes  with  extravagance. 

«  But  fpeak' 

Leon.  'Tis  true,  my  lord;  this  is  my  daughter, 
Whom  I  conceal 'd  in  Perjia  from  all  eyes 
But  yours,  when  chance  directed  you  that  way. 

Tbeo.  He  fays  'tis  true  :  why  then  this  heartlefs  car- 
<Tbis  laxy  J'pirit.1 '  [riage  ? 

Oh,  were  1  proof  againft  the  darts  of  love,    ;j^fo 
And  cold  to  beauty  as  the  marble  lover 
That  lies,  without  a  thought,  upon  his  tomb  ; 
Would  not  this  glorious  dawn  of  life  run  through  me, 
And  waken  death  itfelf  ?'  Why  am  I  flow  then  ? 
What  hinders  now,  but  that,  in  fpite  of  rules, 
I  burit  through  all  the  bands  of  death  that  hold  me. 

[He  kneels, 

And  fly  with  fuch  a  hafte  to  that  appearance, 
As  bury'd  faints  mall  make  at  the  lait  fummons  ? 

Athen.  The  emp'ror  at  my  feet !    O  fir  !  forgive  m°.  ; 
Drown  me  not  thus  with  everlaliing  ihame. 
Both  Heav'n  and  earth  mull  bluih  at  fuch  a  view. 
Nor  can  I  bear  it  longer 

Leon.  My  lord,  (he  is  unworthy 

Tbeo.  Ha  !  what  fay'ft  thou,  Leontine  ? 
'  Unworthy !  O  thou  atheift  to  perfection  ! 
*  All  that  the  blooming  earth  cou'd  fend  forth  fair  ; 
'  All  that  the  gaudy  Heavens  cou'd  dropdown  glorious!' 
Unworthy,  fay 'ft  thou  !  Wert  thou  not  her  father, 
I  fwear  I  would  revenge — But  hafte,  and  tell  me ; 
For  love  like  mine  will  bear  no  fecond  thought ; 
Can  all  the  honours  of  the  Orient, 
Thus  facrific'd  with  the  molt  pure  affection, 
With  fpotlefs  thoughts,  and  languifhing  defires, 

B  6    *  Obtain, 


36  T   H  E   O  D   O  S  I   U   £. 

Obtain,  O  Leontine  !   (the  crown  at  laft) 
To  thee  I  fpeak,  thy  daughter  to  my  bride  ? 

Lean.  My  l©rd,  the  honour  bears  fuch  eitimation, 
It  calls  the  blood  into  my  aged  cheeks, 
And  quite  o'erwhelms  my  daughter  with  confufion  ; 
Who,  with  her  body  proflrate  on  the  earth, 
Ought  to  adore  you  for  the  proffer'd  glory. 

Tbt9*    Let   me   embrace  and   thank  thee,    O  kind 

Heav'n  ! 

O  Atticus  !  Pulcherta  !  O  my  father  ! 
Was  ever  change  like  mine  ?  Run  through  the  ftreets  ? 
'  Who  waits  there  r'  Run,  and,  loud  as  fame  can  ipeak, 
With  trumpet  founds  proclaim  your  emperor's  joy. 
'  And,  as  of  old,  on  the  great  feftival 

*  Of  her  they  call  the  mother  of  the  gods, 

*  Let  all  work  ceafe,  at  leaft  an  oaken  garland 

*  Crown  each  Plebeian  head;  let  fprightly  bow!s 

*  Be  dol'd  about,  and  the  tofs'd  cymbals  found  ; 
'  Tell  'em  their  much  lamented  1'he.cdofius 

'  By  miracle  is  brought  from  death  to  life  ; 

4  His  melancholy's  gone,  and  now  once  more          „ 

*  He  mail  appear  at  the  itate's  helm  again  ; 

'  Nor  fear  a  wreck  while  this  bright  ftar  directs  us  ; 
'  For  while  fhe  mines,  no  fands,  no  cowring  rocks 

*  Shall  lie  unfeen,  but  I  will  cut  my  way 

'  Secure  as  Neptune  thro'  the  higheft  ftream, 
'  And  to  the  port  in  fafety  fleer  the  world.' 

Atben.  Alas,  my  lord,  confider  my  extra&ion, 
With  all  my  other  wanfs 

Tbeo.  Peace,  emprefs,  peace  ! 
No  more  the  daughter  of  old  Leontine; 
A  chriftian  now,  and  partner  of  the  eaft. 

Athen.  My  father  has  difpos'd  me,  you  command  me  ; 
What  can  I  anfwer  then,  but  my  obedience  ? 

Tkeo.   Attend  her,  dear  P-ulcberia  ;  and,  Oh,  tell  her, 
To-morrow,  if  (he  pleafe,   I  will  be  happy. 
Oh,  why  fo  kmg  mould  I  my  joys  delay  ? 

[Exeunt  Pule.  **r^Athei£. 

Time,  imp  thy  wings,  let  not  thy  minutes  flay, 
$ut  to  a  moment  change  the  tedious  day. 
-^  The-4ay  !  'twill  be  an  age  before  to-morrow  : 
'  An  age,  a  death,  a  vaft  eternity, 
"•  Where  we  fiiall  cold,  and  ^ait  enjoyment  He.9 

Ertir 


THEODOSIUS.  57 

Enter  Varanes  and  Aranthes. 
Var.  0  Theodofius  ! 
^Tbeo.  Ha!  my  brother  here ! 
Why  doft  thou  come  to  make  my  blifs  run  o'er  ? 

*  What  is  there  more  to  wim  ?  Fortune  can  find 
'  No  flaw  in  fiich  a  glut  of  happinefs, 

*  To  let  one  mifery  in' O  my  Varanes  / 

Thou  that  of  late  didit  feem  to  walk  on  clouds, 
Now  give  a  loofe,    let  go  the  flacken'd  reins, 
Let  us  drive  down  the  precipice  of  joy, 

As  if  that  all  the  winds  of  Heav'n  were  for  us. 

Var.  My  lord,  I'm  glarl  to  find  the  gale  is  turn'd  ; 
And  give  you  joy  of  this  auspicious  fortune. 
Plough  on  your  way,  with  all  your  ftreamers  out  j 
With  all  your  glorious  flags  and  garlands  ride 
Triumphant  on — And  leave  me  to  the  waves, 
The  fands,  the  winds,   the  rocks,  the  fure  deftm&ion, 
And  ready  gulphs  that  gape  to  fwallow  me. 

Theo..  It  was  thy  hand  that  drew  me  from  the  grave, 
Who  had  been  dead  by  this  time  to  ambition, 
To  crowns,  to  titles,  and  my  flighted  greatnefs. 
But  ftiJl,  as  if  each  work  of  thine  deferv'd 

The  fmile  of  Heav'n Thy  Tbtodofius  met 

With  fomething  dearer  than  his  diadem, 

With  all  that's  worth  a  wifh,  that's  worth  a  life  ; 

I  met  with  that  which  made  me  leave  the  world. 

Var.  And  I,  Oh  turn  of  chance  1  Oh  cuafed  fortune  ! 
Have  loft  at  once  ail  that  could  make  me  happy. 
'  Oh,  ye  too  partial  pow'rs  !  but  now  no  more  : 
'  The  gods,  my  dear,  my  moft-lov'd  Theodofius, 
'  Doubie  all  thofe  joys,  that  thou  haft  met,  upon  thee  f 

*  For  fure  thou  art  moft  worthy,  worthy  more 

*  Than  Jove  in  ail  his  prodigality 

*  Can  e'er  beftow  in  blefTmgs  on  mankind.* 
And,  Oh,    methinks  my  foul  is  ftrangely  mov'd, 
Takes  it  the  more  unkindly  of  her  ftars, 
That  thou  and  I  cannot  be  bleft  together : 

For  I  muft  leave  thee,  friend  !  this  night  muft  leave  thee, 

To  go  in  doubtful  fearch  of  what,  perhaps, 

I  ne'er  fhali  find  ;  if  fo  my  cruel  fate 

Has  order'd  it:  why  then  farewel  for  ever  : 

For  I  fhall  never,  never  fee  thee  more. 


jS  THEODOSIUS. 

Theo.  How  fenfible  my  tender  foul  is  grown 
Of  what  you  utter!  O  my  gallant  friend  ! 

brother!    O   Varanes  !  do  not  judge 
By  what  I  fpeak,  for  fighs  will  interrupt  me  : 
Judge  by  my  tears,  judge  by  thefeftrid  embraces, 
And  by  my  laft  refolve :  though  I  have  met 
With  what  in  filence  I  fo  long  ador'd ; 
Though  in  the  rapture  of  protefting  joys, 
I  had  fet  down  to-morrow  for  my  nuptiars  ; 
'  And  Atticus  to-night  prepares  the  temple.' 
Yet,  my  Varanes  y  I  will  rob  my  foul 
Of  all  her  health,  of  my  imperial  bride, 
And  wander  with  thee  in 'the  fearch  of  that 
On  which  thy  life  depends 

Far.  If  this  I  fuffer, 
Conclude  me  then  begotten  of  a  hind, 
And  bred  in  wilds  :  no,  Theodojius,  no  ; 
I  charge  thee  by  our  friendmip,  and  conjure  thee, 
By  all  the  gods,  to  mention  this  no  more. 
Perhaps,  dear  friend,  I  mall  be  fooner  here 
Than  you  expect,  or  I  myfelf  imagine  ; 
What  mofl  I  grieve  is,  that  I  cannot  wait 
To  fee  your  nuptials :  yet  my  foul  is  with  you, 
And  all  my  adorations  to  your  bride. 

Theo.  What,  my  Varanes  !  will  you  be  fo  cruel 
As  not  to  fee  my  bride  before  you  go  ? 
Or  are  you  angry  at  your  rival's  charms, 
Who  has  already  ravim'd  half  my  heart, 
That  once  was  all  your  own  ? 

Var.  You  know  I  am  diforder'd ! 
My  melancnoly  will  not  fuit  her  bleil  condition. 

[Exit  Theod. 

And  the  gods  know  ;  fince  thou,  my  Atkenais, 
Art  fled  from  thefe  fick  eyes,  all  oth^r  women 
To  my  pall'dfoul  feem  like  the  ghoft  of  beauty, 
And  haunt  my  mem'ry  with  the  lofs  of  thee. 

Enter  Athenais,  Theodofius  leading  he/\ 

Theo.  Behold,  my  lord,  th'  occafion  of  my  joy. 

Var.  O  ye  immortal  gods  !  Aranthes  !  Oh  ! 
Look  there,  and  wonder :  ha  !  is't  poflible  ? 

Athen.  My  lord,  the  emp'ror  fays  you  are  his  friend, 
JHe  charges,  me  to  ufe  my^ntereit, 

And 


THEODOSIUS.  3. 

And  beg  of  you  to  ftay,   at  leail  fo  long 

As  our  efpoufals  will  be  folem  izing  ; 

J  told  him  I  was  honour'd  once  to  know  you ; 

But  that  fo  ilightly,    as  I  could  not  warrant 

The  grant  of  any  thing  that  I  mould  afk  you.   • 

Var.  O  heaven  and  earth  !   O  Atbenais  /  why, 
Why  dolt  thou  ufe  me  thus  ?  Had  I  the  world, 
Thou  know'it  it  mould  be  thine 

Athen'.   I  know  not  that 

But  yet,   to  make  fure  work,   one  half  of  it 

Is  mine  already,  fir,   without  your  giving. 

My  lord,  the  prince  is  obilinate,  his  glory 

Scorns  to  be  mov'd  by  the  weak  breath  of  woman  : 

He  is  all  hero,  bent  for-higher  views, 

Therefore  'tis  noble,  fir,  to  let  him  go  : 

If  not  for  him,  my  lord,  yet  for  myielf, 

1  muit  intreat  the  favour  to  retire.      [Exit.  Athen.  c5V. 

Var.  Death  and  defpair  !  Confufion  !  Hell  and  furies  ! 

Theo.   '  Heav'n  guard  thy  health,   and  flill  preferve 

thy  virtue/ 

What  ihould  this  mean  ?  I  fear  the  confequence, 
For  'tis  too  plain  they  know  each  other  well. 

Var.  Undone,  Aranthcs  !  loft,  undone  for  ever  ! 
I  fee  my  doom,  I  read  it  with  broad  eyes, 
As  plain  as  if  I  faw  .the  book  of  fate  : 
Yet  I  will  mutter  all  my  fpirits  up, 
Digeft  my  griefs,   fwallow  the  rifmg  paflions  ; 
Yes,  I  will  ftand  the  fhock  of  all  the  gods 
Well  as  I  can,  and  ftruggle  for  my  life. 

Tbeo.  You  mufe,  my  lord ;  and  if  you'll  give  me  leave 
To  judge  your  thoughts,  they  feem  employed  at  prefent 
About  my  bride — '  I  guefs  you  know  her  too.' 

Var.  His  bride  !  O  gods,  give  me  a  moment's  par 
I  mud  confefs,  the  fight  of  Atbenais,  [tience, 

Where  I  fo  little  did  expecl:  to  fee  her, 
So  grac'd,  and  fo  adorn'd,  did  raife  my  wonder : 
But  what  exceeds  all  admiration,  is, 
That  you  mould  talk  of  making  her  your  bride ; 
5Tis  fuch  a  blind  effeft  of  monftrous  fortune, 
That  though  I  well  remember  you  affirm'd  it, 
I  cannot  yet  believe 

Theo.  Then  now  believe  me  : 
By  all  the  pow'rs  divine  I  will  efpoufe  her, 

Var. 


4o  T   H  E   0  D    0   S   I   U  S; 

Far.  Ha!  I  fhall  leap  the  bounds.     Come, 

my  lord, 
B/  all  thefe  powers  you  nam'd,  I  fay  you  muft  not. 

Theo.  I  fay,  I  will ;  and  who  mall  bar  my  pleafure  ?- 
Yet  more,  I  fpeak  the  judgment  of  my  foul. 
Weigh  but  with  fortune  merit  in  the  balance, 
And  Atbenais  lofes  by  the  marriage. 

Far.  Relentlefs  fates  !  malicious  cruel  pow'rs  ! 
Oh,  for  what  crime  do  you  thus  rack  your  creature  ?r 
Sir,  I  muft  tell  you,  this  unkingly  meannefs 
Suits  the  profeflion  of  an  anchorite  well  ; 
But  in  an  Oriental  emperor 
It  gives  offence  ;  nor  can  you,  without  fcandal,. 
Without  the  notion  of  a  grov'ling  fpirit, 
Efpoufe  the  daughter  of  old  Leontine, 
Whofe  utmoil  glory  is  to  have  been  my  tutor.- 

Tfa.  He  has  fo  well  acquitted-that  employment,. 
Breeding  you  up  to  fuch  a  gallant  height 
Of  full  perfection,  and  imperial  greatnefs* 
That  ev'n  for  this  refpecl,  if  for  no  other, , 
I  will  efleem  him  worthy  while  I  live. 

Far.  My  lord,  you'll  pardon  me  a  little  freedom; ; 
For  I, muft  boldly  urge  in  fuch  a  caufe, 
Who  ever  flatters  you,  though  ne'er  fo  near 
Related  to  your  blood,  mould  -be  fufpefted. 

Thee.  If  friendmip  would  admit  a  cold  fufpicion, . 
After  what  1  have  heard  and  feen  to-day. 
Of  all  mankind  I  fhouk*  fufpeft  Faranes. 

Far.  He  has  Hung  me  to  the  heart;  my  groans  will 

choak  me, 
Unlefs  my  ftruggling  paffion  gets  a  vent. 

Out  with  it  then 1  can  no  raore  diflemblC' 

Yes,  yes,  my  lord  :  fince  you  reduce  me  to    , 

The  laft  neceffity,  I  .muft  confefs  it ; 

I  muft  avow  my  flame  for  Atkenais ; 

J  am  all  fire,  iny  paffion  eats  me  up, ; 

It  grov/s  incorp'rate  with  my  fiefla  and  blood  : 

My  pangs  redouble  ;  now  they  cleave  my  heart  I 

O  Athenais  !  O  Eudofia  ! Oh  ! ^ 

'  Tho*  plain  as  day  I  fee  my  own  deftrudion, , 
«  Yet  to  my  death,  and,  Oh,  let  all  the  gods 
*  Bear  witnefs !  Hill  I  fwear  J  will  adore  tbe«- 1*' 

Wee, 


THEODOSIU5.  41 

.  Alas,  Varanes  !  which  of  us  two  the  Heav'ns, 
Have  mark'd  for  death,  is  yet  above  the  ftars ; 
But,  while  we  live,  let  us  preferve  our  friendihip 
Sacred  and  juft,  as  we  have  ever  done. 
This  onty  mean  in  two  fuch  hard  extremes 
Remains  for  both  :  to-morrow  you  (hall  fee  her, 
With  all  advantage,   in  her  own  apartment ; 
Take  your  own  time,  fay  all  you  can  to  gain  her ; 
If  you  can  win  her^  lead  her  into  Perfia  ; 
If  not,  confent  that  I  efpoufe  her  here. 

Var.  Still  worfe  and  worfe  !  O  Theodc/ius  /  Oh, 
I  cannot  fpeak  for  fighs :  my  death  is  feal'd 
By  his  laft  fweetnefs :  had  you  been  lei's  good, 
I  might  have  hop'd.     But  now  my  doom's  at  hand. 
Go  then,  and  take  her,  take  her  to  the  temple  : 
The  gods  too  give  you  joy  !   O  Atbenais  ! 
Why  does  my  image  mock  my  foolifh  forrow  ? 

0  Tbeodcjius,  do  not  fee  my  tears  : 

Away,  and  leave  me  ;  leave  me  to  the  grave. 

<Tkeo.  Farewel !  let's  leave  the  rffus  to  the  Heav'ns ; 

1  will  prepare  your  way  with  all  that  honour 

Can  urge  in  your  behalf,  tho*  to  my  ruin.     [Ex.  Thtfo. 

Par.  Oh,  I  could  tear  my  limbs,  and  eat  my  flefli  \ 
£ool  that  I  was,  fond,  proud,  vain -glorious  fool ! 
Damn'd  be  all  courts,  and  trebly  damn'd  ambition  \ 
Blafted  be  thy  remembrance  !   Curfes  on  thee  ! 
And  plagues  on  plagues  fall  on  thofe  fools  that  feek  thee  ! 

Aran.  Have  comfort,  fir— — 

Var.  Away,  and  leave  me,  villain  ! 
Traitor,  who  wrought  me  nrft  to  my  deftruftion  t 
Yet  ftay,  and  help,  help  me  to  curfe  my  pride, 
Help  me  to  wifli  that  I  had  ne'er  been  royal, 
That  I  had  never  heard  the  name  of  Cyrus. 
'  That  my  firft  brawl  in  court  had  been  my  laft.* 
Oh>  that  I  had  been  born  fome  happy  fwain, 
And  never  known  a  life  fo  great,  fo  vain  ! 
Where  I  extremes  might  not  be  forc'd  to  choofe, 
And,  bleft  with  fome  mean  wife,  no  crown  could  lofe ; 
Where  the  dear  partner  of  my  little  Hate,  *~) 

With  all  her  fmiling  offspring  at  the  gate,  > 

BlelTing  my  labours,  might  my  coming;  wait:  3 

Where 


42  THEODOSIUS. 

Where  in  our  humble  beds  all  fafe  might  lie, 

And  not  in  curfed  courfe  for  glory  die.—        [Exeunt. 

<  S     ON     G. 
'  J. 

*  Hail  to  the  myrtle  (hade , 

'  All  hail  to  the  nymphs  of  the  fields  5 

*  Kings  would  not  here  invade 

'  Thofe  pleafures  that  virtue  yields. 
'  Cbor.  Beauty  here  opens  her  arms, 

'  To  foften  the  languifhing  mind  ; 
'  And  Phillis  unlocks  her  charms  : 

*  Ah,  Phillis ;  ah,  why  fo  kind ! 

'  II. 

*  Phillis,  thou  foul  of  love, 

*  Thou  joy  of  the  neighb'ring  fwains ; 

*  Phillis  that  crowns  the  grove, 

'  And  Phillis  that  gilds  the  plains. 
«  Char.  Phillis,  that  ne'er  had  the  Hull, 

'  To  paint  and  to  patch  and  be  fine ; 
'  Yet  Phillis,  whofe  eyes  can  kill, 
'  Whom  nature  had  made  divine, 

«  III. 

*  Phillis,  whofe  charming  fong, 

*  Makes  labour  and  pains  a  delight, 
'  Phillis  that  makes  the  day  young, 

*  And  fhortens  the  live-long  night. 
«  C&r.  Phillis,  whofe  lips  like  May, 

*  Still  laughs  at  the  fweets  that  they  bring; 
'  Where  love  never  knows  decay, 

*  But  fets  with  eternal  fpring.' 


ACT 


T   H   E    O  D   O    S   I   U   S.  43 

ACT        IV. 

Enter  Marcian,  and  Lucius  at  a  diftance* 

• 

Marc.  1 1^  H  E  gen'ral  of  the  Oriental  armies, 

\_     Was  a  commiffion  large  as  fate  could  give. 
'Tis  gone.    *  Why,  what  care  IPO  fortune,  fortune, 

*  Thou  laughing  emprefs  of  this  bufy  world, 

*  Martian  defies  thee  now.' 

Why,  what  a  thing  is  a  difcarded  favourite  ! 

*  He,  who  but  now,  though  longing  to  retire, 

*  Cou'd  not  for  bufy  waiters  be  alone, 

s  Throng'd  in  his  chamber,  haunted  to  his  clofet 
'  With  a  full  croud,  and  an  eternal  court.' 
When  once  the  favour  of  his  prince  is  turn'd, 
Shunn'd  as  a  ghoft,  the  clouded  man  appears, 
And  all  the  gaudy  worihippers  forfake  him. 
'  So  fares  it  now  with  me,  where'er  I  come, 

*  As  if  I  were  another  Catiline, 

'  The  courtiers  rife,  and  no  man  will  fit  near  me, 

*  As  if  the  plague  were  on  me,  all  men  fly  me.* 

0  Lucius  !  Lucius  !  if  thou  leav'ft  me  too, 

1  think,  I  think,  I  could  not  bear  it ; 

But  like  a  flave,  my  fpirit,  broke  with  fuff'ring, 

Should  on  thefe  coward  knees  fall  down,  and  beg 

Once  to  be  great  again 
Luc.  Forbid  it,  Heaven, 

That  e'er  the  noble  Marcian  condefcend 

To  afk  of  any,  but  th'  immortal  gods  ! 

Nay,  I  vow,  if  yet  your  fpirit  dare, 

Spite  of  the  court,  you  mail  be  great  as  C&far. 

6  Marc.  No,  Lucius,  no  ;  the  gods  repel  that  humour. 
Yet  iince  we  are  alone,  and  muft  e'er  long 
Leave  this  bad  court,  let  us  like  veterans 

Speak  out Thou  fay'lt,  alas  !   as  great  as  Crf/ar* 

But  where's  his  greatnefs  ?  Where  is  his  ambition  ? 

If  any  fparks  of  virtue  yet  remain 

In  this  poor  figure  of  the  Roman  glory ; 

I  fay,  if  any  be,  how  dim  they  mine, 

Compar'd  with  what  his  great  forefathers  were. 

*  How 


44  THEODOSIUS. 

How  mould  he  lighten  then,  or  awe  the  world, 

Whofe  foul  in  courts  is  but  a  lambent  fire  ? 

And  fcarce,  O  Rofoe  f  a  glow-worm  in  the  field, 

Soft,  young,  religious,  godlike  qualities, 

For  one  that  fnould  recover  the  loil  empire, 

And  wade  thro*  feas  of  blood,  and  walk  o'er  mountain* 

Of  flaughter'd  bodies  to  immortal  honour.' 

Luc.  Poor  heart !  he  pin'd  awhile  ago  for  loVe ~ 

Marc.  And  for  his  miftrefs  vow'd  to  leave  the  world  j. 
But  fome  new  chance,  it  feems,  has  charxg'd  his  mind. 
A  marriage  !  but  to  whom,  or  whence  fhe  came, 
None  knows ;   but  yet  a  marriage  is  prOclairn'd  ; 
Pageants  prepar'd  ;   the  arches  are  adorn'd, 
'  7'he  ftatues  crown'd  ;  the  Hippodrome  does  groan 
'  Beneath  the  burden  of  the  mounted  warriors.' 
The  theatre  is  open'd  too,  where  he 
And  the  hot  Perjian  mean  to  act  their  follies. 
Gods !  gods !  Is  this  the  image  of  our  C^/ars  ? 
Is  this  the  model  of  our  Romulus  ? 
Oh,  why  fo  poorly  have  you  ftamp'd  Rome'^glory  •!" 

«  Not  Rome's  but  yours Is  this  man-,  fit -to.  bear  it  T 

'  This  waxen  portraiture  of  majefty, 

'  Which  every  warmer  palTion  does  melt  down, 

*  And  makes  him  fonder  than  it  woman's  longing.. 

Luc.  Thus  much  I  know*  to  the  eternal  Ihama 
Of  the  imperial  blosd  ;  this  upftart  empreis, 
This  fine  new  queen,  is  fprung  from  a&jeft  parents ; 
Nay,  bafely  born  !  But  that's  all  one  to  him  i 
He  likes  and  loves,  and  therefore  marries  her. 

Marc.  Shall  I  not  fpeak  ?  Shall  I  not  tell  him  of  it  > 
I  feel  this  big-fwoln  throbbing  Roman  fpirit 
Will  burft,  unlefsvl  utter  what  I  ought. 

Enter  Pulcheria  with  a  paper  in  her  hand,  and  Julia.. 
Pulcberia  here !  why  ihe's  the  fcourge  of  Marc/an  \ 
I  tremtxle,  too,  whenever  me  approaches : 

*  And  my  heart  dances  an  unufual  meafure. 

*  Spise  of  myfelfl  blufh,  and  cannot  ftir, 

*•  While  fhe  is  here' — What  Lucius,  can  this  mean  ?.- 
*•  'Tis  faid,  Calphurnia.  had  the  heart  of  Oarfar, 
'  Auguftus  doated  on  the  fubtle  Lwiat 
'  Why  then  mould  not  I  worfllip  that  fair  angel  ? 
'•  Oh,  didit  thou  mark  her  when,  her  fury  light'ned, 


T   II   E   O   D   O   S   I   U   S.  45 

%  She  feem'd  all  goddefs ;  nay  her  frowns  became  her; 

*  There  was  a  beauty  in  her  very  wildnefs, 

*  Were  I  a  man,  born  great  as  our  firft  founder, 
'  Sprung  from  the  blood  divine— but  I  am  cad 

"'  Beyond  all  poffibility  of  hope.' 

Pulcb.  Come  hither,  Martian,  read  this  paper  o'er, 
And  mark  the  ftrange  negleft  of  7'heodcjtus. 
He  figns  whate'er  I  bring ;  perhaps  you've  heard 
To-morrow  he  intends  to  wed  a  maid  of  Athens t 
New-made  a  chriilian,  and  new-nam'd  Eudofiat 
Whom  he  more  dearly  prizes  than  his  empire : 
Yet  in  this  paper  he  hath  fet  his  hand, 
And  feal'd  it  too  with  the  imperial  fignet, 
That  me  mall  lofe  her  head  to-morrow  morning* 
Mare.  'Tis  not  for  me  to  judge;  yet  this  feems  ftrange. 
Pulcb.  I  know  he  rather  would  commit  a  murder 
On  his  own  perfon,  than  permit  a  vein 
Of  her  to  bleed  ;  yet,  Martian,  what  might  follow, 
If  I  were  envious  of  this  virgin's  honour, 
By  his  rafh  paffing  whatfoe'er  I  offer 
Without  a  view  ?  Ha  !  but  T  had  forgot : 
Julia,  let's  Jiafte  from  this  infectious  perfott      *•> 
I  had  forgot  that  Martian  was  a  traitor : 
Yet,  by  the  pow'rs  divine,  I  fwear  'tis  pity. 
That  one  fo  form'd  by  nature  for  all  honour^ 
All  titles,  greatnefs,  dignities  imperial, 
The  noblelt  perfon,  and  the  braveft  courage^ 
Should  not  be  honeft.    Julia,  is't  not  pity  {' 

0  Martian,  Martian  !  I  could  weep  to  think 
Virtue  mould  lofe  itfelf  as  thine  has  done; 
Repent,  rafh  man,  if  yet  'tis  not  too  late, 
And  mend  thy  errors ;  fo  farewel  for  ever, 

[.E^tf/Pulch.  WJfel, 
Marc.  Farewel  for  ever:  No,  madam,  ere  I  go, 

1  am  refolv'd  to  fpeak,  and  you  fhall  hear  me  ; 
Then,  if  you  pleafe,  take  off  this  traitor's  head  ; 
End  rny  commiffion  and  my  life  together. 

Luc.  Perhaps  you'll  doubt  of  what  I'm  going  to  fay  j 
But  by  your  life,  my  lord,  I  think  'tis  true: 
Pulcheria  loves  this  traitor  !   '  Did  you  mark  her  ? 

*  At  firft  me  had  forgot  your  banifhment ; 

*  Makes  you  her  counfellor,  and  tells  her  fecrets. 

*  As 


46  THEQDOSIUS 

'  As  to  a  friend ;  nay,  leaves  them  in  your  hand, 

*  And  fays,  'tis  pity  that  you  are  not  honed  ! 
f  With  fuch  defcription  of  your  gallantry 

f  As  none  but  love  could  make;  then  taking  leave, 
f  Through  the  dark  lafhes  of  her  darting  eyes, 
Methought  flie'fhot  her  foul  at  ev'ry  glance  ; 
'  Still  looking  back,  as  if  me  had  a  mind 

*  That  you  mould  know  fhe  left  her  heart  behind  her, 

Marc.  Alas  ;  thou  doft  not  know  her,  nor  do  I : 
Nor  can  the  wit  of  all  mankind  conceive  her. 
But  let's  away.     This  paper  is  of  ufe. 

Luc.  I  guefs  your  purpofe  : 
He  is  a  boy,  and  as  a  boy  you'll  ufe  him : 
There  is  no  other  way. 

Marc.  Yes,  if  he  be  not 

Quite  dead  with  flcep,  for  ever  loft  to  honour, 
Marcian  with  this  mall  roufe  him.    O  my  Lucius  ! 
Methinks  the  ghofts  of  the  great  <Theodofiusy 
And  thund'ring  Conjlantine,  appear  before  me  : 
They  charge  me  as  a  foldier  to  chaftife  him, 
To  lafh  him  with  keen  words  from  lazy  love, 
And  (hew  him  how  they  trod  the  paths  of  honour. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE,  Theodofius  lying  on  a  couch,  with  two  boys  dreft 
like  Cupids,  finging  to  him  as  hejleeps. 

<  S     O     N     G 

«  Happy  day  !  ah,  happy  day  ! 
•  That  Car/ar's  beams  did  firft  difplay, 

'  So  peaceful  was  the  happy  day. 
'  The  gods  themfelves  did  all  look  down, 
f    *  The  royal  infant's  birth  to  crown, 
«  So  pleas'd  they  fcarce  did  on  the  guilty  frown. 

Happy  day  !  ah,  happy  day  ! 
'  And,  Oh,  thrice  happy  hour  ! 
'  That  made  fuch  goodnefs  mafter  of  fuch  pow'r : 

'  For  thus  the  gods  declare  to  men, 
'  "No  day  like  this  mall  ever  come  again. 

«  Enter 


THEODOSIUS.  47 

*  Enter  Marcian  nvitb  an  order. 
€  Tbeo.  Ha,  what  rafh  thing  art  thou,   who  fett'ft  fo 

*  A  value  on  thy  life,   thus  to  prefume  [fmall 

*  Againft  the  fatal  orders  I  have  given, 
'  Thus  to  entrench  on  Carfar's  folitude, 
f  And  urge  me  to  thy  ruin? 

«  Marc.   Mighty  C<e/ar, 
'  I  have  tranfgrefs'd,   and  for  my  pardon  bow 

*  To  thee,   as  to  the  gods  when  I  offend : 

'  Nor  can  I  doubt  your  mercy,  when  you  know 

*  The  nature  of  my  crime.     I  am  commiifion^d 

c  From  all  the  earth  to  give  thee  thanks  and  praifes, 
'  Thou  darling  of  mankind  !  whofeconqu'ring  arms 
'  Already  drown  the  glory  of  great  Julius, 

*  Whofe  deeper  reach  in  laws  and  policy 

*  Makes  wife  Auguftus  envy  thee  in  Heav'n  ; 

f  *  What  mean  the  fates  by  fuch  prodigious  virtue  ? 

*  When  fcarce  the  manly  down  yet  lhades  thy  face, 

*  With  conqueiV thus  to  over-run  the  world; 

s  And  make  barbarians  tremble  ?  O  ye  gods ! 
'  Should  delUny  now  end  thee  in  thy  bloom, 
'  Methinks  I  fee  thee  mourn'd  above  the  lofs 

*  Qflov'dGermanzcus,   thy  funerals, 

'  Like  his,  are  folemniz'd  with  tears  and  blood. 

'Theo.  How,   Marcian! 

'  Marc.   Yes,   the  raging  multitude, 
'  Like  torrents,   fet  no  bound  to  their  mad  grief; 
'  Shave  their  wives  heads,  and  tear  off  their  own  hair ; 

*  With  wild  defpair  they  bring  their  infants  out 

*  To  brawl  their  parents  forrow  in  the  ftreets: 

'  Trade  is  no  more,  all  courts  of  juiHce  ftopp'd; 

'  With  ftones  they  dam  the  windows  of  their  temples, 

'  Pull  down  their  altars,    break  their  houfehold  gods; 

'  And  Hill  the  univerfal  groan  is  this, 

'  Conflantinople^  loft,  cur  empire's  ruin'd : 

'  Since  he  is  gone,  that  father  of  his  country; 

*  Since  he  is.dead,  O   life,   where  is  thy  pleafure ? 

*  O  Rome  !  O  conquered  world,  where  is  thy  glory? 

'  Vbeo.  I  know  thee  well,  thy  cuftom  and  thy  manners; 
'  Thou  doll  upbraid  me ;    but  no  more  of  this, 
'  Not  for  thy  life — .     •  • 
.    f  Marc.  What's  life  without  my  honour  ?   - 

3  •  Could 


S  T   H   E    O    £>    0    S    1   V   & 

Could  yow  transform  yoarfelf  into  a.  gorgon, 
Or  make  that  beardlefs  face  like  Jupiter's, 
1  would  be  heard  in  fpite  of  all  your  thunder. 
O  pow'r  of  guilt !  you  fear  to  ftand  the  teft 
Which  virtue  brings ;  like  fores  your  vices  fhake 
Before  this  Rom  an -healer  ;   but,  by  the  gods, 
Before  I  go,  I'll  rip  the  malady, 
And  let  the  venom  flow  before  your  eyes* 
This  is  a  debt  to  the  great  Theo^isjitts^ 
The  grands-father  of  your  illuftrious  blood  J 
And  then  farewell  for  ever. 

'  Thso.  Prefuming  Martian  ! 
What  canft  thou  urge  againft  my  innocence? 
Through  the  whole  courfeof  all  my  harmlefs  youth, 
Ev'n  to  this  hour,  1  cannot  call  to  mind 
One  wicked  aft  which  I  have  done  to  fhatne  me* 

'  Marc.  This  may  be  true ;   yet  if  you  give  the  fway 
To  other  hands,  and  your  poor  fuhjcfts  fuffer, 
Your  negligence  to  them  is  as  the  caufe* 
O  Tbeeddfat  /  credit  me,  who  know 
The  world,    and  hear  how  foldiers  cenfure  kings  j 
In  after-times,   if  thus  you  mould  go  on, 
Your  memory  by  warriors  will  be  fcorn'd, 
As  much  as  faro  or  Caligula,  loath'd, 
They  will  defpife  your  floth  and  backward  eafe* 
More  than  they  hate  the  others  cruelty. 
And  what  a  thing,  ye  gods,   is  fcorn  or  pity? 
Heap  on  me,  HeaVn,  the  hate  of  all  mankind ; 
Load  me  with  malice,  envy,   deteftation  ; 
Let  me  be  horrid  to  all  apprehenfion, 
And  the  world  munme,  fo  I  'fcape  but  fcorn. 

'  ¥beo.  Pr'ythee  no  more. 

'  Marc.  Nay,   when  the  legions  make  comparifonsj 
And  fay,   thus  cruel  Nero  once  refolv'd 
On  Galta's  infurre&ion,  for  revenge, 
To  give  all  Frame  as  plunder  to  the  army, 
To  poifon  the  whole  fenate  at  a  feaft, 
To  burn  the  city,   turn  the  wild  beads  out, 
Bears,  lions,  tigers,  on  the  multitude ; 
That  fo  obftructing  thofe  thatquench'd  the  fire, 
He  might  at  once  deftroy  rebellious  Rome. 


THEODOSIUS.  49 

«  Tbeo.  Oh,  cruelty!   Why  tell'ft  thou  me  of  this? 
•*  Am  I  of  fuch  a  barb'rous  bloody  temper  ? 

'  Marc.  Yet  fome  will  fay,  this  ftiew'd  he  had  a  fpirit, 

*  However  fierce,    avenging  and  pernicious, 

*  That  favour'd  of  a  Roman  ;  but  for  you, 

*•  What  can  your  partial  fycophants  invent, 
'  To  make  you  room  among  the  emperors, 

*  Whofe  utmoft  is  the  fmalleil:  part  of  Nero, 

*  A  petty  player,    one  that  can  aft  a  hero, 

*  And  never  be  one  ?   O  ye  immortal  gods  ! 

*  Is  this  the  old  Cafarian  majefty  ? 

*  Now,   in  the  name  of  our  great  Romulus, 

*  Why  fmg  you  not,    and  fiddle  too,  as  he  did ; 
'  Why  have  you  not,  like  Nero,    a  Pbenafcus, 

*  One  to  take  care  of  your  celeitial  voice  ? 

'  Lye  on  your  back,   my  lord,   and  on  your  flomach 
'  Lay  a  thin  plate  of  lead  ;  abftain  from  fruits; 

*  And  when  the  bus'nefs  of  the  ftage  is  done, 

*  Retire  with  your  loofe  friends,    to  coftly  banquets, 
'  While  the  lean  army  groans  upon  the  ground. 

'  Theo.  Leave  me,    I  fay,    left  I  chaftife  thee  : 

*  Hence,  begone,  I  fay 

*  Marc.  Not  till  you  have  heard  me  out       » 

*  Build  too,   like  him,  a  palace  lin'd  with  gold, 
'•  As  long  and  large  as  that  of  th'  Efquiline? 

«  Inclofe  a  pool,  too,  in  it,  like  the  fea, 

*  And,  at  the  empire's  coft,  let  navies  meet ; 

*  Adorn  your  ftarry  chambers,    too  with  gems  ; 
'  Contrive  the  plated  cielings  to  turn  round, 

'  With  pipes  to  call  ambroiial  oils  upon  you ; 

*  Confume,    with  this  prodigious  vanity', 

'  In  mere  perfumes,    and  odorous  diftillations, 
'  Offeflerces,    at  once,    four  hundred  millions; 
'  Let  naked  virgins  wait  you  at  your  table, 
'  And  wanton  cupids  dance  and  clap  their  wings. 
'  No  matter  what  becomes  of  the  poor  foldiers, 

*  So  they  perform  the  drudgery  they  are  fit  for: 
'  Why  let  'em  ftarve  for  want  of  their  arrears, 

'  Drop  as  they  go,  and  lie,  like  dogs,    in  ditches. 

*  Tbeo.  Come,   you  are  a  traitor « 

'  Marc,  Go  to,    you  are  a  boy— 

'  Or,   by  the  gods— * 

C  v 


50  T    H    E    O    D    O    S    I    U    S. 

*  Theo.  If  arrogance  like  this, 

*  And  to  the  emp'rors  face,  mould  'fcape  unpunim'd, 
'  I'll  write  myfelfa  coward — die,   then,  villain, 

*  A  death  too  glorious  ibr  fo  bad  a  man, 
<*  By  Tbeodo/tus'  hand. 

\They  fight,  Marcian  difarms  him,  but  is  wounded. 

*  Marc.  Now,    fir,  where  are  you  ? 

'  What,    in  the  name  of  all  our  'Roman  fpirits, 

'  Now  charms  my  hand  from  giving  thee  thy  fate? 

•'  Has  he  not  cut  me  off  from  all  my  honours, 

'  Torn  my  commiffions,   iham'd  me  to  the  earth, 

'  Baniih'd  the  court,    a  vagabond  for  ever  ? 

«  Does  not  the  foldier  hourly1  afk  it  from  me, 

•'  Sigh  their  own  wrongs,  and  beg  me  to  revenge  'em  ? 

'  What  hinders  now,   but  that  I  mount  the  throne, 

*  And  make  to  that  this  purple  youth  my  footftool  ? 

*  The  armies  court  me^  and  my  country's  caufe ; 

*  The  inj  uries  of  Rome  and  Greece  perfuade  me. 

'  Shew  but  this  Roman  blood  which  he  has  drawn, 

*  They'll  make  me  emperor  whether  I  will  or  no  ; 

*  Did  not,   for  lefs  than  this,    the  latter  Brutus, 

-'  Becaufehe  thought  Rome  wrong'd,   in  perfon  head, 

*  Againft  his  friend,  a  black  confpiracy, 
'  And  ftab'  the  majefty  of  all  the  world  ? 

f  Theo.  Aft  as  you  pleafe,  I  am  within  your  power. 
'  Marc.  Did  not  the  former  Brutus,   for  the  crime 

*  Of  Sextusy  drive  old  Tarquin  from  his  kingdom ; 

*  And  mall  this  prince  too,  by  permitting  others 
'  To  aft  their  wicked  wills  and  lawlefs  pleafures, 

*  Ravim  from  the  empire  its  dear  health, 

*  Well-being,  happinefs,   and  ancient  glory, 
'  Go  on  in  this  dilhonourable  reft. 

•'  Shall  he,  I  fay,  dream  on,  while  the  flarv'd  troops 

*  Lie  cold  and  waking  in  the  winter  camp ; 

*  And,    like  pin'd  birds,  for  want  of  fuitenance, 

*  Feed  on  the  haws  and  berries  of  the  field? 

*  Oh,  temper,  temper  me,   ye  gracious  gods ! 

*  Give  to  my  hand  forbearance,   to  my  heart 

*  Its  conftant  loyalty         I  would  but  make  him, 

*  Rouze  him  a  little  from  this  death  of  honour, 

*  And  mew  him  what  he  mould  be.  [A/iJe. 

You  accufe  me, 

«  As 


T    H   E   O   D    O    S   I   U    S.  51 

*  As  if  I  were  fome  monfter  moil  unheard  ofj 
e  Firlt,  as  the  ruin  of  the  -army  ;  then 

*  Of  taking  your  commiffion  ;  but,  by  Heav'n, 

*  I  fwear,   O  Martian  !  this  I  never  did,      , 
'  NOT  e'er  intended  it :  nor  fay  I  this 

*  To  alter  thyilern  ufage;  for  with  what 

'  Thou'ft  faid,  and  done, and  brought  to  my  remembrance, 

*  I  grow  already  weary  of  my  life. 

'  Marc.  My  lord,  I  take  your  word — you  do  not  know 

*  The  wounds  which  rage  within  your  country's  bowels ; 
'  The  horrid  ufage  of  the  fuff'ring  foldier  : 

'  But  why  will  not  our  1'heodojlus  know  ? 
'  If  you  intruit  the  government  to  others 

*  That  aft  thefe  crimes,  who  but  yourfelPs  to  blame  ? 
'  Be  witnefles,  ye  gods,  of  my  plain  dealing, 

'  Of  Martian's  honefty,  howe'er  degraded. 

*  I  thank  you  for  my  banifhment;  but,  alas! 

*  My  lofs  is  little  to  what  foon  will  follow : 

*  Reflect  but  on  yourfelf,  and  your  own  joys ; 
'  Let  not  this  lethargy  for  ever  hold  you. 

'  'Twas  rumour'd  through  the  city  that  you  .lov'd, 
'  That  your  efpoufals  fhould  be  folemniz'd  j 

*  When,  on  a  fudden,  here,  you  fend  your  orders  ' 
'  That  this  bright  favourite,  the  lov'd  Eudojla, 

f  Should  lofe  her  head. 

*  Theo.  O  Heav'n  and  earth !  What  fay'ft  thou, 
'  That  I  have  feal'd  the  death  of  my  Eudofta? 

'  Marc.  JTis  your  own  hand  and  fignet :  yet  I  fwear, 

*  Tho'  you  have  giv?n  to  female  hands  your  fway, 
'  And  therefore  I  as  well  as  the  whole  army, 

*  For  ever  ought  to  curfe  all  womankind, 

'  Yet  when  the  virgin  came,  as  me  was  doom'd,  ^  , 

*  And  on  the  fcaffold,  for  thatpurpofe  rais'd, 

'  Without  the  walls  appear'd  before  the  army— 

*  Theo.  What,  on  a  fcaffold?  Ha !  before  the  army  ? 
'  Marc.  How  quickly  was  the  tide  of  fury  turn'd 

To  foft  compaffion  and  relenting  tears :  but  when  the 
Sever'd  the  brightefl  beauty  of  the  earth  [axe« 

From  that  fair  body,  had  you  heard  the  groan, 
Which,  like  a  peal  of  diftant  thunder,  ran 
Through  all  the  armed  holt,  you  would  have  thought 
By  the  immediate  darknefs  that  fell  round  us, 

C  2  ''  Whole 


$z  THEODOSIUS. 

'  Whole  nature  was  concern'd  at  fuch  a  fufPring, 
-*  And  all  the  gods  were  angry. 

'  Theo.  O  Pulcheria  ! 
'  Cruel,  ambitious  fitter,  this  mufl  be 
'  Thy  doing!  O  fupport  me,  noble  Marcian  ! 
'  Now,  now's  the  time,  if  thou  dar'ft  itrike;  behold, 

*  J  offer  thee  my  breaft  ;  with  my  lall  breath 

*  'I'll  thank  thee  too,  if  now  thou  draw'ft  my  blood. 

*  Were  I  to  live,  thy  counfel  mould  direft  me; 

*  But  'tis  too  late [He  fivoont. 

'  Marc.  He  faints!  What,  hoa,  there,  Lucius! 

*  Enter  Lucius. 

'  My  lord,  the  emperor,  Eudofia  lives ! 
4  Sfee's  here,  or  will  be  in  a  minute,  moment, 

*  Quick  as  a  thought  (lie  calls  you  to  the  temple. 

«  O  Lucius,  help  r- I've  gone  too  far— but  fee, 

*  He  breathes  again — Eudcfea  has  awak'd  him. 

'  Fbco.  Did  you  not  name  Eudofia  ? 
'  Marc.  Yes,  me  lives ; 

*  I  did  but  feign  the  ftory  of  her  death, 

«  To  find  how  near  you  plac'd  her  to  your  heart : 
'  And  may  the  gods  rain  all  their  plagues  upon  me, 
<  If  ever  I  rebuke  you  thus  again: 
'  Yet  'tis  molt  certain  that  you  fign'd  her  death, 

*  Not  knowing  what  the  wife  Pulcheria  offer'd, 
«  Who  left  it  in  my  hand  to  flartle  you  : 

*  But,  by  my  life  and  fame,  I  did  not  think 

'  It  would  have  touch'd  your  life.     O  pardon  me, 
«  Dear  prince,  my  lord,  my  emp'ror,  royal  mailer ! 

*  Droop  not  becaufe  I  utter'd  fome  rain  words, 

*  And  was  a  madman by  th'  immortal  gods, 

*  I  love  you  as  my  foul :  whate'er  I  faid, 

'  My  thoughts  were  otherwife;  believe  thefe  tears, 

*  Which  do  not  ufe  to  flow  ;  all  (hnJl  be  well : 

*  I  fvvear  that  there  are  feeds  in  that  fweet  temper, 

*  T'  atone  for  all  the  crimes  in  this  bad  age. 

«  Theo.  I  thank  thee — firft,  for  my  Eudofia  s  life. 
'  What,  but  my  love,  could  have  call'd  back  that  life, 
'  Which  thou  haft  made  me  hate?  And,  Oh!  methought 

*  'Twashard,  dear  Martian ,  very  hard  from  thee, 
'  From  him  I  ever  rev'renc'd  as  my  father, 

'  To  hear  fo  harfh  a  meffage- But  no  more ; 

<  We're  friends — thy  hand — Nay,  if  thou  wilt  not  rife, 

'j  <  And 


T   H   E   O   D   O   S    I   U  S.  53 

*  And  let  me  fold  my  arms  about  thy  neck, 

*  I'll  not  believe  thy  love — In  this  forgive  me : 
'  Firft  let  me  wed  Eudofia,  and  we'll  out; 

*  We  will,  my  general,  and  make  amends 

'  For  all  that's  paft — Glory  and  arms,  ye  call, 

*  And  Martian  leads  me  on 

*  Marc.  Let  me  not  reft,  then-— 

'   7~  fpmife  her  ilraight;  I'll  ftrike  you  at  a  heat; 

*  May  this  great  humour  get  large  growth  within  your 

*  And  be  encourag'd  by  the  embold'ning gods. 

*  Oh,  what  a  fight  will  this  be  to  the  foldieri 

*  To  fee  me  bring  you  drefs'din  mining  armour, 

*  To  head  the  fhouting  fquadrons O  ye  gods ! 

'  Methinks  I  hear  the  echoing  cries  of  joy, 

4  The  found  of  trumpets,  and  the  beat  of  drums— - 

'  I  fee  each  ftarving  foldier  bound  from  earth, 

'  As  if  fome  god  by  miracle  had  rais'd  him, 

4  And,  with  beholding  you,  grow  fat  again. 

'  Nothing  but  gazing  eyes,  and  opening  mouths, 

4  Cheeks  red  with  joy,  and  lifted  hands  about  you  j 

4  Some  wiping  the  glad  tears  that  trickle  down 

*  With  broken  lo's,  and  with  fobbing  raptures, 

*  Crying,  to  arms !  he's  come,  our  emp'ror's  come 
4  To  win  the  world ! — Why,  is  not  this  far  better 

'  Than  lolling  in  a  lady's  lap,  and  fleeping, 

*  FafUng  or  praying?  Come,  come,  you  mail  be  merry y 
'  And  for  Endo/ia,  me  is  yours  already  ; 

*  Martian  has  faidit,  fir,  ihe  mall  be  yours. 

*  Tbeo.  O  Martian  !  O  my  brother,  father,  all  I 
'  Thou  beft  of  friends,  moft  faithful  counfellor, 

*  I'H  find  a  match  for  thee  too,  ere  I  reft, 

'  To  make  thee  love  me ;  for  'when  thou  art  with  me, 

*  I'm  ftrong   and   well,    but  when  thou'rt  gone,    I'rns 

'  nothing.  [Exeunt  Marcian  nnd  Lucius.' 

Enter  Athenais,  meeting  Theodofius. 
Alas,  Eudcfia  !  tell  me  what  to  fay; 
For  my  full  heart  can  fcarce  bring  forth  a  word 
Of  that  which  I  have  fworn  to  fee  perform'd.. 
Athen.  I'm  perfectly  obedient  to  your  pleafurc. 
T'beo.  Well  then,  I  come  to  tell  thee,  that  Varanes, 
Of  all  mankind,  is  neareft  to  my  heart. 
I  love  him,  dear  Eudojia^  and.to  prove, 

C  3  That 


54  THEODOSIUS. 

That  love  on  trial,  all  my  blood's  too  little; 

Ev^n  thee,  if  I  were  fure  to  die  this  moment, 

(As  Heav'n  alon.e  can  tell  how  far  my  fate 

Is  off)  O  thou,  my  foul's  moil  tender  joy, 

With  my  lalt  breath  I  would  bequeath  him  thee.  [hfrn.1 
Athen,  Then  you  arepleas'd,  my  lord,  to  yield  me  to 
^Theo.  No,  my  Eudcjtay  no,  I  will  not  yield  thee 

While  I  have  life  ;  for  worlds  I  will  not  yield  thee  : 

Yet,  thus  far  I'm  engag'd  to  let  thee  know, 

He  loves  thee,  Athenais,  more  than  ever ; 

He  langui/hes,  defpairs,  and  dies  like  me; 

And  I  have  pafs'd  my  word  that  he  mail  fee  thee. 

Athen.  Ah,  fir !  what  have  you  done  againft  yourfelf 

And  me  ? 

'  Why  will  you  truil  me,  who  am  now  afraid 

*  To  truft  myfelf  ?— ^Why  do  you  leave  me  naked 
'  To  an  afiault,  who  made  proof  my  virtue 

*  With  this  fure  guard,  never  to  fee  him  more.' 
For,  Oh!  with  trembling  agonies  I  fpeakit, 

I  cannot  fee  a  prince  whom  once  I  lov'd, 
BathM  in  his  grief,  and  gafping  at  my  feet, 

*  In  all  the  violent  trances  of  defpair,' 
Without  a  forrow  that  perhaps  may  end  me. 

Theo.  Oh,  ye  feverer  pow'rts !  too  cruel  f^te! 
Did  ever  love  tread  fuch  a  maze  before  ? 
Yet,    Atbenais,  ilill  I  trull  thy. virtue: 
But  if  thy  bleeding  heart  cannot  refrain, 
Give,  give  thyfelfaway;  yet  Mill  remember, 

That  moment  *TbeodoJius  is  no  more 

[Exit  Theodofius. 

Athen.  Now,  glory,  now,  if  ever  thou  didit  work 

In  woman's  mind,  affifl  me f  Oh,  my  heart! 

'  Why  doft  thou  throb,  as  if  thou  wert  a  breaking  ? 
'  Down,  down,  I  fay;  think  on  thy  injuries, 
'  Thy  wrongs,  thy  wrongs  ? — 'Tis  well — my  eyes  are  dry, 
4  And  all  within  my  bofom  now  is  Hill.' 

Enter  Varanes,  leaning  on  Aranthes. 
Ha !  is  this  he  ?  Or  is't  Varanes'  ghofl  ? 
He  looks  as  if  he  had  befpoke  his  grave, 
Trembling  and  pale :  I  muft  not  dare  to  view  him  : 
For,  Oh,  I  feel  his  melancholy  here, 
And  fear  I  ihall  too  foon  partake  his  ficknefs. 

Var. 


T    H   E   O    D    O   S    I  U   S.  # 

far.  Thus  to  the  angry  gods,  offending  mortals, 
Made  fenfible,  by  fome  fevere  affliction, 
How  all  their  crimes  are  regifler'd  in  Heav'n, 

*  In  that  nice  court,  where  no  rafh  word  efcapes, 

*  But  ev'n  extravagant  thoughts  are  all  fet  down  :* 
Thus  the  poor  penitents  with  fear  approach 

The  rev'rend  ihrines,  and  thus  for  mercy  bow ;    [Kneels. 
Thus  melting  -too,   they  waih  the  hallow'd  earth, 

And  groan  to  be  forgiven 

O  emprefs!  O  EuJyJiaJ'fuch  you're  now: 
Thefe  are  your  titles,  and  I  mull  not  dare 
Ever  to  call  you  Atkenais  more. 

At  ben.  Rife,  rife,  my  lord,  let  me  intreat  you,  rife; 
J  will  not  hear  you  in  that  humble  poilure  ; 
Rife,  or  I  mull  withdraw'         The  world  will  bluftv 
For  you  and  me,  Ihould  it  behold  a  prince, 
Sprung  from  immortal  Cyrus  t  on  his  knees 
Before  the  daughter  of  a  poor  philcfopher. 

Var.  'Tis  juft,  ye  righteous  gods,  my  doom  is  j.ufl;v. 
Nor  will  I  ft  rive  to  deprecate  her  anger. 
If  poilible,  I'll  aggravate  my  crimes, 
That  me  may  rage  till  flie  has  broke  my  heart  j 
JPor  all  I  now  defire — *  and  let  the  gods, 

*  Thofe  cruel  gods,  that  join  to  my  undoing, 
'  Be  witneffes  to  this  unnatural  wifh,' 

Is  to  fall  dead  without  a  wound  before  her. 

Aiken.  Oh,  ye  known  founds !  but  I  mull  Heel  my  foul. 


'•  Methinks  thefe  robes,  my  Delia,  are  too  heavy.* 
Var.  Not  worth  a  word,  a  look,  or  one  regard  ! 
Is  then  the  nature  "of  my  fault  fo  heinous, 
That  when  I  come  to  take  my  eternal  leave, 
You'll  not  vouchfafe  to  view  me  ?  This  is  fcorn 
Which  the  fair  foul  of  gentle  Atkenais 

Would  ne'er  have  harboured 

Oh,  for  the  fake  of  him,  whom  you,  ere  long, 
Shall  hold  as  faft  as  now  your  wifhes  from  him,' 

Give  me  a  patient  hearing;  for  however 

I  talk  of  death,  and  feem  to  loath  my  life, 

I  would  delib'rate  with  ray  fate  a  while, 

With  fnatching  glances  eye  thee  to  the  laft, 

C  4  Paufe 


56  THEODOSIUS. 

Paufe  o'er  a  lofs  like  that  of  Atkenais, 

And  parley  with  my  ruin, 
Athen.  Speak,  my  lord  ; 

T©  hear  you  is  the  emperor's  command, 

And,  for  that  caufe,  I  readily  obey. 

Var.  The  emperor,  the  emperor's  command ! 

And  for  that  caufe  me  readily  obeys ! 

I  thank  you,  Madam,  that,  on  any  terms, 

You  cor-defcend  to  hear  me 

Know,  then,  Eudofia;  Ah,  rather  let  me  call  thee- 

By  the  lov'd  name  of  Athenais  ftiil ! 
That  name  that  I  fo  often  have  invok'd, 
And  which  was  once  aufpicious  to  my  vows,    - 
So  oft  at  midnight  iigh'd  among  the  groves  j 
The  rivers  murmur,  and  the  echo's  burden, 
Which  every  bird  could  fing,  and  wind  did  bear* 
By  that  dear  name,  I  make  this  protection, 
By  all  that's  good  on  earth,  or  blefs'd  in  Heav'n,' 

I  fwear  I  love  thee  more,  far  more  than  ever. 

With  confcious  blufhes  too,  here,  help  me,  gods ; 

Help  me  to  tell  her,  tho'  to  my  confufion, 

And  everlafting  fhame;  yet  I  muft  tell  her, 

I  lay  the  Per/tan  crown  before  her  feet. 

Atben.  My  lord,  I  thank  you;  and  t'  exprefs  thofc 

As  nobly  as  you  offer  'em,  I  return  [thanks, 

The  gift  you  make ;  nor  will  I  now  upbraid  you 

With  the  example  of  the  emperor  ; 

Not  but  I  know  'tis  that  that  draws  you  on, 

Thus  to  defcend  beneath  your  majefty, 

And  (well  the  daughter  of  a  poor  philofopher 

With  hopes  of  being  great. 

Yar.  Ah,  madam  !  Ah,  you  wrong  me  !  by  the  gods, 

I  had  repented,  ere  I  knew  the  emp'rer 

Athen.  You  find,  perhaps,  too  late,  that  Atbenais> 

However  flighted  for  her  birth  and  fortune, 

Has  fomething  in  her  perfon  and  her  virtue, 

Worth  the  regard  of  emperors  themfelves  : 

And,  to  return  the  compliment  you  gave 

My  father,  Leontine,  that  poor  philosopher, 

Whofe  utmofl  glory  is  t'  have  been  your  tutor, 

I  here  proteft,   by  virtue  and  by  glory, 

J  (Wear,  by  Hcav'u,  and  all  the  pow'rs  divine, 

Th'  aban- 


THEODOSIUS,  57 

Th'  abandon'd  daughter  of  that  poor  old  man 
Shall  ne'er  be  feated  on  the  throne  of  Cyrus. 

Far.  Oh,  death  to  all  my  hopes  !  what  haft thou  fworn, 
To  turn  me  wild  ?  Ah,  curfed  throne  ofCyrut  ! 
Would  thou  hadft  been  o'erturn'd,  and  laid  in  duft  ; 
His  crown  too  thunderftruck ;  my  father ;  all 
The  P  erf  an  race,  like  poor  Darius,  ruin'd, 
Blotted,  and  fwept  for  ever  from  the  world, 
When  firft  ambition  blafted  thy  remembrance— 

Aii>en.  O  Heav'n  !  I  had  forgot  the  bafe  affront 
Ofter'd   by  this  proud  man  ;  a  wrong  fo  great, 
It  is  remov'd  beyond  all  hope  of  mercy ; 
He  had  defign'd  to  bribe  my  father's  virtue, 

And  by  unlawful  means 

Fly  from  my  fight,  left  I  become  a  fury,. 
And  break  thofe  rules  of  temp'rance  I  propos'&;> 
Fly,  fly,  Faranes  !  fly  this  facred  place, 
Where  virtue  and  religion  are  profefs'd ; 

*  This  city  will  not  harbour  infidels, 

'  Traitors  to  chaftity,  licentious  princes : 

*  Begone,  I  fay;  thou  canft  not  here  be  fafe;' 
Fly  to  imperial  libertines  abroad  ; 

In  foreign  courts  thou'lt  find  a  thoufa/id  beauties 
That  will  comply  for  gold  •:  for  gold  they'll  weep,, 
For  gold  be  fond,  as  Athenais  was, 
And  charm  thee  ftill,  as  if  they  lov'd  indeed. 
Thou'lt  find  enough  companions  too  for  riot ; 
Luxuriant  all,  and  royal  as  thyfelf, 
Tho'  thy  loud  vices  mould  refound  to  Heav'n.. 
Art  thou  not  gone  yet  ? 
*  Var+  No,  I  am  charm'd  to  hear  you. 
Oh  !  from  my  foul  I  do  confefs  myfelf 
The  very  blot  of  honour — I  am  more  black 
Than  thou,  in  all  thy  heat  of  juft  revenger 
With  all  thy  glorious  eloquence,  can  make  me»- 
4  Atkenf  Away,  Varanes ! 
Var.  Yes,  madam,  I  am  going 
Nay,  by  the  gods,  I  do  not  aik  thee  pardon, 
Nor,  while  I  live,  will  I  implore  thy  mercy  -T 
But,  when  I'm  dead,  if,  as  thou  dofl  return 
With  happy  ^heodofi^s  from  the  temple  ; 
If,  as  thou,  g«'ft  in  triumph  through  the  ftreete, 
C  5 


58  T  Ji    E    O    D    O    S   I   U   S. 

Thou  chance  to  meet  the  cold  Faranes  there, 
Borne  by  his  friends  to  his  eternal  home, 
Stop  then,  O  Athenais  !  and  behold  me  ; 
Say,  as  thou  hang'il  about  the  emp'ror's  neck, 
Alas,  my  lord  !  this  fight  is  worth  our  pity. 
If  to  thofe  pitying  words  thou  add  a  tear, 

Or  giVe  one  parting  groan if  pofiible, 

If  the  good  gods  will  grant  my  foul  the  freedom, 

I'll  leave  my  fhroud,  and  wake  from  death  to  thank  thee. 

Athen.  He  makes  my  refolution  from  the  bottom  j 
My  bleeding  heart  too  fpeaks  in  his  behalf, 
And  fays,  my  virtue  has  been  too  fevere. 

Far.  Farewel,  O  emprefs  !  no  Atbenais  now  :        -    . 
I  will  not  call  thee  by  that  tender  name, 
Since  cold  defpair  begins  to  freeze  my  t^ofoom, 
And  all  my  pow'rs  are  now  refolv'd  on  death. 
'•  'Tis  faid,  that  from  my  youth  I  have  been  ram, 

*  Choleric  and  hot ;  but  let  the  gods  now  judge 
'  By  mylaft  wiih,  if  ever  patient  man 

*  Did  calmly  bear  fo  great  a  lofs  as  mine.' 

Since  'tis  fo  doom'd  by  fate,  you  muft  be  wedUed  ; 
For  your  own  peace,  when  I  am  laid  in  earth, 
forget  that  e'er  Faranes  had  a  being ; 
Turn  all  your  foul  to  Theodofius''  bofom. 
Continue,  gods,  their  days,  and  make  them  long ; 
Lucina,  wait  upon  their  fruitful  Hymen, 
And  many  children,  beauteous  as  the  mother, 
And  pious  as  the  father,  make  'em  fmile. 

Athen.  O  Heav'ns! 

Far.  Farewel I'll  trouble  you  no  more ; 

The  malady  that's  lodg'd  within  grows  ilronger  : 
I  feel  the  mock  of  my  approaching  fate  ; 
My  heart  too  trembles  at  his  diilant  march  ; 
Nor  canT  utter  more,  if  you  mould  afk  me. 
Thy  aim,  Aranthes — Oh,  farewel  for  ever  !  — 

AtJoen.   Faranes  t  ftay  ;  and  ere  you  go  for  ever, 
Let ''me  unfold  my  heart. 

Far.   O   Athenais ! 

What  further  cruelty  hail  thou  in  Here 
To  add  to  what  I  fuffer  ? 

Atken,  Since  'tis  doom'd 

That 


THEODOSIUS. 

That  we  muft  part,  let's  part  as  lovers  mould  ; 
As  thofe  that  have  lov'd  long,  and  loved  well. 

Far.  Art  thou  fo  good  !   O  Athenais,  Oh  ! 

Athen.   Firft,  from  my  foul,  I  pity  and  forgive  you: 
I  pardon  you  that  hafty  little  error, 
Which  yet  has  been  the  caufe  of  both  our  ruins. 
Ar.d  let  this  forrow  witnefs  for  my  heart, 
How  eagerly  I  wilh  it  had  not  been  ; 
And  fmce  I  cannot  keep  it,  take  it  all ; 
Take  all  the  love,  O  prince  !  I  ever  bore  you  : 

*  Or,  if  'tis  poifible,  I'll  give  you  more  ; 

*  Your  noble  carriage  forces  this  confeffion  : 
'  I  rage,  I  burn,  I  bleed,  I  die  for  love  ! 

'  I  am  diitradted  with  this  world  of  paffion. 

*  far.  Gods  !  cruel  gods !  take  notice,  I  forgive  you. 

*  Atben.  Alas,  my  lord  !  my  weaker,  tender  fex 
'  Has  not  your  manly  patience,  cannot  curb 

'  This  fury  in  ;   therefore  I  let  it  loofe  ; 
'  Spite  of  my  rigid  duty,  I  will  fpeak 

*  VVith  all  the  dearnefsof  a  dying  lover  :' 

Farewel,  moft  lovely,  and  moft  lov'd  of  men s- 

Why  comes  this  dying  palenefs  o'er  thy  face  ? 
Why  wander  thus  thy  eyes?  Why  dolt  thou  bend, 
As  if  the  fatal  weight  of  death  were  on  thee  ? 

Far.  Speak  yet  a  little  more  ;  for,  by  the  gods, . 
And  as  I  prize  thofe  bleiTed,  happy  moments, 
J  fwear,   O  Atbenais  !  all  is  welh  '*s 

Oh,  never  better  ! . 

Athen.  I  doubt  thee,  dear  Farancs  ; 
Yet,  if  thou  dy'il,  I  mail  not  long  be  from  thee. 
Once  more,  farevvel,  and  take  thefe  lail  embraces. 
Oh,  I  could  crufh  him  to  my  heart !  Farewel ; 
And  as  a  dying  pledge  of  my  laft  love, 
Take  this,  which  all  thy  pray'rs  could  never  charm. 
What  have  I  done  ?  Oh,  lead  me,  lead  me,  Delia  ! 
Ah,  prince,,  farewel !  angels  protect  and  guard  thee  ! 

Far.  Turn  back,  O  Athenais  !  ^and  behold  me; 
Hear  my  lait  words,  and  then  farewel  for  ever. 
Thou  haft  undone  ine  more  by  this  confeflion : 
You  fay,  you  fwear  you  love  me  more  than  ever  ; 
Yet  I  muft  fee  you  marry 'd  to  another  : 
Can  there  be  any  plague,  or  hell  like  this ! 

C  6  O  Atbt- 


60  T  H   E    O  D   O   $   I  U   S. 

O  Atbenais  !  whither  fhall  I  turn  me  ? 

YouVe  brought  me  back  to  life  :  but,  Oh  !  what  life  ? 

To  a  life  more  terrible  than  thoufand  deaths. 

Like  one  that  had  been  buried  in  a  trance, 

With  racking  ftarts  he  wakes,  and  gazes  round,  ^ 

Forc'd  by  defpair,  his  whirling  limbs  to  wound,  > 

*  And  bellow  like  a  fpirit  under  ground  ;J  .S 

Still  urg'd  by  fate  to  turn,  to  tofs,  and  rave, 

Tormented,  dafh'd,  and  broken  in  the  grave. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT        V. 

Athenais  dreffdin  imperial  robes,  and  crowd d.     A  table, 
<witb  a  bciul  cf  poifon.     Delia  attending. 

Atben.    A    Midnight  marriage  !  mutt  I  to  the  temple, 
'  JLA.   Thus,  at  the  murd'rer's   hour?  'Tis  won- 

d'rous  ilrange ! 

Butib,  thou  fay'ft,  any  father  has  commanded; 
And  that's  a  mighty  reafon. 

Delia.  The  emp'ror,  in  companion  to  the  prince, 
Who  would,  perhaps,  fly  to  extravagance, 
If  he  in  public  mould  refolve  to  efpoufe  you, 
Contriv'd,  by  this  clofe  marriage,  to  deceive  him, 

Atben.   *'  ''Tis  well ; retire" 
4  Go  fetch  thy  lute,  and  fmg  thofe  lines  I  gave  thee.' 

[Exit  Delia. 

So,  now  I  am  alone;  yet  my  foul  makes; 
For  where  this  dreadful  draught  may  carry  me, 
The  Heav'ns  can  only  tell :  yet  I'm  refolv'd 
To  drink  it  off,  in  fpite  of  confequence. 
Whifperhim,  Oh,  fome  angel !  what  I'm  doing  j 
By  fympathy  of  foul  let  him  too  tremble, 
To  hear  my  wond'rous  faith,  my  wond'rous  love, 
Whofe  fpirit,  not  content  wish  an  ovation 
Of  ling'ring  fate,  with  triumph  thus  refolv'd, 
Thus,  in  the  rapid  chariot  of  the  foul, 
To  mount  and  dare  as  never  woman  dar'd.      [Drinks. 
'Tis  done< — haHe,  Delia,  haftc — come,  bring  thy  lute. 


T  H  E   O  D    O   S  I  U  S.  61 

And  fmg  my  waftage  to  immortal  joys. 
Methinks  I  can't  but  fmile  at  my  own  bravery; 
Thus  from  my  loweft  fortune  rais'd  to  empire, 
Crown'd  and  adorn'd,  worfhipp'd  by  half  the  earth, 
While  a  young  monarch  dies  for  my  embraces : 
Yet  now  to  wave  the  glories  of  the  world* 

O  my  Varanes  !  tho'  my  birth's  unequal, 

My  virtue,  fure,  has  richly  recompens'd, 

And  quite  out-gone  example  ! 

'SONG. 

*  Ah,  cruel  bloody  fair  ! 

'  What  canft  thou  now  do  more  ?      '/ •• 
'  Alas,  'tis  all  too  late 

'  Philander  to  reftore  ! 
'  Why  mould  the  heavenly  pow'rs  perfuade 
'  Poor  mortals  to  believe, 

'  That  they  guard  us  here, 

*  And  reward  us  there, 

*  Yet  all  our  joys  deceive  ? 

'  Her  poignard  then  me  took, 
'  And  held  it  in  her  hand  ; 

*  And,  with  a  dying  look, 

«  Cry'd,  thus  I  fate  command : 
*•  Philander,  ah,  my  love  !  I  come 
'  To  meet  thy  made  belo\y ; 
'  Ah,  I  come  !  fhe  cry'd, 
'  With  a  wound  fo  wide, 
'  There  needs  no  fecond  blow. 

'  In  purple  waves  her  blood 

'  Ran  dreaming  dovvar-  the  floor  ; 

'  Unmov'd  me  faw  the  flood, 

'  And  blefs'd  her  dying  hour  : 
«  Philander,  ah,   Philander!  ftill 

'  The  bleeding  Pbillis  cry*d  ; 

*  She  wept  a  while^, 

'  And  fhe  forc'd  a  fmile, 
4  Then  clos'd  her  eyes  and  dyM.' 

Enter  Pulcheria. 

Pulcb.  How  fares  my  dear  Eudofia  !  Ha!  thoulook'ft, 
Or  eiie  the  tapers  cheat  my  fight,  like  one 

That's 


62  THEOBOSIUS. 

That's  fitter  for  thy  tomb,  than  Gofer's  bed  : 
A  fatal  forrcnv  dims  thy  fhaded  eyes, 
And,  in  defpite  of  all  thy  ornaments, 
Thou  feem'il  to  me  the  ghoit  of  Athenais. 

Atben.  And  what's  the  punifhment,  my  dear  Pulcherla% 
What  torments  are  allotted  thofe  fad  fpirits, 
Who,  groaning  with  the  burden  of  defpair, 
No  longer  will  endure  the  cares  of  life, 
But  boldly  fet  themfelves  at  liberty, 
Thro'  the  dark  caves  of  death  to  wander  on, 
Like  wilder'd  travellers  without  a  guide, 
Eternal  rovers  in  the  gloomy  maze, 
Where  fcarce  the  twilight  of  an  infant  moon, 
By  a  faint  glimmer  check'ring  thro'  the  trees, 
Reflects  to  difmal  view  the  walking  ghoils, 
And  never  hope  to  reach  the  ble^jed  fields  :* 
Pulch.  No  more  o*  that ;  Atticus*,fa?L\\  refolve  thee. 
But  fee,  he  waits  thee  from  the  emjperor ; 
Thy  father  too  attends. 

Enter  Leontine,  Atticus,  &c. 

Leon.   Come,  Athenais — Ha  !  what  now,  in  tears  ? 
Oh,  fall  of  honour  !  but,  no  more :   I  charge  thee, 
I  charge  thee,  as  thou  ever^hop'ft  my  blefiing, 
Or  fear'fl  my  curfe,  to  banilh  from  thy  foul 
All  thoughts,  if  poflible,  the  memory 
Of  that  ungrateful  prince  that  has  undone  thee. 
Attend  me  to  the  temple'  on  this  inftant, 
To  make  the  emp'ror  thine,  this  night  to  v/ed  him, 
'  And  lie  within  his  arms.' 

Atben.  Yes,  fir,  I'll  go 

Let  me  but  dry  my  eyes,  and  I  will  go  ; 
Eudofia,  this  unhappy  bride,  mail  go  : 
Thus,  like  a  viclim,  crown'd,  and  doom'd  to  bleed, 
I'll  wait  you  to  the  altar,  wed  the  emp'ror, 
'  And,  if  he  pleafes,  lie  within  his  arms.' 
*  Leon.  Thou  art  my  child  again. 

Athen.  But  do  not,  fir,  imagine,  any  charms 
Or  threat'nings  mail  compel  me 
Never  to  think  of  poor  Varanes  more  : 
No,  my  Varanes,   no — — 
While  I  have  breath  I  will  remember  thee  : 
To  thee  alone  I  will  my  thoughts  confine,, 


T-  HEODOSIUS.  63 

<\nd  all  my  meditations  mail  be  thine : 
The  image  of  thy  woes  my  foul  mall  fill; 
Fate,   and  my  end,  and  thy  remembrance  ftill. 
As  in  fome  poplar  ihade,    the  nightingale, 
With  piercing  moans,  does  her  loft  young  bewail, 
Which  the  rough  hind  obferving  as  they  lay 
Warm  in  their  downy  neft,  had  itol'n  away ; 
But  me,  in  mournful  founds/,  does  ftill  complain,       *> 
Sings  all  the  night,  tho'  all  her  fongs  are  vain, 
And  ftill  renews  her  miferable  ftrain.'  J 

Yes,  my  Varanes,  till  my  death  comes  on, 

Shall  fad  Eudojla  thy  dear  lofs  bemoan.  [Exeunt- 

Enter  Varanes. 
Far.  JTis  night,  dead  night ;  and  weary  nature  lies 

So  fail,  as  if  me  never  were  to  rife  : 

No  breath  of  wind  now  whifpers  thro'  the  trees  ; 

No  noife  at  land,  nor  murmur  in  the  feas : 
Lean  wolves  forget  to  howl  at  night's  pale  noon  ; 
No  wakeful  dogs  bark  at  the  filent  moon, 
Nor  bay  the  ghofts  that  glide  with  horror  by, 
To  view  the  caverns  where  their  bodies  lie : 
The  ravens  perch,  and  no  prefages  give, 
Nor  to  the  windows  of  the  dying  cleave  : 
The  owls  forget  to  fcream  :  no  midnight  found 
Calls  drowfy  Ecbq  from  the  hollow  ground : 
In  vaults  the  walking  fires  extinguifh'd  lie; 
The  ftars,  Heav'n's  centry,  wink,  and  feem  to  die.' 

Such  univerfal  filence  fpreads  below, 

Thro*  the  vail  ihades  where  I  am  dcom'd  to  go  : 

Nor  mall  I  need  a  violence  to  wound  ; 

The  ilorm  is  here,   that  drives  me  on  the  ground ; 

Sure  means  to  make  the  foul  and  body  part, 

A  burning  fever,  and  a  broken  heart. 

What,  hoa,  Aranthes  ! 

Enter  Aranthes. 

I  fent  thee  to  th'  apartment  of  Aihenais.*     •— 

'  I  fent  thee,'  did  I  not,  *  to  be  adniitced  ?' 
Aran.  You  did,  my  lord  ;   but,  oh, 

I  fear  to  give  you  an  account ! 
Var.   Alas, 

Aranthes  !  I  am  got  on  t'other  iide 

Of  this  bad  world,  and  now  am  paft  all  fear. 

4  O  ye 


64  T  H   E   O  D   O   S  I  U  S. 

O  ye  avenging  gods !  is  there  a  plague 

Among  your  hoarded  bolts,  and  heaps  of  vengeance, 

Beyond  the  mighty  lofs  of  Athenais? 

'Tis  contradiction — Speak  then,  fpeak,  Aranthes\ 

For  all  misfortune,  if  compared  with  that, 

Will  make  Varanes  fmile 

Aran.  My  lord,  the  emprels, 

Crown'd,  and  adorn'd  with  the  imperial  robes,  . 

At  this  dead  time  of  night,  with  filent  pomp, 
As  they  defign'd  from  all  to  keep  it  fecret, 
But  chiefly,  fure,  from  you  ?  I  fay,  the  emprefs 
Is  now  conduced  by  the  general, 
AtticuSy  and  her  father,  to  the  temple, 
There  to  efpoufe  the  emp'ror  Tbeodofius. 

Var.  Say'ft  thou  ?  Is't  certain  ?  Ha  i 

Aran.  Molt  certain,  fir !  I  faw  them  in  prcceflion. 

Var.  Give  me  thy  fword.  Malicious  fate  I  O  fortune  \ 

0  giddy  chance  !  O  turn  of  love  and  greatnefs ! 
Marry'd — She  has  kept  her  promife  now  indeed  j 
And,  Oh  !  her  pointed  fame,  and  nice  revenge, 
Have  reach'd  their  end.     No,  my  Aranthes,  no; 

1  will  not  flay  the  lazy  execution 

Of  a  flow  fever.     Give  me  thy  hand,  and  fwear 

By  all  the  love  and  duty  that  thou  ow'ft  me, 

T'  obferve  the  laft  commands  that  I  mall  give  thee : 

Stir  not  againfl  my  purpofe,  as  thou  fear'ft 

My  anger  and  difdain  ;  nor  dare  t'  oppofe  me 

With  troublefome,   unneceflary,  formal  reafons ; 

For  what  my  thought  has  doom'd,  my  hand  mall  feal. 

I  charge  thee,  hold  it  ftedfaft  to  my  heart, 

Fix'd  as  the  fate  that  throws  me  on  the  point. 

Tho'  I  have  liv'd  a  Per/tan,  I  will  fall 

As  fair,  as  fearlefs,  and  as  full  refolv'd, 

As  any  Greek  or  Reman  of  them  all. 

Aran.  What  you  command  is  terrible,  but  facred ; 
And  to  atone  for  this  too  cruel  duty, 
My  lord,  I'll  follow  you 

Var.  I  charge  thee  not : 

But,  when  I'm  dead,  take  the  attending  flaves, 
And  bear  rne,  with  my  blood  diflilling  down. 
Straight  to  the  temple  :  lay  me,  O  Aranthet  !' 
Lay  my  cold  corie  at  Atkinaif  feet, 

And 


THEODOSIUS.  65 

And  fay,  Oh,   why  !  why  do  my  eyes  run  o'er  ? 
Say,  with  my  lateft  gafp  I  groan'd  for  pardon. 
Juft  here,  my  friend,    hold  faft,  and  fix  the  fword; 
I  feel  the  art'ry  where  the  life  blood  lies ; 
It  heaves  againft  the  point — Now,    O  ye  gods ! 
Jf  for  the  greatly  wretched  you  have  room, 
Prepare  my  place  ;   for  dauntlefs,    lo,    I  come. 
The  force  of  love  thus  makes  the  mortal  wound, 
And  Atbenais  fends  me  to  the  ground.       [Kills  him/elf. 
*  S  C  E  N  E,    the  outwardpart  of  the  Temple. 

'  Enter  Pulcheria  and  Julia  at  one  door,  Marcian  and 
*  Lucius  at  anatber. 

'  Pukb.  Look,  Julia,  fee,  the  penfiveMam'tfa  comes : 

•  'Tis  to  my  wilh  j  I  mail  no  longer  lofe  him, 

•  Left  he  mould  leave  the  court  indeed.     He  looks 

*  As  if  fome  mighty  fecret  work'd  within  him, 

'  And  labour'd  for  a  vent — Infpire  me,  woman ! 

•  That  what  my  foul  defires  above  the  world, 

•  May  feem  impos'd  and  forc'd  on  my  affections. 

'  Luc.  I  fay  (he  loves  you,  and  me  ftays  to  hear  it 

•  From  your  own  mouth — Now,  in  the  name 

'  Of  all  the  gods  at  once,   my  lord,  why  are  you  filent  ? 
«  Take  heed,   fir,    mark  your  opportunity ; 

*  For  if  the  woman  lays  it  in  your  way, 

•  And  you  o'erfee  it,  fhe  is  loft  for  ever. 

*  Marc.  Madam,  I  come  to  take  my  eternal  leave? 

•  Your  doom  has  baniih'd  me,  and  I  obey. 

*  The  court  and  I  fliake  hands,   and  now  we  part, 
4  Never  to  fee  each  other  more ;  the  court 

*  Where  I  was  born,  and  bred  a  gentleman  ; 

*  No  more,   till  your  illuftrious  bounty  rais'd  me, 
'  And  drew  the  earth-born  vapour  to  the  clouds ; 
'  But,  as  the  gods  ordain'd  it,  I  have  loft, 

'  I  know  not  how,    through  ignorance,  your  grace  ; 
'  And  now  the  exhalation  of  my  glory 
'  Is  quite  confum'd,  and  vanifli'd  into  air, 

'  Pulcb.  Proceed,    fir. 

'  Marc.  Yet  let  thofe  gods  that  doom*d  me'to  difpleafe 
'  Be  witnefles  how  much  I  honour  you —  [yOQt 

*  Thus  worihipping,  I  fwear,    by  your  bright  felf, 

*  I  leave  this  infamous  court  with  more  content 

'  Than 


66 


T    H    E    O    D    O    S    I    U    S, 


*  Than  fools  and  fiatt'rers  feek  it:  but,    O  Heav*n  ! 

*  1  cannot  go,  if  ftill  your  hate  purfues  me; 
'  Yes,  I  declare,  it  is  impofiible 

'  To  go  to  banifhment  without  your  pardon. 

*  Pukh.  You  have  it,  Martian:  is  there  ought  befide, 

*  That  you  would  fpeak ;  for  I  am  free  to  hear       [ders, 

*  Marc.   Since  I  {hall  never  fee  you  more,  what  hin- 
'  But  my  lafl  words  ihould  here  protefl  the  truth  ? 

*  Know  then,   imperial  princefs,    matchlefs  woman, 
'  Since  firft  you  call  your  eyes  upon  my  meannefs, 

'  EVn  fill  you  rais'd  me  to  my  envy'd  height, 
'  I  have  in  fecret  lovMyou - 

*  Pulcb..  Is  this  Martian  ? 

4  Marc.  You  frown  :  but  I  am  (Till  prepar'd  for  all  :• 
I  fay  i  lov'd  you,  and  I  love  you  ftill, 
Mere  than  my' life,,  and  equal  to  my  glory ,. 
Methinks,  the  warring  fpirit  that  infpires 
This  frame,  the  very  genius  of  old  Rome, 
That  makes  me  talk  without  the  fear  of  death, 
And  drives  my  daring  foul  to  a£ls  of  honour, 
Flames  in  your  eyes ;  our  thoughts,    too,  are  akin^ 
Ambitious,   fierce,   and  burn  alike  for  glory.. 
Now,   by  the  gods,   I  lov'd  you  in  your  fury, 
In  all  the  thunder  that  quite  riv'd  my  hopes, 
I  lov'd  you  moft,  ev'n  when  you  diddcitroy  me. 
Madam,  I've  fpoke  my  heart,  and  could  fay  more^ 
But  that  I  fee  it  grieves  you  ;  your  high  blood 
Frets  at  the  arrogance  and  faucy  pride 
Of  this  bold  vagabond — May  the  gods  forgive  me— 
Farewel — a  worthier  general  may  fucceed  me; 
But  none  more  faithful  to  the  emp'ror's  intereft,. 
Than  him  you're  pleas'd  to  call  die-traitor  Martian. 
'  Pulch.  Come  back;  you've  fubtilly  play'd  your  part, 

indeed : 

'  For  firft,  the  emp'ror,  whom  you  lately  fchool'd, 
'  Reitores  you  your  commiffion  ;  next,    commands  you, 
'  As  you're  a  fubjeft,  not  to  leave  the  court ; 
5  Next,    but  O  Heav'n !  which  way  mall  I  exprefs 
'  His  cruel  pleafure;  he  that  is  fo  m;ld 
4  In  all  things  elfe,  yet  obiUnate  in  this, 

*  Spite  of  my  tears,  my  birth,    and  my  difdain, 

*•  Commands  me,  as  I  dread  his  high  difpleafure, 

*  O  Martian!  to  receive  you.  as  my  huiband. 

'  Marc. 


THEODOSIUS.  67 

'  Marc.  Ha,  Lucius!  what,  what  does  my  fate  intend? 
*  Luc.  Purfueher,  fir;    'ti&as  I  faid  ;  fhe  yields, 

*  And  rages  that  you  follow  her  no  failer. 

'  Pulcb.  Is  then,    at  laft,    my  great  authority, 
'  And  my  intrufted  pow'r,    declined  to  this? 

*  Yet,   Oh,   my  fate  !  what  way  can  I  avoid  it  ? 

*  He  charg'd  me,   ftraight  to  wait  him  to  the  temple, 

*  And  there  refolve,   O  Martian!  on  this  marriage. 

*  Now,  generous  foldier-,    as  your  truly  noble, 

*  Oh,  .help  me  forth,    loft  in  this  labyrinth  ; 

*  Help  me  to  loofe  this  more  than  Gordian  knot, 

*  And  make  me  and  yourfelf  for  ever  happy. 

'  Marc.  Madam,   I'll  fpeak  as  briefly  as  I  can, 

*  And  as  a  foldier  ought ;  the  only  way 

*  To  help  this  knot,  is  yet  to  tie  it  facter. 

*  Since,    then,    the  emp'ror  has  refclv'd  you  mine, 
'  For  which  I  will  for  ever  thank  the  gods, 

'  And  make  this  holiday  throughout  my  life, 

*  I  take  him  at  his  word,  and  claim  his  promife; 
1  The  empire  of  the  world  mail  not  redeem  you. 

'  Nay,   weep  not,    madam  :   though  my  out&de's  rough, 

*  Yet,    bythofeeyes,  your  foldier  has  a  heart, 
'  Compaffionate  and  tender  as  a  virgin's  ; 

*  Ev'n  now  it  bleeds  to  feethofe  falling  forrowsj 
'  Perhaps  this  grief  may  move  the  emperor 

*  To  arepejitance:  come,  then,    to  the  trial; 

*  For,   by  my  arms,  my  life,  and  dearer  honour, 
'  If  you  go  back,  when  giv'n  me  by  his  hand, 

*  In  diftant  wars  my  fate  I  will  deplore, 

'  And  Martian's  name  mall  ne'er  be  heard  of  more. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE,     the  Temple.    - 

Theodofius,  Athenais,  Atticus,  joining  their  hands  * 
Marcian,  Pulcheria,  Lucius,  Julia,  Delia,  and  Le- 
ontine. 

Attic.       The  more  than  Gordian  knot  is  ty'd, 

Which  Death's  ftrong  arm  fliall  ne'er  divide; 
For  when  to  blifs  ye  wafted  are, 
Your  fpirits  fhall  be  wedded  there. 
Waters  are  loft,  and  fires  will  die  ; . 
But  love  alone  can  fate  defy. 

Enter 


68  T   H    E    O   B    O    S   I   U    £. 

Enter  Aranthes,  with  tbelody  of  Varanes. 

Aran.  Where  is  the  emprefs  ?  Where  fnall  I  find  Eu- 
By  fate  I'm  fent  to  tell  that  cruel  beauty,  \^fi 

She  has  rob'd  the  world  of  fame ;  her  eyes  have  giv.'n 
A  blaft  to  the  big  blofTom  of  the  war: 
Behold  him  there,  nipp'd  in  his  flow'ry  morn, 
Compeird  to  break  his  p.dfciife  of  a  day, 
A  day  that  conqueft  would  have  made  her  boafl : 
Behold  her  laurel  wither'd  to  the  root, 
Canker'd  and  kill'd  by  Atbenais*  fcorn. 

At  ben.  Dead,   dead,   Varanes! 

Tbeo.  '  O  ye  eternal  pow'rs 

*  That  guide  the  world !  why  do  you  fhock  our  reafoft 

*  With  afts  like  thefe,   that  lay  our  thoughts  in  duit  ? 

*  Forgive  me,    Heav'n,  this  ftart,  or  elevate 

*  Imagination  more,   and  make  it  nothing.' 
Alas,   alas,   Varanes!  But,  fpeak,  Aranthes, 

The  manner  of  his  fate;  *  groans  choak  my  words—— 

*  But  fpeak,  and  we  will  anfwer  thee  with  tears.' 

Aran.  His  fever  would,  no  doubt,  by  this,  have  done, 
What,   fome  few  minutes  paft,   his  fword  performed. 
He  heard  from  me  your  progrefs  to  the  temple, 
How  you  defign'd,  at  midnight  to  deceive  him 
By  a  clandeftine  marriage  :  but,  my  lord, 
Had  you  beheld  his  racks  at  my  relation ; 
Or  had  your  emprefs  feen  him  in  thofe  torments, 
When  from  his  dying  eyes,  fwol'n  to  the  brim, 
The  big  round  drops  roll'd  down  his  manly  face  ; 
When  from  his  hollow'd  breaft,  a  murm'ring  croud 
Of  groans  rufh'd  forth,    and  echo'd,   AH  is  well ; 
Then,  had  you  feen  him,  O  ye  cruel  gods  I 
Rum  on  the  fword  I  held  agai'nft  his  breaft, 
And  dye  it  to  the  hilts,    with  thefe  laft  words 
Bear  me  to  Athenais 

Athen.,Gi\t  me  way,   my  lord  ; 
I  have  moft  ilriclly  kept  my  promiie  with  you : 
I  am  your  bride,   and  you  can  afk  no  more ; 
Or,  if  you  did,  I'm  paft  the  pow'r  to  give 
But  here,  Oh,   here  !  on  his  cold  bloody  breaft, 
Thus  let  me  breathe  my  lair.  [mean  ? 

Tbeo.  O   emprefs !    what,     what  can    this  tranfport 
Are  thefe  our  nuptials ;  thefe  my  prcwnis'd  joys  ? 

Atkc*. 


THEODOSIUS.  69 

Atbsn.  Forgive  me,  fir,  this  laft  refpeft  I  pay 
Thefe  fad  remains — And,  O  thou  mighty  fpirit ! 
If  yet  thou  art  not  mingled  with  the  liars, 
Look  down,  and  hear  the  wretched  Atbenais, 
When  thou  malt  know,  before  I  gave  confent 
To  this  indecent  marriage,  I  had  taken 
Into  my  veins  a  cold  and  deadly  draught, 

*  Which  foon  would  render  me,  alas  !  unfit 
€  For  the  warm  joys  of  an  imperial  lover, 

*  And  make  me  ever  thine,  yet  keep  my  word 

'  With  Tbeodo/tusS    Wilt  thou  not  forgive  me  ? 
Theo.  Poifon'd,  to  free  thee  from  the  emperor  ! 

0  Atbenais,  thou  haft  done  a  deed 

That  tears  my  heart !   '  What  have  I  done  againft  thee, 
That  thou  ihouldft  brand  me  thus  with  infamy, 
And  everlafting  fliame  ?  Thou  might'ft  have  made 
Thy  choice,  without  this  cruel  aft  of  death. 
I  left  thee  to  thy  will,  and  in  requital, 
Thou  haft  murder'd  all  my  fame.' 
Atben.  O  pardon  me  ! 

1  lay  my  dying  body  at  your  feet, 

And  beg,  my  lord,  with  my  laftfighs  in  treat  you, 

T'impute  the  fault,  if  'tis  a  fault,  to  love, 

And  the  ingratitude  of  Atbenais 

To  her  too  cruel  ftars :  remember,  too, 

I  begg'd  you  would  not  let  m«  fee  the  prince, 

Prefaging  what  has  happen'd;  yet  my  word, 

As  to  our  nuptials,  was  inviolable. 

T'beo.  Ha  !  me  is  going  ! — '  fee,  her  languiming  eyes 
'  Draw  in  their  beams  !'  the  fleep  of  death  is  on  her, 

Athen,  '  Farewel,  my  lord.'  Alas,  alas,  faranes  : 
T'  embrace  thee  now  is  not  irrrmodefty ; 
Or,  if  it  were,  I  think  my  bleeding  heart 
Would  make  me  criminal  in  death  to  clafp  thee, 
'  Break  all  the  tender  niceties  of  honour, 
'  To  fold  thee  thus,  and  warm  thee  into  life  ; 
'  For,  Oh,  what  man,  like  him,  could  woman  move  !* 
O  prince  belov'd  !  O  fpirit  moft  divine  ! 
Thus  by  my  death  I  give  thee  all  my  love, 
And  fcal  my  foul  and  body  ever  thine [Dies. 

<Tbeo.  O  Mar  dan!  O  Puhberia  !  did  not  thepow'r 
Whom  we  adore  plant  all  his  thunder  bolts 

Againft 


70  THEODOSIUS. 

Againft  felf-murderers,  I  would  perifh  too : 
l3ut,  as  I  am,  I  fwear  to  leave  the  empire. 
To  thee,  my  fifter,  I  bequeath  the  world  ; 
And  yet,  a  gift  more  great,  the  gallant  Marcian. 
On,  then,  my  friend,  now  mew  thy  Roman  fpint  ! 
As  to  her  fex  fair  Atkenais  was, 
Be  thou  to  thine  a  pattern  of  true  honour. 
Thus  we'll  atone  for  all  the  prefent  crimes, 
That  yet  it  may  be  faid,  in  after  times, 
No  age  with  fuch  examples  could  compare, 
So  great,  fo  good,  fo  virtuous,  and  fo  fair. 

[Exeunt. 


EPILOGUE, 


E     P     I     LOG     U     E. 


CJ^HRICE  happy  they,  that  never  'wrote  before  ; 

-*    How  pleas  V  and  hold  they  qmt  the  fafer  Jhore  / 

Likefome  new  capl^.t  of  the  city  bands, 

^hat,  with  big  IOORS,  in  FinPoury  commands  : 

Svocird-with  /  uge  ale,  he  cries,  teat,  beat  the  drum  ; 

Pox  o*  th~e  French  king  '    Uds-bud,  let  him  come  : 

Give  me  ten  thoitfand   -gd-coats,  and  alloo  ! 

Willfirk  his  Crequ*  and  his  Conde  too. 

Thus  the  young  fcnl  biers  mankind's  fenfe  difdain\ 

For  ignorance  is  fure  to  make  'em  vain  ; 

But,  far  from  vanity,  or  dangerous  pride, 
Oitr  cautious  poet  courts  you  to  his  fed e  ; 

Per  why  jkcidd  you  bejcorn'd,  to  whom  are  due 

All  the  good  days  that  ever  authors  knew  ? 

If  ever  gay,   'tis  you  that  make 'em  fine  :  T 

I  he  pit  and  boxes  make  the  poet  dine,  ?• 

And  he  fear ce  drinks  but  of  the  critics  wine.  •* 

Old  writers  JbouJd not  for  vain  glory  ft  rive, 

But.  like  old  miflrejjes,  think  how  to  thrive  ; 

Be' fond  ofev'ry  thing  their  keepers  fay, 

At  leaft,  till  they  can  live  without  a  play  ; 

Like  one  who  knows  the  trade,  and  has  been  bit ;  T 

She  doats  and  fawns  upon  her  wealthy  cit,  r 

.Andfwears  Jhe  loves  him,  merely  for  his  wit.  ^ 

Another,  more  untaught  than  a  Walloon,  O 

Antic  and  ugly,  like  an  old  baboon.  >• 

She  j  wears,  is  an  acco?nplijh'd  beau-garcfon  :  «J 

*furns  with  all  winds,  and  fails  with  all  defer  es  ;  p 

All  hearts  in  city,  town,  and  court ,  Jhe  feres  ;  V 

Tpung  callow  lords,  lean  knights,  and  driveling  fquires*     ^ 

She  in  refeftlefs  flat?  ry  finds  her  ends, 

Gives  thanks  for  fools ,  and  makes  ye  all  her  friends* 

So  Jhould  wife  poets  foot h  an  aukward  age  ; 

For  they  are  proftitutes  tfpon  the  ft age. 

¥0  ft  and  on  points  werefoolijh  and  ill-bred. 

As  for  a  lady  to  be  nice  in  bed  : 

TCour  wills  alone  muft  their  performance  meafure, 

And  you  may  turn  'em  ev'ry  way  for  pleafure. 

FINIS. 


PLAYS  printed  for  T.  LOWNDES   and 
PARTNERS,  at  Six-pence  each. 


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Adventures  of  Half 

an  Hour 
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Alcibiades,  by  Otway 
All  for  Love,  by  Dryden 
Ambitious     Step-mother, 

by  Rowe 

Amboyna,  by  Dryden 
Amphitryon,  by  Dryden 
Anatomift,  by  Ravenfcroft 
Anna  Bullen,  by  Bankes 
As  you  like  It,  by  Shake- 

fpeare 
Artful  Hufband,  by   Ta- 

verner 

Athaliah,byMr.Duncomb 
Aurengzebe,  by  Dryden 
Bartholomew  Fair,  by  Ben 

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Baflet  Table,  by  Centlivre 
Beaux  Stratagem,  by  Far- 

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Biter,  by  Rowe 
Bold  Stroke  for  a  Wife 
Britifh    Enchanters,      by 

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Bufiris,  by  Dr.  Young 
Bufy  Body,  by  Centlivre 
Caius  Marius,  by  Otway 
Carelefs  Hufband,  by  Cib- 

ber 

Catiline,  by  Ben  Johnfon 
Cato,  by  Addifon 


Chances,  by  D.  Bucking 
ham 

Chaplet,  by  Mr.  Mendez 
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ber 
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Conftant  Couple,  by  Far- 

quhar 

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A.  Cockain 

Duke  of  Guife,  by  Dryden 
Earl  of  EfTex,  by  Bankes  . 


THE 

SIEGE 

O    F 

DAMASCUS. 


TRAGEDY. 

By    JOHN    HUGHES,    Efq. 

Marked  with  the  Variations  of  the 

MANAGER'S     BOOK, 


AT       THE 


in 


L    0    -AT    2)    0    If: 

PRINTED  FOR  C.BATHURST,  J.RIVlfcGTON 
AND  SONS,  T.  LONGMAN,  T.  LOWNDES, 
T,  CASLON,  W.  N1COLL,  AND  S.  BLADON, 

MtDCCtLXXVlIi 


s  Tke  Reader  is  defired  to  obferve,  that  the  Paflages  omitted 
in  the  Reprefentation  at  the  Theatre  are  here  preferved,  and 
marked  with  tingle  inverted  Commas  j  as  at  Line  26  to  29, 
in  Page  13. 


T  O    T  H    E 


RIGHT    HONOURABLE 


EARL     COPPER. 


My  L  O  R  D, 

MY  obligations  to  your  Lordfhip  are  fo  great 
and  fingular,  fo  much  exceeding  all  ac 
knowledgment,  and  yet  fo  highly  demanding  all 
that  I  can  ever  make,  that  nothing  has  been  a 
greater  uneafmefs  to  me  than  to  think  that  I  have 
not  publickly  owned  them  fooner.  The  honour 
of  having  been  admitted  to  your  Lordfhip' s  ac 
quaintance  and  converfation,  and  the  pleafure  I 
have  fometimes  had  of  fharing  in  your  private 
hours  and  retirement  from  the  town,  were  a  hap- 
pinefs  fufficient  of  itfelf  to  require  from  me  the 
utmoft  returns  of  gratitude.  But  your  Lordfhip 
was  foon  pleafed  to  add  to  this,  your  generous 
care  of  providing  for  one  who  had  given  you  no 
follicitation  ;  and  before  I  could  a(k,  or  even  ex 
pected  it,  to  honour  me  with  an  employment, 
which,  though  valuable  on  other  account^  be- 
A  2  came 


4  DEDICATION, 

came  moft  fo  to  me,  by  the  fmgle  circumftance 
of  its  placing  me  near  your  Lordfhip.  But  I  am 
not  to  bound  my  acknowledgments  here :  When 
your  Lordfhip  withdrew  from  public  bufinefs, 
your  care  of  me  did  not  ceafe,  till  you  had  recom 
mended  me  to  your  fucceflbr,  the. preterit  Lord 
Chancellor.  So  that  my  having  fince  had  the  fe 
licity  to  be  continued  in  the  fame  employment, 
under  a  patron  to  whom  I  have  many  obligations, 
and  who  has  particularly  (hewn  a  pleafure  in  en 
couraging  the  lovers  of  learning  and  arts,  is  an 
additional  obligation,  for  which  I  am  originally 
indebted  to  your  Lordfhip. 

And  yet  I  have  faid  nothing  as  I  ought  of  your 
Lordfhip's  favours,  unle/s  I  could  defcribe  a  thou- 
fand  agreeable  circum fiances  which  attend  and 
heighten  them.  To  give  is  an  adl:  of  power  com 
mon  to  the  great ;  but  to  double  any  gift  by  the 
manner  of  beftowing  it,  is  an  art  known  only  to 
the  moft  elegant  minds,  and  a  pleafure  tafted  by 
none  but  perfons  of  the  moft  refined  humanity. 

As  for  the  Tragedy  I  now  humbly  dedicate  to 
your  Lordfhip,  part  of  it  was  written  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood  of  your  Lordfhip's  pleafant  feat  in  the 
country ;  where  it  had  the  good  fortune  to  grow 
up  under  your  early  approbation  and  encourage 
ment;  and  I  perfuade  myfelf  it  will  now  be  re 
ceived 


DEDICATION.  5 

ceived  by  your  Lordfhip  with  that  indulgence,  the 
exercife  of  which  is  natural  to  you,  and  is  not  the 
leaft  of  thofe  diftinguifhing  virtues  by  which  you 
have  gained  an  unfought  popularity,  and  without 
either  ftudy  or  defign  have  made  yourfelf  one  of 
the  moft  beloved  perfons  of  the  age  in  which  you 
live.  Here,  my  LORD,  I  have  a  large  fubjecl:  be 
fore  me,  if  I  were  capable  of  purfuing  it,  and  if  I 
were  not  acquainted  with  your  Lordfhip's  particu 
lar  delicacy,  by  which  you  are  not  more  careful 
to  deferve  the  greateft  praifes,  than  you  are  nice 
in  receiving  even  the  leaft.  I  (hall  therefore  only 
prefume  to  add,  that  I  am,  with  the  greateft  zeal, 


My  L  0  R  A 

Tour  Lord/hip's  moft  obliged, 
Moft  dutiful^  and 

Devoted  bumble  feruant9 
Feb.  6,  1719-20, 

JOHN  HUGHES; 


INTRODUCTION. 

TH  E  time  of  the  following  a&ion  is  about 
two  years  after  Mahomet's  death,  under  the 
next  fucceeding  Caliph,  Abubeker.  The  Saracen 
Caliphs  were  fupremeboth  in  fpiritual  and  tempo 
ral  affairs;  and  Abubeker,  following  the  fleps  of 
Mahomet,  had  made  a  considerable  progrefs  in  pro 
pagating  his  new  fuperftition  by  the  fword.  He 
had  fent  a  numerous  army  into  Syria,  under  the 
command  of  Caled,  a  bold  and  bloody  Arabian,  who 
had  conquered  feveral  towns.  The  fpirit  of  en- 
thufiafm,  newly  poured  forth  among  them,  a&ed 
in  its  utmoft  vigour  ;  and  the  perfuafion,  that  they 
who  turned  their  backs  in  fight  were  accurfed  of 
God,  and  that  they  who  fell  in  battle  paiTed  imme 
diately  into  Paradife,  made  them  an  overmatch  for 
all  the  forces,  which  the  Grecian  Emperor  Heraclius 
could  fend  againft  them.  It  was  a  very  important 
period  of  time,  and  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world 
were  fixed  with  terror  on  thefe  fuccefsful  favages, 
who  committed  all  their  barbarities  under  the  name 
of  religion  ;  and  foon  after,  by  extending  their  con- 
quefts  over  the  Grecian  empire,  and  thro'  Perfia  and 
Egypt,  laid  the  foundation  of  that  mighty  empire 
of  the  Saracens,  which  lafted  for  feveral  centuries; 
to  which  the  Turks  of  later  years  fucceeded. 

The  Saracens  were  now  fat  down  before  Damaf- 
cus,  the  capital  city  of  Syria,  when  the  action  of 
this  Tragedy  begins.  This  was  about  the  year  of 
our  Lord  634.  All  who  have  written  of  thofe 
times  reprefent  the  ftate  of  Chriftianity  in  great 
confufion,  very  much  corrupted,  and  divided  with 
controverfies  and  difputes,  which,  together  with 
an  univerfal  depravity  of  manners,  and  the  decay 
of  good  policy  and  ancient  difcipline  in  ths  em 
pire,  gave  a  mighty  advantage  to  Mahomet  and  his 
followers,  and  prepared  the  way  for  their  amazing 
fuccefs. 

PRQ^ 


PROLOGUE. 


*s  the  Mufe  here  trfd  her  magic  arts, 
To  raife  your  fancies,  and  engage  your  hearts. 

When  o'er  this  little  fpot  Jhe  Jhakes  her  wand, 

Towns,  cities,  nations,  rife  at  her  command  : 

And  armies  march  obedient  to  her  call, 

New  ftaies  are  formed,  jand  ancient  empires  fall. 

To  'vary  your  inftruttion  and  delight, 

Paft  ages  roll  renew*  d  before  yourjtght. 

His  awful  form  the  Greek  and  Roman  wears, 

Wak'dfrom  his  Jlumber  of  two  thoufand  years  ; 

And  man's  whole  race,  reft  or'  d  to  joy  and  pain, 

Aft  all  their  little  greatnefs  o'er  again. 
No  common  woes  to-night  we  fet  to  view; 

Important  is  the  time,  the  ftory  new. 

Our  opening  fcenes  jhall  to  your  Jight  difclofe 

How  fpiritual  Dragooning  frft  arofe  ; 

Claims  drawn  from  Heav'n   by  a  Barbarian  LorJ> 

And  Faith  fir  ft  propagated  by  the  fword. 

In  rocky  Araby  this  poft  began, 

And  fwiftly  o'er  the  neighbour  country  ran:     •  '  ,; 

By  faction  weakened,  and  difunion  broke  9 

Degenerate  provinces  admit  the  yoke. 

Nor  ftopp'd  their  progrefs,  till  refiftlefs  grown, 

Th'  enthujiafts  made  all  Afia's  world  their  ewtt.     ..  ^ 

Britons,  be  warn'd  ;   let  e'en  your  pleafures  here 
Convey  fome  moral  to  th'  attentive  ear. 
Beware  left  blejfings  long  poffeft  difpleafe  ; 
Nor  grow  fupine  with  liberty  and  eafe. 
Your  country's  glory  be  your  conftant  aim, 
Her  fafety  all  is  yours  ;  think  yours  her  fame. 
Unite  at  home  —  forego  int  eft  ine  jars  ; 
Then  f  corn  the  rumours  of  religious  wars  ; 
Speak  loud  in  thunder  from  your  guarded  Jhores9 
And  tell  the  continent,  thefea  is  yours. 
Speak  on,--  and  fay  ,  by  war,  you'll  peace  maintain, 
Till  brighteft  years,  referv'dfor  G  E  O  R  G  E's  reign, 
Advance,  and  jhine  in  their  appointed  round  ; 
Arts  then  Jhall  fiourijh,  plenteous  joys  abound, 
And,  chear'd  by  him,  each  loyal  Muft  Jh  all  fing, 
Tht  happifft  ijland,  and  the  greateft  KING. 

A  4.  Dramatis 


iiii^lliili 

*-"  s  ^>    °3  -° 

<coO^     (J<i 


(    9    ) 
THE 


SIEGE  of  DAMASCUS. 


A  C  T    I.     SCENE,/**  City. 

Enter  Eumenes,  followed  by  a  crowd  of  peoplt* 

'£tan.  T'LL  hear  no  more.     Be  gone! 

JL  Or  flop  your  clamorous  mouths,  that  ftill  are 

open 

To  bawl  fedition,  and  con  fume  our  corn. 
If  you  will  follow  me,  fend  home  your  women, 
And  follow  to  the  walls ;  there  earn  your  fafety^ 
As  brave  men  fhou'd — pity  your  wives  and  children  ? 
Yes,  I  do  pity  them,  Heav'n  knows  I  do, 
E'en  more  than  you  ;  nor  will  I  yield  'em  up, 
Tho'  at  your  own  requeft,  a  prey  to  ruffians— 
Herbis,  what  news ! 

Enter  Herbis. 

Herb.  News !— We're  betray 'd,  deferted  ; 
The  works  are  but  half  mann'd  ;  the  Saracens 
Perceive  it,  and  pour  on  fuch  crowds,  they  blunt 
Our  weapons,  and  have  drain'd  our  flores  of  death. 
What  will  you  next  ? 

Bum.  I've  fent  a  frefh  recruit ; 
The  valiant  Phocyas  leads  'em  on — whofe  deeds, 
In, early  youth  affert  his  noble  race; 
A  more  than  common  ardor  feems  to  warm 
His  breaft,  as  if  he  lov'd  and  courted  danger. 

Herb.  1  fear  'twill  be  too  late. 

Eum.   [Ajtde.]  I  fear  it  too: 
And  tho'  I  brav'd  it  to  the  trembling  crowd, 
I've  caught  th'  infection,  and  I  dread  thj  event. 

A  5  Wou'd 


10    THE   SIEGE    OF   DAMASCUS. 

Wou'd  I  had  treated, — but  'tis  now  too  late. — 
Come,  Herbis.  [Exeunf* 

[A  noife  is  heard 'without,  of  officers  giving  orders. 

1  Off.  Help  there !  more  help  !  all  to  the  Eaftern  gate ! 

2  Off.  Look  where  they  cling  aloft  like  cluiter'd  bees  t 
Here,  archers,  ply  your  bows. 

1  Off.   Down  with  the  ladders. 
What,  will  you  let  them  mount  ? 

2  Off.  .Aloft  there !  give  the  fignal,  you  that  wait 
In  St.  Mark's  tower. 

I  Off.  Is  the  town  afleep  ? 
Ring  out  th'  alarum  bell ! 

[Bell  rings,  and  the  citizens  run  to  and  fro  in  con- 
fufeon.      A  great  Jhout.     Enter  Herbis. 

Herb.  So — the  tide  turns ;  Phocyas  has  driv'n  it  back.. 
The  gate  once  more  is  ours. 

Enter  Eumenes,  Phocyas,  Artamon,  C3V. 

Eum.  Brave  Phocyas,  thanks  !  mine  and  the  people'* 

thanks  !     [People  Jhout,  and  cry,  A  Phocyas  !  fcsV. 
Yet,  that  we  may  not  lofe  this  breathing  fpace, 
Hang  out  the  flag  of  truce.     >rou,  Artamon, 
Hafle  with  a  trumpet  to  th'  Arabian  chiefs, 
And  let  them  know,  that,  hoftages  exchang'd, 
I'd  meet  them  now  upon  the  eaftern  plain. 

[Exit  Artamon. 

Pho.  What  means  Eumenes  ? 

Eum.  Phocyas,  1  wou'd  try 
By  friendly  treaty,  if  on  terms  of  peace 
They'll  yet  withdraw  their  powers. 

Pho.  On  terms  of  peace  ? 

What  peace  can  you  exped  from  bands  of  robbers  ? 
What  terms  from-fiaves,  but  flav'ry — You  know 
TheCe  wretches  fight  not  at  the  call  of  honour; 
For  injur'd  rights,  or  birth,  or  jealous  greatnefs, 
That  fets  the  princes  of  the  world  in  arms. 
Bafe-born,  and  flarv'd  amidft  their  ftony  deferts, 
Long  have  they  view'd  from  far  with  wilhing  eyes> 
Our  fruitful  vales  ;  our  fig-trees,  olives.,  vines, 
Our  cedars,  palms,  and  all  the  verdant  wealth 
That  crowns  fair  Lebanon's  afpiring  brows. 
Here  have  the  locuils  pitch'd,  nor  will  they  leave 

Thefe 


THE   SIEGE    OF  DAMASCUS,     u 

Thefe  tailed  fvveets,  thefe  blooming  fields  of  plenty, 

For  barren  fands,  and  native  poverty, 

'Till  driv'n  away  by  force, 
Eum.   What  can  we  do  ? 

Our  people  in  defpair,  our  foldiers  harrafs'd 

With  daily  toil,  and  conftant  nightly  watch  ; 

Our  hope  of  fuccours  from  the  Emperor 

Uncertain  ;   Eutyches  not  yet  returned, 

That  went  to  afk  them  ;  one  brave  army  beaten  ; 

ThJ  Arabians  numerous,  cruel,  flufh'd  with  conqueft. 

-   Herb.  Befides,you  know  what  frenzy  fires  their  minds 

Of  their  new, faith,  and  drives  them  on  to  danger. 
Eum.  True  ; — they  pretend  the  gates  of  Paradife 

Stand  ever  open  to  receive  the  fouls 

Of  all  that  die  in  fighting  for  their  caufe. 

Pbo.  Then  wou'd  I  fend  their  fouls  to  Paradife, 

And  give  their  bodies  to  our  Syrian  eagles. 

Our  ebb  of  fortune  is  not  yet  fo  low 
To  leave  us  defperate.     Aids  may  foon  arrive  ; 
Mean  time,  in  fpite  of  their  late  bold  attack, 
The  city  ftill  is  ours  ;  their  force  repell'd, 
And  therefore  weaker ;  proud  of  this  fuccefs, 
Our  foldiers  too  have  gain'd  redoubled  courage, 
And  long  to  meet  them  on  the  open  plain. 
What  hinders,  then,  but  we  repay  this  outrage, 
And  fally  on  their  camp  ? 

Eum.  No — let  us  firft 

Believe  th*  occafion  fair,  by  this  advantage, 
To  purchafe  their  retreat  on  eafy  terms : 
That  failing  we  the  better  ftand  acquitted 
To  our  own  citizens.     Howe'er,  brave  Phocyas, 
Cherim  this  ardor  in  the  foldiery, 
And  in  our  abfence  form  what  force  thou  canfh 
Then,  if  thefe  hungry  blood-hou-nds  of  the  war 
Shou'd  ftill  be  deaf  to  peace,  at  our  return 
Our  vviden'd  gates  ihall  pour  a  fudden  flood 
Of  vengeance  on  them,  and  chaftife  their  fcorn. 

\Exeunt. 


A6  SCENE 


12    THE    SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS. 

SCENE  changes  to  a  plain  before  the  city.     A  pr9- 
fpett  of  tents  at  a  diftance. 

Caled,  Abudah,  Daran. 

Dar.  To  treat,  ray  chiefs  ? — What !  are  we  mer 
chants,  then, 

That  only  come  to  traffic  with  thefe  Syrians, 
And  poorly  cheapen  conqueft  on  conditions  ? 
No;  we  were  fent  to  fight  the  Caliph's  battles, 
Till  ev'ry  iron  neck  bend  to  obedience. 
Another  ftorm  makes  this  proud  city  ours ; 
What  need  to  treat? — I  am  for  war  and  plunder. 

Cal.   Why,  fo  am  I — and  but  to  fave  the  lives 
Of  Muffulmans,  not  Chriftians,  wou'd  not  treat. 
J  hate  thefe  Chriftian  dogs ;  and  "'tis  our  talk, 
As  thou  obferv'ft,  to  fight ;  our  law  enjoins  it, 
Heav'n  too  is  promis'd  only  to  the  valiant. 
Oft'  has  our  Prophet  faid,  the  happy  plains 
Above,  lie  ftretch'd  beneath  the  blaze  of  fwords. 

Abu.  Yet  Daran's  loth  to  truft  that  Heav'n  for  pay  ; 
This  earth,  it  feems,  has  gifts  that  pleafe  him  more. 

Cal.  Check  n.ot  his  zeal,  Abudah. 

Abu.  No  ;  I  praife  it. 

Yet  I  cou'd  wifh  that  zeal  had  better  motives* 
Has  victory  no  fruits  but  blood  and  plunder  ? 
That  we  were  fentto  fight,  'tis  true ;  but  wherefore  \ 
For  conqueft,  not  deftruftion.     That  obtain'd, 
The  more  we  fpare,  the  Caliph  has  more  fubjedls, 
And  Heav'n  is  better  ferv'd.      \A  parky.]    But  fee, 
they  come. 

Emer  Eumenes,  Herbis,  Artamon; 

CaL  Well,  Chriftians,  we  are  met— and  War  awhile, 
At  your  requeft,  has  flilPd  its  angry  voice, 
To  hear  what  you'll  propofe* 

Eum.  We  come  to  know, 
After  fo  many  troops  you've  loft  in  vain, 
If  you'll  draw  off  in  peace,  and  fave  the  reft. 

Herb.  Or  rather  to  know  firft — for  yet  we  know  not — 
Why  on  your  heads  you  call  our  pointed  arrows, 
In  our  own  juft  defence  ?  What  means  this  vifit  ? 

And 


T.HE   SIEGE    OF   DAMASCUS.     13 

And  why  we  fee  fo  many  thoufand  tents 
Rife  in  the  air,   and  whiten  all  our  fields  ? 

Cal.  Is  that  a  queftion  now  ?• — you  had  our  fum- 

mons, 

When  firft  we  march'd  againft  you,  to  furrender. " 
Two  moons  have  wafted  fince,  and  now  the  third 
Is  in  its  wane.     'Tis  true,  drawn  off  awhile, 
At  Aiznadin  we  met  and  fought  the  powers 
Sent  by  your  Emperor  to  raife  our  liege. 
Vainly  you  thought  us  gone  ;  we  gain'd  a  conqueft. 
You  fee  we  are  return'd ;  our  hearts,  our  caufe, 
Our  fwords  the  fame. 

Herb.  But  why  thofe  fwords  were  drawn, 
And  what's  that  caufe,  inform  us. 

Eum.  Speak  your  wrongs, 

If  wrongs  you  have  receiv'd,  and  by  what  mean* 
They  may  be  now  repair'd. 

Abu.  Then,  Chriftians,  hear  ! 
And  Heav'n  infpire  you  to  embrace  its  truth t 
Not  wrongs  t'avenge,  but  to  eftablifh.  right 
Our  fwords  were  drawn :  For  fuch  is  Heav'n's  com 
mand 

Immutable.     By  us  great  Mahomet, 
And  his  fucceffor,  holy  Abubeker, 
Invite  you  to  the  faith. 

'  Art.  [AJide.]  So — then,  it  feems 
'  There's  no  harm  meant ;  we're  only  to  be  beaten 
*  Into  a  new  religion — If  that's  all, 
'  I  find  I  am  already  half  a  convert.' 

Eum.  Now,  in  the  name  of  Heav'n,  what  Faith  is 

this 

That  ftalks  gigantic  forth  thus  arm'd  with  terrors. 
As  if  it  meant  to  ruin,  not  to  fave  ? 
That  leads  embattled  legions  to  the  field, 
And  marks  its  progrefs  out  with  blood  and  flaughter  ? 

Herb.  Bold  frontlefs  men  !  that  impudently  dare 
To  blend  religion  with  the  wSrft  of  crimes  ! 
And  facrilegioufly  ufurp  that  name, 
To  cover  frauds,  and  juftify  oppreffion  ! 

Eum.  ^Where  are  your  priefts  ?  What  dodors  of  your 

law 
Have  you  e'er  fent,  t'inftruft  us  in  its  precepts  £ 

5  To 


14    THE    S'lEGE    OF   DAMASCUS, 

To  folve  our  doubts,  and  fatisfy  our  reafon, 
And  kindly  lead  us  thro*  the  wilds  of  error 
To  thefe  new  traits  of  truth  ? — This  wou'd  be  friend- 

(hip, 
And  well  might  claim  our  thanks. 

CaL  Friendihip  like  th\ 

With  fcorn  had  been  receivV;  your  numerous  vices, 
Your  claming  feds,    your  mutSial  rage  and  flrife 
Have  driv'n  religion,   and  her  angel-guards, 
jLike  out-cafts,  fiom  among  you.     In  her  flead, 
Ufurping  iujsteritition  bears  the  f\vay, 
And  reigns  in  mimic  ftate,  'midil  idol  (hews, 
And  pageantry  of  pow'r.     Who  does  not  mark 
Your  lives  ?  Rebellious  to  your  own  great  prophet 
WKo  mildly  taught  you — therefore  Mahomet 
Has  brought  the  (word  to  govern  you   by  force, 
'  Nor  will  accept  obedience  fo  precarious.' 

Eum.    O    folemn   truths !    tho'    from   an   impious 
tongue!  \AJide. 

That  we're  unworthy  of  our  holy  Faith, 
To  Heav'n  with  grief  and  conicious  fhame  we  own. 
But  what  are  you,  that  thus  arraign  our  vices, 
And  confecrate  your  own  ?  Vile  hypocrites  I 
Are  you  not  fons  of  rapine,  foes  to  peace, 
Bafe  robbers,  murderers— 

da/.   Chriftian,  no  — 

Eum.  Then  fay, 

Why  have  you  ravag'd  all  our  peaceful  borders  ?, 
Plunder'd  our  towns  ?  and  by  what  claim  e'en  now 
You  tread  this  ground  «* 

Herb.   What  claim,  but  that  of  hunger? 
The  claim  of  ravenous  wolves,  that  leave  their  dens 
To  prowl  at  midnight  round  fome  fleeping  village, 
Or  watch  the  (hepherd's  folded  flock  for  prey  ? 

Cal.  Blafphemers,  knx)w,  your  fields^and  towns  are 

ours. 

Our  prophet  has  beftow'd  'em  on  the  faithful, 
And  Heav'n  itfelf  has  ratify'd  the  grant. 

Eum,  Oh  !   now  indeed  you  boaft  a  noble  title  ! 
What  cou'd  your  prophet  grant '?  a  hireling  flave  I 
Not  e'en  the  mules  arid  camels  which  he  drove 

Weic 


THE   SIEGE  OF  DAMASCUS      15: 

Were  his  to  give ;  and  yet  the  bold  impoflor 
Has  canton'd  out  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth, 
In  frantick  fits  of  vifionary  power, 
To  footh  his  pride,  and  bribe  his  fellow-madmen  ! 

Cal.   Was  it  for  this  you  fent  to  a(k  a  parley, 
T'affront  our  Faith,  and  to  traduce  our  Prophet? 
Well  might  we  anfwer  you  with  quick  revenge 
For  fuch  indignities. — Ye.t  hear  once  more, 
Hear  this  our  laft  demand;   and  this  accepted, 
We  yet  withdraw  our  war.     Be  Chriftians  ftill, 
But  fwear  to  live  with  us  in  firm  alliance. 
To  yield  us  aids,  and  pay  us  annual  tribute. 

Eum,  No;  -Should  we  grant  you  aid,  we  mull  be 

rebels ; 

And  tribute  is  the  flavifh  badge  of  conqueft. 
Yet  fince,  on  juft  and  honourable  terms, 
We  aflc  but  for  our  own — ten  fitken  velts, 
Weighty  with  pearl  and  gems,  we'll  fend  your  Caliph  ; 
Two,  *Caled,  mail  be  thine;  two-  thine,  Abudah. 
To  each  inferior  captain  we  decree 
A  turbant  fpun  from  our  Damafcus'  flax, 
White  as  the  fnovvs  of  heav'n  ;  to  every  foldier 
A  fcimitar.     This,  and  of  folid  gold 
Ten  ingots,  be  the  price  to  buy  your  abfence. 

CaL  This,  and  much  more,  e'en  all  your  mining 

wealth, 
Will  foon  be  ours ;  '  look  round  your  Syrian  fron- 

'  tiers ! 

*  See,  in  how  many  towns  our  hoifled  flags 

*  Are  waving  in  che  wind ;  Sachna,  and  Hawran, 
'  Proud  Tadmor,  Aracah,  and  ftubborn  B"ofra 

'  Have  bow'd  beneath  the  yoke;  —  behold  our  march 

*  O'er  half  your  land>  like  flame  thro'  fields  of  har- 

*  veft. 

*  And  laft  view  Aiznadin,  that  vale  of  blood  ! 

'  There  feek  the  fouls  of  forty  thoufand  Greeks 
'  That,  freih  from  life,  yet  hover  o'er  their  bodies, 

*  Then  think,  and  then  I'efolve. 
'  Herb.   Prefumptuous  men  ! 

«  What  tho'  you  yet  can  boaft  fqccefsful  guilt, 

*  Is  conqueft  only  yours  \  Or  dare  you  hope 

10  •  Thafe 


16    THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS. 

'  That  you  fhall  ftill  pour  on  the  fwelling  tide, 
'  Like  fome  proud  river  that  has  left  its  banks, 
*  Nor  ever  know  repulfe  ? 

f  Earn.  Have  you  forgot  ? 
'  Not  twice  feven  years  are  pafl  fince  e'en  your  Pro- 

«  phet, 

'  Bold  as  he  was,  and  boafting  aid  divine, 
'  Was  by  the  Tribe  of  Corefh  forc'd  to  fly, 
«  Poorly  to  fly,  to  fave  his  wretched  life, 
'  From  Mecca  to  Medina  ? 

'  Abu*  No; — forgot? 
'  We  well  remember  how  Medina  fkreen'd 
•  That  holy  head,  preferv'd  for  better  days," 
'  And  ripening  years  of  glory  !' 

Dar.  Why*  my  chiefs> 

Will  you  wafle  time ;  in  offering  terms  defpis'd 
To  thefe  idolaters  > — Words  are  but  air, 
Blows  wou'd  plead  better. 

CaL  Daran,   thou  fay'ft  true. 
Chriftiarrs,  here  end  our  truce.     Behold  once  more 
The  fword  of  Heav'n  is  drawn  !  nor  mall  be  flieath'd 
But  in  the  bowels  of  Damafcus. 

Eum*  That, 

Or  fpeedy  vengeance,  and  deftru&ion  due 
To  the  proud  menacers,  as  Heav'n  fees  fit  I 

{Exeunt  feverattj* 

SCENE  changes  to  a  garden. 

Eud.  All's  hufh'd  around  ! — No  more  the  fliouts  of 

foldiers 

And  clafh  of  arms  tumultuous  fill  the  air.  , 

Methinks  this  interval  of  terror  feems 
Like  that  when  the  loud  thunder  juft  has  rolPd 
O'er  our  affrighted  heads,  and  in  the  heav'ns 
A  momentary  filence  but  prepares 
A  fecond  and  a  louder  clap  to  follow. 

Enter  Phocyas. 

O  no — my  hero  comes,  with  better  omens, 
And  every  gloomy  thought  is  now  no  more. 

Pbo.  Where  is  the  treafure  of  my  foul  ? — Eudocia, 
Behold  me  here  impatient,  like  the  mifer 

That 


THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS.     17 

That  often  fteals  in  fecret  to  his  gold, 

And  counts  with  trembling  joy,  and  jealous  tranfport, 

The  mining  heaps  which  he  itill  fears  to  lofe. 

Eud.  Welcome,  thou  brave,    thou  belt  deferving 

lover ! 

How  do  I  doubly  (hare  the  common  fafety, 
Since  'tis  a  debt  to  thee  ! — but  tell  me,  Phocyas, 
Doll  thou  bring  peace  ? — Thou  doft,  and  I  am  happy  ! 

Pbo.  Not  yet,  Eudocia;  'tis  decreed  by  Heav'n 
I  muft  do  more  to  merit  thy  efteem. 
Peace,  like  a  frighted  dove,  has  wing'd  her  flight 
To  diftant  hills,  beyond  thefe  hoftile  tents ; 
And  thro*  'em  we  muft  thither  force  our  way, 
If  we  would  call  the  lovely  wanderer  back 
To  her  forfaken  home. 

'  Eud.  Falfe  flattering  hope  ! 
'  Vanifh'd  fo  foon  ! — alas,  my  faithful  fears 

*  Return,  and  tell  me,  we  muft  ftill  be  wretched  t 

*  Pbo.  Not  fo,  my  fair  ;  if  thou  but  gently  fmtfe, 
'  Infpiring  valour,  and  prefaging  conqueft, 

*  Thefe  barbarous  foes  to  peace  and  love  mail  fooix 
'  Be  chas'd,  like  fiends  before  the  morning  light, 

*  And  all  be  calm  again.' 
Eud.  Is  the  truce  ended  ? 

Muft  war,  alas,  renew  its  bloody  rage  ? 
And  Phocyas  ever  be  expos'd  to  danger  ? 

Pbo.  Think  for  whofe  fake  danger  itfelf  ha* tfcarms, 
Difmifs  thy  fears ;  the  lucky  hour  comes  on, 
Full  fraught  with  joys,  when  my  big  foul  no  more 
Shall  labour  with  this  fecret  of  my  paffion, 
To  hide  it  from  thy  jealous  father's  eyes. 
Juft  now,  by  iignals  from  the  plain,  I've  learn'd 
That  the  proud  foe  refufe  us  terms  of  honour  ; 
A  fally  is  refolv'd  ;  the  citizens 
And  foldiers,  kindled  into  fudden  fury, 
Prefs  all  in  crowds,  and  beg  I'll  lead  'em  on. 
O  my  Eudocia  !  if  I  now  fucceed — 
Bid  I  fay  if— I  muft,  I  will ;  the  caufe 
Is  love,  'tis  liberty,  it  is  Eudocia  ! — 
e  What  then  mail  hinder,  fince  our  mutual  faith 
'  Is  pledg'd,  and  thou  confenting  to  my  blifs, 

'  But 


i8    THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS. 

c  But  I  may  boldly  alk  thee  of  Eumenes, 

*  Nor  fear  a  rival's  more  prevailing  claim  ?' 

Eud.  May  blelfings  ftill  attend  thy  arms! — Me- 

thinks 

I've  caught  the  flame  of  thy  heroic  ardor  ! 
And  now  I  fee  thee  crown'd  with  palm  and  olive ; 
The  foldiers  bring  thee  back  with  fongs  of  triumph 
And  loud  applauding  Ihouts ;  thy  refcu'd  country 
Refounds  thy  praife  ;  '  our  Emperor  Heraclius 

*  Decrees  the  honours  for  a  city  fav'd,' 
And  pillars  rife  of  monumental  brafs 
Infcrib'd — To  Phocyas  the  Deliverer. 

Pho.  The  honours  and  rewards  which   thou  haft 
nam'd, 

Are  bribes  too  little  for  my  vaft  ambition. 

My  foul  is  full  of  thee  ! — Thou  art  my  all 

Of  fame,  of  triumph,  and  of  future  fortune. 

'Twas  love  of  thee  firft  fent  me  forth  in  arms, 

My  fervice  is  all  thine,  to  thee  devoted, 

And  thou  alone  canft  make  e'en  conqueft  plea/ing. 
'  Eud.  O  do  not  wrong  thy  merit,  nor  reftrain  it 
To  narrow  bounds  ;  but  know,  I  beft  am  pleas'd     •<> 
To  mare  thee  with  thy  country.     O  my  Phocyas  I 
With  confcious  blufhes  oft  I've  heard  thy  vows, 
And  drove  to  hide,  yet  more  reveal'd  my  heart ; 
But  'tis  thy  virtue  juftifies  my  choice, 
And  what  at  firft  was  weaknefs,  now  is  glory. 
Pho.  '  Forgive  me,  thou  fair  pattern  of  ail  good- 
•  nefs! 

'  If  in  the  tranfport  of  unbounded  paffion, 

*  I  flill  am  loft  to  ev'ry  thought  but  thee. 
'  Yet  fure  to  love  thee  thus  is  ev'ry  virtue  ; 

'  Nor  need  I  more  perfection.' — Hark  !  I'm  call'd. 

[  Trumpet  founds. 
Eud.  Then  go — and  Heav'n   with  all  its  angels 

guard  thee. 
Pho.  Farewel  ! — for  thee  once  more  I   draw  the 

fvvord. 

Now  to  the  field  to  gain  the  glorious  prize  ; 
'Tis  victory— the  word;  Eudocia's  eyes.       [Exeunt. 

ACT 


-   THE   SIEGE    OF  DAMASCUS.     19 

A  C  T   II.     S  C  E  N  E  tbe  governor' t  palace. 
Eumenes,  Herbis. 

Herb.  QTILL   I   muft    fay,   'twas  wrong,    'twas 

k5  wrong,  Eumenes, 
And  mark  th'  event ! 

Earn.  What  could  I  lefs  ?  You  faw 
'Twas  vain  t'oppofe  it,  whilft  his  eager  valour, 
Impatient  of  reftraint — 

Herb.  His  eager  valour  ? 

His  rafhnefs,  his  hot  youth,  his  valour's  fever! 
Muft  we,  whofe  bufinefs  is  to  keep  our  walls, 
And  manage  warily  our  little  ftrength, 
Muft  we  at  once  lavifh  away  our  blood, 
Becaufe  his  pulfe  beats  high,  and  his  mad  courage 
Wants  to  be  breath'd  in  fome  new  enterprize  ? — 
You  fhou'd  not  have  confented. 

Eum.  You  forgot. 

'Twas  not  my  voice  alone ;  you  faw  the  people 
(And  fure  fuch  fudden  inftincls  are  from  Heav'n !) 
Rofe  all  at  once  to  follow  him,  as  if 
One  foul  infpir'd  'em,  and  that  foul  were  Phocyas. 

Herb.  I  had  indeed  forgot ;  and  alk  your  pardon. 
I  took  you  for  Eumenes,  and  I  thought 
That  in  Damafcus  you  had  chief  command. 

Eum.  What  doft  thou  mean  ? 

Herb.  Nay,  who's  forgetful  now  ? 
You  fay,   the  people — Yes,  that  very  people, 
That  coward  tribe  that  prefs'd  you  to  furrender ! 
Well  may  they  fpurn  at  loft  authority  ; 
Whom  they  lil^e  better,  better  they'll  obey. 

Eum.  O  I  cou'd  curfe  the  giddy  changeful  flaves, 
But  that  the  thought  of  this  hour's  great  event 
Poffefles  all  my  foul.  — If  we  are  beaten  ! — 

tisrb.  The  poifon  works  \  'tis  well— I'll  give  him 
more,  [A/Me. 

True, 


20    THE   SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS.- 

True,  if  we're  beaten,  who  fhall  anfwer  that  ? 
Shall  you,  or  1 1 — Are  you  the  governor  ? — 
Or  fay  we  conquer,  whofe  is  then  the  praife  ? 

Eum.  I  know  thy  friendly  fears ;  that  thou  and  I 
Muft  ftoop  beneath  a  beardlefs  rifmg  hero; 
And  in  Heraclius'  court  it  fhall  be  faid, 
Damafcus,  nay  perhaps  the  empire  too, 
Ow'd  its  deliverance.to  a  boy. — Why  be  it, 
So  that  he  now  return  with  vidlory ; 
'Tis  honour  greatly  won,  and  let  him  wear  it. 
Yet  I  cou'd  wifh  I  needed  lefs  his  fervice. 
Were  Eutyches  return'd — 

Herb.   [Afide.}  That,  that's  my  torture. 
I  fe~nt  my  fon  to  th'  Emperor's  court,  in  hopes 
His  merit  at  this  time  might  raife  his  fortunes  j 
But  Phocyas — Curfe  upon  his  forward  virtues  !— • 
Js  reaping  all  this  field  of  fame  alone, 
Or  leaves  him  fcarce  the  gleanings  of  a  harveft. 

Eum,  Sec,  Artamon  with  hafty  ftrides  returning ; 
He  comes  alone  !• — O  friend,  thy  fears  were  juft. 
What  are  we  now,  and  what  is  loft  Damafcus  ? 
Enter  Artamon. 

Art.  Joy  to  Eumencs ! 

Eum.  Joy  ? — is't  poffible  ? 
Doft  thou  bring  news  of  victory  ? 

Art.  The  fun 

Is  fet  in  blood,  and  from  the  weftern  ikies 
Has  feen  three  thoufand  flaughter'd  Arabs  fall. 

Herb.  Is  Phocyas  fafe  ? 

.Art.  He  is,  and  crown'd  with  triumph. 
>     Herb.  \_Afide. "\  My  fears  indeed  were  juft. 

[Shout*  a  Phocyas,  a  Phpcyas  ! 

Eum.  What  noife  is  that  ? 

Herb.  The  people  worfhiping  their  new  divinity* 
Shortly  they'll  build  him  temples.    » 

Eum.  Tell  us,  foldier, 

Since  thou  haft  fhar'd  the  glory  of  this  action, 
Tell  us  how  it  began. 

Art.  At  firft  the  foe 

Seem'd  much  furpriz'd ;  but  taking  foon  th'  alarm 
Gather'd  fome  hafty  troops,  andraarch'd  to  meet  us. 

The 


THE   SIEGE  OF   DAMASCUS.     21 

The  captain  of  thefe  bands  look'd  wild  and  fierce, 

His  head  unarm'd  as  if  in  fcorn  of  danger, 

And  naked  to  the  wafte  ;  as  he  drew  near 

He  rais'd  his  arm  and  mook  a  pond'rous  lance  ; 

When  all  at  once,  as  at  a  fignal  giv'n, 

We  heard  the  Tecbir,  to  thefe  Arabs  call 

Their  fhouts  of  onfet,  when  with  loud  appeal 

They  challenge  Heav'n,  as  if  demanding  conqueft. 

The  battle  join'd,  and  thro*  the  barbarous  hoft 

Fight,  fight,  and  Paradife  was  all  the  cry. 

At  laft  our  leaders  met  ;  and  gallant  Phocyas  — 

But  what  are  words  to  tell  the  mighty  wonders 

We  faw  him  then  perform  ?—  Their  chief  unhors'd, 

The  Saracens  foon  broke  their  ranks  and  fled  ; 

And  had  not  a  thick  evening  fog  arofe 

*  (Which  fure  the  devil  rais'd  up  to  fave  his  friends  !' 

The  ilaughter  had  been  double—  But  behold  i  . 

The  hero  comes. 

Enter  Phocyas,     Eumenes  meeting  him. 

Eum.  Joy  to  brave  Phocyas  ! 
Eumenes  gives  him  back  the  joy  he  fent. 
The  welcome  news  has  reached  this  place  before  thee. 
How  mall  thy  country  pay  the  debt  me  owes  thee? 

Pbo.  By  taking  this  as  earneft  of  a  debt 
Which  I  owe  her,  and  fain  wou'd  better  pay. 

Herb.  In  fpite  of  envy,  I  muft  praife  him  too. 


Phocyas,  thou  haft  done  bravely,  and  'tis  fit 
Succefsful  virtue  take  a  time  to  reft. 

*  Fortune  is  fickle,  and  may  change  ;  be/ides, 
«  What  mall  we  gain,  if  from  a  mighty  ocean 

*  By  iluices  we  draw  off  fome  little  ftreams?' 
If  thoufands  fall,  ten  thoufands  more  remain. 
Nor  ought  we  hazard  worth  fo  great  as  thine 
Againft  fuch  odds  ;  fuffice  what's  done  already  : 
And  let  us  now,  in  hope  of  better  days, 

Keep  wary  watch,  and  wait  th'  expected  fuccours. 
Pho.  What!  —  to  be  coop'd  whole  months  within 

our  walls  ? 

To  ruft  at  home,  and  ficken  with  inaction  ? 
The  courage  of  our  men  will  droop  and  die, 


*z    THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS. 

If  not  kept  up  by  daily  exercife.  > 

Again  the  beaten  foe  may  force  our  gates ; 
And  vidory,  if  flighted  thus,  take  wing, 
And  fly  where  fhe  may  find  a  better  welcome. 

Art.  [AJide.]  It  muft  be  fo — he  hates  him  !  on  my 

foul, 

This  Herbis  is  a  foul  old  envious  knave. 
Methinks  Eumenes  too  might  better  thank  him. 

Eum.  [fo  Herbis  ajlde.'}  Urge  him  no  more  ;— • 
I'll  think  of  thy  late  warning. 
And  thou  (halt  fee  I'll  yet  be  governor. 

A  letter  brought  in. 
Phocyas  [looking  on  //.]  'Tis  to  Eumenes. 

Eum.  Ha  !  from  Eutyches. 

[Reads.]   'The  Emperor,  awaken* J  rwith  the  danger 
¥hat  threatens  his  dominions,  and  the  lofs 
At  Aiznadin,  has  drained  his  garrifons 
70  raife  afecond  army.     In  few  hours 
W^e  Jhall  begin  our  march.     Sergius  brings  this, 
And*vjill  inf orm  you  further.— ' 

Herb.  [Aftde.]  Heav'n,  Ithankthee? 
'Tis  e'en  beyond  my  hopes. 

Eum.  But  where  is  Sergius  ! 

Mejfenger.  The  letter,  faften'd  to  an  arrow's  head, 
Was  fhot  into  the  town» 

Eum.  I  fear  he's  taken— 
O  Phocyas,  Herbis,  Artamon  !  my  friends ! 
You  all  are  marers  in  this  news ;  the  florin 
Is  blowing  o'er,  that  hung  like  night  upon  us, 
And  threaten'd  deadly  ruin— Hafte,  proclaim         , 
The  welcome  tidings  loud  thro'  all  the  city. 
Let  fparkling  lights  be  feen  from  every  turret 
To  tell  our  joy,  and  fpread  their  blaze  to  Heav'n ! 
Prepare  for  feafts  ;  danger  mail  wait  at  diftance, 
And  fear  be  now  no  more.     The  jolly  foldier 
And  citizen  (hall  meet  o'er  their  full  bowls, 
Forget  their  toils,  and  laugh  their  cares  away, 
And  mirth  and  triumphs  clofe  this  happy  day. 

[Exeunt  Herb,  and  Art. 

Pbo,   And  may  fucceeding  days  prove  yet  more 
happy ! 

Well 


THE^IEGE    OF   DAMASCUS.    23 

Well  dcftitnou  bid  the  voice  of  triumph  found 
Thro*  all  6ur  ftreets ;  our  city  calls  thee  father  ^  , 
And  fay,  Eomenes,  doft  thou  not  perceive 
A  father's  tranfport  rife  within  thy  breaft, 
Whilft  in  this  aft  thou  art  the  hand  of  Heav*n 
To  deal  forth  bleffings,  and  diltribute  joy  ? 

Eum.  The  bleffings  Heav'n  beftows  are  freely  fent, 
And  fhou'd  be  freely  fhar'd. 

Pho.  -True — Generous  minds 
Redoubled  feel  the  pleafures  they  impart. 
For  me,  if  I've  deferv'd  by  arms  or  counfels, 
By  hazards  gladly  fought,  and  greatly  profper'd, 
Whate'er  Pve  added  to  the  public  flock, 
With  joy  I  fee  it  in  Eumenes'  hands, 
And  wifti  but  to  receive  my  (hare  from  thee. 

Eum.  I  cannot,  if  I  wou'd,  withhold  thy  mare. 
What  thou  haft  done  is  thine ;  the  fame  thy  own ; 
And  virtuous  aftions  will  reward  themfelves. 

Pho.  Fame — What  is  that,  if  courted  for  herfelf  ? 
Lefs  than  a  vifion  ;  a  mere  found,  an  echo, 
That  calls  with  mimick  voice  thro'  woods  and  laby 
rinths  , 

Her  cheated  lovers ;  loft  and  heard  by  fits, 
But  never  fix'd  ;  a  feeming  nymph,  yet  nothing. 
Virtue  indeed  is  a  fubftantial  good, 
A  real  beauty ;  yet  with  weary  fteps 
Thro'  rugged  ways,  by  long  laborious  fervice, 
When  we  have  trac'd,  and  woo'd,  and  won  the  dame, 
May  we  not  then  expeft  the  dower  (he  brings  ? 

Eum.  Well — afk  that  dower ;  fay,  can  Damafcus 

pay  it  ? 

Her  riches  mall  be  tax'd,  name  but  the  fum, 
Her  merchants  with  fome  collly  gems  mail  grace  thee. 
Nor  can  Heraclius  fail  to  grant  thee  honours, 
Proportion'd  to  thy  birth  and  thy  defert. 

Pho.  And  can  Eumenes  think  I  wou'd  be  brib'd 
By  tram,  by  fordid  gold,  to  venal  virtue  ? 
What !  ferve  my  country  for  the  fame  mean  hire, 
That  can  corrupt  each  villain  to  betray  her  ?  " 
Why  is  me  fav'd  from  thefe  Arabian  fpoilers, 
If  to  be  ftripp'd  by  her  own  fons  ? — forgive  me 


24    THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS. 

If  the  thought  glows  on  my  cheeks ;  *  I  know 

*  'Twas  mention'd,  but  to  prove  how  much  I  fcorn  it.* 

As  for  Heraclius,  if  he  own  my  conduct, 

I  fhall  indulge  an  honeft  pride  in  honours 

Which  I  have  ftrove  to  merit.     Yes,  Eumenes, 

I  have  ambition — yet  the  vail  reward 

That  fweJ4s  my  hopes,  and  equals  all  my  wilhes 

Is  in  thy  gift  alone — it  is  Eudocia. 

Eum.  Eudocia?  Phocyas,  I  am  yet  thy  friend, 
And  therefore  will  not  hold  thee  long  in  doubt. 
Thou  muft  not  think  of  her — 

Pbo.  Not  think  of  her  ? 
Impoffible  ! — She's  ever  prefent  to  me, 
My  life,  my  foul !  She  animates  niy  being, 
And  kindles  up  my  thoughts  to  worthy  aft  ions. 
And  why,  Eumenes,  why  not  think  of  her  ? 
Is  not  my  rank — 

Eum.  Forbear — what  need  a  herald 
To  tell  me  who  thou  art  ? — Yet  once  again— 
Since  thou  wilt  force  me  to  a  repetition, 
I  fay,  thou  muft  not  think  of  her. 

Pbo.  Yet  hear  me ; 

Why  wilt  thou  judge,  ere  I  can  plead  my  caufe  ? 
Eum.  Why  wilt  thou  plead  in  vain  ?  haft  thou  not 

heard 
My  choice  has  deftin'd  her  to  Eutyches  ? 

Pbo.  And  has  ihe  then  confented  to  that  choice  ? 
Eum.  Has  me  confented  ?— What  is  her  confent? 
Is  me  not  mine  I 

Pbo.  She  is — and  in  that  title 
E'en  kings  with  envy  may  behold  thy  wealth, 
And  think  their  kingdoms  poor ! — and  yet,  Eumenes, 
Shall  (he,  by  being  thine,  be  barr'd  a  privilege 
Which  e'en  the  meaneft  of  her  fex  may  claim  ? 
Thou  wilt  not  force  her  ? 

Eum.  Who  has  told  thee  fo  ? 
I'd  force  her  to  be  happy. 

Pbo.  That  thou  canft  not. 
What  happinefs  fubfifts  in  lofs  of  freedom  > 
The  gueft  conftrain'd  but  murmurs  at  the  banquet, 
Nor  thanks  his  holt,  but  ftarves  amidft  abundance. 


THE    SIEGE    OFDAMASCUS.     25 

Eum.  'Tis  well,  young  man — Why  then  I'll  learn 

from  thee 

To  be  a  very  tame,  obedient  father. 
Thou  haft  already  taught  my  child  her  duty. 
I  find  the  fource  of  all  her  difobedience, 
Her  hate  of  me,  her  fcorn  of  Eutyches  ; 
'  Ha  !  Is't  not  fo?— come  tell  me;  I'll  forgive  thee. 
'  Haft  thou  not  found  her  a  moft  ready  fcholar? 
'  I  know  thou  haft' — why,  what  a  dull  old  wretch 
Was  I,  to  think  I  ever  had  a  daughter  ? 

Pho.  I'm  forry  that  Eumenes  thinks — 

Bum.  No— forry! 
Sorry  for  what  ?  then  thou  dofi  own  thou'ft  wrong'd 

me  ! 

That's  fomevvhat  yet — curfe  on  my  ftupid  blindnefs  ! 
For  had  I  eyes  I  might  have  feen  it  fooner. 
Was  this  the  fpring  of  thy  romantic  bravery, 
Thy  boaftful  merit,  thy  officious  fervice  ? 

Pho.  It  was — with  pride  I  own  it — 'twas  Eudocia  ! 
I  have  ferv'd  thee  in  ferving  her,  thou  know'ft  it, 
And  thought  I  might  have  found  a  better  treatment. 
Why  wilt  thou  force  me  thus  to  be  a  braggard, 
And  tell  thee  that  which  thou  fhou'dft  tell  thyfelf  ? 
It  grates  my  foul — I  am  not  wont  to  talk  thus. 
But  I  recall  my  words — I  have  done  nothing, 
And  wou'd  difclaim  all  merit  but  my  love. 

Eum.  O  no — fay  on,  that  thou  hail  favM  Damaf- 

cus; 

Is  it  not  fo  ? — Look  o'er  her  battlements, 
See,  if  the  flying  foe  have  left  their  camp  ! 
Why  are  our  gates  yet  clos'd,  if  thou  haft  freed  us  ? 
'Tis  true,  thou  fought'ft  a  Ikirmiih — what  of  that? 
Had  Eutyches  been  prefent — 

Pho.  Eutyches! 

Why  wilt  thou  urge  my  temper  with  that  trifler  ? 
O  let  him  come  !  that  in  yon  fpacious  plain 
We  may  together  charge  the  thicket!  ranks, 
Rufh  on  to  battle,  wounds,  and  glorious  death, 
And  prove  who  'twas  that  beft  deferv'd  Eudocia; 

Eum.  That  will  be  feen  ere  long — but  fince  I  find 
Thou  arrogantly  wouldft  ufurp  dominion, 

B  Believ'il 


26    THE    SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS. 

Believ'ft  thyfelf  the  guardian  Genius  here, 

And  that  our  fortunes  hang  upon  thy  fvvord  ; 

Be  that  firfl  try'd — for  know,  that  from  this  moment 

Thou  heje  haft  no  command— farewell ! — So  ftay, 

Or  hence  and  join  the  foe — thou  haft  thy  choice. 

{Exit  Eumenes. 
Pho.  Spurn'd   and    degraded! — proud   ungrateful 


man 


Am  I  a  bubble,  then,  blown  up  by  thee, 
And  tofs'd  into  the  air  to  make  thee  fport  f 
Hence  to  the-  foe  !  'tis  well — Eudocia, 

0  I  will  Tee  thee,  thou  wrong'd  excellence ! 
But  now  to  fpeak  thy  wrongs,  or  my  difgrace; 
Impoffible — O  rather  let  me  walk 

Like  a  dumb  ghoft,  and  burft  my  heart  in  filence. 

Exit. 
SCENE,  the  garden. 

Enter  Eudocia. 
Eud.  Why  muft  we  meet  by  Health,  like  guilty 

lovers ! 

Eut  'twill  not  long  be  fo— What  joy  'twill  be 
To  own  my  hero  in  his  ripen'd  honours, 
And  hear  applauding  crowds  pronounce  me  bleft  !— 
'  Sure  he'll  be  here — See  !  the  fair  rifing  moon, 

*  Ere  day's  remaining  twilight  fcarce  is  fpent, 

c  Hangs  up  her  ready  lamp,  and  with  mild  luftre 

•  Drives  back  the  hovering  ihades !'     Come,  Pho- 

cyas,  come ; 

This  gentle  feafon  is  a  friend  to  love, 
And  now  methinks  I  cou'd,  with  equal  paflion, 
Meet  thine,  and  tell  thee  all  my  fecret  foul. 

Enter  Phocyas. 
He  hears   me — O   my  Phocyas  I — What ! — not  an* 

fwer! — 

Art  thou  not  he  ?  or  art  fome  fhadow  ? — fpeak. 
Pho.  I  am  indeed  a  fhadow — I  am  nothing — 
Eud.  What  doft  thou  mean  ? — for  now  I  know  thee, 

Phocyas. 

Pho.  And  never  can  be  thine. 
It  will  have  vent — O  barbarous,  curft — but  hold— 

1  had  forgot, — it  was  Eudocia's  father  ! — 

O  cou'd 


THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS.    27 

O  cou'd  I  too  forget  how  he  has  us'd  me  ! 

Eud.  I  fear  to  alk  thee — 

Pho,  Doft  thou  fear  ?— -Alas  ! 
Then  thou  wilt  pity  me— O  generous  maid ! 
Thou  haft  charm'd  down  the  rage   that  fwell'd  «iy 

heart, 

And  chok'd  my  voice — now  I  can  fpeak  to  thee. 
And  yet  'tis  worfe  than  death  what  I  have  fuffer'd ; 
It  is  the  death  of  honour ! — Yet  that's  little ; 
'Tis  more,  Eudocia,  'tis  the  lofs  of  thee  I 

Eud.  Haft  thou  not  conquer'd  ? — What  are  all  thefe 

mouts, 
This  voice  of  general  joy,  heard  far  around  ? 

*  What  are  thefe  fires,  that  caft  their  glimmering 

«  light 
'  Againft  the  fky  ?'  Are  not  all  thefe  thy  triumph  ? 

Pho.  O  name  not  triumph  !   talk  no  more  of  cpn- 

queft ! 

It  is  indeed  a  night  of  general  joy, 
But  not  to  me  ;  Eudocia,  I  am  come 
To  take  a  laft  farewell  of  thee  for  ever. 

Eud.  A  laft  farewell ! 

Pho.  Yes  j — how  wilt  thou  hereafter 
Look  on  a  wretch  defpis'd,  revil'd,  camier*d, 
Stript  of  command,  like  a  bafe  beaten  coward  ? 
'  Thy  cruel  father — I  have  told  too  much  ; — 

*  I  fhou'd  not  but  for  this  have  felt  the  wounds 

'  I  got  in  fight  f6r  him — now,  now  they  bleed. 

*  But  I  have  done — and  now  thou  haft  my  ftory, 
'  Is  there  a  creature  fo  accurft  as  Phocyas  ? 

'  Eud.  And  can  it  be  ? — Is  this  then  thy  reward  ? 
'  O  Phocyas  !  never  wou'dft  thou  tell  me  yet 

*  That  thou  hadft  wounds ;  now  I  muft  feel  them  too. 
'  For  is  it  not  for  me  thou  haft  borne  this  ? 

'  What  elfe  could  be  thy  crime  ? — wert  thou  a  traitor, 

*  Hadft  thou  betray'd  us,  fold  us  to  the  foe — 

e  Pbo.  Wou'd  I  be  yet  a  traitor,  I  have  leave  ; 
f  Nay,  I  am  dar'd  to  it  with  mocking  fcorn.       ^ 

*  My  crime  indeed  was  alking  thee  ;  that  only 
'  Has  cancell'd  all,  if  I  had  any  merit; 

*  The  city  now  is  fafe,  my  fervice  flighted, 

B  2  *  And 


2*    THE    SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS. 

*  And  I  discarded  like  an  ufelefs  thing,' 
Nay,   bid  be  gone — and,  if  I  like  that  better, 
Seek  out  new  friends,  and  join  yon  barbarous  hoft. 

Eud.  (  Hold—let  me  think  a  while—  [Walks  afJe, 
t  —Tho'  my  heart  bleed, 

*  I  wou'd  not  have  him  fee  thefe  dropping  tears'-*-. 
And  wilt  thou  go,  then,  Phocyas? 

Pho.  To  my  grave  : 
Where  can  I  bury  elfe  this  foul  difgrace  ? 

*  Alas  !  that  queftion  mews  how  poor  I  am, 

*  How  very  much  a  wretch  ;  for  if  I  go, 

*  It  is  from  thee,  thou  only  joy  of  life  : 

*  And  death  will  then  be  welcome.' 
Eud.  Art  thou  fure 

Thou  haft  been  us'd  thus  ?— Art  thou  quite  undone  ? 

Pho.  Yes,  very  fure — What  doft  thou  mean  ? 

Eud.  That  then,  it  is  a  time  for  me—'  O  Heav'n  ! 

that  I 

'  Alone  am  grateful,   to  this  wondrous  man  !' — 
To  own  thee  Phocyas,  thus — [Giving  her  band.]  nay, 

glory  in  thee, 

And  mew  without  a  blufh,  how  much  I  love. 
We  mufl  not  part — 

Pbo.  Then  am  I  rich  again  !  [Embracing  her. 

0  no — we  will  not  part ! — confirm  it,  Heav'n  ! 
Now  thou  (halt  fee  now  I  will  bend  my  fpirit, 
With  what  foft  patience  I  will  bear  my  wrongs, 
Till  I  have  wearied  out  thy  father's  fcorn. 

Yet  I  have  worfe  to  tell  thee — Eutyches — 

Eud.  Why  wilt  thou  name  him  ? 

Pbo.  Now,  e'en  now  he's  coming ! 
Juft  hov'ring  o'er  thee  like  a  bird  of  prey. 
Thy  father  vows— for  I  muft  tell  thee  all — 
'Twas  this  that  wrung  my  heart,  and  rack'd  my  brain, 
K'cn  to  diftra&ion  '.-—vows  thee  to  his  bed  ; 
Nay,  thrcaten'd  force,  if  thou  refufe  obedience. 
-End.  Force  ? — threaten'd  force  .?—  my  father  I— 
where  is  nature  ? 
Is  that,  too,  baniih'd  from  his  heart  ? — O  then 

1  have  no  father — How  have  I  deferv'd  this  ? — 

[Weeping. 


THE   SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS.     *9 

No  home,  but  am  henceforth  an  out-caft  orphan  ; 
For  I  will  wander  to  earth's  utmoft  bounds, 
Ere  give  my  hand  to  that  decefted  contract. 
O  fave  me,  Phocyas !  thou  haft  fav'd  my  fathar— 
Muft  I  yet  call  him  fo,  this  cruel  father  — 
How  wilt  thou  now  deliver  poor  Eudocia?' 
Pho.  See  !  how  we're  join'd  in  exile,  how  our  fate 
Confpires  to  warn  us  both  to  leave  this  city  ! 
Thou  know'ft  the  Emperor  is  now  at  Antioch  ; 
I  have  an  uncle  there,  who,  when  the  Perfian, 
As  now  the  Saracen,  had  nigh  o'er-run 
The  ravaged  empire,  did  him  fignal  fervice. 
And  nobly  was  rewarded.     There,  Eudocia, 
Thou  might'fl  be  fafe,  and  I  may  meet  with  juftice. 
EuJ.  There — any  where,  fo  we  may  fly  this  place. 

*  See,   Phocyas,    what    thy  wrongs  and  mine  have 

•  wrought 

*  In  a  weak  woman's  frame  !  for  I  have  courage 

*  To  mare  thy  exile  now  thro'  ev'ry  danger.' 
Danger  is  only  here,  and  dwells  with  guilt, 
With  bafe  ingratitude,  and  hard  oppreflion. 

Y&o.  Then  let  us  lofe  no  time,    but  hence   thrs 

night. 

The  gates  I  can  command,  and  will  provide 
The  means  of  our  efcape.     Some  fire  hours  hence 
('Twill  then  be  turn'd  of  midnight)  we  may  meet 
In  the  piazza  of  Honoria's  convent. 

EuJ.  I  know  it  well ;  the  place  is  moil  fecure, 
And  near  adjoining  to  this  garden  wall. 
There  thou  malt  find  me — O  protect  us,  Heav'n  \ 

Pho.  Fear  not ; — thy  innocence  will  be  our  guard. 

*  I've  thought  already  how  to  fhape  our  courfe  ;' 
Some  pitying  angel  will  attend  thy  fteps, 
Guide  thee  unfeen,  and  charm  the  ileeping  foe, 
Till  thou  art  fafe  !— O  I  have  fuffer'd  nothing! 
Thus  gaining  thee,  and  this  great  generous  proof, 
How  bleft  I  am  in  my  Eudocia's  love  ! 

My  only  joy,  farewell ! 

Eud.  Farewell,  my  Phocyas ! 
I've  now  no  friend  but  thee— yet  thee  I'll  call 
Friend,  father,  lover,  guardian  I — Thou  art  all. 

[Exeunt. 
63  ACT 


30    THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS, 


ACT    III.     SCENE  Caled'j  tent. 

Caled  attended,  Sergius  brought  in  bound  with  cords* 

Cal.  T\  /T  E  R  C  Y !  What's  that  ?— Look  yonder  on 

JVI   the  field 

Of  our  late  fight !— Go,  talk  of  mercy  there. 
Will  the  dead  hear  thy  voice  ? 

Serg.   O  fpare  me  yet ! 

Cal.  Thou   wretch  !-*-Spare  thee  ?    to   what  ?   to 

live  in  torture  ? 

Are  not  thy  limbs  all  bruis'd,  thy  bones  disjointed  5 
To  force  thee  to  confefs  ?  And  wou'dft  thou  drag, 
Like  a  cruuVd  ferpent,  a  vile  mangled  being  ? 
My  eyes  abhor  a  coward     Hence,  and  die  I 

Serg.  O,  I  have  told  thee  all— When  nrft  purfu'd, 
I  fix'd  my  letters  on  an  arrow's  point, 
And  (hot  them  o'er  the  walls— 

Cal.  Haft  thou  told  all  ? 

Well,  then  thou  malt  have  mercy  to  requite  thee; 
Behold,  I'll  fend  thee  forward  on  thy  errand. 
Strike  off  his  head  ;  then  caft  it  o'er  the  gates  ; 
There  let  thy  tongue  tell  o'er  its  tale  again. 

Serg.   O  bloody  Saracen  !-r- 

[Exit  iergius,  dragged  away  fy  guards  % 
Enter  Abudah. 

Cal.  Abudah,  welcome  ! 

Abu    O  Caled  !   What  an  evening  was  the  lait ! 

Cal.  Name  it  no  more ;  remembrance  fickens  with 

it, 

And  therefore  deep  is  banifh'd  from  this  night ; 
Nor  mail  to-morrow's  fun  open  his  eye 
Upon  our  mame,    ere  doubly  we've  redeem'd  it. 
Have  all  the  captains  notice  ? 

Abu.  I  have  walk'd 

The  rounds  to-night,  ere  the  1  aft  hour  of  prayer, 
From  tent  to  tent,  and  warn'd  them  to  be  ready. 
What  muft  be  done  ? 

Cat. 


THE   SIEGE    OF  DAMASCUS.     31 

Cat.  Thou  know'ft  th'  important  news, 
Which  we  have  intercepted  by  this  flave, 
Of  a  new  army's  march.     The  time  now  calls, 
While  thefe  foft  Syrians  are  diffolv'd  in  riot, 
FooPd  with  fuccefs,  and  not  fufpecling  danger,,. 
'  Neglectful  of  their  watch,  or  elfe  fait  bound 
'  In  chains  of  fleep,  companion  of  debauches,* 
To  form  a  new  attack  ere  break  of  day. 
So,  like  the  wounded  leopard,  mail  we  rum 
From  out  our  covert  on  thefe  drovvfy  hunters, 
And  feize  'em, unprepared  to  fcape  our  vengeance. 

Abu.  Great  captain  of  the  armies  of  the  faithful  \ 
I  know  thy  mighty  and  unconquer'd  fpirit. 
Yet  hear  me,  Caled  ;  hear,   and  weigh  my  doubts. 
Our  angry  prophet  frowns  upon  our  vices, 
And  viiits  us  in  blood.     Why  elfe  did  terrors 
Unknown  before  feize  all- our  ftouteil  bands? 
The  angel  of  deilrudion  was  abroad  ; 
«  The  archers  of  the  tribe  of  Thoal  fled, 
'  So  long  renown'd,  or  fpent  their  fhafts  in  vain  ; 
'  The  feather'd .flights  err'd  thro'  the  boundlefs  air, 
'  Or  the  death  turn'd  on  him  that  drew  the  bow  I" 
What  can  this  bode  ? — Let  me  fpeak  plainer  yet  ; 
Is  it  to  propagate  th'  unfpotted  law 
We  fight  ?  'tis  well ;  it  is  a  noble  caufe  ! 
But  much  I  fear  infection  is  among  us ; 
A  boundlefs  luft  of  rapine  guides  our  troops. 
We  learn  the  Chriftian  vices  we  chaftife, 
And,  tempted  with  the  pleafures  of  the  foil, 
More  than  with  diftant  hopes  of  Paradife, 
I  fear,  may.foon — but  Oh  !  avert  it  Heav'n  ! 
Fall  e'en  a  prey  to  our  own  fpoils  and  conquefts. 

Cal.  No— thou  miftak'ft;  thy  pious  zeal  deceives 

thee. 

Our  prophet  only  chides  our  fluggard  valour* 
Thou  faw'ft  how  in  the  vale  of  Honan  once 
The  troops,  as  now  defeated,  fled  confus'd 
E'en  to  the  gates  of  Mecca's  holy  city; 
'Till  Mahomet  himfelf  there  itop'd  their  entrance, 
A  javelin  in  his  hand,   and  turn'd  them  back 
Upon  the  foe  ;  they  fought  again,  and  conquer'd. 

B  4  Behold 


32    THE    SIEGE    OF   DAMASCUS. 

Behold  how  we  may  beft  appeafe  his  wrath  ! 
His  own  example  points  us  out  the  way. 

Aku.  Well— be  it  then  re&lv'd.     Th'  indulgent 

hour 

Of  better  fortune  is,  I  hope,  at  hand. 
And  yet,  fince  Fhocyas  has  appear'd  its  champion,  \ 
How  has  this  city  rais'd  its  drooping  head  1 
As  if  fome  charm  prevail'd  where-e'er  he  fought; 
Our  flrength  feems  wither'd,  and  our  feeble  weapons 
Forgot  their  wonted  triumph — were  he  abfent— — 

CaL  I  would  have  fought  him  out  in  the  lait  ac 
tion 

To  fingle  fight,  and  put  that  charm  to  proof, 
Had  not  a  foul  and  fudden  mift  arofe 
Kre  I  arriv'd,  to  have  reflor'd  the  combat. 
But  let  it  be — 'tis  paft.     We  yet  may  meet, 
And  'twill  be  known  whofe  arm  is  then  the  ftrongcit. 
Enter  Daran. 

Dar.  Hearth  to  the  race  of  Ifmael !  and  days 
More  profp'rous  than  the  laft  — a  Chriftian  captive 
Is  fall'n  within  my  watch,  and  waits  his  doom. 

Cat.  Bring  forth  the  Have  ! — O  thou  keen  vultur* 

death ! 

Do  we  then  feed  thee  only  thus  by  morfels  ? 
Whole  armies  never  can  fuffice  thy  hunger. 

Daran  goes^out,  and  re-enters  with  Phocyas. 
Whence,    and  what   art    thou  ! — Of  Damafcus  ?— « 

Daran, 

Where  didft  thou  find  this  dumb  and  fullen  thing, 
That  feems  to  lour  defiance  to  our  anger  ? 

Dar.  Marching  in  circuit,    with   the  horfe  thou 

gav'ft  me, 

T*  obferve  the  city  gates,  I  faw  from  far 
Two  perfons  ifTue  forth  ;  the  one  advanc'd, 
And  ere  he  could  retreat,  my  horfemen  feiz'd  him  ; 
The  other  was  a  woman,   and  had  fled, 
Upon  a  fignal  giv'n  at  our  approach, 
And  got  within,  the  gate.     Wou'dft  thou  know  more> 
Himfelf,  if  he  will  fpeak,  can  beft  inform  thec. 

CaL  Have  I  not  feen  thy  face  ? 

Abu.  [fa  Caied.]  He  hears  thee  not ; 

His 


THE   SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS.     33 

His  eyes  are  fix'd  on  earth;  fome  deep  diflrefs 
Is  at  his  heart.     This  is  no  common  captive. 

Cal.  A  lion   in    the   toils  !    We  foon  mall  tame 

him. 

Still  art  thou  dumb  ! — Nay,  'tis  in  vain  to  caft 
Thy  gloomy  looks  To  oft  around  this  place, 
Or  frown  upon  thy  bonds — thou  can  It  not  'fcape. 

Pbo.  Then  be  it  fo — the  worft  is  paft  already, 
And  life  is  now  not  worth  a  moment's  paufe. 
Do  you  not  know  me  yet  ? — think  of  the  man 
You  have  moft  caufe  to  curfe,  and  I  am  he, 

Cal.  Ha !  Phocyas  ! 

Abu.  Phocyas !— -Mahomet,  we  thank  thee  ! 
Now  thou  doft  fmile  again. x 

«  Dar.   [4/t</e.]  O  devil,   devil! 
•'  And  I  not  know  him  ! — 'twas  but  yefterday 
*  He  kill'd  my  horfe,  and  drove  me  from  the  field. 
'  Now  I'm  reveng'd !   No;  hold  you  there,  not  yet, 
'  Not  while  he  lives.'  •     , 

Cal.  \_AfiJs. ,]  This  is  indeed  a  prize  !  — 
Is  it  becaufe  thou  know'ft:  what  flaughter'd  heaps 
There  yet  unbury'd  lie  without  the  camp, 
Whofe  ghofts  have  all  this  night,  palling  the  Zorat, 
C^all'd  from  that  bridge  of  death  on  thee  to  follow, 
That  now  thou'rt  here  to  anfwer  to  their  cry  ? 
Howe'er  it  be,  thou  know'ft  thy  welcome— 

Pbo.  Yes, 

Thou  proud,  blood-thirfty  Arab  ! — Well  I  know 
What  to  expect  from  thee  ;  I  know  ye  all. 
How  mould  the  authors  of  diftrefs  and  ruin 
Be  raov'd  to  pity  ?  that's  a  human  paffion  ; 
No — in  your  hungry  eyes,  that  look  revenge, 
I  read  my  doom.     Where  are  your  racks,  your  tor 
tures  ? 

I'm  ready — lead  me  to  'em  ;  I  can1)ear 
The  worft  of  ills  from  you.     You're  not  my  friends. 
My  countrymen. — Yet  were  ye  men,  I  cou'd 
Unfold  a  itory — but  no  more — Eumenes, 
Thou  haft  thy  wifh,  and  I  am  now  a  worm  ! 

Abu*   [to  Caled  afide.~\  Leader  of  armies,  hear  him ! 
for  my  mind 

B  5  Prelate* 


34    THE  SIEGE    OF   DAMASCUS. 

Prefages  good  accruing  to  our  caufe 

By  this  event.  v  .• 

Cat.  I  tell  thee  then,  thou  wrong'ft  us, 
To  think  our  hearts  thus  fteel,  or  our  ears  deaf 
To  all  that  thou  may'ft  utter.     Speak,  difclofe 
The  fecrec  woe  that  throbs  within  thy  breaft. 
Now,   by  the  filent  hours  of  night !  we'll  hear  thee, 
And  mute  attention  fhall  await  thy  words. 

Pho,  This  is.  not  then  the  palace  in  Damafcus ! 
If  ye  will  hear,  then  I  indeed  have  wrong'd  you. 
How  can  this  be  ? — When  he  for  whom  I've  fought^ 
Fought  againft  you,   has  yet  refus'd  to  hear  me! 
You  feem  furpris'd. — It  was  ingratitude 
That  drove  me  out  an  exile  from  thofe  walls, 
Which  I  fo  late  defended. 

Jbu.  Can  it  be  ? 
Are  thefe  thy  Chriftian  friends  ? 

CaL  'Tis  well—we  thank  'em. 
They  help  us  to  fubdue  themfelves. — But  who 
Was  that  companion  of  thy  flight  ? — A  woman, 
So  Daran  faid— 

Pho.  'Tis  there  I  am  moft  wretched— 

0  I  am  torn  from  all  my  foul  held  dear, 

And  my  life's  blood  flows  out.upon  the  wound  \ 
That  woman — 'twas    for    her— How  mail  I   fpeak 

it! — 

Eudocia,  O  farewell! — I'll  tell  you,  then, 
As  faft  as  thefe  heart-rending  fighs  will  let  me ; 

1  lov'd  the  daughter  of  the  proud  Eumenes, 
And  long  in  fecret  woo'd  her  ;  not  unwelcome 
To  her  my  vifits;  but  I  fear'd  her  father, 
Who  oft  had  prefs'd  her  to  detefted  nuptials, 
And  therefore  durft  not,  till  this  night  of  joy, 
Avow  to  him  my  courtfhip.    Now  I  thought  her 
Mine,  by  a  double  claim,  of  mutual  vows, 
And  fervice  yielded  at  his  greateft  need. 

When  as  I  mov'd  my  fuit,  with  four  difdain 
He  mock'd  my  fervice,  and  forbade  my  love  ; 
Degraded  me  from  the  command  I  bore, 
And  with  defiance  bade  me  feek  the  foe. 
How  has  his  curfe  prevail'd  I— The  generous  maid 

Was 


THE  SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS.     35 

Was  won  by  my  diftrefs  to  leave  the  city; 
And  cruel  fortune  made  me  thus  your  prey. 
Abu.  [djtde.]  My  foul  is  mov'd. — Thou  wert  a  man, 

O  prophet ! 

Forgive,  if 'tis  a  crime,  a  human  forrow 
For  injur'd  worth,  tho'  in  an  enemy! 

Pbo.  Now — fmce  you've  heard  my  ftory,  fet  me  free, 
That  I  may'fave  her  yet,  dearer  than  life, 
From  a  tyrannic  father's  threaten'd  force; 
Gold,  gems  and  purple  veils  mall  pay  my  ranfom; 
Nof  mall  my  peaceful  fword  henceforth  be  drawn 
In  fight,  nor  break  its  truce  with  you  for  ever. 

Cal.  No , — there's  one  way,  a  better,  and  but  one, 
To  fave  thyfelf,  and  make  fome  reparation 
For  all  the  numbers  thy  bold  hand  has  flain. 

Pbo.  O  name  it  quickly,  and  my  foul  will  blefs  thee ! 
Cal.  Embrace  our  faith,  and  lhare  with  us,our  for 
tunes. 

Pbo.  Then  I  am  loft  again  ! 
Cal.  What!  when  we  offer 
Not  freedom  only,  but  to  raife  thee  high 
To  greatnefs,  oonqueft,  glory3  heav'nly  blifs  ! 

Pbo*  To  fmk  me  down  to  infamy,  perdition, 
Here  and  hereafter  !  make  my  name  a  curfe 
Tt)  prefent  times  !  to  ev'ry  future  age 
A  proverb  and  a  fcorn  ! — take  back  thy  mercy, 
And  know  I  now  difdain  it. 

Cal.  As  thou  wilt . 

The  time's  too  precious  to  be  wafted  longer 
In  words  with  thee.     Thou  know'ft  thy  doom — Fare* 

well. 
Abu.  [To  Caled,  aftde*]  Hear  me  yet,  Caled  !  grant 

him  fome  fhort  fpace ; 

Perhaps  at  length  he  will  accept  thy  bounty. 
Try  him  at  leaft— 

Cal.  Well— be  it  fa,  then.     Daran, 
Guard  well  thy  charge. — Thou  haft  an  .hour  to  live;. 
If  thou  art  wife,  thou  may'ft  prolong  that  term  ; 
If  not — why — Fare  thee  well,  and  think,  of  death* 

[Exeunt  Caled , and  Abudah. 
B  6  Eh* 


36    THE    SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS. 

Pho.   [Daran  waiting  at  a  dijtanee.~\ 
Farewell,  and  think  of  death  I  Was  it  not  fo? 
Do  murderers  then  preach  morality  ? — 
But  how  to  think  of  what  the  living  know  not, 
And  the  dead  cannot,  or  elfe  may  not  tell  ?— 
What  art  thou,  O  thou  great  myfterious  terror  I 
The  way  to  thee  we  know ;  difeafes,  famine, 
Sword,  fire,  and  all  thy  ever-open  gates 
That  day  and  night  itand  ready  to  receive  us. 
But  what's  beyond  them  ? — Who  will  draw  that  veil  ? 
Yet  death's  not  there— No ;  'tis  a  point  of  time, 
The  verge,  'twixt  mortal  and  immortal  being. 
Jt mocks  our  thought!  On  this  fide  all  is  life; 
And  when  we've  reached  it,  in  that  very  inftant 
3Tis  paft  the  thinking  of  !—O  !  if  it  be 
The  pangs,  the  throes,  the  agonizing  ftrugglc 
When  foul  and  body  part,  fure  I  have  felt  it, 
And  there's  no  more  to  fear. 

Dar.   [AJide.]   Suppofe  I  now 

Difpatch  him?— Right— What  need  to  ftay  for  orders? 
I  wifh  I  durit!— Yet  what  I  dare  I'll  do. 
Your  jewels,  Chrillian-— You'll  not  need  thefe  trifles— 

[Searching  him. 

Pho.  I  pr'ythee,  flave,  ftand  off— My  foul's  too  bufy 
To  lofe  a  thought  on  thee. 

Enter  A  bud  ah. 
Alu.  What's  this?— forbear! 
Who  gave  thee  leave  to  ufe  this  infolence? 

[Takes  the  jewels  from  himy  and  lays  'em  on  a  table. 
Dar.   [AJide.]  Deny'd  my  booty? — Curfes  on  his 

head! 

Was  not  the  founder  of  our  law  a  robber  ? 
*  Why  'twas  for. that  I  left  my  country's  gods, 
'  Menaph  and  Uzza.     Better  flill  be  Pagan, 
'  Than  ftarve  with  a  new  faith.* 

Abu.  What? — Doft  thou  mutter  ? 
Daran,  withdraw ;  and  better  learn  thy  duty. 

[Exit  Daran. 

Phocyas,  perhaps  thou  know'ft  me  not— 
Pbo.  I  know 

name  Abudah,  and  thy  office  here 

The 


THE  SIEGE  OF  DAMASCUS.     37 

The  fecond  in  command.     What  more  thou  arj; 
Indeed  I  cannot  tell. 

Abu.  True ;  for  thou  yet 
Know'ft  not  I  am  thy  friend. 

Pho.  Is't  poffible  ?— 
Thou  fpeak'ft  me  fair. 

Abu.  What  doft  thou  think  of  life  ? 

Pho.  I  think  not  of  it;  death  was  in  my  thoughts, 
On  hard  conditions,  life  were  but  a  load, 
And  I  would  lay  it  down. 

Abu.  Art  thou  refolv'd? 

Pho.  I  am,  unlefs  thou  bring'ft  me  better  terms 
Than  thofe  I  have  rejected. 

Abu.  Think  again. 
Caled,  by  me,  once  more  renews  that  offer. 

Pho.  Thou  fay'ft  thou  art  my  friend ;  why  doft  thou 

try 
To  make  the  fettled  temper  of  my  breaft  ? 

My  foul  hath  juft  difcharg'd  her  cumbrous  train 

Of  hopes  and  fears,  prepared  to  take  her  voyage 

To  other  feats,  where  me  may  reft  in  peace ; 

And  now  thou  calPft  me  back,  to  beat  again 

The  painful  roads  of  life.' — Tempt  me  no  more 
To  be  a  wretch,  for  I  defpife  the  offer. 

*  Abu.  The  general  knows  thee  brave,  and  'tis  for 

that 
'  He  feeks  alliance  with  thy  noble  virtues. 

'  Pbo.  He  knows  me  brave ! — Why  does  he  then 
thus  treat  me  ? 

No ;  he  believes  I  am  fo  poor  of  foul, 

That  barely  for  the  privilege  to  live, 

I  would  be  bought  his  flave.    But  go  and  tell  him, 

The  little  fpace  of  life  his  fcorn  bequeath'd  me 

Was  lent  in  vain,  and  he  may  take  the  forfeit.'         j 

Abu.  Why  wilt  thou  wed  thyfelf  to  mifery, 
When  our  faith  courts  thee  to  eternal  bleffings  ? 
When  truth  itfelf  is,  like  a  feraph,  come 
To  loofe  thy  bond§  ?— *  The  light  divine,  whofe  beams 
'  Pierc'd  tiro'  the  gloom  of  Hera's  facred  cave, 
4  And  there  illumin'd  the  great  Mahomet,' 
Arabia's  morning  flar,  now  flunes  on  thee, 

Arifc, 


38    THE   SIEGE  OF  DAMASCUS. 

Arife,  falute  with  joy  the  gueft  from  Heav'n, 
Follow  her  fteps,  and  be  no  more  a  captive. 

Pbo.  But  whither  muft  I  follow? — anfwertha-t. 
Is  me  a  gueit  from  heav'n  ?  what  marks  divine, 
What  figns,  what  wonders  vouch  her  boafted  miflion? 

Abu.  What  wonders  ? turn  thy  eyes  to  Mecca  ! 

mark 

How  from  Caaba  firft,  that  hallow'd  temple, 
Her  glory  dawn'd ! — then  look  how  fwift  its  courfe> 
As  when  the  fun. beams  mooting  through  a  cloud 
Drive  o'er  the  meadow's  face  the  flying  (hades ! 
Have  not  the  nations  bent  before  our  fwords, 
Like  ripen'd  corn  before  the  reaper's  fleel  ? 
Why  is  all  this  ?  Why  does  fuccefs  dill  wait 
Upon  our  law,  if  not  to  mew  that  Heav'n 
Firft  fent  it  forth,  and  owns  it  ftill  by  conqaeil? 

Pbo.  Doft  thou  afk  why  is  this  ? — O  why,  indeed '? 
Where  is  the  man  can  read  Heav'n's  fecretcounfeJs? 
Why  did  I  conquer  in  another  caufe, 
Yet  now  am  here? — 

Abu.  I'll  tell  thee — thy  good  angel 
Has  feiz'd  thy  hand  unfcen,  and  fnatch'd  thee  out 
From  fwift  deftruction;  know,  ere  day  (hall  dawn, 
Darriafcus  will  in  blood  lament  its  fall; 
We've  heard  what  army  is  defign'd  to  march 
Too  late  to.  fave  her.     Now,  e'en  now,  our  force 
Is  juft  preparing  for  a  frefh  aflault. 
Now  too  thou  might'ft  revenge  thy  wrongs— fo  Caled 
Charg'd  me  to  fay ;  and  more,  that  he  invites  thee  ; 
Thou  know'ft  the  terms — to  mare  with  him  the  con- 

que'ft. 
Pbo.  Conqueft ! — Revenge !— Hold,  let  me  think— 

O  horror!. 

Revenge ! — O  what  revenge  ?  Bleed  on,  my  wounds  ;. 
For  thus  to  be  reveng'd,  were  it  not  worfe 
Than  all  that  I  can  fuffer  ? — But  Eudocia — 
Where  will  (he,  then—  Shield  her,  ye  pitying  pow'rs>. 
And  let  me  die  in  peace  ! 

Abu.  Hear  me  once  more. 
'Tis  all  I  have  to  offer ;  mark  me  now  \ 
Caled  has  fworn  Eudocia  ihall  be  fafe. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  DAMASCUS.     39 

Pho.  Ha!  fafe! — but  how  ?  a  wretched  captive,  tool 

Abu.  He  fwears  fhe  (hall  be  free,  me  lhall  be  thine. 

Pho.  Then  I  am  loft,  indeed—'  O  cruel  bounty! 
*  How  can  I  be  at  once  both  curs'd  and  happy  ?' 

Abu.  The  time  draws  near,  and  I  muft  quickly  leave 

thee; 

But  firft  reflecl,  that  in  this  fatal  night 
Slaughter  and  rapine  may  be  loos'd  abroad. 
And  while  they  roam  with  undiftinguifh'd  rage, 
Should  Ihe  thou  lov'ft — well  may 'ft  thou  ftart — be 

made, 

Perhaps  unknown,  fome  barb'*ous  foldier's  prey. 
Should  fhe  then  fall  a  facrifice  to  luft, 
Or  brutal  fury  — 

Pho,  O — this  pulls  my  heart-ftrings  !  [Falls. 

Earth,  open — fave  me,  fave  me  from  that  thought, 
^There's  ruin  in  it,  'twill,  it  will  undo  me. 

Abu.  Nay,  do  not  plunge  thyfelf  in  black  defpair; 
Look  up,  poor  wretch,  thou  art  not  fhipwreck'd  yet, 
Behold  an  anchor;  am  not  I  thy  friend? 
'  Yet  hear  me  and  be  bleft.' 

Pho.  [rifing,~\  Hah  !  who,  what  art  thou  ?  [Raving. 
My  friend?   that's  well;    but  hold — are  all  friends 

honeft  ? 
What's  to  be  done? — Hum,  hark  !  what  voice  is  that? 

'Abu.  There  is  no  voice ;  'tis  yet  the  dead  of  night, 
The  guards,  without,  keep  filent  watch  around  us. 

Pho.  Again — it  calls — 'tis  fhe — O  lead  me  to  her— - 

Abu.  Thy  paffion  mocks  thee  with  imagin'd  founds. 

Pho.  Sure  'twas  Eudocia's  voice  cry'd  out— .Forbear. 
What  mail  I  do  ?— O  Heav'n  ! 

Abu.  Heav'n  fhews  thee  what. 
Nay,  now  it  is  too  late  ;  fee  Caled  comes 
With  anger  on  his  brow  ;  quickly  withdraw 
To  the  next  tent,  and  there — 

Pho.   [Raving.]  What  do  I  fee? 
Damafcus !  conqueft  !  ruin  !  rapes  and  murder ! 
Villains  ! — Is  there  no  way — O  fave  her,  fave  her  f 

[Exit  with  Abudah. 
Enter  Caled  «#</Daran. 

Par.  Behold,   on   thy   approach  they  ihift  tteir 
ground. 


4o    THE  SIEGE  OF  DAMASCUS. 

Cal.  'Tis  as  thou  fay'ft,  he  trifles  with  my  mercy, 

Dar.  Speak,  ihall  I  fetch  his  head  ? 

Cal.  No,  flay  thou  here, 

I  cannot  fpare  thee  yet.  Raphan,  go  thou.  [To  an  officer, 
But  hold — I've  thought  again— he  mall  not  die. 
Go,  tell  him  he  mail  live,  till  he  has  feen 
Damafcus  fink  in  flame,  'till  he  behold 
That  flave,  the  woman-idol  he  adores, 
Or  giv'n  a  prize  to  fome  brave  Muffulman, 
Or  flain  before  his  face;  then  if  he  fue 
For  death  as  for  a  boon— perhaps  we'll  grant  it. 

[Exit  Raphan, 

Dar.  The  captains  wait  thy  orders. 

Cal.  Are  the  troops 
Ready  to  march  ? 

Dar.  They  are. 

*  [ 7 'he  captains pafs  fy  as  they  are  named* 

Cal.  '  Where's  Abu-Taleb  > 
'  Alcorafh  ?— O,  your  valiant  tribes,  I  thank  'em, 

•  Fled  from  their  ilarfdard  1  will  they  now  redeem  it  ? 

•  Omar  and  Serjabil  ? — 'tis  well,  I  fee  'em. 

•  You  know  your  duty.     You,  Abdorraman, 

'  Mull  charge  with  Raphan.'     Mourn,  thou  haughty- 
city  ! 

The  bow  is  bent,  nor  can 'ft  thou  'fcape  thy  doom. 
Who  turns  his  back  henceforth,  our  prophet  curfe  him  I 
Dar.  But  who  commands  the  trufty  bands  of  Mecca? 
Thou  know'ft. their  leader  fell  in  the  laft  fight. 

Cal.  'Tis  true;   thou,  Daran,  well  deierv'ft  that 

charge ; 

I've  mark'd  what  a  keen  hatred,  like  my  own, 
Dwells  in  thy  breaft  againft  thefe  chriftian  dogs. 
Dar.  Thou  doll  me  right. 
Cal.  And  therefore  I'll  reward  it. 
Be  that  command  now  thine.    And  here— this  fabre, 
Blefs'd  in  the  field  by  Mahomet  himfelf 
At  Chaibar's  profperous  fight,  mall  aid  thy  arm. 
Dar.  Thanks,  my  good  chief:  with  this  I'll  better 
thank  thee.  [Taking  the/cimitar. 

Cal.  Myfelf  will   lead    the   troops  of  the  .black 

ftandard, 
And  at  the  eailern  gate  begin  the  florm. 

Dar. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  DAMASCUS.    41 

Dar.  But  why  do  we  not  move  ?  'twill  foon  be  day. 
Methinks  I'm  cold,  and  would  grow  warm  with  action. 

CaL  Then  hafte   and  tell  Abudah O   tkou'rt 

welcome, 

Enter  Abudah. 

Thy  charge  awaits  thee.     Where's  the  ftubborn  cap 
tive  ? 

Abu.  Indeed  he's  brave,     I  left  him  for  a  moment 
In  the  next  tent.     He's  fcarcely  yet  himfelf. 

CaL  But  is  he  ours  ? 

Abu.  The  threats  of  death  are  nothing ; 
Tho'  thy  lall  meflage  fhook  his  foul,  as  winds 
On  the  bleak  hills  bend  down  fome  lofty  pine ; 
Yet  ftill  he  held  his  root;  till  I  found  means, 
Abating  fomewhat  of  thy  firft  demand, 
If  not  to  make  him  wholly  ours,  at  leaft 
To  gain  fufficient  to  our  end. 
,  CaL  Say  how  ? 

Abu,  Oft  he  inclined,  oft  flatted  back ;  at  laft, 
When  juft  cpnfenting,  for  a  while  he  paus'd, 
Stood  fix'd  in  thought,  and  lift  his  eyes  to  Heav'n ; 
Then,  as  with  frefh  recover'd  force,  cry'd  out, 

Renounce  my  faith?  Never 1  anfwer'd,  no, 

That  now  he  mould  not  do  it. 

CaL  How? 

Abu.  Yet  hear. 

For  fmce  I  faw  him  now  fo  loft  in  pafiion, 
That  muft  be  left  to  his  more  temperate  thoughts. 
Mean  time  I  urg'd,  conjur'd,  at  laft  conitrain'd  him 
By  all  he  held  moft  dear,  nay,  by  the  voice 
Of  Providence,  that  call'd  him  now  to  fave, 
With  her  he  lov'd,  perhaps  the  lives  of  thoufands, 
No  longer  to  refift  his  better  fate, 
But  join  his  arms  in  prefent  action  with  us, 
And  fwear  he  would  be  faithful. 

CaL  What,  no  more  ? 
Then  he's  a  Chriftian  ftill. 

Abu.  Have  patience  yet : 
For  if  by  him  we  can  furprife  the  city— 

CaL  Say'ftthou? 

Abu.  Hear  what's  agreed ;  but  on  the  terms 
That  ev'ry  unrefifting  life  be  fpar'd. 

I  mail 


42    THE  SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS. 

I  mall  command  fome  chofen  faithful  bands  ; 
Phocyas  will  guide  us  to  the  gate,  from  whence 
He  late  efcap'd,  nor  do  we  doubt  but  there 
With  eafe  to  gain  admittance. 

CaL   This  is  fomething. 
.And  yet  I  do  not  like  this  haljf-ally— - 
Is  he  not  flill  a  Chriftian  ?•-  but  no  matter 
Mean  time  I  will  attack  the  eafterrr  gate ; 
Who  firlt  fucceeds  gives  entrance  to  the  reft. 
Hear,  all ! — Prepare  ye  now  for  boldeii  deeds, 
And  know  the  prophet  will  reward  your  valour* 
Think -that  ye  all  to  certain  triumph  move  ; 
Who  falls  in  fight  yet  meets  the  prize  above* 
.There,  in  the  gardens  of  eternal  fpring, 
While  birds  of  Paradife  around  you  fing, 
Each  with  his  blooming  Beauty  by  his  fide, 
Shall  drink  j«ch  wines  that  in  full  rivers  glide, 
Breathe  fragrant  gales  o'er  fields  of  fpice  that  blow, 
And  gather  fruits  immortal  as  they  grow  j 
Ecftatic  blifs  mail  your  whole  powers  employ, 
A-nd  ev'ry  fenfc  be  loft  in  ev'ry  joy.  [Exeunt* 


ACT    IV.     SCENE  A  great  fquare  in  tie  city> 
before  the  governor's  palace. 

Enter  Abudah,  Saracen  captains  and  foldiers ;  with 
Eumenes,  Herbis,  and  others  of  the  Chriftians  un 
armed* 


IT  muft  be  fo — Farewell,  devoted  walls ! — 
To   be  furpris'd  thus !— -  Hell   and   all    ye 

fiends, 
How  did  ye  watch  this  minute  for  deftruction  ! 

Herb.  We've  been  betray'd  by  riot  and  debauch  : 
Curfe  on  the  traitor  guard  ! 
Eum.  The  guard  above, 
Did  that  fleep  too  ? 

tnVU* 


THE  SIEGE  OF  DAMASCUS.    43 

Abu.  Chriftians,  complain  no  more. 
What  you  have  alk'd  is  granted.     Are  ye  men, 
And  dare  ye  queftion  thus,  with  bold  impatience, 
Eternal  Juftice  !—  Know,   the  doom  from  Heav'n 
Falls  on  your  towers,  refiftlefs  as  the  bolt 
That  fires  the  cedars  on  your  mountain  tops. 
Be  meek,  and  learn  with  humble  awe  to  bear 
The  mitigated  ruin.     Worfe  had  follow'd, 
Had  ye  oppos'dioiir  numbers.     Now  you're  fafej 
Quarter  and  liberty  are  giv'n  to  all ; 
And  little  do  you  think  how  much  ye  owe 
To  one  brave  enemy,  whom  yet  ye  know  not. 

Enter  Artamon  haftily. 
*  Art.  All's  loft  !- Ha  ! Who  are  thefe  ? 

Sum.  All's  loft,  indeed. 

Yield  up  thy  fvvord,  if  thou  would'ft  (hare  our  fafety. 
Thou  com'it  too  late  to  bring  us  news. 

Art.  O no. 

The  news  I  bring  is  from  the  eaftern  guard. 
Caled  has  forc'd  the  gate,  and  but  he's  here. 

[A  cry  without.]    Fly,  fly;  they  follow— quarter, 
mercy,    quarter*! 
[Several  perfons  as  purfutd  run  over  the  ft  age. 

Cal.    [without.]    No  quarter!    Kill,    I  fayj    are 
they  not  Chriftians  ? 

More  blood  !  our  prophet  afks  it. 

He  enters  with  Daran,  £sfr. 
What,  Abudah? 

Well  met !-— but  wherefore  are  thefe  looks  of  peace  ? 
Why  fleeps  thy  fword  ? 

Abu.  Caled,  our  taik  is  over.  • 
Behold  the  chiefs ;  they  have  refign'd  the  palace. 

Cal.  And  fworn  t'  obey  our  law  ? 

Abu.  No. 

Cal.  Then  fall  on. 

Abu.  Hold  yet,  and  hear  me— Heav'n  by  me  has 

fpar'd 

The  fword  its  cruel  tafk.     On  eafy  terms 
We've  gain'd  a  bloodlefs  conqueit. 

Cal.  I  renounce  it. 

Curfe  on  thofe  terms  ;  the  city's  mine  by  ftorra. 
Fall  on,  I  fav 


44    THE  SIEGE  OF  DAMASCUS. 

Abu.  Nay  then,  I  fwear  ye  {hall  not. 

Cal.  Ha  !— Who  am  I  ? 

Abu.  The  general,  and  I  know 
What  reverence  is  your  due. 

[Caled  gives  Jigns  to  his  men  to  fall  on. 
>  Nay,  he  who  ftirs, 

Firft  makes  his  way  thro*  me.    My  honour's  pledg'd  ; 
Rob  me  of  that  who  dares.   \Fbty  flop.]  I  know  thee, 

Caled, 

Chief  in  command  ;  bold,  valiant,  wife,  and  faith 
ful ; 

But  yet  remember  I'm  a  Muffulman ; 
Nay,  more,  thou  know'ft,  companion  of  the  prophet, 
And  what  we  vow  is  facred. 

Cal.  Thou'rt  a  Chriftian, 
1  fwear  thou  art,  and  haft  betray'd  the  faith. 
Curfe  on  thy  new  allies ! 

Abu.  No  more this  ftrife 

But  ill  befeems  the  fervants  of  the  Caliph, 

And  cafts  reproach — Chriftians,  withdraw  a  while  j 

I  pledge  my  life  to  anfwer  the  conditions — 

\Exiunt  Eumenes,  Herbis,  &t* 
Why,  Caled,  do  we  thus  expofe  ourfelves 
A  fcorn  to  nations  that  defpife  our  law  ? 
Thou  call 'ft  me  Chriftian — What !  Is  it  becaufc  • 
I  prize  my  plighted  faith,  that  I'm  a  Chriftian  ? 
Come,  'tis  not  well,  and  if — 

Cal.  What  terms  are  yielded  ? 

Abu.  Leave  to  depart,  to  all  that  will ;  an  oath 
Firft  giv'n,  no  more  to  aid  the  war  again  ft  us, 
An  unn^flefted  march.     Each  citizen 
To  take  his  goods,  not  more  than  a  mule's  burden  ; 
The  chiefs  fix  mules,  and  ten  the  governor. 
Befides  fome  few  flight  arms  for  their  defence 
Againft  the  mountain  robbers, 

CaL  Now,  by  Mahomet, 
Thou  haft  equip'd  an  army. 

Abu.  Canft  thoa  doubt 
The  greater  part  far  will  choofe  to  ftay, 
Receive  our  law,  or  pay  th'  accuftom'd  tribute  ? 
What  fear  we  then  from  a  few  wretched  bands 


SIEGE  of  DAMASCUS, 


?  SMITH 

/no£  neat 


no  CYA  s. 


T&  lo«r  _ 


i  j'ti/'hdid/^  flau  ?y,  iff?.  fy  '•  wwndej  £ 


THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS.    45 

Of  fcatter'd  fugitives  ?— Befides,  thou  know'ft 
What  towns  of  ftrength  remain  yet  unfubdu'd. 
Let  us  appear  this  once  like  generous  victors, 
So  future  conquefls  mall  repay  this  bounty, 
And  willing  provinces  e'en  court  fubje&ion. 

Cat.  Well — be  it  on  thy  head,  if  worfe  befall  ? 
This  once  I  yield — but  fee  it  then  proclaim'd 
Thro'  allDamafcus,  that  who  will  depart 
Muft  leave  the  place  this  inftant — Pafs,  move  on. 

[Exeunt* 

SCENE    II.      Fheoutjide  of  a  nunnery. 

End.  Darknefs  is  fled  ;  and  yet  the  morning  light 
Gives  me  more  fears  than  did  night's  deadly  gloom. 
Within,  without,  all,  all  are  foes — €)  Phocyas, 
Thou  art  perhaps  at  reft;  wou'd  I  were  too! 

[After  a  pauff. 

This  place  has  holy  charms ;  rapine  and  murder 
Dare  not  approach  it,  but  are  avv'd  to  diftance. 
I've  heard  that  e'en  thefe  infidels  have  fpar'd 
Walls  facred  to  deevotion — World,   farewell ! 
Here  will  I  hide  me,  'till  the  friendly  grave 
Open  its  arms  and  Ihelter  me  for  ever.  [Ji#7/., 

Enter  Phocyas. 

Pbo.  Did  I  not  hear  the  murmurs  of  a  voice, 
This  way  ? — a  woman's,  too  ? — and  feem'd  complain 
ing  ? 
Hark! — No— O  torture  !   Whither  fhall  I  turn  me? 

*  I've  fearch'd  the  palace  rooms  in  vain ;   and  now, 

*  I  know  not  why,  fome  inftincl:  brought  me  hither. — ' 
'Twas  here  laft  night  we  met.    Dear,  dear  Eudocia! 
Might  I  once  more —    [Going  out,  he  meets  her  entring. 

Eud.  Who  calls  the  loft  Eudocia? 
Sure  'tis  a  friendly  voice. 

Pho.  'Tis  me— O  rapture  ! 

Eud,  Is't  poilible — my  Phocyas ! 

Pho.  My  Eudocia! 
Do  I  yet  call  thee  mine  ? 

Eud.  Do  I  yet  fee  thee  ? 

Yet  hear  thee  fpeak  ? — O  how  haft  thou  efcap'd 
From    barbarous   fwords,   and   men   that  know  not 
mercy  ? 


46    THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS. 

Pho.  I've  borne  a  thoufand  deaths  fince  our  laft 

parting. 

But  wherefore  do  I  talk  of  death  ? — for  now, 
Methinks,  I'm  rais'd  almoft  to  life  immortal, 
And  feel  I'm  bleft  beyond  the  pow'r  of  change. 

Euet.  O  yet  beware left  fome  event  unknown 

Again  mould  part  us. 

Pho.  \_AJide  > ,"]  Heav'n  avert  the  omen  ! 
None  can,  my  fair,  none  mail. 

Eud.  Alas !  thy  tranfport 
Makes  thee  forget :  Is  not  the  city  taken  ? 

Pho.  It  is. 

Eud.  And  are  we  not  befet  with  foes  ? 

Pho.  There  are  no  foes — or  none  to  thee No 

danger. 

'  Eud.  No  foes  ? 

*  Pho.  I  know  not  how  to  tell  thee  yet 

But  think,  Eudocia,  that  my  matchlefs  love 
And  wondrous  caufes  preordain'd,  confpiring, 
For  thee  have  triumph'd  o'er  the  fierceft  foes, 
And  turn'd  'em  friends. 

s  Eud.  Amazement !   Friends  ? — 
O  all  ye  guardian  Powers ! — Say  on — O  lead  me, 
Lead  me  thro'  this  dark  maze  of  Providence 
Which  thou  haft  trod,  that  I  may  trace  thy  fteps 
With  iilent  awe,   and  wormip  as  I  pafs. 

*  Pho.  Enquire  no  more — thou  malt  know  all  here- 

f  after— 

•  Let  me  conduct  thee  hence— 

*  Eud.  O  whither  next  ? 

'  To  what  far  diftant  home  ? — But  'tis  enough, 

'  That,  favour'd  thus  of  Heav'n,  thou  art  my  guide. 

•  And  as  we  journey  on  the  painful  way, 

•  Say  wilt  thou  then  beguile  the  paffing  hours, 
'  And  open  all  the  wonders  of  thy  ftory  ?' 

Pho.  Indulge  no  more  thy  melancholy  thoughts ; 
Damafcus  is  thy  home. 

Eud.  And  yet  thou  fay 'ft 
Is  no  longer  ours ! — Where  is  my  father  ? 

Pbo.  To  mew  thee,   too,  how  Fate  feems  every 
way 

fcn.  s  'To 


THE    SIEGE    OF  DAMASCUS.     47 

To  guard  thy  fafety,  e'en  thy  father  now, 
Wert  thou  within  his  pow'r,  would  ftand  defeated 
Of  his  tyrannic  vow.     Thou  know*ft  laft  night 
What  hope  of  aids  flatter'd  this  foolifli  city  : 
At  break  of  day  th'  Arabian  fcouts  had  feiz'd 
A  fecond  courier,  and  from  him  'tis  learn'd 
That  on  their  march  the  army  mutiny'd, 
And  Eutyches  was  flain. 
'  End.  And  yet,  that  now 
Is  of  the  leaft  importance  to  my  peace. 
But  anfwer  me  ;  fay,  where  is  now  my  father  ?' 
Pbo.  Or  gone,  or  juft  preparing  to  depart. 
JEW.  What !  Is  our  doom  revers'd  ?  And  is  he  then 
The  wretched  fugitive  ? — 

Pho.  Thou  heav'nly  maid  ! 
To  free  thee,  then,  from  ev'ry  anxious  thought, 
Know,  I've  once  more,  wrong'd  as  I  am,  e'en  fav'd 
Thy  father's  threaten'd  life,  nay,  fav'd  Damafcus 
From  blood  and  (laughter,  and  from  total  ruin. 
Terms  are  obtain'd,  and  general  freedom  granted 
To  all  that  will,  to  leave  in  peace  the  city. 

Eud.  Is't  poifible — f  now  trufl  me  I  could  chida 
'  thee. 

*  'Tis  much  unkind  to  hold  me  thus  in  doubt;' 
I  pr'ythee  clear  thefe  wonders. 

*  Pbo.  'Twill  furprife  thee, 
'  When  thou  malt  know — 

'  Eiid.  What? 

'  Pbo.  To  what  deadly  gulphs 
f  Of  horror  and  defpair,  what  cruel  ftraits 
'  Of  agonizing  thought  I  have  been  driv'n 
'  This  night,  ere  my  perplex'd  bewilder'd  foul 

*  Could  find  its  way — thou  £aidft  that  thou  would'ft 

'  chide;  , -^ 

*  I  fear  thou  wilt ;  indeed  I  have  done  that 

I  could  have  wifh'd  t*  avoid — but  for  a  caufe 
So  lovely,  fo  belov'd. 

*  Eud.  What  doft  thou  mean  ? 

I'll  not  indulge  a  thought  that  thou  could'fl  do 
One  ad  unworthy  of  thyfelf,  thy  honour, 
And  that  firm  zeal  againil  thcfe  foes  of  Heav'n, 

'  Which 


THE   SIEGE    OP   DAMASCUS. 

Which  won  my  heart  at  firft  to  (hare  in  all 
Thy  dangers  and  thy  fame,  and  wiih  thee  mine. 
Thou  couldft  not  fave  thy  life  by  means  inglorious. 

*  Pbo.  Alas !  thou  know'ft  me  not — I'm  man,  frail 

*  man, 

To  error  born  ;  and  who  that's  man  is  perfect  ? 
To  fave  my  life  ?  O  .no,  well  was  it  rifk'd 
For  thee  !  had  it  been  loft,  'twere  not  too  much, 
And  thou  but  fafej — O  what  wouldft  thou  have 

•  faid, 

If  I  had  rifk'd  my  foul  to  fave  Eudocia  ? 

'  Eud.  Ha  !  fpeak — O  no,    be  dumb— it  cannot 

'be! 

And  yet  thy  looks  are  changed,  thy  lips  grow  pale. 
Why  doft  thou  make  ?—  alas !  I  tremble  too  ! 
Thou  couldft  not,  haft  not  fworn  to  Mahomet  ? 
'  Pbo.  No — I  mould  firft  have  dy'd — nay,  giv'n 

«  up  thee. 

*  End.  O  Phocyas !  Was  it  well  to  try  me  thus !— - 
And  yet  another  deadly  fear  fucceeds. 

How  came  thefe  wretches  hither  ?  Who  revived 

Their  fainting  arms  to  unexpected  triumph  f 

For  while  thou  fought'ft,  and  fought'ft  the  Chri& 

'  tian  caufe, 

Thefe  batter'd  walls  were  rocks  impregnable, 
Their  tow'rs  of  adamant.     But  O,  I  fear 
Some  act  of  thine.' 
Pbo.  Oh  !   I  muft  tell  thee  all. 
But  pr'ythee  do  not  frown  on  me,  Eudocia ! 
I  found  the  wakeful  foe  in  midnight  council 
Refolv'd  ere  day  to  make^a  frefh  attack, 
Keen  for  revenge,  and  hungry  after  (laughter. 
Could  my  rack'd  foul  bear  that,  and  think  of  thee  ! 
Nay,  think  of  thee  expos'd  a  helplefs  prey 
To  fome  fierce  ruffian's  violating  arms  ? 
O,   had  the  world  been  mine  in  that  extreme 
I  (hculd  have  giv'n  whole  provinces  away, 

Nay  all and  thought  it  little  for  thy  ranfom  ! 

Eud.  For  this  then Oh thou  haft  betray'd 

the  city  ? 
Diftruftful  in  the  righteous  Pow'rs  above, 

6  That 


THE   SIEGE    OF   DAMASCUS.     49 

That  ftill  proteft  the  chafte  and  innocent : 
And  to  avert  a  feign'd  uncertain  danger, 
Thou  haft  brought  certain  ruin  on  thy  country  ! 

Pbo.  No,  thou  forget'ft  the  friendly  terms the 

fword, 
Which   threaten'd   to  have   fill'd  thefe  ftreets  with 

blood, 

Is  (heath 'd  in  peace ;  thy  father,  thou,  and  all 
The  citizens  are  fafe,  uncaptiv'd,  free. 

Eud.    Safe?    free?    O   no — life,    freedom,    ev'ry 

good, 

Turns  to  a  curfe,  if  fought  by  wicked  means. 
Yet  fure  it  cannot  be  !  are  thefe  the  terms 
On  which  we  meet  ? — No — we  can  never  meet 
On  terms  like  thefe  ;  the  hand  of  death  itfelf 
Could  not  have  torn  us  from  each  others  arms      -joa 
Like  this  dire  aft,  this  more  than  fatal  blow ! 
In  death,  the  foul  and  body  only  part 
To  meet  again,  and  be  divorc'd  no  more  ; 
But  now. 

Pho.  Ha  !  Lightning  blaft  me !  Strike  me, 
Ye  vengeful  bolts  !  if  this  is  my  reward  I 
Are  thefe  my  hop'd  for  joys  ?  Is  this  the  welcome 
The  wretched  Phocyas  meets,  from  her  he  lov'd 

e  More  than  life,  fame, e'en  to  his  foul's  diftrac- 

tion  ? 

Eud.  Hadft  thou  not  help'd  the  flaves  of  Mahomet, 
To  fpread  their  impious  conquefts  o'er  thy  country, 
What  welcome  was-there  in  Eudocia's  power 
She  had  withheld  from  Phocyas  ?  '  but  alas  ! 

*  'Tis  thou  haft  blafted  all  our  joys  for  ever, 

*  And  cut  down  hope  like  a  poor  mort-lived  flower, 

*  Never  to  grow  again  !' 
Pbo.  Cruel  Eudocia! 

If  in  my  heart's  deep  anguifti  I've  been  forc'd 

A  while  from  what  I  was doft  thou  rejeft  me  ? 

Think  of  the  caufe 

Eud.  The  caufe  !  There  is  no  caufe  ! 
Not  univerfal  nature  could  afford 
A  caufe  for  this.     What  were  dominion,    pomp, 
The  wealth  of  nations,  nay,  of  all  the  world, 

C  «  The 


50    THE    SIEGE    OF  DAMASCUS. 

*  The  world  itfelf,  or  what  a  thoufand  worlds,* 
If  weigh'd  with  faith  unfpotted,  heav'nly  truth, 
Thoughts  free  from  guilt,  the  empire  of  the  mind, 
And  all  the  triumphs  of  a  godlike  breaft 

Firm  and  unmov'd  in  the  great  caufe  of  virtue  ? 

Pho.  How  fhall  I  anfwer  thee  ? — My  foul  is  aw'd, 
And  trembling  owns  th'  eternal  force  of  reafon  ! 
But  oh  !  can  nothing  then  atone,  or  plead 
For  pity  from  thee  ? 

Eud.  Canft  thou  yet  undo 

The  deed  that's  done,  recall  the  time  that's  paft  r 
'  O  call  back  yefterday,  call  back  lail  night, 

*  Tho'  with  its  fears,  its  dangers,  its  diftrefs ;' 
Bid  the  fair  hours  of  innocence  return, 
When,  in  the  loweft  ebb  of  changeful  fortune, 
Thou  wert  more  glorious  in  Eudocia's  eyes 

Than  all  the  pride  of  monarchs  ! but  that  deed— 

Pfoo.  No  more thou  waken 'ft  in  my  tortur'd 

heart 
The  cruel,  confcious  worm  that  flings  to  madnefs. 

0  I'm  undone  !— - — I  know  it,  and  can  bear 
To  be  undone  for  thee ;  but  not  to  lofe  thee. 

Eud,    Poor  wretch  ! — —I   pity  thee  !— — but  art 
thou  Phocyas  ! 

The  man  I  lov'd  ?- 1  could  have  dy'd  with  thee 

Ere  thou  didft  this ;  then  we  had  gone  together, 

A  glorious  pair,  and  foar'd  above  the  ftars, 

'  Bright  as  the  ftars  themfelves ;  and  as  we  pafs'd 

*  The  heav'nly  roads  and  milky  ways  of  light, 

*  Had  heard  the  bleft  inhabitants  with  wonder 

*  Applaud  our  fpotlefs  love.'     But  never,  never 
Wijl  I  be  made  the  curft  reward  of  treafon, 

To  feal  thy  doom,  to  bind  a  hellifh  league, 
And  to  infure  thy  everlafting  woe. 

Pbo.  What  league  ? — 'tis  ended — I  renounce  it— 
thus —  [Knetls. 

1  bend  to  Heav'n  and  thee O  thou  divine, 

Thou  matchlefs  image  of  all-perfecl  goodnefs  ! 
Do  thou  but  pity  yet  the  wretched  Phocyas, 
Heav'n  will  relent,  and  all  may  yet  be  well. 

Eud. 


THE   SIEGE  OF   DAMASCUS.     51 

End.  No— we  muft  part.     'Twill  aflc  whole  years 

of  forrow 

To  purge  away  this  guilt.     Then  do  not  think 
Thy  Jofs  in  me  is  worth  one  dropping  tear ; 
But,  if  thou  wouldft  be  reconcil'd  to  Heav'n, 
Firft  facrifice  to  Heav'n  that  fatal  paffion 
Which  caus'd  thy  fall— Farewell:  e  Forget  the  loft — 

«  But  how  fliall  I  aflc  that  ? 1  would  have  faid, 

'  For  thy  foul's  peace,'  forget  the  loft  Eudocia: 

Canft  thou  forget  her  ? Oh  !  the  killing  torture, 

To  think  'twas  love,  excefs  of  love,  divorc'd  us  I 

Farewell  for ftill  I  cannot  fpeak  that  word, 

Thefe  tears  fpeak  for  me— O  farewell. —  [Exit. 

Pho.  [Raving.]   Forever! 
Return,  return  and  fpeak  it;  fay  forever! 

She's  gone and  now  me  joins  the  fugitives. 

And  yet  (he  did  not  pronounce  my  doom 

O  hear,  all- gracious  Heav'n  !  wilt  thou  at  once 
Forgive,  and  O  infpire  me  to  fome  acl: 
This  day,  that  may  in  part  redeem  what's  paft ! 
Profper  this  day,  or  let  it  be  my  laft.  [Exit. 


A  C  T    V.     S  C  E  N  E  an  open  place  in  tkt  city. 

Enter  Caled  and  Daran  meeting* 

Cat.  QOLDIER,   what    news ?   thou   look'ft  as 
i5  thou  wert  angry. 

Dar.  And,  durft  I  fay  it,  fo,  my  chief,  I  am, 
I've  fpoke      •  if  it  offends,  my  head  is  thine, 
Take  it,  and  I  am  filent. 

Cal.  No  ;  fay  on. 

I  know  thee  honeft,  and  perhaps  I  guefs 
What  knits  thy  brow  in  frowns 

Dar.  Is  this,  my  leader, 

A  conquer'd  city  ! View  yon  vale  of  palms : 

Behold  the  vanquifh'd  Chriftian  triumphs  ftill, 
Rich  in  his  flight,  and  mocks  thy  barren  war. 

C  2  Cal. 


53     THE   SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS, 

Cal.  The  vale  of  palms  ! 

Dar.  Beyond  thofe  hills,  the  place 
Where  they  agreed  this  day  to  meet  and  halt, 
To  gather  all  their  forces  ;  there,  difguis'd, 
Juft  now  I've  vievy'd  their  camp — O  I  could  curfe 
My  eyes  for  what  they've  feen. 

Cal.  What  haft  thou  feen  ? 

Dar.  Why,  all  Damafcus ; — All  its  foul,  its  life, 
Its  heart's  blood,  all  its  treafure,  piles  of  plate, 
Croffes  enrich'd  with  gems,  arras  and  filks, 
And  vefts  of  gold,  unfolded  to  the  fun, 
That  rival  all  his  luilre. 

Cal.  How! 

Dar.   'Tis  true. 

The  bees  are  wifely  bearing  off  their  honey, 
And  foon  the  empty  hive  will  be  our  own. 

Cal.   So  forward  too  ?  Curfe  on  this  foolim  treaty. 

Dar.  Forward — it  looks  as  they  had    been  fore 
warn 'd. 

By  Mahomet,  the  land  wears  not  the  face 
Of  war,  but  trade  ;  and  thou  wouldft  fwear  its  mer 
chants 

Were  fending  forth  their  loaded  caravans 
To  all  the  neighbouring  countries. 

*  Cal.  [Aftde.]  Ha  !   this  Harts 

A  lucky  thought  of  Mahomet's  firft  exploit, 
When  he  purfu'd  the  caravan  of  Coram, 
And  from  a  thoufand  mif-believing  flavcs 
Wrefted  their  ill-heap'd  goods,  transferr'd  to  thrive 

In  holier  hands,  and  propagate  the  faith. 

[ToDaran.]  'Tis  faid,  the  Emperor  had  a  ward- 

'  robe  here 
'  Of  coftly  filks. 

*  Dar.  That,  too,  they  have  remov'd.' 

Cal.  Dogs  !  infidels  !  'tis  more  than  was  allow'd. 
Dar.  And  mail    we    not    purfue   'em — Robbers! 

thieves  ! 

That  fteal  away  themfelves,  and  all  they're  worth, 
And  wrong  the  valiant  foldier  of  his  due. 

Cal.  [Aftde.]  The  caliph  mall  know  this— he  fliall, 
Abudah. 

This 


THE    SIEGE    OF   DAMASCUS.     53 

This  is  thy  coward  bargain- 1  renounce  it. 

Daran,  we'll  flop  their  march,  and  make  a  fearch. 

Dar.   And  ft  rip  ? 

Cat.  And  kill. 

Dar.  That's  well.     And  yet  I  fear 
Abudah's  Chriitian  friend. 

Col.  If  poflible, 

He  mould  not  know  of  this ;  no,  nor  Abudah. 
By  the  feven  heav'ns !  his  foul's  a  Chriftian  too, 
And  'tis  by  kindred  inftindt  he  thus  faves 
Their  curfed  lives,  and  taints  our  caufe  with  mercy* 

Dar.  I  knew  my  general  would  not  fuffer  this  : 
Therefore  I've  troops  prepar'd  without  the  gate, 
Juft  mounted  for  purfuit.     Our  Arab  horfe 
Will  in  few  minutes  reach  the  place  ;  yet  Itill 

I  muft  repeat  my  doubts that  devil  Phocyas 

Will  know  it  foon 1  met  him  near  the  gate, 

My  nature  fickens  at  him,  and  forebodes 
I  know  not  what  of  ill.. 

CaL  No  more- ;  away 

With  thy  cold  fears we'll  march  this  very  inftant, 

And  quickly  make  this  thriftlefs  conqueft  good  : 
The  fword  too   has  been  wrong'd,    and   thirits  for 
blood.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  A  valley  full  of  tents  \  baggage  and 
harnefs  lying  up  and  down  among  ft  them.  *The  prof- 
peft  terminating  with  palm-trees  and  hills  at  a  dif- 
tance. 

Eumenes,  with  officers,  attendants,  and  crowds  of  the 
people  of  Damafcus. 

Eum.   [Entering.}    Sleep   on — and   angels    be    thy 

guard  ! — foft  fl umber 

Has  gently  ilole  her  from  her  griefs  awhile. 
Let  none  approach  the  tent.— Are  out-guards  plac'd 
On  yonder  hills  ?  [To  an  officer, 

i   Off.  They  are. 

Eum.   \ftriking  his  breaft.]  Damafcus  !   Oh 

Still  are  than  here  .? Let  me  intreat  you,  friends, 

C  3  To 


54    THE  SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS. 

To  keep  ftrift  order  ;  I  have  no  command, 
And  can  but  now  advife  you. 

i  Cit.  You  r.re  ftill 
Our  head  and  leader. 

'  2  Cit.  We  refolve  t'  obey  you.' 

3  Cit.  We're  all  prepared  to  follow  you. 

Eutn.  I  thank  you. 

TJhe  fun  will  foon  go  clown  upon  our  forrows, 
And  'till  to-morrow's  dawn  this  is  our  home : 
Mean  while,  each,  as  he  can,  forget  his  lofs, 
And  bear  the  preftnt  lot.- 

Officer.    Sir,  I  have  mark'd 

The'camp's  extent ;  'tis  ftretch'd  quite  thro'  the  val 
ley. 
I  think  that  more  than  half  the  city's  here. 

Eum.  The  profpeft  gives  me  much  relief.     I'm 

pleas'd 

My  honeft  countrymen,  t'  obferve  your  numbers  j 
And  yet  it  fills  my  eyes  with  tears         'Tis  faid 
The  mighty  Perfian  wept,  when  he  furveyM 
His  numerous  army,  but  to  think  'em  mortal ; 
Yet  he  then  flourifh'd  in  profperity. 

Alas !  what's  that  ? Prosperity  ?  a  harlot 

That  fmiles  but  to  betray  ?  O  mining  ruin  ! 
Thou  nurfe  of  paffions,  and  thou  bane  of  virtue ! 
O  felf-deftroying  moafter  I  that  art  blind. 
Yet  putt'ft  our  reason's  eyes,  that  ftill  mould  guide 

thee, 

Then  plungeft  down  fome  precipice  unfeen, 
And  art  no  more  !— Hear  me,  all-gracious  Heav'n  1 
Let  me  wear  out  my  fmall  remains  of  life 
Obfcure,  content  with  humble  poverty, 
Or  in  affliction's  hard  but  wholefome  fchool, 

If  it  muft  be I'll  learn  to  know  myfelf, 

And  that's  more  worth  than  empire.  But,  O  Heav'n, 
Curfe  me  no  more  with  proud  profperity  ! 
It  has  undone  me  ! — Herbis,  where,  my  friend, 
Haft  thou  been  this  long  hour  ? 

Enter  Herbis. 
On  yonder  fummit, 


THE   SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS.     55 

To  take  a  farewel  profpecl  of  Damafcus. 

Eum.  And  is  it  worth  a  look  ? 

Herb.  No I've  forgot  it. 

All  our  poflefiions  are  a  grafp  of  air  : 
We're  cheated  whilft  we  think  we  hold  them  faft ; 
And  when  they're  gone,  we  know  that  they  were  no 
thing. 
But  I've  a  deeper  wound. 

Eum.  Poor  good  old  man  ! 
'Tis  true; — thy  fon — there  thou'rt  indeed  unhappy* 

Enter  Artamon. 
What,  Artamon  ? art  thou  here,  too  ? 

Art.  Yes,  fir. 

I  never  boafted  much  of  my  religion, 
Yet  I've  fome  honour  and  a  foldier's  pride  : 
I  like  not  thefe  new  lords. 

Eum.  Thou'rt  brave  and  honeft. 
Nay,  we'll  not  yet  defpair.     A  time  may  come 
When  from  thefe  brute  barbarians  we  may  wreft 
Once  more  our  pleafant  feats. — Alas  !  how  foon 
The  flatterer  Hope  is  ready  with  his  fong 
To  charm  us  to  forgetfulnefs ! — No  more — 
Let  that  be  left  to  Heav'n  ; — See,  Herbis,  fee, 
Methinks  we've  here  a  goodly  city  yet ! 
Was  it  not  thus  our  great  forefathers  liv'd, 
In  better  times  ? — in  humble  fields  an4  tents, 
With    all    their    flocks  and  herds,    their    moving 

wealth  ? 

See  too!  where  our  own  Pharphar  winds  his  ftream 
Thro'  the  long  vale,  as  if  to  follow  us, 
And  kindly  offers  his  cool  wholfome  draughts, 
To  eafe  us  in  our  march  !  Why,  this  is  plenty. 

Enter  Eudocia. 

My  daughter  ? — wherefore  haft  thou  left  thy  tent  ? 
What  breaks  fo  foon  thy  reft  ? 

Eud.  Reft  is  not  there, 

Or  I  have  fought  in  vain,  and  cannot  find  ito 
Oh  no— we're  wanderers,  it  is  our.  doom  : 
There  is  no  reft  for  us. 
Eum.  Thou  art  not  well. 

C    A 


56    THE  STEGE   OF  DAMASCUS. 

Eud.  *  I  would,  if  poflible,  avoid  myfelf.' 
I'm  better  now  near  you. 

Eum.  Near  me  ? alas  ! 

The  tender  vine  fo  wreaths  its  folded  arms 
Around  Tome  falling  elm  ! — it  wounds  my  heart 
To  think  thou  fbllow'ft  but  to  mare  my  my  ruin. 
I  have  loft  all  but  thee. 

Eud.  O  fay  not  fo. 

You  have  loft  nothing ;   no you  have  preferv'd,. 

Immortal  wealth,  your  faith  inviolate 

To  Heav'n  and  to  your  country.     Have  you  not 

Refus'd  to  join  with  profp'rous  wicked  men, 

And  hold  from  them  a  falfe  inglorious  greatnefs  ? 

Ruin  is  yonder,  in  Damafcus  now 

The  feat  abhorr'd  of  curfed  infidels. 

Infernal  error,  like  a  plague,  has  fpread 

Contagion  thro'  its  guilty  palaces, 

And  we  are  fled  from  death. 

Eum.   Heroic  maid ! 

Thy  words  are  balfam  to  my  griefs.     Eudocia, 
I  never  knew  thee  till  this  day  ;  I  knew  not 
How  many  virtues  I  had  wrong'd  in  thee. 

Eud.  If  you  talk  thus  you  have  not  yet  forgiv'n 
me. 

Eum.  Forgiv'n  thee? — why,  for  thee  it  is,   thee 

only 

I  think  Heav'n  yet  may  look  with  pity  on  us ; 
Yes,  we  muft  all  forgive  each  other  now. 

Poor  Herbis,  too we  both  have  been  to  blame, 

O  Phocyas but  it  cannot  be  recall'd* 

Yet  were  he  here,   we'd  afk  him  pardon  too. 
My  child 1  meant  not  to  provoke  thy  tears. 

Eud.  [Ajtde.]  O  why  is  he  not  here  ?  Why  do  I  fee 
Thoufands  of  happy  wretches,  that  but  feenv 
Undone,  yet  ftill  are  bleft  in  innocence, 
And  why  was  he  not  one  r 

Enter  an  Officer. 

I   Off".  Where  is  Eumencs  ? 

Eum.  What  means  thy  breathlefs  hafte  ? 

i   Of.  I  fear  there's  danger ; 
For  as  I  kept  my  watch,  I  fpy'd  afar 

Thick 


THE    SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS.    57 

Thick  clouds  of  dull,  and  on  a  nearer  view 
Perceiv'd  a  body  of  Arabian  horfe 
Moving  this  way.     I  faw  them  wind  the  hill,. 
And  then  loft  fight  of  'em. 

Herb.  I  faw  'em,  too, 

Where  the  roads  meet  on  t'other  fide  thefe  hills, 
But  took  them  for  fome  band  of  Chriftian  Arabs 
Croffing  the  country. — This  way  did  they  move  ? 

1  Off.  With  utmoft  fpeed. 

Eum.  If  they  are  Chriftian  Arabs, 
They  come  as  friends  j  if  other,  we're  fecure 
By  the  late  terms.     Retire  awhile,  Eudocia, 
Till  I  return,  [Exit  Eudociav 

P1L  to  the  guard  myfelf. 
Soldier,  lead  on  the  way. 

Enter  another  Officer*. 

2  Ojf.   Arm,  arm  !  we're  ruin'd  I 
The  foe  is  in  the  camp.. 

Eum..  So  foon  ? 
2  Of.  They've  quitted 

Their  horfes,  and  with  fword  in  hand  have  forc'ct 
Our  guard  :   they  fay  they  come  for  plunder. 

Eum.  Villains  !. 

Sure  Caled  knows  not  of  this  treachery. 
Come  on — we  can  fight  ftill.     We'll  make  'em  knowr 
What  'tis  to  urge  the  wretched  to  defpair.       [Exeunt* 
[A  noife  of  fighting  is  heard  for  fome  time* 
Enter  Daran,  with  a  party  of  Saracenyo/^V/v., 
Dar.  Let  the  fools  fight  at  diftance.— Here's  the 

har.veft. 

Reap,    reap,    my  countrymen  ! — '   Ay,    there — firft 
clear 

'  Thofe  further  tents.' 

[Exeunt.  foUiers  bearing  off 'baggage ',   &O. 
[Looking  between  the  tents.'}  What's  here,  a  woman  ?-— 
Fair  t    »  '',. 

She  feems,  and  well  atdr'd  ! — -Itfhall  be  fo, 

I'll  ftrip  her  firft,  and  then 

[Exit  ;  and  returns  nvith  Eudocia.- 
Eud.  [Struggling.]  Mercy,  O  fpare  me  ! 

C  5  HeIP> 


53    THE   SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS. 

Help,  fave  me  !-— What,  no  help — Barbarian  !  mon- 

fter! 
Heav'n,  hear  my  cries. 

Dar.  Woman,  thy  cries  are  vain, 
No  help  is  near. 

Enttr  Phocyas. 

Pbo.  Villain,  thou  ly'ft !  take  that 
To  loofe  thy  hold—     \Pujhing  at  htm  with  bis  f pear. 

Dar.  '  What,  thou  ?  my  evil  fpirit ! 
'  Is't  thou  that  haunt'ft  me  Hill  ? — but  thus  I  thank 
*  thee,          [Offering  to  ftrikc  with  bis  fcimitar. 

'  It  will  not  be* Lightning  for  ever  blaft 

This  coward  arm  that  fails  me  ! — O  vile  Syrian, 

[Falls. 

I'm  kill'd— O  curfe [Dies. 

Pho.  '  Die  then ;  thy  curfes  choke  thee  ! ' 

Eudocia ! 

Eud.  Phocyas! O  aftonifhment ! 

Then  is  it  thus  that  Heav'n  has  heard  my  pray'rs  ? 
I  tremble  flill — and  fcarce  have  power  to  aik  thee 
How  thou  art  here  ?  *  or  whence  this  fudden  outrage  ? 
'  Pbo.  [Walking  aftde.}  The  blood  ebbs  back  that 
'  fill'd  my  heart,  and  now 

*  Again  her  parting  farewell  awes  my  foul, 

*  As  if  'twere  fate,  and  not  to  be  revok'd. 

,*  Will  (he  not  now  upbraid  me  ?  See  thy  friends  ! 

*  Are  thefe,  are  thefe  the  villains  thou  haft  trulted  ? 

*  Eud.  What  means  this  murmur'd  forrow  to  thy- 

«  felf? 

*  Is  it  in  vain  that  thou  haft  refcued  me 

*  From  favage  hands  ?— Say,  what's  th'  approaching 

'  danger  ? 

'  Pbo.  Sure  ev'ry  angel  watches  o'er  thy  fafety  ! 
'  Thou  feeft  'tis  death  £  approach  thee  without  awe, 

*  And  barbarifm  itfelf  cannot  profane  thee. 

•  Eud.  Th'ou  doft  not  anfwer,'  whence  are  thefe 

alarms  ? 
Pbo.  Some   flores  remov'd,    and    not   allow'd  by 

treaty, 

Have  drawn  the  Saracens  to  make  a  fearch. 
perhaps  'twill  quickly  be  agreed— but  Oh  ! 

c  Thou 


THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS.    59 

Thou  know'ft,  Eudocia,  I'm  a  banifti'd  man, 
And  'tis  a  crime  I'm  here  once  more  before  thee; 
Elfe,  might  I  fpeak,  'twere  better  for  the  prefent 
If  thou  wouldft  leave  this  place. 

Eud.  No I've  a  father, 

(And  mall  I  leave  him  ?)  whom  we  both  have  wrong'd, 
'  Or  he  had  not  been  thus  driv'n  out,  expos'd, 
*  The  humble  tenant  of  this  fhelt'ring  vale 

'  For  one  poor  night's  repofe.' And  yet,  alas  !' 

For  this  laft  aft  how  would  I  thank  thee,  PJiocyas  ?— 
I've  nothing  now  but  pray'rs  and  tears  to  give, 
Cold  fruitlefs  thanks — But  'tis  fome  comfort  yet 
That  fate  allows  this  fhort  reprieve,  that  thus 
We  may  behold  each  other,  and  once  more 
May  mourn  our  woes,  ere  yet  we  part. — — 

Pho.  For  ever ! 

'Tis  then  refolv'd it  was  thy  cruel  fenfence  ; 

And  I  am  here  to  execute  that  doom. 

Eud.  What  doft  thou  mean  ? 

Pho.  [Kneeling.}  Thus  at  thy  feet 

Eud.  O  rife ! 

Pbo.  Never — No,  here  I'll  lay  my  burthen  down  5 
I've  try'd  its  weight,  nor  can  fupport  it  longer. 
Take  thy  laft  look ;  if  yet  thy  eyes  can  bear 
To  look  upon  a  wretch  accurft,  caft  off 
By  Heav'n  and  thee- — a  little  longer  yet 
And  I  am  mingled  with  my  kindred  duft, 
By  thee  forgotten  and  the  world, 

Eud.  Forbear  ! 

O  cruel  man  !  why  wilt  thou  rack  me  thus  ? 
Didft  thou  not  mark — thou  didft,  when  laft  we  part 
ed, 

The  pangs,  the  ftrugglings  of  my  fuffering  foul  ? 
That  nothing  but  the  hand  of  Heav'n  itfelf 
Could  e'er  divide  me  from  thee  r — Doft  thou  now 
Reproach  me  thus  ?   Or  can 'it  thou  have  a  thought 
That  I  can  e'er  forget  thee  ? 

Pbo.  [Rifing.~\  Have  a  care  ! 
I'll  not  be  tortur'd  more  with  thy  falfe  pity  ; 
No,  I  renounce  it.     See,  I  am  prepar'd. 

[Shewing  a  dagger. 
C  6  Thy 


60    THE   SIEGE  OF   DAMASCUS. 

Thy  cruelty  is  mercy  now Farewell. 

And  Death  is  now  but  a  releafe  from  torment. 

Eud.  Hold — Stay   thee    yet— O  madnefs   of    de- 

fpair ! 
And  wouldft  thou  die  ?  Think,    ere  thou  leap  the 

gulph, 

When  thou  hail  trod  that  dark,  that  unknown  way, 
Canrt  thou  return  ?   What  if  the  change  prove  worfe,, 
O  think,  if  then 

Pho.  No Thought's  my  deadlieft  foe  ; 

*Tis  Hngring  racks,  and  flow  confuming  fires, 
And  therefore  to  the  grave  I'd  fly  to  fhun  it. 

End.  O  fatal  error — -Like  a  reftlefs  ghoft, 
It  will  purfue  and  haunt  thee  ftill,  e'en  there, 
Perhaps  in  forms  more  frightful.  '  Death's  a  name 

*  By  which  poorgueffing  mortals  aredeceiv'd, 

*  'Tis  no  where  to  be  found.     Thou  fly'ft  in  vain 
'  From  life,  to  meet  again  with  that  thou  fly'ft.' 
How  wilt  thou  curfe  thy  rafhnefs  then  ?  How  ftart, 
And  fh udder,  and  (hrink  back  ?  yet  how  avoid 
To  put  on  thy  new  being  ? 

Pho.  So  ! I  thank  thee  ! 

For  now  I'm  quite  undone— I  gave  up  all 

For  thee  before,  but  this  ;  this  bofom  friend, 

My  laft  referve. — There^—  [T'/jrows  away  the  dagger.- 

Tell  me  now,  Eudocia, 

Cut  off  from  hope,  deny'd  the  food  of  life, 

And  yet  forbid  to  die,  what  am  I  now  ? 

Or  what  will  Fate  do  with  me  ? 

End.   Oh——  [  'Turns  arway  weeping. 

Pho.  Thou  weep'ft  \ 

Canil  thou  Ihed  tears,  and  yet  not  melt  to  mercy? 
O  fay,  ere  yet  returning  madnefs  feize  me, 
Is  there  in  all  futurity  no  profpecl, 
No  diftant  comfort  ?  Not  a  glimmering  light 
To  guide  me  thro'  this  maze  ?  Or  muft  I  now 
Sit  down  in  darknefs  and  defpair  for  ever  ? 

[Here  they  both  continue  filent  for  fome  time* 
Still  art  thou  filent  ? — Speak,  difclofe  my  doom,  J 
That's  now  fufpended  in  this  awful  moment  ! 
O  fpeak — for  now  my  pafiions  wait  thy  voice ; 

z  ,  My 


THE  SIEGE  OF  DAMASCUS.     61 

My  beating  heart  grows  calm,  my  blood  ftands  ilifl,  . 
Scarcely  I  live,  or  only  live  to  hear  thee. 

Eud.  If  yet—  But  can  it  be  I  —  I  fear  —  O  Phoayas, 
Let  me  be  filent  ftill  I 

Pho.  Hear  then  this  laft, 

This  only  pray'r  !-  -  Heav'n  will  confent  to  this. 
Let  me  but  follow  thee,   where-e'er  thou  goeft, 
But  fee  thee,  hear  thy  voice  ;   be  thou  my  angel,  , 
To  guide  and  govern  my  returning  ileps, 
'Till  long  contrition  and  unweary'd  duty 
Shall  expiate  my  guilt.     Then  fay,  Eudocia, 
If  lik%e  a  foul  anneal'd  in  purging  fires, 
After  whole  years  thou  feeft  me  white  again,. 
When  thou,  ev'n  thou  malt  think. 

Eud.  No  more  --  This  makes 
My  firmeil  thoughts,  and  if  -- 

[Here  a  cry  is  heard  of  perfons  JIaughte  red  in  the  camp*. 
•  -  What  Ihrieks  of  death  ! 

I  fear  the  treacherous  foe  —  Again  !   and  louder  !    •  >'i 
Then  they've  begun  a  fatal  harveft  !  -  Hafte, 
Prevent  —  O  wouldft  thou  fee  me  more  with  comfort, 
Fly,   fave  'em,  fave  the  threaten  'd  lives  of  Chrif- 


My  father  and  his  friends  !  —  I  dare  not  ftay  - 
Heav'n  be  my  guide  to  ihun  this  gathering  ruin. 

[Exit  Eudocia. 

Afoflf/Thocyas.     Enter  Caled. 
Cat.  [Entering.']  So  —  Slaughter,  do  thy  work! 
—  —  Thefe  hands  look  well.         [Looking  on  his  hands. 
The  jovial  hunter,  ere  he  quits  the  field, 
Firft  figns  him  in  the  flag's  warm  vital  ilream 
With  ftains  like  thefe,  to  mew  'twas  gallant  fport. 
Phocyas  !  Thou'rt  met  !  —  But  whether  thou  art  here  . 

[  Comes  forward* 

A  friend  or  foe  I  know  not  ;  if  a  friend* 
Which  is  Eumenes'  tent  ? 

Pho.  Hold,  --  'pafs  no  further., 
Cal.  Say'ft  thou,  not  pafs  ? 
Pho.  No  --  on  thy  life  no  further. 
Cal,  What,  doft  thou  frown  tool  —  fure  thou  know'il 
me  not  I 

Ph. 


62    THE  SIEGE   OF   DAMASCUS. 

Pho.  Not  know  thee  ? — Yes,  too  well  I  know  thee 

now, 

O  murd'rous  friend  !   Why  all  this  wafle  of  blood  ? 
Didft  thou  not  promife. . 

Cat.  Promife  !— — Infolence  ! 
'Tis  well,  'tis  well — '  For  now  I  know  thee  too. 
'  Perfidious  mungrel  flave  !  Thoil  double  traitor  ! 
'  Falfe  to  thy  firft  and  to  thy  latter  vows  ! 

•  Villain  !' 

Pho.  '  That's  well— Go  on — I  fvvear  I  thank  thee. 

*  Speak  it  again,  and  ftrike  it  thro*  my  ear !» 

A  villain!  Yes,   thou  mad'ft  me  fo,  thou  devil! 
And  mind'ft  me  now  what  to  demand  from  thee. 
Give,  give  me  back  my  former  felf,  my  honour, 
My  country's  fair  efteem,  my  friends,  my  all— 
Thou  canft  not — O  thou  robber  ! — Give  me  then 
Revenge,  or  death  !  The  laft  I  well  deferve, 
That  yielded  up  my  foul's  beft  wealth  to  thee, 
For  which  accurft  be  thou,  and  curft  thy  prophet ! 
CaL  Hear'ft  thou  this,  Mahomet  I — Blafpheming 

mouth ! 

For  this  thou  foon  malt  chew  the  bitter  fruit 
Of  Zacon's  tree,  the  food  of  friends  below. 

Go— —  fpeed  thee  thither.- 

[Pufhing  at  him  with  bis  lance,  which  Phocyas 

puts  by  and  kills  him. 
Pho.  Go  thou  firit  thyfelf. 
CaL  [Falling.}  O  dog  !  Thou  gnaw'ft  my  heart ! — 

falfe  Mahomet ! 

Is  this,  is  this  then  my  reward  for — O —  [Dies, 

"  Pho.   ¥  hanks    to  the    Gods  I  have  reveng'd  my 

"  country."  [Exit  Phocyas. 

Several  parties  o/*Chriftians  and  Saracens  pafs  over  the 

further  part  of  the  ft  age  fghting.      The  former  are 

beaten.     At  laft  Eumenes  rallies  them,  and  makes  a. 

ftand.     Then  enter  Ahudah  attended. 

Alu.  Forbear,    forbear,    and    fheath    the    bloody 

fword  ! 
Eum.   Abudah  !   is  this  well? 

Abu.  No 1  muft  own 

You've  caufe.—O  MuiTulmans,  look  here,  behold 

Where, 


THE   SIEGE  OF  DAMASCUS.    63 

Where,  like  a  broken  fpear,  your  arm  of  war 
Is  thrown  to  earth  ! 

Eum.  Ha!  Caled? 

Abu.  Dumb  and  breathlefs. 
Then  thus  has  Heav'n  chaftis'd  us  in  thy  fall, 
And  thee  for  violated  faith ;  farewel, 
Thou  great,   but  cruel  man  ! 

Eum.  This  thirft  of  blood 
In  his  own  blood  is  quench'd. 

Abu.  Bear  hence  his  clay 
Back  to  Damafcus.     '  Cafl  a  mantle  firft 
'  O'er  this  fad  fight.  So  mould  we  hide  his  faults. — •' 
Now  hear,  ye  fervants  of  the  prophet,  hear! 
A  greater  death  than  this  demands  your  tears, 
For  know,  your  lord  the  Caliph  is  no  more  ! 
Good  Abubeker  has  brcath'd  out  his  fpirit 
To  him  that  gave  it.     Yet  your  Caliph  lives, 
Lives  now  in  Ornar.     Se«j   behold  his  fignet, 
Appointing  me,  fuch  is  his  will,  to  lead 
His  faithful  armies  warring  here  in  Syria. 
Alas ! — Foreknowledge  fure  of  this  event 
Guided  his  choice  ! — Obey  me  then  your  chief. 
For  you,  O  Chriftians  !  know,  with  fpeed  I  came, 
On  the  firil  notice  of  this  foul  defign, 
Or  to  prevent  it,  or  repair  your  wrongs. 
Your  goods  mail  be  untouch'd,  your  perfons  fafe, 
Nor  mail  our  troops,  henceforth,  on  pain  of  death, 
Moleft  your  march. •>— If  more  you  afk,  'tis  granted. 

Eum.  Still  juft  and  brave  !  thy  virtues  would  adorft 
A  purer  faith  !  Thou  better  than  thy  feel, 
That  dar'ft  decline  from  that  to  ads  of  mercy ! 
Pardon,  Abudah,  if  thy  honeft  heart 
Makes  us  e'en  wifh  thee  ours. 

Abu.  [Ajide.~\  O  Power  fupreme, 
That  mad'ft  my  heart,  and  know'ft  its  inmoft  frame  \ 
If  yet  I  err,  O  lead  me  into  truth, 

Or  pardon  unknown  error  ! Now,  Eumenes, 

Friends  as  we  may  be,   let  us  part  in  peace. 

[  Exeunt  federally. 
Enter  Eudocia  ^and  Artamon. 

f  J5W.  Alas !  but  is  my  father  fafe  ? 

*  Art. 


64    THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS; 

'  Art.  Heav'n  knows. 
'  I  left  him  juft  preparing  to  engage  ; 
'  When  doubtful  of  th'  event  he  bad  me  hafte 

*  To  warn  his  deareft  daughter  of  the  danger,. 

*  And  aid  your  fpeedy  flight. 

'  Eud.  My  flight?  But  whither? 
«  O  no — if  he  is  loft. ' 

Art.  '  I  hope  not  fo. 

c  The  noife  is  ceas'd.    ,  Perhaps  they're  beaten  off. 
'  We  foon  mail  know: — here's  one  that  can  inform 
'  us.' 

Enter  Officer. 
Soldier,  thy  looks  fpeak  well.  What  fays  thy  tongue  ?•' 

Off.  The  foe's  withdrawn  ;   Abudah  has  been  here*, 
And  has  renew'd  the  terms.     Caled  is  kill'd. 

Art.  Hold— firft,  thank  Heav'n  for  that  1: 
Where  is  Eumenes? 

Off".  I  left  him  well ;  by  his  command  I  came 
To  iearch  you  out,  and  let  you  know  this  news... 
I've  more  ;  but  that 

Art.  Is  bad,  perhaps ;  fo  fays 

This  fudden  paufe.     Well,  be  it  fo  ;  let's  know  it*. 
'Tis  but  life's  checker'd  lot. 

Off".  Eumenes  mourns 
A  friend's  unhappy  fall ;  Herbis  is  flam  ;.. 
A  fettled  gloom  feem'd  to  hang  heavy  on  him,. 
Th'  effect  of  grief,  'tis  thought,  for  his  loft  fon. 
When,  on  the  fijft  attack,  like  one  that  fought 
The  welcome  means  of  death,  with  defperate  valour 
He  prefs'd  the  foe,  and  met  the  fate  he  wifh'd. 

Art.  See,  where  Eumenes  comes  ! — What's  this  ? 

He  feems 
To  lead  fome  wounded  friend — Alas  !  'tis — 

\^They  withdraw  to  one  fide  of  the.  Ji age. 
Enter  Eumenes  leading  in  Phocyas   with  an  arrow  in 
his  breaft. 

Eum.  Give  me  thy  wound !  O  I  could  bear  it  for 

thee : 

This  goodnefs  melts  my  heart.    What !  in  a  moment* 
Forgetting  all  thy  wrongs,  in  kind  embraces 
T'exchange  forgivenefs  thus ! 


THE   SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS.    65 

Pho.  Moments  are  few, 
And  muft  not  now  be  wafted.     O  Eumenes, 
Lend  me  thy  helping  hand  a  little  farther. 

0  where,  where  is  me  ?  [They  advance* 
Bum.  Look,  look  here,  Eudocia  ! 

Behold  a  fight  that  calls  for  all  our  tears. 

Eud.    Phocyas,    and    wounded! — O    what    cruel 

hand — 
Pho.  No,  'twas  a  kind  one — Spare  thy  tears,  Eu- 

dpcia ! 

For  mine  are  tears  of  joy.— > 
Eud.  Is't  pofiible  ? 
Pho.  'Tis  done — the  Pow'rs  fupreme  have  heard 

my  pray'r, 

And  profper'd  me  with  fome  fair  deeds  this  day. 
I've  fought  once  more,  and  for  my  friends,  my  coun 
try. 
By  me  the  treacherous  chiefs  are  flain  :  a  while 

1  ftopp'd  the  foe,  till,  warn'd  by  me  before 
Of  this  their  fudden  march,  Abudah  came  : 

But  firft  this  random  (haft  had  reach'd  my  breaft. 
Life's  mingled  fcene  is  o'er — 'Tis  thus  that  Heav'n 
At  once  chaftifes,  and  \  hope  accepts  me; 
And  now  I  wake  as  from  the  fleep  of  death. 

Eud.  What  fhall  I  fay  to  th.ee,  to  give  thee  com* 
fort? 

Pho.  Say  only  thou  forgiv'ft  me — O  Eudocia ! 
No  longer  now  my  dazzled  eyes  behold  thee 
Thro'  paffion's  mifts ;  my  foul  now  gazes  on  thee* 
And  fees  thee  lovelier  in  unfading  charms, 
Bright  as,  the  mining  angel  Hoft  that  flood  ! 
WhilftI— But  there,  it  fm arts— 

Eud.  Look  down,  look  down, 
Ye  pitying  Pow'rs !  and  heal  this  pious  forrow  ! 

£umt  'Tis  not  too  late,   we  hope,   to  give  thee 

help. 

See  !  yonder  is  my  tent.  We'll  lead  thee  thither ; 
Come,  enter  there,  and  let  thy  wound  be  drefs'd. 
Perhaps  it  is  not  mortal. 

Pho.  No !  not  mortal  ! 
No  flattery  now.     By  all  my  hopes  hereafter. 

For 


66    THE  SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS. 

For  the  world's  empire  I'd  not  lofe  this  death  ! 
Alas !  I  but  keep  in  my  fleeting  breath 
A  few  ihort  moments,  till  I  have  conjur'd  you 
That  to  the  world  you  witnefs  my  remorfc 
For  my  paft  errors,  and  defend  my  fame. 
For  know — foon  as  this  pointed  iteel's  drawn  out 
Life  follows  thro'  the  wound. 
Eud.  What  doit  thou  fay  ? 
O  touch  not  yet  the  broken  fprings  of  life  ? 
A  'thoufand  tender  thoughts  rife  in  my  foul. 
How  mail  I  give  them  words  ?  '  O,  till  this  hour 
'  I  fcarce  have  tailed  woe  ! — this  is  indeed 
*'  To  part—But  oh'— 

Pho.  No  more — Death  is  now  painful ! 
But  fay,  my  friends,  whilft  I  have  breath  to  aflc, 
(For  ftill  methinks  all  your  concerns  are  mine) 
Whither  have  you  defign'd  to  bend  your  journey  ? 

Eum.  Conftantinople  is  my  laft  retreat, 
If  Heav'n  indulge  my  wifh  ;  there  I've  refolv'd 
To  wear  out  the  dark  winter  of  my  life, 
An  old  man's  ftock  of  days,  I  hope  not  many. 

End.  There  will  1  dedicate  myfelf  to  Heav'n. 
O  Phocyas,  for  thy  fake,  no  rival  elfe 
Shall  e'er  poflefs  my  heart.     My  father  too 
Confents  to  this  my  vow.     '  My  vital  flame 
There,  like  a  taper  on  the  holy  altar, 
Shall  wafte  away ;  till  Heav'n  relenting  hear 
Inceflant  pray'rs  for  thee  and  for  myfelf, 
And  wing  my  foul  to  meet  with  thine  in  blifs. 
For  in  that  thought  I  find  a  fudden  hope, 
As  if  infpir'd,  fprings  in  my  breaft,  and  tells  mt 
That  thy  repenting  frailty  is  forgiv'n,' 
And  we  mall  meet  again,  to  part  no  more.  ^ 

Pbo.  [Plucking  out  the  arrow.]  Then  all  is  done— 
'twas  the  laft  pang — at  length 
I've  giv'n  up  thee,  and  the  world  now  is— nothing. 

{£>/>/. 
£«m.  Alas !  '  he  fails.     Help,  Artamon,  fupport 

'  him. 

'  Look,  how  he  bleeds !  Let's  lay  him  gently  down ;' 
Night  gathers  fail  upon  him— So — look  up, 
Or  fpeak,  if  thou  haft  life— Nay  then— My  daughter ! 

She 


THE  SIEGE   OF  DAMASCUS.     67 

She  faints — 'Help  there,  and  bear  her  to  the  tent.' 

[Eudocia  faints. 

drt.   [Weeping  afide.']  I  thank  ye,   eyes  I  This  is 

but  decent  tribute. 
My  heart  was  full  before. 

Eum.  O  Phocyas,  Phocyas ! 
Alas  !  he  hears  not  now,  nor  fees  my  forrows ! 
Yet  will  I  mourn  for  thee,  thou  gallant  youth  ! 
As  for  a  fon — fo  let  me  call  thee  now  ! 
A  much-wrong'd  friend  !  and  an  unhappy  hero  ! 
A  fruitlefs  zeal,  yet  all  I  now  can  ihew  !. 
Tears  vainly  flow  for  errors  learnt  too  late, 
When  timely  caution  fliould  prevent  our  fate. 


P  I- 


EPILOGUE. 

TXfJL  L  L  Jirs  ;  you've  feen,  his  paffion  to  approve*. 

A  defperate  lower  give  up  all  for  love, 
All  but  bis  faith, — Methinks  now  I  can  'fpy, 
Among  you  airy  /parks,  fome  who  would  cry. 
Phoo,,  pox,— for  that—  what  neea  of  fuch  a  pother  ? 
For  one  faith  left,  he  would  have  got  another. 
*True  :   'twas  your  very  cafe.     Juft  what  y,ou  fay  t 
Our  rebel  fools  were  ripe  for,   t'other  day  j 
^Tho'  d if  appointed  now,  they're  wifer  grown, 
And,  with  much  grief— -are  fore1  d  to  keep,  their  own. 
*£hefe  generous  madmen  gratis  fought  their  ruin, 
And  fet  no  price,  not  they  !  on  their  undoing. 
For  gain,   indeed,  we've  others  would  not  dally y 
Or  with  ft  ale  principles  ft  and  jhilli — Jhall  1 — 
You'll  find  all  their  religion,  in  'Change- Alley v 
*There  all  pur  fix,  by  better  means  or  werfet 
logo's  rule,  put  money  in  thy  purfe. 
for  t  bo*  you  Differ  Jtill  in /peculation, 
For  <wty — each  head  is  wifer  than  the  nation r 
'fbo*  point*  of  faith  for  e*uer  will  divide  you, 
And  bravely  you  declare — none  e'er  Jhall  ride  you*, 
In  prafiice  all  agree,   and  every  man 
Devoutly  Jirives  to  get  what  wealth  he  can  : 
All  parties  at  this  golden  altar  bow, 
Gain,  pow'rful  gain's  the  new  religion  now. 

But  leave  we  this  —  Since  in  this  circle  f mils 
So  many  Jhining  beauties  of  our  ifle, 
Who  to  more  generous  ends  direft  their  aim* 
And  Jhew  us  virtue  in  its  fair  eft  frame  ; 
5"0  thefe  with  pride  the  author  bid  me  fay, 
^Twas  for  your  fex  he  chiefly  wrote  this  play  ^ 
And  if  in  one  bright  character  you  find 
Superior  honour,  and  a  noble  mind, 
Know  from  the  life.  Eudocia's  charms  he  drew* 
And  hopes  the  piece  Jhall  live,  that  copies  you*. 
Sure  of  fuccefs,  he  cannot  mifs  his  end, 
If  evjry  Britijh  heroine  prove  his  friend. 

FINIS. 


DOUGLAS. 


TRAGEDY, 


B    Y 


MR.       HOME. 

Marked  with  the  Variations  ifl  the 

MANAGER'S  BOOK, 

AT       THE 

Cfceatre  *  Bogai  in 


Non  egofum  ^ates^  fed  prifci  confcius  csvl. 


LONDON: 

PRINTED      FOR      T.      LOWNDES;      VV.     NICOLL;      ANR 
S.    BLADON. 

M.DCC.LX^iXIV. 


%*  Th-e  Reader  Is  defiredto  obferve,  that  the  paflages 
omitted  in  the  Reprefentation  at  the  Theatre,  are 
here  preferred,  and  marked  with  inverted  Commas ; 
as  at  Line  20  to  28  in  Page  6. 


PROLOGUE. 


jN  ancient  times,  when  Britain*)  trade  was  arms, 

And  the  lov'd  mufic  of  her  youth,  alarms  / 
A  god-like  race  fu/tain'd  fair  England 'sfame: 
Who  has  not  heard  of  gallant  PERC  Y'J  name  ? 
Ay ,  and  ^DOUGLAS?  Such  illufirious  foes 
In  rival  Rome  and  Carthage  never  refe! 
From  age  to  age  bright  Jhone  the  Britifh/r/, 
And  every  hero  ivas  a  hero's  fire. 
When  powerful  fate  decreed  one  warrior*:  doom, 
Up  fprung  the  phcenix  from  his  parent's  tomb. 
But  whiljl  t  h  of e  generous  rivals  fought  and  fell > 
*Tb  of e  generous  rivals  lov^d  each  other  well  ? 
Vho*  many  a  Bloody  field  was  lofl  and  <won,     ' 
Nothing  in  hate,  in  honour  all  was  done. 
When  PERCY  wrong  d  defy'd  his  prince  or  peers,  "* 
Fajl  came  /^Do-uc^LAS,  with  his  Scottish /pears  i 
And,  when  proud  DOUG  LAS  made  his  Kinghiffoe, 
ForDovGLAS,  PERCY  lent  his  Englifh  bow. 
Expelled  their  native  home  by  adverfe  fate, 
*They  knock' d  alternate  et  each  other's  gate  : 
*Then  llaz?dthe  caftle,  at  the  mid  tight  hour, 
For  him  whcfe  arms  had  jhook  its  firmeft  tovj'r. 

This  night  a  DOUGLAS  your  protection  claims  ; 
A  wife  !  a  mother!  Pity's  f oft  eft  names; 
*The  Jlory  of  her  woes  indulgent  hear, 
And  grant  your  fuppliant  all  Jhe  begs,  a  tear. 
In  confidence  Jhe  begs  ;  and  hopes  to  find 
Each  Englifh  breajl,  like  noble  PERCY'/,  kind. 

A  2  DRAMATIS 


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DOUGLAS. 


\ 
A 


A    O     E     D    Y. 


A    C    T     I. 

*The  Court  of  a  Caftlefurrounded  with 

Enter  Lady  Randolph. 

YE  woods  and  wilds,  whofe  melancholy  gloom 
Accords  with  my  foul's  fadnefs,  and  draws  for tL 
The  voice  of  forrow  from  my  burfting  heart, 
Farewel  a  while  ;  I  will  not  leave  you  long  ;      . 
For  in  your  fnades  I  deem  ibme  fpirit  dwells, 
Who  from  the  chiding  ilream,  or  groaning  oak> 
Still  hears,  and  anfwers  to  Matilda's  moan. 
O  Douglas !  Douglas  !  if  departed  ghoftfr 
Are  e'er  permitted  to  review  this  world, 
Within  the  circle  of  that  wood  tkou  art, 
And  with  the  paffion  of  immortals  hear'ft 
My  lamentation  ^  hear'ft  thy  wretched  wife 
Weep  for  her  hufband  ilain,  her  infant  loft. 

A  3  My 


6  D    O  .  U     G  "L    A    S. 

My  brother's  timelefs  death  I  feem  to  mourn; 

Who  perifhed  with  thee  on  this  fatal  day. 

To  thee  I  life  my  voice  ;  to  thee  addrefs 

The  plaint  which  mortal  ear  has  never  heard. 

O  disregard  me  not;  tho'  I  am  call'd 

Another's  now,  my  heart  is  wholly  thine. 

Incapable  of  change,  affection  lies 

Buried,  my  Douglas,  in  thy  bloody  grave. 

But  Randolph  comes,  whom  fate  has  made  my  Lord, 

To  chide  my  anguifh,  and  defraud  the  dead. 

Enter  Lord  Randolph. 
Lord  Rand.    Again  thefe  weeds  of  woe !  fay,  doft 

thou  well 

To  feed  a  pafiion  which  con  fumes  thy  life  ? 
The  living  claim  forne  duty:  vainly  thou 
Beftow'ft  "thy  cares  upon  the  filent  dead. 

Lady  Rand.  Silent,  alas!  is  he  for  whom  I  inourn  : 
Childlefs,  without  memorial  of  his  name, 
Pie  only  now  in  my  remembrance  lives. 

*  This  fatal  day  ftirs  my  time-fettled  forrow, 
'  Troubles  afreih  the  fountain  of  my  heart.' 

Lord  Rand.    '  When  was  it  pure  of  fadnefs!  Thefe 

'  black  weeds 

*•  Exprefs  the  wonted  colour  of  thy  mind, 
'  For  ever  dark  and  difmal.     Seven  long  y«ars 

*  Are  pafs'd,  firice  we  were  join'd  by  facreA  ties: 

*  Clouds  .-ill  the  while  have  hung  upon  thy  brow, 
'  Nor  broke  nor  parted  by  one  gleam  of  joy.' 
Time,  that  wears  out  the  trace  of  deepeft  anguifh, 

*  As  the  fea  fmooths  the  prints  made  in  the  fand,' 
Has  paft  o'er  thee  in  vain. 

'  Lady  Rand.  If  time  to  come 

Should  prove  as  ineffectual,  yet,  my  Lord, 

Thou.canft  not  blame  me.    When  ourScottifn  youth 

Vy'd  with  each  other  for  rny  lucklefs  love, 

Oft  1  befough't  them,  I  implor'd  them  all 

Not  to  afTail  me  with  my  father's  aid, 

Nor  blend  their  better  defliny  with  mine. 

For  melancholy  had  congeaPd  my  blood, 

And  froze  affection  in  my  chilly  b-reafl. 

(  At 


DOUGLAS.  7 

At  laft  my  Sire,  rous'd  with  the  bafe  attempt 
To  force  me  from  him,  which  thou  rend'red'ft  vain, 
To  his  own  daughter  bow'd  his  hoary  head, 
Befought  me  to  commiferate  his  age, 
And  vow'd  he  mould  not,  could  not  die  in  peace, 
Unlefs  he  faw  me  wedded  and  fecur'd 
From  violence  and  outrage.     Then,  my  Lord! 
In  my  extreme  diilrefs  I  call'd  on  thee, 
Thee  I  befpake,  profefs'd  my  firong  defire 
To  lead  a  fingle,  folitary  life, 
And  begg'd  thy  Noblenefs  not  to  demand 
Her  for  a  wife  whofe  heart  was  dead  to  love. 
How  thou  perfifted'il  after  this,  thou  know 'ft, 
And  muft  confefs  tHat  I  am  noc  unjuft, 
Nor  more  to  thee  than  to  myfelf  injurious. 
'  Lord  Rand.  That  I  confefs  ;  yet  ever  m uit  regret 
The  grief  I  cannot  cure.     Would  thou  vvert  not 
Composed  of  grief  and  tendernefs  alone, 
But  hadfl  a  fpark  of  other  paflions  in  thee, 
Pride,  anger,  vanity,  the  ftrong  defire 
Of  admiration,  dear  to  woman-kind  ; 
Thefe  might  contend  with,  and  allay  thy  grief, 
As  meeting  tides  and  currents  fmooth  our  firth. 
'  Lady^tf/z^.  To  fuch  a  caufe  the  human  mind  oft  owes 

*  Its  tranfient  calm,  a  calm  I  envy  not. 

'  Lord  Rand.'  Sure  thou  art  not  the  daughter  of  Sir 
Malcolm  ? 

Strong  was  his  rage,  eternal  hisrefentment ; 

For  when  thy  brother  fell,  he  fmiPd  to  hear 

That  Douglas'  fon  in  the  fame  field  was  flaia. 

Lady  Rand.  Oh  !  rake  not  «p  the  allies  of  my  fathers : 

Implacable  refentment  was  their  crime, 

And  grievous  has  the  expiation  been. 

Contending  with  the  Douglas,  gallant  lives 

Of  either  houfe  were  loft;   my  ancefcors 

Compell'd,  at  lait,  to  leave  their  ancient  feat 

On  Tiviot's  plealant  banks ;  and  now,  of  them 

No  heir  is  left.     Had  they  not  been  fo  ftern, 

I  had  not  been  the  laft  of  all  my  race. 

Lord  Rand.  Thy  grief  wrefls  to  its  purpofes  my  words, 

I  sever  afk'd  of  th'ee  that  ardent  love, 

A  4  Which 


8  DOUGLAS, 

Which  in  the  breafts  of  fancy's  children  burns. 

Decent  afrHlion,  and  complacent  kindnefs 

Were  all  1  wifh'd  for;  but  I  wiih'd  in  vain, 

Hence  with  the  lefs  regret  my  eyes  behold 

The  ftorm  of  war  that  gathers  o'er  this  land  ; 

If  1  mould  perilh  by  the  DanHh  fword, 

Matilda  would  not  ihed  one  tear  the  more. 

Lady  Rand.  Thou  doft  not  think  fo  :  woeful  as  I  am, 

I  love  thy  merit,  and  eileem  thy  virtues. 

But  whither  go'ft  thou  now  ? 
Lord  Rand.  Strait  to  the  camp, 

Where  every  warrior  on  the  tip- toe  Hands 

Of  expectation,  and  impatient  afks 

Each  who  arrives,  if  he  is  come  to  tell 

The  Danes  are  landed. 

Lady  Rand.   O,  may  adverfe  winds, 

Far  from  the  coaft  of  Scotland,  drive  their  fleet  I 

And  every  foldier  cf  both  hefts  return 

In  peace  and  fafety  to  his  pleafant  home ! 

Lord  Rand.  Thou  fpeak'ft  a  woman's,  hear  a  warrior's 
wiih; 

Right  from  their  native  land,  the  fiormy  north, 

May  the  wind  blow,  till  every  keel  is  nVd 

Immoveablein  Caledonia**  ftrand! 

Then  (hall  our  woes  repent  their  bold  iuvafion, 

And  roving  armies  Chun  the  fatal  more. 

'  Lady -Rand.  War  I  deteft :  but  war  with  foreign  foes, 
Whofe manners,  language,  and  whofelooks  are  itrange. 
Is  not  fo  horrid,  nor  to  me  fo  hateful, 
As  that  which  with  our  neigh  hours  oft  we  wage. 
A  river  here,  there  an  ideal  line, 
By  fancy  drawn,  divides  the  filler  kingdoms. 
On  each  fide  dwells  a  people  fimilar, 
As  twins  are  to  each  other  ;  valiant  both  : 
Both  for  their  valour  famous  through  the  world. 
Yet  will  they  not  unite  their  kindred  arms, 
And,  if  they  mufthave  war,  wage  diflant  war, 
But  with  each  other  fight  in  cruel  conflid. 
Gallant  in  firife,  and  noble  in  their  ire, 
The  battle  is  their  palliine.     They  go  forth 
Gay  in  the  morning,  as  to  fuminer  fport; 

«  When 


DOUGLAS.  9 

*  When  evening  comes,    the  glory  of  the  morn, 
'  The  youthful  warrior  is  a  clod  of  clay. 

'  Thus  fall  the  prime  of  either  haplefs  land; 

*  And  fuch  the  fruit  of  Scotch  and  Englifh  wars. 

'  Lord  Rand.  I'll  hear  no  more:  this  melody  would  make 
e  A  foldier  drop  his  fvvord,  and  doff  his  arms, 

*  Sit  down  and  weep  the  conquefts  he  has  made  ; 

*  Yea,   (like  a  monk,)  iing  reft  and  peace  in  heaven 

*  To  fouls  of  warriors  in  his  battles  flain.' 
Lady,  farewel :  I  leave  thee  not  alone  ; 
Yonder  comes  one  whofe  love  makes  duty  light. 

Enter  Anna. 

Anna.  Forgive  the  ralhnefs  of  your  Anna's  love 
Urg'd  by  affection,  I  have  thus  prefum'd 
To  interrupt  your  folitary  thoughts ; 
And  warn  you  of  the  hours  that  you  neglect, 
And  lofe  in  fadnefs. 

Lady  Rand1.   So  to  lofe  my  hours 
Is  all  the  ufe  [  wifh  to  make  of  time. 

Anna*  To  blame  thee,  Lady,  fuits  not  with  m 
But  fure  I  am,  fince  death  firftprey'd  on  man, 
Never  did  iifter  thus  a  brother  mourn. 
What  had  your  forrows  been  if  you  had  loft,. 
In  early  youth,   the  huiband  of  your  heart? 

Lady  Rand.   Oh!. 

Anna.   Have  I  diftrefs'd  you  with  oflTcious  love,, 
And  ill-tim'd  mention  of  your  brother's  fate? 
Forgive  me,  Lady:  humble  tho'  I  am, 
The  mind  I  bear  partakes  not  of  my  fortune  : 
So  fervently  I  love  you,  that  to  dry 
Thefe  piteous  tears,  I'd  throw  my  life  away. 

Lady  Rand.    What  power  directed  thy  UBecnfciou>, 

tongue 
To  fpeak  as  thou  haft  don,e  ?  .to  name— — 

Anna.   I  know  not : 

But  fince  my  words  have  made  my  miftrefs  tremble, 
I  will  fpeak  fo  no  more  ;  .but  filent  mix  ,    . 

My  tears  with  her's. 

Lady  Rand.   No,  thou  malt  not  be  filent. 
I'll  trull  thy  faithful  love,  and  thoa  Paalt  be 

A  5  Hence- 


io  DOUGLAS. 

Henceforth  th*  inftrufled  partner  of  my  woes, 
But  what  avails  it?  Can  thy  feeble  pity 
Rollback  the  flood  of  never-ebbirg  time? 
Compel  the  earth  and  ocean  to  give  up 
Their  dead  alive  ? 

Jlnna.  What  means  my  noble  miftrefs? 

Lady  Rand.  Didfl  thou  not  afk  what  had  my  forrows 

been  ? 

If  I  in  early  youth  had  loft  a  hufband? 
In  the  cold  bofom  of  the  earth  is  lodg'd, 
Mangled  with  wounds,  the  hufband  of  my  youth; 
And  in  fome  cavern  of  the  ocean  lies 
My  child  and  his. — — 

Anna.  O  !  Lady,  moft  rever'd ! 
The  tale  wrapt  up  in  your  amazing  words 
Deign  to  unfold. 

Lady  R  axe/.  Alas,  an  ancient  feud, 
Hereditary  evil,  was  the  fource 
Of  my  misfortunes.     Ruling  fate  decreed, 
That  my  brave  brother  fhould  in  battle  fave 
The  life  of  Douglas'  fon,  our  houfe's  foe  : 
The  youthful  warriors  vow'd  eternal  frie.ndm.ip. 
To  fee  the  vaunted  fitter  of  his  friend 
Impatient  Douglas  to  Balarmo  came, 

U.nder  a  borrow'd  name. My  heart  he  gained  ; 

Kor  did  I  longrefufe  the  hand  lie  begg'd  : 

My  brother's  prefence  authoriz'd  our  marriage. 

Three  weeks,  three  little  weeks,  with  wings  of  down, 

Had  o'er  us  flown,  when  my  lov'd  Lord  was  call'd 

To  fight  his  father's  tattles ;  and  with  him, 

In  fpite  of  all  my  tears,  did  Malcolm  go. 

Scarce  were  they  gone,  when  my  ftern  Sire  was  tolqt 

That  the  faife  itranger  was  Lord  Douglas'  fon. 

Frantic  with  rage,  the  Baron  drew  his  fword, 

And  queft-on'd-me.     Alone,  forfaken,  faint, 

Kneeling  beneath  his  fword,  fault'ring  1  took 

An  oath  equivocal,  that  I  ne'er  would 

Wed  one  of  Douglas' name.     Sincerity 

Thou  firft  of  virtues,  let  no  mortal  leave 

Thy  onward  path  !  altho*  the  ea^th  ihaU  gape, 

And 


DOUGLAS.  i 

And  from  the  gulph  of  hell  deftruction  cry 
To  take  diflimulation's  winding  way. 

Anna,  Alas !  how  few  of  woman's  fearful  kind 
Durft  own  a  truth  fo  hardy  ? 

Lady  Rand.  The  firft  truth 
'  Js  eafieit  to  avow.     This  moral  learn 

This  precious  moral — from  my  tragic  tale 

In  a  few  days  the  dreadful  tidings  came 
That  Douglas  and  my  brother  both  were  {lain. 

My  lord  \  my  life  !  my  hufband  ! Mighty  heaven  \ 

What  had  I  done  to  merit  fuch  affliction  ? 

Anna.  My  deareft  Lady  !  many  a  tale  of  tears 
I've  liften'd  to  ;  but  never  did  I  hear 
A  tale  Ib  fad  as  this. 

Lady  Rand.  In  the  firft  days 

Of  my  diftrafting  grief,  I  found  myfelf 

As  women  with  to  be  who  love  their  lords. 

But  who  durft  tell  my  father  ?  The  goqd  prieft 

Who  join'd  our  hands,  my  brother's  ancient  tutor, 

With  his  lov'd  Malcolm,  in  the  battle  fell: 

They  too  alone  were  privy  to  the  marriage. 

On  iilence  and  concealment  I  refolv'd, 

Till  time  mould  make  my  father's  fortune  mine. 

That  very  night  on  which  my  fon  was  born, 

My  nurfe,  the  only  confidant  I  had, 

Set  out  with  him  to  reach  her  filler's  houfe  : 

But  nurfe,  nor  infant,  have  I  ever  feen 

Or  heard  of,   Aana,  iince  that  fatal  hour. 

'  My  murder'd  child  1  had  thy  fond  mother  fear'd 

'  Thelofs  ofthee,  me  had  loud  fame;  defy'd, 

*  Defpis'd  her  father's  rage,  her  father's  grief, 

*  And  wander'd  with  thee  thro*  the  fcornmg  world.' 
Anna.  Not  feen  nor  heard  of*  then  perhaps  he  lives. 
Lady  Rand.  No.     It  was  dark  December  j  wind  and 

rain 

Had  beat  all  night.  Acrofs  the  Carron  lay 
The  deftin'd  roud;  and  in  its  (welling  flood 
My  faithful  fervant  perilh'd  with  my  child, 
'  P  haplefs  fon  !  of  a  moft  haplefs  fire  ! . 

*  But  they  are  both  at  reft;  and  I  alor>e 

*  Dwell  in  this  world  ©f  woe,  condemu'd  to  walk,  . 

A  6  *  Like 


12  DOUGLAS. 

*  Like  a  guilt-troubl'd  gholl,  my  painful  rounds:* 
Nor  has  defpiteful  file  permitted  me 

The  comfort  of  a  folitary  forrovv. 

Tho'  dead  to  love,  I  was  compelPd  to  wed 

Randolph,  who  fnatch'd  me  from  a  villain's  arms  j 

And  Randolph  now  pofTefTes  the  domains 

That  by  Sir  Malcolm's  death  on  me  devolv'd; 

Domains,  that  mould  to  Douglas'  fon  have  giv'n 

A  Baron's  title,  and  a  Baron's  power. 
Such  were  my  Toothing  thoughts,  while  I  bewail'd 
The  flaughter'd  father  of  a  fon  unborn. 
And  when  that  fon  came,  like  a  ray  from  heav'n, 
Which  mines  and  difappears  !  alas !  my  child! 
How  long  did  thy  fond  mother  grafp  the  hope 
Of  having  thee,  (he  knew  not  how,  reitor'd. 
Year  after  year  hath  worn  her  hope  away; 
But  left  ftill  undiminim'd  her  defire.' 

*  Anna.  The  hand,  that  fpins  th'  uneven  thread  of 

life, 

*  May  fmoo,th  the  length  that's  yet  to  come  of  your's. 

*  Lady  Rand.  Not  in  this  world :  1  have  confider'd 

well 

'  Its  various  evils,  and  on  whom  they  fall. 
'  Alas !  how  oft  does  goodnefs  wound  itfelf  ? 
4   And  iweet  afjfeclion  prove  the  fpring  of  woe.' 

0  !  had  I  died  when  my  lov'd  hufband  fell ! 
Had  fome  good  angel  op'd  to  me  the  book 
Of  providence,  and  let  me  read  my  life, 
My  hearthad  broke  when  I  beheld  the  Aim 
Of  ills,  which  one  by  one  I  have  endur'd. 

Anna.  That  power,  whofe  minifters  good  angels  are, 
Hath  ihut  the  book  in  mercy  to  mankind. 
But  we  muft  leave  this  theme:  Glenalvon  comes: 

1  fawhim  bend  on  you  his  thoughtful  eyes 
And  hitherwards  he  {lowly  ftalks  his  way. 

Lady  Rand.  I  will  avoid  him.     An  ungracious  pej  fon 
Is  doubly  irkfome  in  an  hour  like  this. 

Anna.  Why  fpeaks  my  Lady  thus  of  Randolph's  heir? 
Lady  Rand.   Becaufe  he's  not  the  heir  of  Randolph's 

virtues. 
Subtle  and  ihrewd,  he  offers  to  mankind 

An 


DOUGLAS.  15 

An  artificial  image  of  himfelf  : 

And  he  with  eafe  can  vary  to  the  tafte 

Of  different  men,  its  features.     '  Self-deny'd, 

'  And  matter  of  his  appetites  he  feems  : 

'  But  his  fierce  nature,  like  a  fox  chain'd  up, 

*  Watches  to  feize  unfeen  the  wiuVd-for  prey. 

*  Never  were  vice  and  virtue  pois'd  fo  ill, 

*  As  in  Glenalvon's  unrelenting  mind.' 
Yet  is  he  brave  and  politic  in  war, 
And  Hands  aloft  in  thefe  unruly  times. 
Why  I  defcribe  him  thus  I'll  tell  hereafter; 

Stay  and  detain  him  till  I  reach  the  caille.  [Exit. 

Anna.   O  happinefs  !  where  art  thou  to  be  found  I 
I  fee  thou  dwelleft  not  with  birth  and  beauty, 
Tho*  grac'd  with  grandeur,  and  in  wealth  array 'd  : 
Nor  doll  thou,  it  would  feeni,  with  virtue  dwell* 
Elfe  had  this  gentle  lady  mifs'd  thee  not* 

Enter  Glenalvon. 

Glen.  What  doll:  thou  mufe  on,  meditating  maid? 
Like  fome  entranc'd  and  vifionary  feer 
On  earth  thou  ftand'ft,  thy  thoughts  afcend  to  heav'n. 

Anna.  Wou'd  that  I  were,  e'en  as  thou  fay 'ft,  a  feer, 
To  have  my  doubts  by  heav'nly  vifion  clear'd  \ 

Glen.  What  doft  thou  duubt  of?  what  haft  thou  to  do 
With  fubje&s  intricate  ?  Thy  youth,  thy  beauty, 
Cannot  be  queftion'd  :  think  of  thefe  good  gifts, 
And  then  thy  contemplations  will  be  pleafing. 

Anna.  Let  women  view  yon  monument  of  woe, 
Then  boaft  of  beauty,  who  fo  fair  as  me* 
But  I  muft  follow  ;  this  revolving  day 
Awakes  the  memory  of  her  antient  woes.  [Exit. 

Glen.  So  ! — Lady  Randolph  fhuns  me  !  by  and  by 
I'll  woo  her  as  the  lion  wooshis  brides. 
The  deed's  a- doing  now,  that  makes  me  lord 
Of  thefe  rich  valleys,  and  a  chief  of  power, 
The  feafon  is  moft  apt ;  my  founding  fteps 
Will  not  be  heard  amidft  the  din  of  arms. 
Randolph  has  liv'd  too  long  :  his  better  fate 
Had  theafcendant  once,  and  kept  me  down  : 
When  I  had  feiz'd  the  dame,  by  chance  he  came, 

Refcu'4, 


j4  DOUGLAS. 

Refcu'd,  and  had  the  Lady  for  his  labour; 

I  'fcap'd  unknown  :  a  ilender  confolation  ! 

Heaven  is  rny  witnefs  that  I  do  not  love 

To  fow  in  peril,  and  let  others  reap 

The  jocund  harveft.     Yet  I  am  not  fafe  ; 

By  love,  or  fomething  like  it,  ftung,  inflam'd, 

Madly  I  blabb'd  my  paffion  to  his  wife, 

And  (he  has  threaten'd  t©  acquaint  him  of  it. 

The  way  of  woman's  will  I  do  not  know : 

But  well  I  know  the  Baron's  wrath  is  deadly. 

I  will  not  live  in  fear ;   '  the  man  I  dread 

'  Is  as  a  Dane  to  me ;'  he  is  the  man 

Who  ftands  betwixt  me  and  my  chief  defire. 

No  bar  but  be  ;  me  has  no  kinfman  near; 

No  brother  in  his  filler's  quarrel  bold ; 

And  for  the  righteous  caufe,  a  ftranger's  caufe, 

I  know  no  chief  that  will  defy  Glenalvoiu  [Exitt 


ACT 


D 

Stranger 

O    U     G 

ACT 

.   A  Court, 

^w  it  bin.      Oh 

L    A 

II. 

&c. 

Mercy  ! 

S, 

Mercy  ! 

Enter  Servants,  and  a  Stranger  at  one  doory  and  Lady 
Randolph  and  Anna  at  another. 

Lady  Randolph. 

WHAT  means  this  clamour?   Stranger!  fpeak 
fee u re  ; 

Haft  thou  been  wrong'd  ?  have  thefe  rude  men  prefum'd 
To  vex  the  weary  traveller  on  his  way  ? 

Firjl  Ser<v.  By  us  no  ftranger  ever  furrer'd  wrong, 
This  man  with  outcry  wild  has  call'd  us  forth ; 
So  fore  afraid  he  cannot  fpeak  his  fears. 

Enter  Lord  Randolph  and  Norval,  'with  their  fiuords 

drawn  and  bloody. 

Lady  Rand.  Not  vain  the  Stranger's  fears !  how  fares 
my  Lord  ? 

Lord^aW.  That  it  fares  well,  thanks  to  this  gallant 

youth, 

Whofe  valour  fav'd  me  from  a  wretched  death  ; 
As  down  the  winding  dale  I  walk'd  alone, 
At  the  crofs  way  four  armed  men  attack'd  me : 
Rovers,  I  judge,  from  the  licentious  camp, 
Who  would  have  quickly  laid  Lord  Randolph  k)w> 
Had  not  this  brave  and  generous  Stranger  come, 
Like  my  good  angel  in  the  hour  of  fate, 
And,  mocking  danger,  made  my  foes  his  own. 
They  turn'cl  upon  him  ;  but  his  active  arm 
Struck  to  the  ground,  from  whence  they  rofe  no  more, 
The  nerceft  two  ;  the  others  fled  amain, 
And  left  him  mafter  of  the  bloody  field. 
Speak  Lady  Randolph  :   upon  Beauty's  tongue 
Dwell  accents  pleafing  to  the  brave  and  bold. 
Speak,  nobfe  Dame,  and  thank  him  for  thy  Lord. 

Lady 


,6  DOUGLAS. 

Lady  Rand.  My  Lord,  I  cannot  fpeak  what  now  I  feel* 
My  heart  o'erflovvs  with  gratitude  to  heav'n, 
And  to  this  noble  youth,  who,  all  unknown 
To  you  and  yours,  deliberated  not, 
Nor  paus*d  at  peril,  but,  humanely  brave, 
Fought  on  your  fide,  againft  fuch  fearful  odds. 
Have  you  yet  learn'd  of  him,  whom  we  mould  thank? 
Whom  call  the  faviour  of  Lord  Randolph's  life  ? 

Lord  Rand.  I  afk'd  thatqueftion,  and  he  anfwer'dnot: 
But  I  mull  know  who  my  deliverer  is.  [7*0  the  Stranger. 

Nor<v.   A  low-born  man,  of  parentage  obfcure, 
Who  nought  can  boaft  but  his  defire  to  be 
A  foldier,  and  to  gain  a  name  in  arms. 

Lord  Rand.  Whoe'er  thou  art,  thy  fpirit  is  ennobled 
By  the  great  King  of  Kings  \  thou  art  ordain'd 
And  flamp'd  a  hero  by  the  fovereign  hand 
Of  Nature  !   blufh  not,  flower  of  modefty 
As  well  as  valour,  to  declare  thy  birth. 

Nor<v.  My  name  is  Norval :  on  the  Grampian  hills 
My  father  feeds  hi$  flocks  ;  a  frugal  fwain, 
Whofe  conftant  cares  were  to  increafe  his  {lore* 
And  keep  his  only  fon,  myfelf,  at  home- 
For  1  had  heard  of  battles,  and  I  long'd 
To  follow  to  the  field  fome  warlike  Lord  ; 
And  heaven  foon  granted  what  my  Sire  deny'd. 
This  moon  which  rofe  lail  night,  round  as  my 
Had  not  yet  fill'd  her  horns,  when,  by  her  light, 
A  band  of  fierce  Barbarians  from  the  hills, 
Rufh'd  like  a  torrent  down  upon  the  vale, 
Sweeping  our  flocks  and  herds*     The  mepherds  fledi 
For  fafety  and  for  fuecour.     I  alone, 
With  bended  bow,  and  quiver  full  of  arrows, 
Hover'd  about  the  enemy,  and  mark'd 
The  road  he  took,  then  hafted  to  my  friends  f, 
Wlrom,  with  a  troop  of  fifty  chofen  men, 
I  met  advancing.     The  purfuit  I  led, 
Till  we  o'ertook  the  fpoil-encumber'd  foe: 
We  fought  and  conquer'd.     Ere  a  fword  was  drawn, 
An  arrow  from  my  bow  had  pierc'd  their  chief, 
Who  wore  that  day  the  arms- which  now  I  wear. 
Returning  home  in  triumph,  I  difduin'd 

The 


JJ  O  IT  G  JL  A  S  . 


5)  <9  UGJLAS 


/ly 


B     O    U    G    L     A     S.  17 

I 

The  fbepherd's  flothful  life  :  and  having  heard 
That  our  good  King  had  fummon'd  his  bold  Peers 
To  lead  their  warriors  to  the  Carron  fide, 
I  left  my  father's  houfe,  and  took  with  me 

A  chofen  fervant  to  conduct  my  ileps  ; 

Yon  trembling  coward,  who  forfook  his  mafter. 
Journeying  with  this  intent,  I  paft  thefe  towers, 
And,  heaven  directed,  came  this  day  to  do 
The  happy  deed  that  gilds  my  humble  name. 

Lord  Rand.    He  is  as  wife  as  brave.     Was  ever  tale 
With  fuch  a  gallant  modeily  rehears'd  ? 
My  brave  deliverer  !   thou  malt  enter  now 
A  nobler  lift,  and  in  a  monarch's  fight 
Contend  with  princes  for  the  prize  of  fame* 
I  will  prefent  thee  to  our  Scoctim  King, 
Whofe'valiant  fpirit  ever  valour  lov'd. 
Ha  !  my  Matilda  !  wherefore  ftarts  that  tear? 

Lady  Rand.  1  cannot  fay  ;  for  various  affections. 
And  llrangely  mingled,  in  my  boforn  fwell ; 
Yet  each  of  them  may  well  command  a  tear. 
I  joy  that  thou  art  fafe,  and  I  admire 
"Him  and  his  fortunes. who  hath  wrought  thy  fafety  j 
Yea,  as  my  mind  predicts,  with  thine  his  own, 
Obfcure  and  friendlefs,  he  the  army  fought, 
Bent  upon  peril,  in  the  range  of  death 
Refolv'd  to  hunt  for  fame,  and  with  his  fword 
To  gain  diftin&ion  which  his  birth  deny'd. 
In  this  attempt  unknown  he  might  have  perifh'd, 
And  gain'd,  with  all  his  valour,  but  oblivion. 
Now  grac'd  by  thee,  his  virtue  ferves  no  more 
Beneath  defptiir.     The  foldier  now  of  hope 
He  Hands  confpicuous  ;  fame  and  great  renown 
Are  brought  within  the  comp:tfs  of  his  fword. 
On  this  my  mind  reflected,  whilft  you  fpoke, 
And  blefs'd  the  wonder-working  hand  of  heaven. 

Lord  Rand.  Pious  and  grateful  ever  are  thy  thoughts  ! 
My  deeds  lhall  follow  where  thou  pomt'ft  the  way. 
Next  to  myfelf,  and  equal  to  G'lenalvon, 
In  honour  and  command  fhall  Norval  be. 

Norv.  I  know  not  how  to  thank  you.     Rude  I  am 
In  fpeech  and  manners :  never  till  this  h^ur 

Stood 


iS  DOUGLAS 

Stood  I  in  fuch  a  prefence  :  yet  my  Lord, 

There's  fomething  in  my  breaft  which  makes  me  bold 

To  fay,  that  Norval  ne'er  will  fhame  thy  fayour. 

Lady  Rand.  I  will  be  fworn  thou  wilt  not.  Thou  malt  be 
My  knight ;  and  ever,  as  thou  didft  to-day, 
With  happy  valour  guard  the  life  of  Randolph. 

Lord  Rand.  Well  haft  thou  fpoke.     Let  me  forbid 
,        reply.  (To  Norval^ 

We  are  thy  debtors  {till ;  thy  high  defert 
O'ertops  our  gratitude.     I  muft  proceed, 
As  was  at  firft  intended,  to  the  camp. 
Some  of  my  train,  I  fee,  are  fpeeding  hither, 
Impatient,  doubtlefs,  of  their  Lord's  delay. 
Go  with  me,  Norval,  and  thine  eyes  mall  fe"e 
The  chofen  warriors  of  thy  native  land, 
Who  languifh  for  the  fight,  and  beat  the  air 
With  brandifh'd  fwords. 

Now.  Let  us  be  gone,  my  Lord. 

Lord  Rand.  [To  Lady  Randolph.]    About  the  time 

that  the  declining  fun 

Shall  his  broad  orbit  o'er  yon  hills  fufpend, 
Expecl  us  to  return.     This  night  once  more 
Within  thefe  walls  I  reft  :  my  tent  I  pitch 
To-morrow  in  the  field.     Prepare  the  feaft. 
Free  is  his  heart  who  for  his  country  fights ; 
He  in  the  eve  of  battle  may  refign 
Himfelf  to  focial  pleafure  ;  fweeteft  then, 
When  danger  to  a  foldier's  foal  endears 
The  human  joy  that  never  may  return. 

[Exeunt  Lord  Randolph  and  NorvaJ. 
Lady  Rand.  His  parting  words  have  ftruck  a  fatal 

truth. 

.O  Douglas !  Douglas !   tender  was  the  time 
When  we  two  parted,  ne'er  to  meet  again  i 
How  many  years  of  anguifh  and  defpair 
Has  heav'n  annex'd  to  thofe  fwift-paffing  hours 
Of  love  and  fondnefs  !   '  Then  my  bofom's  flame 
'  Oft,  as  blown  back  by  the  rude  breath  of  fear, 
'  Return 'd,  and  with  redoubled  ardour  blaz'd.' 

May  gracious  heav'n  pour  the  fweet  balm  of 
peace 

Into 


DOUGLAS.  19 

Into  the  wounds  that  fetter  in  your  bread  ! 
For  earthly  confolation  cannot  cure  them. 

Lady  Rand,  One  only  cure  can  heaven  itfelf  befto\v; 
A  grave — that  bed  in  which  the  weary  reft. 
Wretch  that  I  am  !   Alas  !  why  am  I  fo  ? 
At  every  happy  parent  I  repine  ! 
How  bier!  the  mother  of  yon  gallant  Norval  ! 
She  for  a  living  hufband  bore  her  pains, 
And  heard  him  blefs  her  when  a  man  was  born  : 
She  nurs'd  her  fmiling.  infant  on  her  breaft  ; 
Tended  the  child,  and  rear'd  the  pleafing  boy  : 
She,  with  affection's  triumph,  faw  the  youth 
In  grace  and  comelinefs  furpafs  his  peers  : 
Whilft  I  to  a  dead  hufband  bore  a  fon, 
And  to  the  roaring  waters  gave  my  child. 

Anna.  Alas  !  alas !  why  will  you  thus  refume 
Your  grief  afrefti  ?  I  thought  that  gallant  youth 
Would  for  a  while  have  won  you  from  your  woe. 
On  him  intent  you  gaz'd,  with  a  look 
Much  more  delighted,  than  your  penfive  eye 
Has  deign'd  on  other  objects  to  bellow. 

Lady  £*»</.  Delighted,  fay 'ft  thou?  Oh!  even  there 

mine  eye 

Found  fuel  for  my  life-confuming  forrow. 
I  thought  that,  had  the  fon  of  Douglas  Hv'd, 
He  might  have  been  like  this  young  gallant  ftranger, 
And  pair'd  with  him  in  features  and  in  fliape  ; 
In  all  endowments,  as  in  years,  I  deem, 
My  boy  with  blooming  Norval  might  have  number'd. 
Whilft  thus  I  mus'd,  a  fpark  from  fancy  fell 
On  my  fad  heart,  and  kindled  up  a  fondnefs 
For  this  young  ftranger,  wandering  from  his  home, 
And  like  an  orphan  caft  upon  "my  care. 
I  will  protect  thee  (faid  1  to  myfelf) 
With  all  my  power,  and  grace  with  all  my  favour. 

Anna.  Sure  heav'n  will  blefs  fo  generous  a  refolve* 
Vou  mult,  my  noble  Dame,  exert  your  power  : 
You  muft  awake  :  devices  will  be  fram'd, " 
And  arrows  pointed  at  the  breaft  of  Norval. 

Lady  Rand.  Glenalvon's  falfe  and  crafty  head  will 
work 

Againft 


20  DOUGLAS. 

Againft  a  rival  in  his  kinfman's  love, 
If  I  deter  him  not  :  I  only  can. 
Boid  as  he  is,  Glenalvon  wiil  beware 
How  he  pulls  down  the  fabric  that  I  raife, 
I'll  be  the  artift  of  young  Norval's  fortune. 
'Tis  pleafing  to  admire  !  moft  apt  was  I 
To  this  affeftion  in  my  better  days  ; 
Tho*  now  I  feem  to  you  ihrunk  up,  retir'd 
Within  the  narrow  cornpafs  of  my  woe. 
Have  you  not  fometimcs  feen  an  early  flower 
Open  its  bud,  and  fpread  its  filken  leaves, 
To  catch  fweet  airs,  and  odours  to  beftovv  ; 
Then,  by  the  keen  blaft  nipt,  pull  in  its  leaves 
And,  tho'  ftill  living,  die  to  fcent  and  beauty  I 
Emblem  of  me:  affliction,  like  a  ftorm, 
Hath  kill'd  the  forward  bloflbm  of  my  heart.* 

Enter  Glenalvon  .. 


Where  is  my  deareft  kinfman,   noble  Ran 
dolph  ? 
Lady  Rand.  Have  you  not  heard,  Glenalvon,  of  the 

Glen.  I  have  :  and  that  the  villains  may  not  'fcape-, 
With  a  ftrong  band  I  have  begirt  the  wood. 
If  they  lurk  there,  alive  they  fhall  be  taken, 
And  torture  force  from  them  th*  important  fecret, 
Whether  fome  foe  of  Randolph  hir'd  their  fwords, 
Or  if  - 

Lady  Rand.  That  care  becomes  a  kiafman's  love. 
I  have  a  counfel  for  Glenalvon's  ear.  [Exit  Anna. 

Glen.  To  him  your  counfels  always  are  commands. 

Lady  Rand.  I  have  not  found  fo  :  thou  art  known  to 
me. 

Glen.  Knotvn  f 

Lady  Rand.  And  moft  certain  is  my  caufe  of  know 
ledge. 

Ghn.  What  do  you  know?  By  Heav'n 
You  much  amaze  me.  No  created  being, 
Yourfelf  except.  cUrftthus  accoft  Glenalvon. 

Lady 


DOUGLAS.  21 

Lady  Rand.  Is  guilt  fo  bold  !  and  doft  thou  make  a 

merit 

Of  thy  pretended  meeknefs  !  This  to  me, 
Who,  with  a  gentlenefs  which  duty  blames, 
Have  hitherto  conceal'd  what,  ifdivulg'd, 
Would  make  thee  nothing;  or,  what's  worfe  than  that, 
An  outcaft  beggar,  and  unpity'd  too  ! 
For  mortals  fhudder  at  a  crime  like  thine. 

Glen.  Thy  virtue  awes  me.     Firft  of  womankind  ! 
Permit  me  yet  to  fay,  that  the  fond  man, 
Whom  love  tranfports  beyond  ftrid  virtue's  bounds, 
If  he  is  brought  by  love  to  mifery, 
In  fortune  ruin'd,  as  in  mind  forlorn, 
"Unpity'd  cannot  be.     Pity's  the  alms 
Which  on  fuch  beggars  fraely  is  beilow'd  : 
For  mortals  know  that  love  is  Hill  their  lord, 
And  o'er  their  vain  refolves  advances  itill : 
As  fire,  when  kindled  by  our  ihepherds,  moves          .    , 
Thro'  the  dry  heath  againft  the  fanning  wind. 

Lady  Rand.  Referve  thefe  accents  for  fome  other  ear. 
To  love's  apology  I  liften  not. 

Mark  thou  my  words  ;  for  it  is  meet  thou  mould'ft. 
His  brave  deliverer  Randolph  here  retains. 
Perhaps  his  prefence  may  not  pleafe  thee  well : 
But,  at  thy  peril,  pra&ife  ought  againft  him  : 
Let  not  thy  jealoufy  attempt  to  make 
And  loofen  the  good  root  he  has  in  Randolph  ; 
Whofe  favourites,  I  know,  thou  haft  fupplanted. 
Thou  look'ft  at  me,  as  if  thou  fain  would'ft  pry 
Into  my  heart.     'Tis  open  as  my  fpeech. 
I  give  this  early  caution,  and  put  on 
t!he  curb,  before  thy  temper  breaks  away. 
The  friendlefs  ftranger  my  prote&ion  claims  : 
His  friend  I  am,  and  be  not  thou  his  foe.  [Exit, 

Glen.  Child  that  I  was,  to  ftart  at  my  own  fhadow, 
And  be  the  mallow  fool  of  coward 'confcience! 
I  am  not  what  I  have  been  ;  what  I  mould  be. 
The  darts  of  deftiny  have  almoft  pierc'd 
My  marble  heart.     Had  I  one  grain  of  faith 
In  holy  legends,  and  religious  tales, 
I  ihould  conclude  there  was  an  arm  above, 

That 


22  DOUGLAS. 

That  fought  againfl  me,  and  malignant  turn'd, 

To  catch  myfelf,  the  fubtle  fnare  I  fet. 

Why,  rape  and  murder  are  not  fimple  means  ! 

Th'  imperfect  rape  to  Randolph  gave  a  fpoufe ; 

And  the  intended  murder  introduc'd 

A  favourite  to  hide  the  fun  from  me  ; 

And,  worftofall,  a  rival.     Burning  hell! 

This  were  thy  centre,  if  I  thought  me  lov'd  him  ! 

*Tis  certain  me  contemns  me  ;  nay,  commands  me, 

And  waves  the  flag  of  her  difpleafure  o'er  me, 

In  his  behalf.     And  (hall  I  thus  be  brav'd  ? 

Curb'd,  as  me  calls  it,  by  dame  chaftity  ? 

Infernal  fiends,  if  any  fiends  there  are 

More  fierce  than  hate,  ambition,  and  revenge, 

Rife  up  and  fill  my  bofom  with  your  fires, 

*  And  policy  remerfelefs  !  Chance  may  fpoil 

*  A  fingle  aim ;  but  perfeverance  muft 

*  Profper  at  laft.     For  chance  and  fate  are  words  i 
'  Perfiftive  wifdom  is  the  fate  of  man.' 

Darkly  a  project  peers  upon  my  mind, 

Like  the  red  moon  when  riling  in  the  eaft, 

Crofs'd  and  divided  by  ftrange-colour'd  clouds. 

I'll  feek  the  flave  who  came  with  Norval  hither, 

And  for  his  cowardice  was  fpurned  from  him. 

I've  known  a  follower's  rankled  bofom  breed 

Venom  moft  fatal  to  his  heedlefs  Lord,  [Exit* 

V 


ACT 


DOUGLAS.  23 

ACT     III. 

A  Court)  &c/  as  before. 

Entsr  Anna. 

THY  vaflals,  Grief!  great  Nature's  order  break, 
And  change  the  noon-tide  to  the  midnight  hour* 
Whilft  Lady  Randolph  ileeps,  I  will  walk  forth, 
And  tafte  the  air  that  breathes  on  yonder  bank. 
Sweet  may  her  flumbers  be  !    Ye  miniflers 
Of  gracious  heaven  who  love  the  human  race, 
Angels  and  feraphs  who  delight  in  goodnefs ! 
Forfake  your  fkies,  and  to  her  couch  defcend  ! 
There  from  her  fancy  chace  thofe  difmal  forms 
That  haunt  her  waking  ;  her  fad  fpirit  charm 
With  images  celeftial,  fuch,as  pleafe 
The  blefs'd  above  upon  their  golden  beds. 

Enter  Servant. 

Strv.  One  of  the  vile  aflaflins  is  fecnred. 
We  found  the  villain  lurking  in  the  wood :  %  , 

With  dreadful  imprecations  he  denies 
All  knowledge  of  the  crime.     But  this  is  not 
His  firft  eflay  ;  thefe  jewels  were  conceaPd 
In  the  moft  fecret  places  of  his  garment ; 
Belike  the  fpoils  of  fome  that  he  has  murder'd. 

Anna.  Let  me  look  on  them.     Ha  !  here  is  a  heart, 
The  chofen  creft  of  Douglas*  valiant  name  ! 
Thefe  are  no  vulgar  jewels.     Guard  the  wretch. 

[Exit  Anna* 

Enter  Servants  with  the  Prifoner. 

Prif.  I  know  no  more  than  does  the  child  unborrt 
Of  what  you  charge  me  with, 

Firfi  Serv.  You  fay  fo,  Sir ! 
Bat  torture  foon  lhall  make  you  fpcak  the  truth. 

Behold 


34  DOUGLAS. 

Behold  the  Lady  of  Lord  Randolph  comes: 
Prepare  yourfelf  to  meet  her  juft  revenge. 

Enter  Lady  Randolph  and  Anna. 

Anna.  Summon  your  utrnoft  fortitude,  before 
You  fpeak  with  him.     Your  dignity,  your  fame, 
Are  now  at  flake.     Think  of  the  fatal  fecret, 
Which  in  a  moment  from  your  lips  may  fly. 

Lady  Rand.  Thou  malt  behold  me,  with  a  defp'rate 

heart, 
Hear  how  my  infant  perim'd.     See,  he  kneels. 

[The pr •// one."  kneels. 

Prif.  Heav'n  blefs  that  countenance,  fo  fwcet  and 

mild! 

A  judge  like  thee  makes  innocence  more  bold. 
O  fave  me,  Lady,  from  thefe  cruel  men 
Who  have  attack'd  and  feiz'd  me ;  who  accufe 
Me  of  intended  murder.     As  I  hope 
For  mercy  at  the  judgment-feat  of  Heav'n, 
The  tender  lamb,  that  never  nipt  the  grafs, 
Is  not  more  innocent  than  I  of  murder. 

Lady  Rand.  Of  this  man's  guilt  what  proof  can  ye 
produce  ? 

firft  Serv.  We   found  him  lurking   in  the  hollow 

Glynn. 

When  view'd  and  call'd  upon,  amaz'd,  he  fled. 
We  overtook  him,  and  inquired  from  whence 
-And  what  he  was  ;  he  faid,  he  came  from  far, 
And  was  upon  his  journey  to  the  camp. 
Not  fatisfy'd  with  this,  we  fearch'd  his  cloaths, 
And  found  thele  jewels,  whofe  rich  value  plead 
Moft  powerfully  againft  him.     Hard  he  feems, 
And  old  in  villainy.     Permit  us  try 
His  ftubbornnefs  a-gainft  the  torture's  force. 

Prif.  O  gentle  Lady  1  by  your  Lord's  dear  life ! 
Which  thefe  weak  hands,  I  fwear,  did  ne'er  affail  ; 
And  by  your  childrens  welfare,  fpare  my  age  1 
Let  not  the  iron  tear  my  antient  joints, 
And  my  grey  hairs  bring  to  the  grave  with  pain. 

i  Lady 


DOUGLAS.  25 

Lady  Rand.   Account  for  thefe  :  thine  own  they  can- 
no  c  be': 

For  thefe,   I  lay  ;  be  ftedfaft  to  the  truth  ; 
petedted  falfhood  is  moll  certain  death. 

[Anna  removes  the  Servants,  and  returns, 

Prif.   Alas  !  I'm  fore  befet  !  let  never  man, 
For  lake  of  lucre,  fin  sgainil  his  foul  ! 
Eternal  juRice  is  in  this  moll  juft  ! 
I,  guiltlefs  now,  mu ft  former  guilt  reveal. 

Lady  Rand.  O  !   Anna  hear !  once  more,  I  charge 

thee,  fpeak 

The  truth  direct :  for  thefe  to  me  foretell 
And  certify  a  par:  of  thy  narration  ; 
With  which  if  the  remainder  tallies  not, 
An  inilant  and  a  dreadful  death  abides  thee. 

Prif.  Then,  thus  adjur'd,  I'll  fpeak  to  thee  as  juft 
As  if  you  were  the  minifter  of  heaven, 
Sent  down  to  fearch  the  fecret  fins  of  men. 
Some  eighteen  years  ago,  I  rented  land 
Of  brave  Sir  Malcolm,  then  Balarmo's  Lord  ; 
But  falling  to  decay,  his  fervants  feiz'd 
All  that  I  had,  and  then  turn'd  me  and  mine, 
(Four  helplefs  infants,  and  their  weeping  mother) 
Out  to  the  mercy  of  the  winter  winds. 
A  little  hovel  by  the  river's  fide 
Receiv'd  us ;  there  hard  labour,  and  the  (kill 
In  fifhing,  which  was  formerly  my  fport, 
Supported  life.     Whilft  thus  we  poorly  liv'd, 
One  ftormy  night,  as  I  remember  well, 
The  wind  and  rain  beat  hard  upon  our  roof: 
Red  came  the  river  down,  and  loud  and  oft 
The  angry  fpirit  of  the  water  mriek'd. 
At  the  dead  hour  of  night  was  heard  .the  cry 
Of  one  in  jeopardy.     1  rofe,  and  ran 
To  where  the  circling  eddy  of  a  pool, 
Beneath  the  ford,   us'd  oft  to  bring  within 
My  reach  whatever  floating  thing  the  ftream 
Had  caught.     The  voice  was  ceas'd  ;  the  perfon  loft  : 
But  looking  fad  and  earneil  on  the  waters, 
By  the  moon's  light  I  faw,  whirl 'd  round  and  round, 
B  '       Abalket; 


*£  DOUGLAS. 

A  bafket :  foon  I  drew  it  to  the  bank, 
And  neltled  curious  there  an  infant  lay, 

Lady  Rand.  Was  he  alive  ? 

Prif,  He  was. 

Lady  Rand.  Inhuman  that  thou  art ! 
How  could'it  thou  kill  what  waves  and  tempeils  fpar'd? 

Prif.  I  am  not  fo  inhuman. 

Lady  Rand.  Didft  thou  not? 

Anna.  My  noble  miftrefs,  you  are  mov'd  too  much  : 
This  man  has  not  the  afpeft  of  ftern  murder  : 
Let  him  go  on,  and  you,  I  hope,  will  hear 
Cood  tidings  of  your  kinfman's  long  loft  .child. 

Prif.  The  needy  man,  who  has  known  better  days, 
One  whom  diftrefs  has  fpited  at  the  world, 
Is  he  whom  tempting  fiends  would  pitch  upon 
To  do  fuch  deeds,  as  make  the  profperous  men 
Lift  up  their  hands  and  wonder  who  could  do  them. 
And  fuch  a  man  was  I ;  a  man  declin'd, 
Who  faw  no  end  of  black  adverfity : 
Yet,  for  the  wealth  of  kingdoms,  I  would  not 
Have  touch'd  that  infant  with  a  hand  of  harm. 

Lady  Rand.  Ha!  doft  thou  fay  fo,?  Then  perhaps  he 
lives ! 

Prif.  Not  many  days  ago  he  was  alive. 

Lady  Rand.  O  !  heav'nly  Pow'r  !  did  he  then  die  fo 
lately  ? 

Prif.  I  did  not  fay  he  died  :  I  hope  he  lives. 
Not  many  days  ago  thefe  eyes  beheld 
Him,  flourishing  in  youth,  and  health,  and  beauty. 

Lady  Rand.  Where  is  he  now  ? 

Prif.  Alas !  I  know  not  where. 

Lady  Rand.  Oh  !  fate,  1  fear  thee  flill.     Thou  rid- 

dler,  fpeak 
-Direft  and  clear  :  elfe  I  will  fearch  thy  foul. 

'  Anna.  Permit  me,  ever  honour'd  !  keen  impatience, 
«  Tho'  hard  to  be  reftrain'd,  defeats  itfelf. — ' 

Lady  Rand.  Purfue  thy  ftory  with  a  faithful  tongue, 
To  the  laft  hour  that  thou  didft  keep  the  child. 

Prif.  Fear  not  my  faith,  tho'  I  muft  fpeak  my  fliame. 
Within  the  cradle  where  the  infaut  lay, 
Was  ftow'd  a  mighty  ftore  of  gold  and  jewels  : 

I  Tempted 


DOUGLAS.  27 

Tempted  by  which,  we  did  refolve  to  hide, 

From  all  the  world,  this  wonderful  event, 

And  like  a  peafant  breed  the  noble  child. 

That  none  might  mark  the  change  of  our  eftate, 

We  left  the  country,  traveiPd  to  the  North, 

Bought  flocks  and  herds,  and  gradually  brought  fortlv 

Our  fecret  wealth.     But  God's  all-feeing  eye 

Beheld  our  avarice,  and  fmote  us  fore. 

For,  ons  by  one,  all  our  own  children  dy'd, 

And  he,  the  Stranger,  fole  remain'd  the  heir 

Of  what,  indeed,  was  his.     Fain  then,  would  I, 

Who  with  a  father's  fondnefs  lov'd  the  boy, 

Have  trufted  him,  now  in  the  dawn  of  youth, 

With  his  own  fecret  :  but  my  anxious  wife, 

Foreboding  evil,  never  would  confent. 

Meanwhile  the  ftripling  grew  in  years  and  beauty; 

And,  as  we  oft  oblerv'd,  he  bore  himfelf 

Not  as  the  offspring  of  our  cottage  blood  ; 

For  nature  will  break  out :  mild  wkh  the  mild, 

But  with  the  forward  he  was  fierce  as  fire, 

And  night  and  day  he  talk'd  of  war  and  arms. 

I  fet  myfelf  againft  his  warlike  bent .; 

But  all  in  vain  :  for  when  a  defperate  band 

Of  robbers  from  the  favage  mountains  came 

Lady  Rand.  Eternal  Providence !   What  is  thy  name  ? 

Prif.  My  name  is  Norval :  and  my  name  he  bears. 

Lady  Rand.  'Tis  he  !  'tis  he  himfelf!  it  is  my  fon  ! 
O  !  fovereign  mercy  !  'Twas  my  child  I  faw ! 
No  wonder,  Anna,  that  my  bofom  burn'd. 

Anna.  Juft  are  your  transports :  f  ne'er  was  woman's 
«  heart 

*  Prov'd  with  fuch  fierce  extremes.  High  fated  Dame  !' 
But  yet  remember  that  you  are  beheld 

By  fervile  eyes ;  yourgeftures  may  be  feen 
Impaffion'd  ftrange  ;  perhaps  your  words  o'erheard. 

Lady  Rand.  Well  doil  thou  counfeJ,  Anna  :  heav'a 

beftow 
On  me  that  wifdom  which  my  Hate  requires  ! 

«  Anna.  The  moments  of  deliberation  pafs, 

*  And  foon  you  muft  refolve.     This  ufeful  man 

£  2  <  Muft 


2*  DOUGLAS. 

*  Muft  be  difmifs'd  in  fafety,  ere  my  Lord  * 

*  Shall  with  his  brave  deliverer  return.' 
Prif.  If  I,  amidft  ailonifliment  and  fear, 

Have  of  your  words  and  geflures  rightly  j  udg'd, 
Thou  art  the  daughter  of  my  ancient  mailer ; 
The  child  I  refcu'd  from  the  flood  is  thine. 

Lady  Rand.  With  thee  diiftmulation  now  were  vain, 
I  am  indeed  the  daughter  of  Sir  Malcolm  ; 
The  child  thou  refcu'dil  from  the  flood  is  mine. 

Prif.   Blefs'd  be  the  hour  that  made  me  a  poor  mm  ! 
My  poverty  hath  fav'd  my  mailer's  houfe  ! 

Lady  Rand.  Thy  words  furprize  me  :  fure  thou  dofl, 

not  feign  : 

The  tear  ftands  in  thine  eye  :  fuch  love  from  thee 
Sir  Malcolm's  houfe  deferv'd  not ;  if  aright 
Thou  told'il  the  flory  of  thy  own  diilrefs. 

Prif.  Sir  Malcolm  of  our  Barons  was  the  flower  ; 
The  fafteft  friend,  the  befl,  the  kindeit  mafter : 
But  ah  !  he  knew  not  of  my  fad  eftate. 
After  that  battle,  where  his  gallant  fon, 
Your  own  brave  brother,  fell,  the  good  old  Lord 
Grew  defperate  and  recklefs  of  the  world  ; 
And  never,  as  he  erft  was  wont,  went  forth 
To  overlook  the  conduct  of  his  fervants. 
By  them  I  was  thruil  out,  and  them  I  blame  ; 
May  he'av'n  fo  judge  me,  as  I  j  udg'd  my  mailer! 
And  God  fo  love  me  as  I  love  his  race. 

Lady  Rand.  His  race  (hall  yet  reward  thee.    On  thy 

faith 

Depends  the  fate  of  thy  lov'd  matter's  houfe. 
Remembreil  thou  a  little  lonely  hut, 
That  like  a  holy  hermitage  appears 
Among  the  clifts  of  Carron  ? 

Prif.  1  remember 
The  cottage  of  the  clifts. 

Lady  Rand.  'Tis  that  I  mean  : 
There  dwells  a  man,  of  venerable  age, 
'Who  in  my  father's  fervice  fpent  his  youth: 
Tell  him  I  fent  thee,  and  with  him  remain, 
Till  I  malbcail  upon  thee  to  declare, 
Before  the  King  and  Nobles,  what  thou  now 

3  To 


DOUGLAS.  29 

To  me  haft  told.     No  more  but  this,  and  thou 
-Shalt  live  in  honour  all  thy  future  days : 
Thy  fon  fo  long  {hall  call  thee  father  ftill,  ' 
And  all  the  land  (hall  blefs  the  man  who  fav'd 
The  fon  of  Douglas,  and  Sir  Malcolm's  heir. 
Remember  well  my  words  :  if  thou  fhould'ft  meet 
Him  whom  thcu  call'ft  thy  fon,  ftill  call  him  fo, 
And  mention  nothing  of  his  nobler  father. 

Prif.   Fear  not  that  I  mould  mar  fo  fair  an'harveft, 
By  putting  in  rny  fickle  ere  'tis  ripe. 
Why  did  i  leave  my  home,  and  anrient  dame  ? 
To  find  the  youth  to  tell  him  all  I  knew, 
And  make  him  wear  thefe  jewels  in  his  arms  ; 
Which  might,  I  thought,  be  challeng'd,  and  fo  bring 
To  light  the  fecret  of  his  noble  birth. 

\Lady  Randolph  goes  towards  the  Servants. 

Lady  Rand.  This  man  is  not  th'  ailaffin  you  fufpected, 
Tho*  chance  combin'd  fome  likelihoods  againil  him. 
He  is  the  faithful  bearer  of  the  jewels 
To  their  right  owner,  whom  in  hafte  he  feeks. 
}Tis  meet  that  you  fhould  put  him  on  his  way, 
Since  your  miftaken  zeal  hath  dragg'd  him  hither. 

[Exeunt  Stranger  and  Servants. 
My  faithful  Anna  doft  thou  mare  my  joy  ? 
I  know  thou  doft.     Unparallel'd  event ! 
Reaching  from  heav'n  to  earth,  Jehovah's  arm 
Snatch'd  from  the  waves,  and  brings  to  me  my  fon  ! 
Judge  of  the  widow,  and  the  orphan's  father  ; 
Accept  a  widow's  and  a  mother's  thanks 
For  fuch  a  gift !  What  does  my  Anna  think 
Of  the  young  eaglet  of  a  valiant  neft  ? 
Hew  foon  he  gaz'd  on  bright  and  burning  arms, 
Spurn'd  the  low  dunghill  where  his  fate  had  thrown  him, 
And  tower'd  up  to  the  region  of  his  fire  ! 

dnna.  How  fondly  did  your  eyes  devour  the  bey  ! 
Myfterious  nature,  with  the  unfee./cord 
Of  powerful  inftincl,   drew  you  to  your  own. 

Lady  Rand.  The  ready  ftory  of  his  birUi  believed 
Supprefs'd  my  fancy  quite ;  nor  did  he  owe 
To  any  likenefs  my  fo  fudden  favour  :  . 
But  now  1  long  to  fee  his  face  again, 

B.-3  Examine 


30  DOUGLAS. 

Examine  every  feature,  and  find  out 
The  lineaments  of  Douglas,  or  my  own. 
But  moil  of  all  I  long  to  let  him  know 
Who  his  true  parents  are,  to  clafp  his  neck, 
And  tell  him  all  the  ftory  of  his  father. 

Anna.  With  wary  caution  you  muft  bear  yourfelf 
In  public,  left  your  tendernefs  break  forth, 
And  in  obfervers  ftir  conjectures  ilrange. 
'  For,  if  a  cherub  in  the  fhape  of  woman 
*  Should  walk  this  world,  yet  defamation  would, 
'  Like  a  vile  cur,  bark  at  the  angel's  train  * 

To-day  the  Baron  ftarted  at  your  tears. 

Lady  Rand.    He  did  fo,  Anna !  well  thy  Miftrefs 

knows, 

If  the  leuft  circumfhnce,  mote  of  offence, 
Should  touch  the  Baron's  eye,  his  fight  would  be 
With  jealoufy  diforder'd.     But  the  more 
It  does  behove  me  inftant  to  declare 
The  birth  of  Doug'a?,  and  afTert  his  rights. 
This  night  I  purpofe  with  my  fon  to  meet, 
Reveal  the  fecret,  and  confuit  with  him  : 
For  wife  he  is,  or  my  fond  judgment  errs, 

As  he  does  now,  fo  look'd  his  noble  father,        .  ^ 

'  Array'd  in  nature's  eafe  :  his  mien,  his  fpeech-, 

Were  fweetly  fimple,  and  full  oft  deceiv'd 

Thofe  trivial  mortals  who  feem  always  wife. 

But,  when  the  matter  match'd  his  mighty  mind, 

Up  rofe  the  Hero :  on  his  piercing  eye 

Sat  obfervation  :  on  each  glance  of  thought 

Decifion  follow'd,  as  the  thunder-bolt 

Purfues  the  flafti. 

Anna.  That  demon  haunts 'you  flill  : 

Beheld  Glenalvon. 

Lady  Rand.  Now  I  mnn  him  not. 

•This  day  I-brav'd  h:m  in  behalf  of  Norval : 

Perhaps  too  far  :  at  lead  my  nicer  fears 

For  Douglas  thus  interpret. 

Enter  Glenalvon. 

Ghn.  Noble  Dame  ! 
The  hov'riner  Dane  at  laft  his  men  hath  landed  : 

No 


DOUGLAS,  31 

No  band  of  pirates  j  but  a  mighty  hoft, 

That  come  to  fettle  where  their  valour  conquers ; 

To  win  a  country,  or  to  lofe  themfelves. 

Lady  Rand.    But  whence  comes  this  intelligence, 

Glenalvon  ? 

-G!en»  A  nimble  courier  fent  from  yonder  camp, 
To  haften  up  the  chieftains  of  the  north, 
Inform M  me,  as  he  paft,  that  the  fierce  Dane 
Had  on  the  eaftern  coall  of  Lothian  landed, 
*  Near  to  that  place  where  the  Tea  rock  immenfe, 
'  Amazing  Bafs,  looks  o'er  a  fertile  land. 

'  Lady  Rand.  Then  mult  this  weilern  army  march 

'  to  join 

'  The  warlike  troops  that  guard  Edina's  tow'rs. 
'  Glen.  Beyond  all  queitionr.     If  impairing  time" 
Has  not  eirac'd  the  image  of  a  place 
Once  perfect  in  my  breaft,  there  is  a  wild 
Which  lies  to  weftward  of  that  mighty  rocky 
And  feems  by  nature  formed  for  the  camp, 
Of  water-wafted  armies,  whofe  chief  ftrength 
Lies  in  firm  foot,  unflank'd  with  warlike  horfe: 
If  martial  Ikill  directs  the  Danifh  lords, 
There  inacceflible  their  army  lies 
To  our  fwift-fcow'ring  horfe,  the  bloody  field 
Muft  man  to  man,  and  foot  to  foot,  be  fought/ 
Lady  Rand.  How  many  mothers  mall  bewail  their 

fons  ! 

How  many  widows  weep  their  hufbands  flain  ! 
Ye  dames  of  Denmark  !  ev'n   for  you  1  feei, 
Who  fadly  fitting  on  the  fea-beat  fhore, 
Long  look  for  lords  that  never  mall  return. 

Glen.   Oft  has  th'  unconqner'd  Caledonian  fword". 
Widow'd  the  north.     The  children  of  the  flain 
Come,,  as  I  hope,  to  meet  their  father's  fate. 
Themonfter  war,  with  her  infernal  brood, 
Loud  yelling  fury,  and  life-ending  pain, 
Are  objecbs  iuited  to  Glenalvon's  foul. 
Scorn  is  more  grievous  than  the  pains  of  death  : 
Reproach  more  piercing  than  the  pointed  fvvord. 

Lady  Rand.  1  feorn  thee  not,  but  when  I  ought  to 
fccrn  ;. 

B  4  Nor 


32  DOUGLAS. 

Nor  e'er  reproach,  but  when  infuhed  virtue 
Againfl  audacious  vice  afTerts  herfelf. 
I  own  thy  worth,  Glenalvon  ;  none  mere  apt 
Than  I  to  praife  thine  eminence  in  arms, 
And  be  the  echo  of  thy  martial  fame. 
No  longer  vainly  feed  a  guilty  palTion  : 
Go  and  purfue  a  lawful  miftrefs,   Glory. 
Upon  the  Danifh  crefts  redeem  thy  faulr, 
And  ht  thy  valour  be  the  mield  of  Randolph. 

Glen.  One  inltant  ilay,  and  hear  an  alter'd  man. 
When  beauty  pleads  for  virtue,  vice  abafh'd 
Flies  its  own  colours,  and  goes  o'er  to  virtue. 
J  am  your  convert ;  time  will  mew  how  truly  : 
Yet  one  immediate  proof  I  mean  to  give. 
That  youth i  for  whom  your  ardent  ze?.l  to-day 
Somewhat  too  haughtily  dcfy'd  your  fluve, 
Amidft  the  mock  ot'aimies  I'll  defend,  V7,i 

And  turn  death  from  him  with  a  guardian  arm. 
4   Sedate  by  ufe,  my  boforn  maddens  not 
'   At  the  tumultuous  uproar  of  the  field.' 

Lady  Rand.  Aft  thus,    Glenaivon,    and  .1   am  thy 

friend  ; 

But  that's  thy  leatf  reward.     Believe  me,  Sir, 
The  truly  generous  is  the  truly  wife; 
And  he  who  loves  not  others,  lives  unbleft. 

[Exit  Lady  Randolph  and  Anna, 

Glen.  Amen  !  and  virtue  is  iis  own  reward  ! 

J  think  that  I  have  hit  the  very  tone 

In  which  me  loves  to  fpeak.     Honey 'd  aiTent, 

How  pleafant  art  thou  to  the  talle  of  man, 

And  woman  alfo  !  flattery  direct 

Rarely  difgufts.     They  little  know  mankind 

Who  doubt  its  operation  :   'tis  my  key, 

And  opes  the  wicket  of  the  human  heart. 

How  f..r  I  have  fucceeded  now  I  know  not, 

Yet  I  incline  to  think  her  ftormy  viitue 

Is  lull'd  awhile  :   'Tis  her  alone  I  fear  : 

While  (he  in  Randolph  live,  and  live  in  faith 

And  amity,  uncertain  is^my  tenure. 

4   Fate  o'er  my  head  fufp'ends  difgrace  and  death, 

«  By  that  weak  hair,  a  peevifh  female's  will, 

«  I  am 


0    O    U     G    L    A    S.  33 

c  I  am  not  idle  :   but  the  ebbs  and  flows 
'  Of  fortune's  tide  cannot  be  calculated.' 
That  flave  of  Norval's  I  have  found  moil  apt. 
J  fhew'dhim  gold,  and  he  has  pawn'd  his  foul  ; 
To  fay  and  fvvear  whatever  I  fuggeft. 
Norval,  I'm  told,  has  that  alluring  look, 
'Twixt  man  and  woman,  which  I  have  obferv'd . ; 
To  charm  the  nicer  and  fa ntaftic  dames, 
Who  are,  like  Lady  Randolph,  full  of  virtue. 
In  raifmg  Randolph's  jealoufy  I  may 
But  point  him  to  the  truth.     He  feidom  errs 
Who  think  the  worft  he  can  of  womankind. 

[Exit. 


B  ACT 


34  DOUGLAS. 

ACT     IV. 

Flourijb  of  Trumpets. 
Enter   Lord  Randolph. 


Lard  Randolph.       ff 1 

SUMM  ON  an  hundred  horfe,  by  break  of  day, 
To  wait  our  pleafure  at  the  calHe-gate. 

Enter  Lady  Randolph. 

Lady  "Rand.  Alas  !  my  Lord  !  I've  heard  unwelcome 

news  : 
The  Danes  are  landed. 

Lord  Rand.  Ay,  no  inroad  this 
Of  the  Northumbrian  bent  to  take  a  fpoil :  / 
No  fporiive  war,  no  tournament  e/Tay 
Of  forne  young  knight  refolv'd  to  break  a  fpear, 
.And  flain  with  hoiiile  blood  his  maiden  arms. 
The  Danes  are  landed  ;  we  mufl  beat  them  back, 
Or  live  the  (laves  of  Denmark. 

Lady  Rand.  Dreadful  times  ! 

Lord  Rand.  The  fencelefs  villages  are  all  forfaken  ; 
The  trembling  mothers  and  their  children  lodg'd 
In  wall- girt  to.vers  and  caftles  ;  whillt  the  men 
Retire  indignant.     Yet,  like  broken  waves, 
They  but  retire  more  awful  to  return. 

Lady  Rand.  Immenfe,  as  fame  reports,  the  Danifli 
hoft ^ 

Lord  Rand.  Were  it  as  numerous  as  loud  fame  re 
ports, 
An  army  knit  like  ours  would  pierce  it  thro* : 

Brothers, 


D     O     U     G     L     A    S.  35 

Brothers,  that  fhrink  not  from  each  other's  fide, 
And  fond  companions,  fill  our  warlike  files  : 
For  his  dear  offspring,  and  the  wife  he-loves, 
The  hufband,  and  the  fearlefs  father  arm. 
In  vulgar  breafts  heroic  ardour  burns, 
And  the  poor  peafaut  mates  his  daring  lord. 

Lady  Rand.  Men's  minds  are   temper'd,  like  their 

fwords,  for  war  ; 

f  Lovers  of  danger,  on  definition's  brink 
'•  They  joy  to  rear  ereft  their  daring  forms. 
'•  Hence,  early  graves  ;  hence,  the  lone  widow's  life ;; 
'  And  the  fad  mother's  grief-embitter'd  age.' 
Where  is  our  gallant  guefl  ? 

Lord  Rand*  Down  in  the  vale 
I  left  him,  managing  a  fiery  fteed, 
Whofe  ftubbornnefs  had  foil'd  the  ilrength-and  fkill- 
Of  every  rider,     But  behold  he  comes,, 
lii  earneft  convention  with  Glenalvon. 

Entw  Norval  and  Glenalvont 

Glenalvon  !  with  the  lark  arife  :  go  forth, 
And  lead  my  troops  that  lie  in  yonder,  vale  : 
Private  I  travel  to  the  royal  camp : 
Norval,  thou  goefl  with  m«     But  i^iy,  young  man.! 
Where  didit  thou  learn  fo  to  difcourfe  of  war, 
And  in  fuch  terms  as  I  o'erhcard  to-day  ? 
'War  is  no  village  fcience,   nor  its  phrafe 
A  language  taught  amongit  the  fnepherd  fvvairr^ 

Nor-v.  Small  is  thefkillmy  Lord  delights  to  praife\, 
Jn  him  he  favours         Hear  from  whence  it  came; 
Beneath  a  mountain's  brow,  the  moll  remote 
And  inacceflible,  by  fhepherds  trod, 
Jn  a  deep  cave,  dug  by  no  mortal  hand,, 
A  hermit  liv'd  ;  a  melancholy  man, 
Who  was  the  wonder  of  our  wand'ring  fwains. 
Auftere  and  lonely,  cruel  to  himfelf, 
Did  they  report  him  :  the  cold  earth  his  bed, 
Water  his  drink,  his  food  the  mepherds'  alms. 
I  went  to  fee  him,  and  my  heart  was  touch'd 
With  rev.'rence  and  with  pity.     Mild  he  fpake, 
£  6 


3$  DOUGLAS. 

And,  ent'ring  on  difcourfe,  fuch  flories  told 

As  made  me  oft  revifit  his  fad  cell. 

For  he  had  been  a  foldier  in  his  youth  ; 

And  fought  in  famous  battles^  when  the  Peers 

Of  Furore,   by  the  bold  Godfrcdo  led 

Againft  th'  ufurping  I-ntidel  difplay'd 

The  bleffed  Crofs,  and  won  the  Holy  Land. 

Pleas'd  with  my  admiration,  and  the  fire 

His  fpeech  tfruck  from  me,  the  old  man  would  (hake 

His  ye^rs  away,  and  aft  his  young  encounters  : 

Then,   having  ihew'd  his  wounds,  he'd  fit  him  down* 

And  «11  the  live-long  day  difcourfe  of  war. 

To  help  my  fancy,   »n  the  fmooth  green  turf 

He  cut  the  figures  of  the  marftial'd  hoits  } 

Defcrib'd  the  motions,  and  explain 'd  the  ufe 

Of  the  dtepcolumn,  and  the  Icngthen'd  line, 

The  fquare,  the  crvfcent,  and  the  phalanx  firm. 

For  all  that  Saracen  or  Chriftian  knew 

Cf  war's  vaft  art,  was  to  this  heimit  known. 

Lord  RanJ.  Why  did  this  foldier  in  a  defert  hide 
Thofe  qualities  that  mould  have  grac'd  a  camp? 

Now.  That  too  at  1  aft  I  learn'd.     Unhappy  man  ! 
Returning  homewards  by  Medina's  port, 
Loaded  with  wealth  and  honours  bravely  won, 
A  ruc'e  and  boiit'rcu-  captain  of  the  fea    ' 
Fallen 'd  a  cjua'rel  on  him.     Fieice  they  fought  ; 
Th?  Granger  Tell,  and  with  his  dying  bieatfe 
l."e  L'r'dh.s  name  and  lineage  !   Mighty  Power! 
1  he  foldier  cried,  my  brother  !  Oh  1  my  brother  ! 

Lady  Rand.   His  brother  ! 

Norv.  Yes  ;  of  the  fame  parents  born  ; 
His  only  brother.     They  exchang'd  forgiveness^ 
And  happy,  in  my  mind,  was  he  that  died  : 
For  many  deaths  has  the  furvivor  fuffer'd. 
In  the  wild  defej  t  on  a  rock  he  fits, 
Or  on  forhe  namelefs  fiream's  untrodden  banks, 
And  ruminates  all  day  his  dreadful  fate. 
At  limes,  alas  !   not  in  his  perfect  mind  ! 
'Holds  dialogues  with  his  lov'd  brother's  ghoft ; 
And  oft  each  night  forfakes  his  ful'en  ccuch, 
Tc  mak?  u.d  orifcns  for  h'm  he  Hew. 

Ladv 


DOUGLAS.  37 

Lady  Rand.    To  what  myfterious  woes  are  mortals 

born ! 

In  this  dire  tragedy  were  there  no  more 
Unhappy  perfons?  did  the  parents  live? 

Norv.  No;  they  were  dead  :  kind  heav'n  had  clos'd 

their  eyes 
Before  their  fon  had  (lied  his  brother's  blood. 

Lord  Rand.  Hard  is  his  fate  ;  for  he  was  not  to  blame ! 
There  is  a  deltiny  in  this  ftrange  world, 
Which  oft  decrees  an  undeferved  doom  : 
Let  ichoolmen  tell  us  why. — From  whence  thefe  founds  ? 

[Trumpets  at  a  dijiancs. 

Enter  an  Officer. 

Of.  My  Lord,  the  trumpets  of  the  troops  of  Lorn  : 
The  valiant  leader  hails  the  noble  Randolph. 

Lord  Rand.  Mine  antient  gueil!  does  he  the  war 
riors  lead  ? 
Has  Denmark rous'd  the  brave  old  Knight  ;to  arms? 

Ojf.  No:  worn  with  warfare,  he  reiigns  the  (word. 
His  eldeft  hope,  the  valiant  John  of  Lorn, 
Now  leads  his  kindred  bands. 

Lord  Rand.   Glenalvon,  go. 
With  hofpitality's  moll  flrong  requeft 
In  treat  the  chief.  [Exit  Glenalvon. 

Of.  My  Lord,  requefts  are  vain. 
He  urges  on,  impatient  of  delay, 
Stung  with  the  tidings  of  the  foe's  approach.        [Exit. 

Lord  Rand.  May  victory  fit  on  the  warrior's  plume  1 
BTavelt  of  men!  his  flocks  and  herds  are  fufe; 
Remote  from  war's  alarms  his  pafture  lie, 
By  mountains  inacceffible  fecur'd  ; 
Yet  foremoft  he  into  the  plain  defcends, 
Eager  to  bleed  in  battles  not  his  own. 
Such  were  the  heroes  of  the  antient  world  ; 
Contemners  they  of  indolence  and  gain  j 
But  ftill  for  love  of  glory,  and  of  arms, 
Prone  to  encounter  peril,  and  to  lift 
Againft  each  ilrong  antagonift  the  fpear. 
I'll  go  and  prefj  the  hero  to  my  bread.  '[Exit. 

Lady 


$8  DOUGLAS. 

Lady  Rand.  Thefoldier'sloftinefs,  the  pride  and  pomp 
Inveiting  awful  war,  Norval,  I  fee, 
Tranfport  thy  youthful  mind. 

Norif.    Ah  !  mould  they  not  ? 
Bleft  be  the  hour  I  left  my  father's  houfe! 
1  might  have  been  a  mepherd  all  my  days, 
And  iiole  obfcurely  to  apea&nt's  grave. 
Now,  if  I  live,  with  mighty  chiefs  I  itand  ; 
And,  if  I  fall,  with  noble  duftl  lie. 

Lady  Rand.  There  is  a  generous  fpirk  in  thy  breafly 
That  could  have  well  fuftain'd  a  prouder  fortune. 
*  This  way  with  me,  unxler  you  Threading  beech,' 
Since  lucky  chance  has  left  us  heie  alone, 
Unfeen,   unheard,  by  human  eye  or  ear, 
I  will  amaze  thee  with  a  wond'rous  tale. 

Nor<v.  Let  there  be  danger,  Lady,  with  the  fecrer,, 
That  I  may  hug  it  to  my  grateful  heart, 
And  prove  my  faith.     Command  my  fsvord,  my  life : 
Thefe  are  the  fole  porTeffions  of  poor  Norval. 

Lady  Rand.  Know'ft  thou  thefe  gems? 

NOTTS.  Duril  I  believe  mine  eyes, 
I'd  fay  I  knew  them,  and  they  were  my  father's. 

Lady  Rand.  Thy  father's,  fay 'it  thou  !  ah  1  they  were- 
thy  father's!. 

Nor<v.  I  faw  them  once,,  and  curioufly  inquir'd 
Of  both  my  parents,  whence  fuch  fplendor  came? 
But  I  was  check'd,  and  more  could  never  learn. 

Lady  Rand.  Then  learn  of  me,:  thou  art  not  Norvar^ 
fon. 

Nor<v.  Not  Norval's  fon  ! 

Lady  Rand.  Nor  of  a  mepherd  fprung. 

.Afor<z/.  Lady,  who  am  I  then  ? 

Lady  Rand.   Noble  thou  art; 
For  noble  was  thy  Sire  ! 

Ncrv.  I  will  believe-—-—— 
O!  tell  me  farther!  Say  who  was  my  father? 

Lady.#rfW.  Douglas! 

Nor<v.  Lord  Douglas,  whom  to-day  I  faw? 

Lady  Rand.   His  younger  brother. 

Ncrv.  And  in  yonder  camp? 

Lady  Rand*  Alas ! 


'DOUGLAS.  39 

Norv.  You  make  me  tremble  Sighs  and  tears  I 

Lives  my  brave  father  ? 

Lady  Rand.   Ah  !   too  brave  indeed  ! 
He  fell  in  battle  ere  thyfelf  was  born. 

Now.   Ah  me  unhappy  !  ere  I  fa\v  the  light  ? 
But  does  my  mother  liver  I  may  conclude, 
From  my  own  fate,  her  portion  has  been  forrow. 

Lady  Rand.  She  lives ;  but  waftes  her  life  in  conftant 

woe, 
Weeping  her  hufband  flain,  her  infant  loft. 

Nor<v.  You  tlvat  are  fkill'd  fo  well  in  the  fad  {lory 
Of  my  unhappy  parents,  and  with  tears 
Bewail  their  deftiny,  now  have  companion 
Upon  the  offspring  of  the  friends  you  lov'd  !  :A, 

O!   tell  me  who,   and  where  my  mother  is  ! 
Opprefs'd  by  a  bafe  world,  perhaps  me  bends 
Beneath  the  weight  of  other  ills  than  grief; 
And,  defolate,  implores  of  heav'n  the  aid 
Her  fon  mould  give.     It  is,  it  muft  be  fo — 
Your  countenance  confeiles  that  ihe's  wretched. 
O !  tell  me  her  condition  !   Can  the  fword — 
Who  (hall  refill  me  in  a  parent's  caufe? 

Lady  Rand.  Thy  virtue  ends  her  woe !  My  fon!  myr 
fon  ! 

Norv.  Art  thou  my  mother  ? 

Lady  Rand.    I  am  thy   mother,    and    the   wife  of 
Douglas !  [Falls  upon  bis  tiecL 

Norv.  O  heav'n  and  earth,  how  wondrous  is  my  fate"! 
Art  thou  my  mother?  -Ever  let  me  kneel! 

Lady  Rand.  Image  of  Douglas  !  Fruit  of  fatal  love  ! 
All  that  I  owe  thy  Sire,  I  pay  to  thee. 

Nor<v.  Refpect  and  admiration  ftill  poflefs  me. 
Checking  the  love  and  fondnefs  of  a  fon. 
Yet  1  was  filial  to  my  humble  parents. 
But  did  my  Sire  furpafs  the  reft  of  men, 
As  thou  excelleft  all  of  womankind  ? 

Lady  Rand.  Arife,  my  fon!  In  me  thou  deft  behold 
The  poor  remains  of  beauty  once  admir'd: 
The  autumn  of  my  days  is  come  already ; 
For  forrow  made  my  fummer  hafte  away. 
Yet  in,  my  prime  I  equalPd  not  thy  father  5 

His 


40  DOUGLAS. 

His  eyes  were  like  the  eagle's,  yet  fometimes 
Liker  the  dove's;  and,  as  he  pleas'd,  he  won 
All  hearts  with  foftnefs,  or  with  fpirit  aw'd. 

Nor-v.  How  did  he  fall  ?  Sure  'twas  a  bloody  field  .   4 
When  Douglas  died.     O  I  have  much  to  aflc ! 

Lady  Rand.  Hereafter  thou  ihalt  hear  the  lengthen'd 

tale 

Of  all  thy  father's  and  thy  mother's  woes. 
.At  prefent  this :  thou  art  the  rightful  heir 
Of  yonder  caftle,  and  the  wide  domains 
Which  now  Lord  Randolph,  as  myhufband,  holds. 
But  thou  malt  iiot  be  wrong'd ;  I  have  the  power 
To  right  thee  ftill :  before  the  King  I'll  kneel, 
And  call  Lord  Douglas  to  protect  his  blood. 

Norv.  The  blood  of  Douglas  will  protect  itfelf. 

Lady&z/u/.  But  we  mail  need  both  friends  and  fa 
vour,  boy, 

To  wreft  thy  lands  and  lordfhip  from  the  gripe 
Of  Randolph  and  his  kinfman.     Yet  I  think 
My  tale  will  move  each  gentle  heart  to  pity, 
My  life  incline  the  virtuous  to  believe. 

Nwv.  To  be  the  fon  of  Douglas  is  to  me 
Inheritance  enough.     Declare  my  birth, 
And  in  the  field  I'll  feek  for  fame  and  fortune. 

Lady  Rand.  Thou   doft  not  know  \vh.it  perils  and 

injuftice 

Await  the  poor  man's  valour.     O  1  my  fon  ! 
The  nobleft  blood  of  all  the  land's  abafh'd, 
Having  no  lacquey  but  pale  poverty. 
Too  long  haft  thou  been  thus  attended,  Douglas ! 
Too  long  haft  thou  been  deem'd  a  peafmt's  child. 
The  wanton  heir  of  fome  inglorious  chief 
Perhaps  has  fcorn'd  thee,  in  the  youthful  fports  ; 
Whijft  thy  indignant  fpirit  fwell'd  in  vain  ! 
Sach  contumely  thou  no  more  ihalt  bear  : 
But  how  I  purpofe  to  redrefs  thy  wrongs 
Muit  be  hereafter  told.     Prudence  direcis 
Thnt  we  fhould  part  before  yon  chiefs  return. 
Redre,  and  from  thy  ruftic  follower's  hand 
Receive  a  billet,  which  thy  mother's  care, 
Anxious  to  fee  thee,  dictated  before 

This 


D     O     U     G     L     A     S.  41 

This  cafual  opportunity  arofe 
Of  private  conference.     Its  purport  mark  ; 
For,  as  I  there  appoint,  we  meet  again. 
Leave  me,  my  fon  !  and  frame  thy  manners  fUll 
To  NorvaPs,  not  to  noble  Douglas'  ftate. 

Norv.  I  will  remember.     Where  is  Norval  now  ? 
That  good  old  man. 

Lady  Rand.  At  hand  conceal'd  he  lies, 
An  ufeful  witnefs.     Butbewace,  my  fon, 
Of  yon  Glenalvon ;   in  his  guilty  breall 
Refides  a  villain's  fhrewdnefs,  ever  prone  * 

To  falfe  conjecture.     He  hath  griev'd  my  heart. 

Nor-v.  Has  he  indeed?  Then  let  yon  falfe  Glenalvon 
Beware  of  me.  [Exit. 

Lady  Rand.  Therel>uHl  the  fmother'd  flame  I 
O  !   thou  all  righteous  and  eternal  King  I 
Who  father  of  the  fatherlefs  artcalPd, 
Protect  my  fon  ! — Thy  infpiracion,  Lord  ! 
Hath  filpd  his  bofom  with  that  facred  fire, 
Which  in  the  breafts  of  his  forefathers  buni'd  : 
Set  him  on  high  like  them,  that  he  may  thine 
The  flar  andgiory  of  his  native  land  ! 
Then  let  the  minifter  of  death  defcend, 
And  bear  my  willing  fpirit  to  its  place. 
Yonder  they  come.     How  do  bad  women  fiad 
Unchanging  afpects  to  conceal  their  guilt? 
When  I,  by  reafon,  and  byjuftice  urg'd, 
Full  hardly  can  difTemble  with  thefe  men 
In  nature's  pious  caufe. 

Enter  Lord  Randolph  and  Glenalvon. 

Lord  Rand.  Yon  gallant  chief, 
Of  arms  enamour'd,  all  repofe  difclaims. 

Lady  Rand.  Be  not,  my  Lord,  by  his  example  fway'd  : 
Arrange  the  bulinefs  of  to-morrow  now, 
And,  when  you  enter,  fpeak  of  war  no  more.       [Exit* 

Lord  Rand.  'Tis  fo,  by  heav'n  !  her  mien,  her  voice, 

her  eye, 
And  her  impatience  to  be  gone,  confirm  it. 

Glen. 


42  DOUGLAS. 

Glen.  He  parted  from  her  now:  behind  the  mounf, 
lAmongft  the  trees,  I  faw  him  glide  along. 

LwaRand.  For  fad,  fequeftred  virtue  fhe's  renownM  i 

Glen.  Moil  true,  my  Lord. 

Lord  Rand.  Yet  this  diftinguifh'd  Dame 
Invites  a  youth,  the  acquaintance  of  a  day, 
Alone  to  meet  her  at  the  midnight  hour. 
This  aflignation  [Jbcws  a  letter']  the  a/Tallin  freed, 
Her  manifeft  affedion  for  the  youth,- 
Might  breed  fufpicion  in  a  hufband's  brain, 
Whofe  gentle  comfort  all  for  love  had  wedded  ; 
Much  more  in  mine.     Matilda  never  lov'd  me. 
Let  no  man,  after  me,  a  woman  wed, 
Whofe  heart  he  knows  he  has  not;  tho'  ihe  brings 
A  mine  of  gold,  a  kingdom  for  her  dowry. 
For  let  her  feem,  like  the  night's  fhadowy  queen, 
Cold  and  contemplative  ; — he  cannot  trull  her  : 
She  may,  Ihe  will,  bring  fliame  and  forrow  on  him ; 
The  worit  of  furrows,  and  the  worft  of  fhames ! 

Glen.  Yield  not,  my  Lord,  to  fuch  afHicling  thoughts ; 
But  let  the  fpritof  an  hufband  fleep, 
Till  your  own  fenies  made  a  mre  conclufion. 
This  biliet  rauil  to  blooming  Norval  go  : 
At  the  next  turn  awaits  my  trufty  fpy  ; 
I'll  give  it  him  refitted  for  his  matter.  • 
In  the  clofe  thicket  take  yourfecret  ftand; 
The  moon  fhines  bright,  and  your  own  eyes  may  judge 
Of  their  behaviour. 

Lord  Rand.  Thou  doft  counfel  well. 
Glen.   Permit  me  now  to  make  one  flight  efTay, 
Of  all  the  trophies  which  vain  mortals  boaft,. 
By  wit,  by  valour,  or  by  wifciom  won, 
The  firft  and  faireft  in  a  young  man's  eyer 
Is  woman's  captive  heart.     Successful  love 
With  glorious  flames  intoxicates  the  mind.! 
And  the  proud  conqueror  in  triumph  moves 
Air-born,  exalted  above  vulgar  men. 

Lord  Rand.  And  what  avails  this  maxim? 
Glen.   Much,  my  Lord! 
Withdraw  a  little  j  I'll  accoft  young  Norval, 
And  with  ironical  derifive  counfel 

Explore 


DOUGLAS.  43 

K.vplore  his  fpirit.     If  he  is  no  more 
Than  humble  Norval,  by  thy  favour  rais'd, 
Brave  as  he  is,  he'll  mrink  aftonim'd  from  me  : 
But  if  he  be  the  fav'rite  of  the  fair, 
Lov'd  by  the  firil  of  Cabdonia's  dames, 
He'll  turn  upon  me,  as  the  lion  turns 
Upon  the  hunter's  fpear. 

Lord  Rand.   'Tis  fhrewdly  thought. 

Gkn.  V/hen  we  grow  loud,  draw  near.     But  let  my 

Lord 
His  riling  wrath  reftrain  [Exit  Randolph. 

• 'Tis  ftrange,  by  heav'n  ! 

That  me  mould  run  full  tilt  her  fond  career, 
To  one  fo  little  known.     She  too  that  feem'd 
Pure  as  the  winter  itream,  when  ice  embofs'd 
Whitens  its  courfe.     Even  1  did  think  her  chafle 
Whofe  charity  exceeds  not.     Precious  fexJ 
Whofe  deeds  lafcivious  pafs  Glenalvon's  thoughts ! 

[Norval  appears* 

His  port  I  love  ;  he's  in  a  proper  mood        *- 
To  chide  the  thunder,  if  at  him  it  roar'd. 
Has  Norval  feen  the  troops  ? 

Nor<v.  The  fetting  fun, 
With  yellow  radiance  lightened  all  the  vale, 
And  as  the  warriors  mov'd,  each  polifh'd  helm, 
Corflet,  or  fpear,  glanc'd  back  his  gilded  beams. 
The  hill  they  climb'd,  and  halting  at  its  top, 
Of  more  than  mortal  fizz,  tow 'ring,   they  feem'd, 
An  hoft  angelic,  clad  in  burning  Jirms. 

Glen.   Thou  talk'ft  it  well;    no  leader  of  our  hoft, 
In  founds  more  lofty,  fpeaks  of  glorious  war. 

Nor<v.  If  I  mall 'e'er  acquire  a  leader's  name, 
My  fpeech  will  be  lefs  ardent.     Novelty 
Now  prompts  my  tongue,  and  youthful  admiration 
Vents  itfelf  freely;  fince  no  part  is  mine 
Of  praife  pertaining  to  the  great  in  arms. 

Glen.  You  wrong  yourfelf,  brave  Sir;  your  martial 

deeds 

Have  rank'd  you  with  the  great:  but  mark  me,  Norval: 
Lord  Randolph's  favour  now  exalts  your  youth 
Above  his  veterans  of  v£amo.us  iervice. 

Let 


44  DOUGLAS. 

Let  me,  who  know  the  foldiers,  counfel  you. 
Give  them  all  honour;  feem  not  to  command; 
Elfe  they  will  fcarcely  brook  your  late  fprung  power, 
Which  nor  alliance  props,  ncr  birth  adorns. 

Norv.  Sir,  I  have  been  acculiom'd  all  my  days 
To  h'ear  and  fpeak  the  plain  and  funple  truth: 
And  tho'  I  have  been  told,  that  there  are  men 
Who  borrow  friendfhip's  tongue  to  fpeak  their  fcorn, 
Yet  in  fuch  language  I  am  little  {kili'd. 
Therefore  I  thank  Glenalvon  for  his  counfel, 
Although  it  founded  harfhly.     Why  remind 
Me  of  my  birth  obfcure?  Why  flur  my  power 
With  fuch  contemptuous  terms? 

Glen.   I  did  not  mean 
To  gall  your  pride,  which  now  I  fee  is  great. 

Ncrv.  My  pride ! 

Glen.  Supprefs  it  as  you  wifh  to  profper. 
Your  pride's  exceffive.     Yet  for  Randolph's  fake 
I  will  not  leave  you  to  its  ram  direction. 
If  thus  you  fwell,  and  frown  at  high-born  men, 
Think  you  they  will  endure  a  fliepherd's  fcorn? 

Nor<v.  A  fhepherd's  fcorn  ! 

Glen.  Yes,  ifyouprefume 
To  bend  on  foldiers  thefe  difdainful  eyes, 
What  will  become  of  you  ? 

Nor*v.  If  this  were  told \Aflde » 

Haft  thou  no  fears  for  thy  prefumptuous  felf  ? 

Glen.  Ha!  Doll  thou  threaten  me? 

Nor<v.  Didft  thou  not  hear  ? 

Glen.  Unwillingly  I  did;   a  noble  foe 
Had  not  been  queition'd  thus.     But  fuch  as  thee 

Nor<v.  Whom  doll  thou  t&ink  me  ? 

Ghn.  Norval. 

Norv.  So  I  am— 
And  who  is  Norval  in  Glenalvon's  eyes? 

Glen.  A  peafant's  fon,  a  wand'nng  beggar-boy; 
At  bed  no  more,  even  if  he  fpeaks  the  truth. 

Norv.  Falfe  as  thou  art,  doft  thou  fufpect  my  truth  ? 

Glen.  Thy  truth  !  thou'rt  all  a  lie;    and  falfe  as  hell 
Is  the  vain-glorious  tale  thou  told'ft  to  Randolph. 

Norv, 


DOUGLAS.  45 

Now.  If  I  were  chain'd,  unarm'd,  and  bedrid  old, 
Perhaps  I  fhould revile:  But  as  I  am 
I  have  no  tongue  to  rail.     The  humble  Norval 
Is  of  a  race  who  ilrivps  not  but  with  deeds, 
Did  I  not  fear  to  freeze  thy  mallow  valour, 
And  make  thee  fink  too  foon  beneath  my  fword, 
I'd  tell  thee — what  thou  art.     I  kiuw  thee  well. 

Glen.  Doll  thou  not  know  Glenalvon,  born  to  com 
mand 
Ten  thoufand  ilaves  like  thee  ? 

Norv.  Villain,  no  more  : 
Draw  and  defend  thy  life.     I  did-defign 
To  have  defy'd  thee  in  another  caufe : 
But  heaven  accelerates  its  vengeance  on  thee. 
Now  for  my  own  and  Lady  Randolph's  wrongs. 

Enter  Lord  Randolph. 

Lord&z«</.  Hold,  I  command  you  both.     The  man 

that  Itirs 
Makes  me  his  foe. 

Nor<v.  Another  voice  than  thine 
That  threat  had  vainly  founded,  noble  Randolph. 
Glen.    Hear  him,    my  Lord;  he's   wond'rous  con- 

defcending ! 
Mark  the  humility  of  mepherd  Norval ! 

Nor-v.  Now  you  may  fcoffin  fafety.  [Sheaths  hisfaord. 
Lord  Rand.  Speak  not  thus, 
Taunting  each  other;  but  unfold  to  me 
The  caufe  of  quarrel,  then  I  judge  betwixt  you. 
Nor<v.    Nay,    my   good   Lord,    tho'   I  revere   you 

much, 

My  caufe  I  plead  not,  nor  demand  your  judgment. 
I  bliifh  to  fpeak;  I  will  not,  cannot  fpeak 
Th*  opprobrious  words  that  I  from  him  have  borne. 
To  the  liege-lord  of  my  dear  native  land 
I  owe  a  fubjecVs  homage;  but  even  him 
And  his  high  arbitration  I'd  reject. 
Within  rny  bofom  reigns  another  lord ; 
Honour,  ible  judge  and  umpire  of  itfelf. 
If  my  free  fpeech  offend  you,  noble  Randolph. 

Revokq 


46  DOUGLAS. 

Revoke  your  favours,  and  let  Norval  go 
Hence  as  he  came,  alone,  but  not  dilhonour'd. 

Lord  Rand.    Thus  far  I'll  mediate  with  impartial 

voice. 

The  antient  foe  of  Caledonia's  land 
Now  waves  his  banners  o'er  her  frighted  fields. 
Sufpend  your  purpofe,  till  your  country's  arms 
Repel  the  bold  invader;  then  decide 
The  private  quarrel. 

Glen.  I  agree  to  this. 

Norv.  And  I. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  The  banquet  waits. 

Lord  Rand.  We  come.  [Exit  Randolph  and  Servant. 

Glen.  Norval, 

Let  not  our  variance  mar  the  focial  hour, 
Nor  wrong  the  hofpitality  of  Randolph. 
Nor  frowning  anger,    nor  yet  wrinkled  hate, 
Shall  itain  my  countenance.     Smooth  thou  thy  brow  ; 
Nor  let  ourftrife  difturb  the  gentle  Dame. 

Nor--j.  Think  not  fo  lightly,  Sir,  of  my  refentment ; 
When  we  contend  again,  our  ftrife  is  mortal. 

\Exeunt* 


A  C  T 


DOUGLAS.  47 

ACT       V. 

Wood. 


Enter  Douglas. 

HIS  is  the  place,  the  centre  of  the  grove. 
A     Here  Hands  the  oak,  the  monarch  of  the  wood. 
How  fweet  and  folemn  is  this  midnight  fcene  ! 
The  filver  moon,  unclouded,  holds  her  way 
Thro*  flues  where  I  could  count  each  little  ftar. 
The  fanning  weft  wind  fcarcely  ftirs  the  leaves  ;  - 
The  river,  rufhing  o'er  its  pebble  bed, 
Impofes  filence  with  a  ftilly  found. 
In  fuch  a  place  as  this,  at  fuch  an  hoar,  » 

If  anc-eitry  can  be  in  ought  believ'd, 
Defcending  fpirits  have  convers'd  with  man, 
And  told  the  fecrets  of  the  world  unknown. 

Enter  Old  Norval. 

/ 

Norv.    'Tis   he.     But  what  if  he  mould  chide  me 

hence  ; 

His  juft  reproach  I  fear.      [Douglas  turns  and  fees  him* 
Forgive,  forgive, 

Canft  thou  forgive  the  man,  thefelfifh  man, 
Who  bred  Sir  Malcolm's  heir  a  fhepherd's  fon. 

Doug.  Kneel  not  to  me  :  thou  art  my  father  ftill  : 
Thy  wifh'd-for  prefence  now  compleats  my  joy. 
Welcome  to  me,  my  fortunes  thon  lhalt  mare, 
And  ever  honour'dwith  thy  Douglas  live. 

Norv.    And    doft    thou    call   me    father?    O  my 

fon! 
I  think  that  I  could  die  to  make  amends. 

For 


43  DOUGLAS. 

Fof  the  great  wrong  I  did  thee.     'Twas  my  crime 
Which  in  the  wildernefs  fo  long  conceaPd 
The  bloilcm  of  thy  youth. 

Doug.  Not  worfe  the  fruit, 
That  in  the  wildernefs  the  blolTom  blow'd. 
Amongft  the  fhepherds,  in  the  humble  cot, 
J  learn'd  fome  lefTons,  which  I'll  not  forget 
When  J  inhabit  yonder  lofty  towers. 
I,  who  was  once  a  fwain,  will  ever  prove 
The  poor  man's  friend  ;  and,  when  my  vaffals  '^ow, 
Norval  fhall  frnooth  the  crefted  pride  of  Douglas. 

Now.  Let  me  but  live  to  fee  thine  exaltation  !     t 
Yet  grievous  are  my  fears.     O  leave  this  place, 
And  thofe  unfriendly  towers. 

Doug.  Why  ihould  I  leave  them  ? 

Nrrv.  Lord  Randolph  and  his  kinfman  feek  your  life, 

Doug.  How  know'lt  thou  that? 

Nor<v.  I  will  inform  you  how. 
When  evening  caine,  1  left  the  fecret  place 
Appointed  for  me  by  your  mother's  care, 
And  fondly  troa  in  each  accuftom'd  path 
That  to  the  caftle  leads.     Whilft  thus  I  rang'd, 
1  was  alarm'd  with  unexpected  founds 
Of  earneft  voices.     On  the  perfons  came; 
Unfeen  I  lurk'd,  and  overheard  them  name 
Each  other  as  they  talk'd,  Lord  Randolph  this, 
And  that  Glenal von  :  ftillofyou  theyfpoke, 
And  of  the  Lady  :  threatening  was  their  fpeech, 
Tho'  but  imperfeftly  my  ear  could  hear  it. 
*Twas  flrange,  they  faid,  a  wonderful  difcov'ry  ; 
And  ever  and  anon  they  vow'd  revenge. 

Doug.  Revenge !  for  what  ? 

Norn;.  For  being  what  you  are; 
Sir  Malcolm's  heir :  how  elfe  have  you  offended  ? 
When  they  were  gone,  I  hy'd  me  to  my  cottage, 
And  there  fat  mufmg  how  I  bell  might  find 
Means  to  inform  you  of  their  wicked  purpofe. 
But  I  could  think  of  none:  at  laft,  perplex'd, 
I  iiTu'd  forth,  encompaffing  the  tower 
With  many  a  weary  ftep,  and  wifhful  look. 
Now  Provideace  hath  brought  you  to  my  fight, 

Let 


DOUGLAS.  49 

Let  not  your  too  courageous  fpirit  fcorn 
rl'he  caution  which  I  give. 

Doug.  I  fcorn  it  not. 

My  mother  warn'd  me  of  Glenalvon's  bafenefs : 
But  I  will  not  fufpeft  the  noble  Randolph. 
In  our  encounter  with  the  vile  aiTaffins, 
I  rnark'd  his  brave  demeanor  :  him  I'll  truft. 

Norv.  I  fear  you  will  too  far. 

Daug.  Here  in  this  place 
I  wait  my  mother's  coming  ;  me  mail  know 
What  thou  haft  told  :  her  counfel  I  will  follow  ; 
And  cautious  ever  are  a  mother's  counfels. 
You  mull  depart ;  your  prefence  may  prevent 
Our  interview, 

Norv.  My  ble fling  reft  upon  thee  I 
O  may  heav'n's  hand,  which  fav'd  thee  from  the  wave, 
And  from  the  fword  of  foes,  be  near  thee  ftill ; 
Turning  mifchance,  if  ought  hangs  o'er  thy  head, 
All  upon  mine  !  [Exit, 

Doug*  He  loves  me  like  a  parent ; 
And  mult  "not,  (hall  not  lofe  the  fon  he  loves, 
Altho'  his  fon  has  found  a  nobler  father. 
Eventful  day  !  how  haft  thou  chang'd  my  ftate  \ 
Once  on  the  cold,  and  winter-maded  fide 
Of  a  bleak  hill,  mifchance  had  rooted  me> 
Never  to  thrive,  child  of  another  foil: 
Tranfplanted  now  to  the  gay  funny  vale, 
Like  the  green  thorn  of  May  my  fortune  flowers. 
Ye  glorious  ftars  !  high  heav'n's  refplendent  hoft  i 
To  whom  I  oft  have  of  my  lot  complain'd, 
Hear  and  record  my  foul's  unalter'd  wilh  I 
Dead  or  alive,  let  me  but  be  renown'd  ! 
May  heav'n  infpire  fome  fierce  gigantic  Dane, 
To  give  a  bold  defiance  to  our  hoil ! 
Before  he  fpeaks  it  out  I  will  accept : 
Like  Douglas  conquer,  or  like  Douglas  die. 

Enter  Lady  Randolph. 

Lady  "Rand.  My  fon  !  I  heard  a  voice——- 
Dong.  The  voice  was  mine. 

C  Ladv 


50  DOUGLAS. 

Lady  Rand.  Didft  thou  complain  aloud  to  nature's 

ear, 

That  thus  in  dufky  fhades,  at  midnight  hours, 
By  ilealth  the  mother  and  the  fon  fhould  meet  ? 

[Embracing  him* 

Doug.  No  ;  on  this  happy  day,  this  better  birch-day, 
My  thoughts  and  words  are  all  of  hope  and  joy. 

Lady  Rand.  Sad  fear  and  melancholy  ftill  divide 
The  empire  of  my  breaft  with  hope  and  joy. 
Now  hear  what  1  advife. 

Doug.  Firft  let  me  tell 
What  may  the  tenor  of  your  counfel  change. 

Lady  Rand.  My  heart  forebodes  fome  evil  ! 

Dtwg.  'Tis  not  good. 

At  eve,  unfeen  by  Randolph  and  Glenalvon, 

The  good  old  Norval  in  the  grove  o'erheard 

Their  converfation  :  oft  they  mention'd  me  • 

With  dreadful  threatnings ;  you  they  fometimes  nam'd. 

'Twas  flrange,  they  faid,  a  wonderful  difcovery  ; 

And  ever  and  anon  they  vow'd  revenge. 

Lady  Rand.  Defend  us,  gracious  God  :  we  are  be- 

tray'd: 

They  have  found  ©ut  the  fecret  of  thy  birth ; 
It  muft  be  fo.     That  is  the  great  difcovery. 
Sir  Malcolm's  heir  is  come  to  claim  his  own  ; 
And  he  will  be  reveng'd.     Perhaps  even  now, 
Arrn'd  and  prepar'd  for  murder,  they  but  wait 
A  darker  and  more  filent  hour,  to  break 
Into  the  chamber  where  they  think  thou  fleep'ft. 
This  moment,  this,  heav'n  hathordam'd  to  fave  thce  ! 
Fly  to  the  camp,  my  fon  ! 

Doug.  And  leave  you  here  ? 
No  ;   to  the  caftle  let  us  go  together, 
Call  up  the  ancient  fervants  of  your  houfe, 
Who  in  their  youth  did  eat  your  father's  bread. 
Then  tell  them  loudly  that  I  am  your  fon. 
If  in  the  breafls  of  men  one  fpark  remains 
Of  facred  love,  fidelity,  or  pity, 
Some  in  your  caufe  will  arm.     I  afk  but  few 
To  drive  thofe  fpoilers  from  my  father's  houfe. 

Lady 


DOUGLAS.  51 

Lady  Rand,  O  Nature,  Nature  !  what  can  check  thy 

force  ? 

Thou  genuine  offspring  of  the  daring  Douglas! 
But  rufh  not  on  deftru&ion  :  five  thyfelf, 
And  I  am  fafe.     To  me  they  mean  no  harm. 
Tny  (lay  but  rifks  thy  precious  life  in  vain. 
That  winding  path  conducts  thee  to  the  river. 
Crofs  where  thou  feeft  a  broad  and  beaten  way, 
Which  running  eaftward  leads  thee  to  the  camp. 
Inftant  demand  admittance  to  Lord  Douglas. 
Shew  him  theie  jewels,  which  his  brother  wore. 
Thy  look,  thy  voice,  will  make  him  feel  the  truth, 
Which  I  by  certain  proof  will  foon  confirm. 

Doug.  I  yield  me  and  obey :  but  yet  my  heart 
Bleeds  at  this  parting.     Something  bids  me  ftay 
And  guard  a  mother's  life.     Oft  have  I  read 
Of  wondrous  deeds  by  one  bold  arm  atchiev'd. 
Our  foes  are  two  :  no  more  :  let  me  go  forth, 
And  fee  if  any  fhield  can  guard  Glenalvon. 

Lady  Rand,  If  thou  regard'ft  thy  mother,  or  reverMr 
Thy  father's  memory,  think  of  this  no  more. 
One  thing  I  have  to  fay  before  we  part  ; 
Long  wert  thou  loft  ;  and  thou  art  found,  my  child, 
Jn  a  moft  fearful  feafon.     War  and  battle 
I  have  great  caufe  to  'dread.     Too  well  I  fee 
Which  way  the  current  of  thy  temper  fets : 
To-day  I've  found  thee.     Oh  !  my  long  loft  hope  ! 
If  thou  to  giddy  valour  giv'll  the  rein, 
To-morrow  I  may  lofe  my  fon  for  ever. 
The  love  of  thee,  before  thou  faw'ft  the  light, 
Suftain'd  my  life  when  thy  brave  father  fell. 
If  thou  malt  fall,  I  have  nor  love  nor  hop3 
In  this  wafte  world  !  my  fon,  remember  me  ! 

Doug,  What  (hall  I  fay  ?  how  can  I  give  you  comfort  f 
The  God  of  battles  of  my  life  difpofe 
As  may  be  beft  for  you  !  for  whofe  dear  fake 
I  will  not  bear  myfelf  as  I  refolv'd. 
But,  yet  confider,  as  no  vulgar  name 
That  which  I  boaft  founds  amongft  martial  men> 
How  will  inglorious  caution  fuit  my  claim  .? 
The  poft  of  fate  unlhrinking  I  maintain. 
C  z 


52  D     O    if    G    L     A     S. 

My  country's  foes  muft  witnefs  who  I  am. 
On  the  invaders  heads  I'll  prove  my  birth, 
'Till  friends  and  foes  confefs  the  genuine  ftrain. 
If  in  this  Ihife  I  fall,  blame  not  your  fon, 
Who,  if  he  lives  not  honour'd,  mull  not  live. 

Lady  Rand,  I  will  not  utter  what  my  boibm  feels. 
Too  well  I  love  that  valour  which  I  warn. 
Farewel,  my  fon!   my  councils  are  but  vain. 

•    [Embracing* 
And,  as  high  heav'n  hath  wili'd  it,  all  mult  be. 

[Separate. 

Gaze  not  on  me,  thou  wilt  miftake  the  path  j 
I'll  point  it  out  again. 

[Juft  as  they  are  fcparating,  enter  from  the  ^voood Lent 
Randolph  and  Glenalvon.j 

Lord  Raad.  Not  in  her  prcfence. 
Now 

Glen.  I'm  prepared. 

Lord  Rand.  No  :  I  command  thee  flay.1 
I  go  alone  :  it  never  mall  be  faid 
That  I  took  odds  to  combat  mortal  man. 
The  nobleft  vengeance  is  the  moil  compleat. 

[Exit  Lord  Randolph. 

[Glenalvon  makes  fome  Jieps  to  the  fame  Jide  of 
tie  ft  age,  liftcns,  and /peaks. 

Glen.  Demons  of  death,  come  fettle  on  my  fword, 
Arid  to  a  double  daughter  guide  it  home  ! 
The  lover  and  the  hufband  both  muft  die. 

[Lord  Randolph  lebind  tkefcenes* 
Lord  Rand.  Draw,  villain  !   draw. 
Doug.  Affail  me  not,  Lord  Randolph  ; 
Not  as  thou  lov'ft  thyfeif.  \ClaJbing  cffvjordi. 

[Glenalvon  running  out. 
Now  is  the  time. 

Enter  Lady  Randolph  at  the  oppojite  -fide  of  tie  ftagc, 
faint  andbreatblefs. 

Lady  Rand.  Lord  Randolph,  hear  me ;  all  ihall  be 

thine  own  : 
But  fpare  !  Gh,  fpare  my  fon  ! 


DOUGLAS. 


Enter  Douglas,  *with  afword  in  each  band* 

Doug.  My  mother's  voice  I 
I  can  protect  thee  Hill. 

Lady  Rand.  He  lives,  he  lives  : 
For  this,  for  this  to  heav'n  eternal  praife  I 
But  fare  I  faw  thee  fall* 

Doug.  It  was  Glenalvon. 

Juft  as  my  arm  had  mafter'd  Randolph's  Avord, 
The  villain  came  behind  me  ;  but  I  flew  him. 

Lady  Rand.  Behind  thee  !  Ah,  thou'rt  wounded  ! 

O  my  child, 
How  pale  thou  look'ft  !  and  fiiall  I  lofe  thee  now  ? 

Doug.  Do  not  defpair  ;  I  feel  a  little  faintnefs ; 
I  hope  it  will  not  laft:  [Leans  upon  his  fwird. 

Lady  Rand.   There  is  no  hope  ! 
And  we  muft  part  I  the  hand  of  death  is  on  thee  ! 
O  my  beloved  child  !  O  Douglas,'  Douglas ! 

Doug.  Too  foon  we  part  j    I  have  not  long  been. 

Douglas.. 

O  defliny  !  hardly  thou  deal 'ft  with  me  : 
Clouded  and  hid,  a  ftranger  to  myfelf, 
In  low  and  poor  obfcurity  I  liv'd. 

Lady  Rand.  Has  Heav'n  prefer.v'd  thet  for  an  encL 
like  this  ? 

Doug.  O  had  I  fall'a  as  my  brave  fathers  fell. 
Turning  with  great  effort  the  tide  of  battle  ! 
Like  them  I  mould  have  fmil'd  and  welcorn'd  death., 
But  thus  to  peri  ill.  by  a  villain's  hand  ! 
Cut  off  from  nature's  and  from  glory's  courfey 
Which  never  mortal  was  fo  fond  to  run. 

Lady  Rand^  Hear  juftice  !    hear  !'  ftretch-thy 
'ing  arm .  [  -Douglas 

Dougi  Unknown Tdie  ;  no  tongue  fhali  fpeak 
Some  noble  fpirits,  judging  by  themfelves, 
May  yet  conjecture  what  I  might  have  prov'd, 
And  think  life  only  wanting  to  my  fame  : 
But  who  mail  comfort  thee  ? 

Lady  Rand,  Defpair  !  defpair ! 
C  3 


54  DOUGLAS. 

Doug.  O  had  it  pleas'd  high  heav'n  to  let  me  lire 
A  little  while  !— My  eyes  that  gaze  on  thee 
Grow  dim  apace  !  my  mother— Oh,  my  mother  ! 

[Dies. 

Enter  Lord  Randolph  and  Anna. 

Lord  Rand.  Thy  words,  the  words  of  truth,   have 

pierc'd  my  heart. 

I  am  the  itain  of  knighthoqd  and  of  arms. 
Oh  !  if  my  brave  deliverer  furvives 
The  traitor's  fword ^ 

Anna.  Alas  1  look  there,  my  Lord. 

Lord  Rand.  The  mother  and  her  fon  !  How  curft  I 


am 


Was  I  the  caufe  ?  No  :  I  was  not  the  caufe. 
Yon  matchlefs  villain  did  feduce  my  foul 
To  frantic  jealoufy. 

Anna.  My  Lady  lives: 
The  agony  of  grief  hath  but  fuppreft 
Awhile  her  powers. 

Lord  Rand.  But  my  deliverer's  dead! 

The  world  did  once  efteem  Lord  Randolph  well. 

Sincere  of  heart,  for  fpotlefs  honour  fam'd  '• 

And,  in  my  early  days,  glory  I  gain'd 

Beneath  the  holy  banner  of  the  crofs. 

Now  pad  the  noon  of  life,  fliames  comes  upon  me  : 

Reproach,  and  infamy,  and  public  hate, 

Are  near  at  hand  :  for  ail  mankind  will  think 

That  Randolph  bafely  ftabb'd  Sir  Macolm's  heir.' 

\Lady  Randolph  recovering. 

Lady  Rand.  Where  am  I  now  ?  ilill  in  this  wretched 

world  ? 
Grief  cannot  b;eak  a  heart  fo  hard  as  mine. 

My  youth  was  worn  in  anguilh  :  but  youth's  ftrength, 

With  hope's  affiftance,  bore  the  brunt  of  forrow  ; 

And  train'd  me  oa  to  be  the  object  now, 

On  which  Omnipotence  difplays  itfelf, 

Making  a  fpe&acle,  a  tale  of  me, 

"To  awe  its  v..Hal,  man.' 

Lord 


DOUGLAS.  5$ 

Lord  Rand.   O  tnifery ! 
Amidfl  thy  raving  grief  I  muft  proclaim 
My  innocence. 

Lady  Rand.  Thy  innocence  ! 

Lord  Rand.  My  guilt 
Is  innocence  compar'd  with  what  thou  think'fl  it. 

Lady  Rand.  Of  thee  I  think  not :  what  have  I  to  do 
With  thee  or  any  thing?  My  fon  !  my  fon ! 
My  beautiful !  my  brave  !   how  proud  was  I 
Of  thee,  and  of  thy  valour!   My  fond  heart 
O'erflow'd  this  day  with  tranfport,  when  1  thought 
Of  growing  old  amidft  a  race  of  thine, 
Who  might  make  up  to  me  their  father's  childhood, 
And  bear  my  brother's  and  my  hufpand's  name ; 
Now  all  my  hopes  are  dead!   A  little  while 
Was  I  a  wife  !  a  mother  not  fo  long  ! 
What  am  I  now? — I  know.    .     .But  I  (hall  be 
That  only  whilft  I  pleafe  ;  for  fuch  a  fon 
And  fuch  a  hufband  drive  me  to  my  fate,       [Runs.  out. 

Lord  Rand.  Follow  her,  Anna :  I  myfelf  would  follow 
J5m  in  this  rage  me  muft  abhor  my  prefeuce. 

[Exit  Anna* 

Enter  Old  Norval. 

Ncrv.  I  hear  the  voice  of  woe  ;  h,eaven  guard  my 
child! 

Lord  Rand.   Already  is  the  idle  gaping  crowd, 
The  fpiteful  vulgar  come  to  gaze  on 
Beg6ne. 

Ncrv.  I  fear  thee  not.     Twill  not  go. 
Here  1*11  remain.     I'm  an  accomplice, 
With  thee  in  mtirder.     Yes,  my  iins  did  hejp 
To  crufh  down  to  the  ground  this  lovely  planet* 
O  nobleft  youth  that  ever  yet  was  born  ! 
Sweeteil  and  beft,  gentleft  and  braveft  fpirit, 
That  ever  blefs'4  the  world  !  Wretch  that  {  am, 
Who  faw  that  nobie  fpirit  fwell  and  rife 
Above  the  narrcw  limits  that  confin'd  it ! 
Yet  never  was  by  all  tfiy  virtues  won 
To  do  thee  juftice,  and  reveal  the  fecret, 

Which, 


56  DOUGLAS. 

Which,  timely  known,  had  raisM  thee  far  above 
The  villain's  fnare!   Oh!  I  am  punifh'd  now  ; 
Thefe  are  the  hairs  that  mould  have  ftrew'd  the  ground, 
And  not  the  locks  of  Douglas. 

[Tears  his  hair,  and  throws  himfelf 

upon  the  body  of  Douglas. 
Lord  Rand.  I  know  thee  now:    «  thy  boldnefs  I  for- 

'  give  ! 

'  My  creft  is  fallen.'     For  thee  I  will  appoint 
A  place  of  reft,  if  grief  will  let  thee  reft. 
I  will  reward,  although  I  cannot  punifh. 
Curft,  curit  Glenalvon,  he  efcap'd  too  well, 
Tho'  {lain  and  baffled  by  the  hand  he  hated. 
Foaming  with  rage  and  fury  to  the  laft> 
Curling  his  conqueror,  the  felon  died* 

Enter  Anna. 

Anna.  My  Lord  !  my  Lord  ! 

Lord  Rand.  Speak  :  I  can  hear  of  horrojv 

Anna.   Horror  indeed  I 

Lord  Rand.  Matilda? 

Anna.  Is  no  more  j 

She  ran,  me  flew  like  lightning  up  the  hilrV 
Nor  halted  till  the  precipice  fhe  gain'd. 
Beneath  whofe  low'fing  top.  the  river  falls 
Jng.ulph'd  in  rifted  rocks  :  thither  me  came, 
As  fearlefs  as  the  eagle  lights  upon  it, 


And  headlong 

LordRanJ.  'Twas  I  !  alas!  'twas/I 

That  iiU'd  her  breaft  with  fury  ;  drove  her  down 
The  precipice  of  death!   Wretch  that  I  am  ! 

Anna.  O  had  you  feen  her  laft  defpairing  look!: 
Upon  the  brink  me  ftood,  and  caft  her  eyes 
Down  on  the  deep  :  then  lifting  up  her  head, 
And  her  white  hands  to  heaven,  feeming  to  fay,. 
Why  am  I  fopcM  to  this  ?  fhe  plung'd  herfelf 
Into  the  empty  ak. 

Lord  Rand.  I  will  not  vent, 
In  vain  complaints,  the  pafiion  of  my  foul. 
Peace  in  this  word  I  never  can  enjoy. 

.  $  Tliefe 


DOUGLAS. 

Thefe  wounds  the  gratitude  of  Randolph  gave. 
They  fpeak  aloud,  and  with  the  voice  of  fate 
Denounce  my  doom.     I  amrefolv'd.     I'll  go 
Strait  to  the  battle,  where  the  man  that  makes 
Me  turn  afide  mud  threaten  worfe  than  death. 
Thou,  faithful  to  thy  miitrefs,  take  this  ring, 
Full  warrant  of  my  power.     Let  every  rite 
With  coft  and  pomp  upon  their  funerals  wait : 
For  Randolph  hopes  he  never  fhall  return. 

[Exeunt 


57 


I- 


EPILOGUE. 

A  N  Epilogue  I  ajffd')  but  not  one  word 

Our  Bard  will  write.     He  <vowst   'tis  moft  abfttrd 
With  comic  wit  to  contradict  the  ftrain 
Of  Tragedy  y  and  make  your  forrows  ^vain. 
Sadly  be  fays,  that  pity  is  the  beftt 
The  nobleft  pajfivn  of  the  human  breaft  : 
For  when  its  f acred  ft  reenns  the  heart  oVr/foiv, 
In  gujhes  phafurt  with  the  tide  of  woe  i 
And  when  its  wa<vti  retire >  like  tkofe  of  Nth > 
They  leave  behind  them  fucb  a  golden  foil. 
That  there  the  virtues  without  culture  grow, 
There  thefweet  blojjoms  ofajfetticn  blow. 
Thefe  'were  his  words  :—rvoid  ofdelujive  art 
I  felt  them  ;  for  hefpoke  them  from  his  heart* 
Nor  will  I  now  attempt  with  witty  folly  9 
To  chafe  away  celeftial  melancholy. 


F      I     N     I      $. 


'i1   H  £ 

TRAGEDY 

•o   £ 

Z      A      R      A. 

•As  it  is  Acted  at  tJte 

THEATRES    R  O  Y  A  L 

•I  tf 

DRURY-LANE, 

A    N    0 

COVEN  T-  G  A  fc  D  E  N. 

By   AARON    M  i  L,  L»    Elq. 

-    -•         ..         -  -       .. .  .          -       -         .  .  ..        -     -   f  .I. 

*%.*  To  this  Editi'o'n  is  nowfirft  ttddt-d  the  Ccw/V  'CkorvJfc-3) 
or  Intcrludts-,  dcfigried  by  Mr-.  HI-LL  to  be  lung 
^between  eac.h  Aft. 


L     "0     N     D     D     N-, 
Printed  for  ,T.  LOV/KDII.S-;,  in  ••F/eet-Sfrerti 


£ 


vl 


TV  bh  R  o  V  A  L  H  i  G  H  -N  g  5  s  tbe 

\ 

PR      I       N      C      E, 


i-»-AI 

?  .-.•  -,-i 
ti»*\ 

!-V 


ITE  R  $,  who  mean  no  in? reft t  bcrt  their  «rAr  ; 
Of  unfapeneling  minds,  an bfadfaft  hearts > 
Difclaiming  hopes,  will  empty y^r/«^  neglect  j 
Nor  need  PERMISSION — to  addrefs  rejpefi* 

Frank,  as  the  manly  faith  qf  Ancient  time, 
Let  truth,  for  once,  approach  the  'g**eat»  in 
Nor  public  benefit,  mifgukkd,  y?r<iy, 
Becaufe  a  private  *wijher  points  its  way*. 

tf  wond'ring,  fore,  your  Greatnefs  condefcendj 
To  aik,  What's   H  E,    ov/fo,  /^«j,  uncoil* d,  attends  ? 
Smile,  at  a/wtor,  who,  in  courta,  untrac'd, 
Pleas'd,  if  aV/^V,  thus,  c-zt; »j  hiis  humble  tajh.-— 


Vow*d  an  tmen-vier,  of  the  bufy  Great ; 
Too  plain  forjtatt'ry,  and,  too  calm  for 
///'</  to  be  happy  ;  who  furveys,  ttnkno--wn, 
The  pow'rlefs  cottage,  arid  the  peacelefs  throne  ; 
A  filcntyr<^/V<5  to  His  oiwt  contrail  \ 
Of  a.£t\ve  pajfiznf,  but,  unyielding yW; 
Engrcftd  by  N  O  purfuits,  amus'J,  by  ^//  j 
But,  ^f^,   as  adders,  to  ambitions  call  : 
ToQ^m-,  for  po-iv'r,  (QT  prejudice,}  towifi,. 
And,  fa/elf,   lodging  Liberty  WITH  IK. 

Pardon,  Gr**/  Prince!  th*  unfamionable  flrain,, 
That  iliuns  to  dedicate  ->  nor  feeks  to  grin- :• 
That  (felf-fffigning)  knows  no  narrow  view  ; 
And,  &*/  iv*  ptllic  blefiings,  courts,  ev'n  YOU  ! 

A  q 


Late, 


yi  £V  kis  Roal  ffibnts  tie  P  R  IN  c 


Lafe,  a  bold  tracer  of  your  meafuSd  mind, 
(While,  by  the  mournful  SCENE,  to  grief  inclined,) 
I  faiV  your  eloquence  of  eyes  ccnfefs 
Soft  Jenfe  of  BELVIDERA'S  deep  diftrefs, 
Prophetic,  thence,  fwre-dtenfd  the  rifmg  years  ; 
A.od£«//Va  HAPPY  NATION,  in  YOUR  tears  ! 

Oh  !  —  ncbly  touch'dt  —  th*  infpiring//^tf/W  chufey 
Snatch,  from  the  jab  le  <wa<ve>  the  finking  MUSE  1 
Charming,  be  charm'd  !  theyfog^'s  anguilh  heal  .- 
And  teach  a  languid  people  bow  to  feel. 


her  fullyW,  ihatl  TRAGIC/O--WV  impart, 
And  reach  three  k  ngdoms  in  their  Prince's  btart  / 
Ligbtnefs,  dHlUim'd,  (hall  £/#/&  itfelf  aao^y  ; 


And  reas'nin^;  SENSE  refumc  forgotten  fway. 
Love,  courage,  loyalty,,  tafte,  honour,  tiuth, 
Flafh'd  (fonv  &£/ctnet  re-charm  our  Hft'ning  ycuth  5 
And,  <virtuett   (by  YOUR  influence  fornid)  iuUain 
The  future  glories  of  their/o«W*r's  reign. 

Nor,  let  due  care  of  a  pretexted  ftagf,  [       ., 

Mis^udg'd  Qnufemfnl,  but  fpare  hours  engage: 
Strong,  ferious  TRUTHS,  the  manly  mitfe  difp  lays  ; 
And.  Jeads  charm'd  reafca  through  thofe_/£?ou'rjr  ways. 
While,  HISTORY'S  cold  care  butfa&s  enrolls, 
The  MUSE  (peifuafive)  faves  the  piclur'dy<7«/r  / 
Beyond  all  Egypt's  GUMS,  embalms  mankind  : 
And  (lamps  the  living  features  of  the  MIND. 

^Tims  can  ejeft  the  fons  of  po-w*r,  from  fame; 
And.  //',  who  gains  a  <vyorldy.  may  LOSE  his  name. 
But  chcrljh'd  arts  infure  immortal  breath  : 
And  bid  their  prop*  d  defenders  tread  on  death  ! 

Look  back,  lov'd  Prince  !  on  ages,  funk  in  Jkade  t 
d/^7,  what  DARKNESS,  abfent  genius  made! 
ink  on  the  dead  f&re-fll&rs  of  your  place  / 
lnk  en  the  ilern  firft  founds  rs  of  your  race  \ 

And,  where  loft  ftorj  ilecps,  in  iilent  night  ; 

Charge  to  tfceir  want  of  t^t  their  want  of  LIGHT. 

When, 


To  his  Rcyal  Tlighnefs  the  PRINCE.  vii 

When,  in  your  riCmg grove,  (no  cbnverfe  nigh) 
BLACK  EDWARD'S  awful  buft  demands  your  eye, 
IThixk,  from  <vahat  caufe,  blind  chronicles  DBF  A  ME 
The  grofs-tcld  to\v'rings.?  of  that  dreadful  name  ! 
Search  him,  thro*  FANCY  :  and  SUPPOSE  him,  mown 
By  the  long  glories,  to  the  MUSES  kncxjivn  : 
Shining,  dijdQs>d\— o'ertrampling  dvattf's  controll ! 
And,  opening,  backward,  All  his  depth  of 'foul ! 

Then — breathe  a  confciousy?^,  to  mourn  his  fate, " 
Whoy^r^Vno  writers %  like  his  (pirit,  *grtat  /    -    ;     •   » 
To  limn  his  living  tfotiy&ts  —  pail  fame  rtuffiv? 
And  build  HIM  honours >  they  rtfcrve  for  You  \ 


lam,  <witb profound 


** 

Your  ROTA  L  HIGHNESSES 

•        '^.-^.  C  .)    $fa 


Mojt  bumble,  and  olcfant 

' 


A.    HILL. 


A  CO- 


i»   J 


A     COMIC     CHORUS; 

0    R, 

INTERLUDES: 

Defigned  to  be  Tung  between  the  Aeb  of  ZAR  A. 


PROLOGUE, 

By  Mr*  BEARD,  and  Mrs.  CLIVE,/™/*  of  pcftt  Entrants* 


She.    CO  5/>—  JTMT'IY  a  «&«f  of  your  w*r/. 

He,  Who  luctid  break  it,  when  fummou*  d  fy  you  ?•—  » 

She.  Ytnjine  tkat—kttt  pray,  barveyou  beardt 

What  it  isjou  are  fummcnd  to  do  ? 
He.    Not  a  •word  —  but  expefted  tofet 
-  Something  new,  in  the  mufical  <way. 

She.  ^%,  this  Author  has  cajl  you,  and  me^ 

As  a  Prologue,  itfeems,  to  his  play. 
He.     What  ibex  is  its  tuneful  ne.ws, 

Kobin  Hood>  of  the  Greenwood  tvee  ? 


Or,  av£#/  gscd  old  ballad  of  fame 

Has  be  biuii  into  Tra-ge-dy? 
%bo*  bf  rails  again  fi  fongs,    he  thought  ft* 

'Moft  gravely  to  urge,  and  implore  us9 
»  aid  of  his  tragical  <wit, 
fo  erect  our/ehes  init  «  chorus  1  \Lavghi*£* 


p  R   o  L  o  6  tr  E.  « 

He.    A  chorus  /  what's  that — a  compojtng 

Of  groans,  to  the  rants  of  his  madnefs  ? 
She.  No — he  hinders  the  boxes  from  dozing, 

By  mixing  feme  fpirir  withfadnefs. 
He.    So,  then 'tis  our  tajk,  J/uppo/f, 

To  fing  fobcr  fenfe  into  reliih, 
Strike  up,   at  each  tragical  clofe, 

And  unheeded  moral  embellijh. 
She.   'Tivas  the  cuftom,  you  know,  once  in  Greece. 

And,  y/*here,  'tis  not  witty,  'tis  new 
He.    Well  then,  whtnyoufindan  aft  ceaf?,[  Turning  to  the  Soxes. 

She.  And,  Gentlemen,  t-oo [To  the  Men. 

If  I  give  not  the  beaux  good  advice,,  \J\lerrily,. 

Let  me  dwindle  to  recitative  ! 
He.    Nor  will  7  to  the  belles  be  more  nice, 

When  I  catch  'em,  but  here,  to  receive. 
She.   If  therms  ought  to  be  learnt  from  the  play ,. 

I  Jhallfet  in  a  nook,  here,  behind, 
Popping  out,   in  the  good  ancient  way, 

Now  and  thin,  with  a  piece  of  my  mind. 
He,    But  fuppofi,  that  no  moral^owV  rife, 

Worth  the  ears  of  the  brave,  or  the  fairf 
She.   Why,  we9//  then  give  the  word — and  advife      <      '  «• 

Face  about,  audftand  all,  as  ye 


» 


A     COMIC    CHORUS,    &c. 
After  the   Firft   A  C  T. 

Song  in  duet. 

He*  "T""*  HE  Subatfs  a  bridegroom  —  ihejlavts  are  fet  free, 
J[      And  none  mult  prefume  to  \ve&r  fetters,  but  he-! 
Before  honey-moon, 
Love's  fiddles  in  tune  ; 

So  we  think,  (filly  fouls !)   'tis  always  to  be  : 
For  the  man,  that  is  blind — how  fhou'd  he  FORESEE! 

She.  I  hate  thefe  hot  blades,  who  h  fiercely  begin  ; 
To  baidk  a  rais'd  bofet  is  a  cowardly  fin  1 
The  maid  that  is  ivi/e,  let  her  always  procure, 

Rather  a  grave ^  than  a  fpirited  woer  : 
What  fhje  Jofes,  at  breakfafl,  at  fupper  flie'll  w/»» 
But  youf  amorous  violence  never  endures  ; 

For,  to  dance,  without  doors. 
Is  the  way  to  be  Aweary,  before  we  get  in. 
He.  Pray  how  does  it  happen,  that  paffion,  fo  gay,.     . 

Blooms,  fades,  and  falls  away,. 

Like  the  ro/e,  of  this  morn,  that  at  night  mull  decay  ? 
WOMAN,  I  fear, 
Does  one  thing  appear, 

But  is  found  q^ite  another,  when  look'd  on,  too  near.'- 
Sbe.  Ah — no — 

Not— fo 
*Tis  the  fault  of  yoir  M E  N,  who,  'v/ifojatngs  of  aefirty. 

Set  your  palates  onfre, 

And  dreanv  not,  that  eating — will  appetite  tire  i 
So,  refolve  in  your  beat, 
To  do  nothing,  butra/,. 

^iH,  afes !  on  a  fudden,.-  youj?:ep  o*er  your  meat  I 
Therefore,  learn,  O  ye  fair  /• 

f/e\  And,  you  lovers t  take  care 

*?£/.  That  you  truft  not,  before-hand^— 
ffe..  That  you  truft  not,  at  all. 
SAe.  Man  was  born  to  deceive. 
tfe.    Woman  form'd  to  believe. 
Mctb.  Trull  not  one  of  us  all ! 

ground,,  is  the  way  not  to  fait, 

Aftw 


A    COMIC    CHORUS,    &c.         *i 
After  the  Second  ACT. 

Mrs.  Clive  (fola)  to  a  flute., 

I. 

OH  Jealoufy  !  thou  bane  of  bleeding  love  ! 
Ah  !  how  unhappy,  we  ! 
Boom'd  by  the  partial  powers,  above,. 

Eternal  flaves,  to  thee  !' 

Not  more  unftaid,  than  lovr.rs*  hearts,  the  owW/ 
This  moment,  dying — and  the  next,  unkind: 
Ah  !  wavering,  weak  defires  of  frail  mankind  L 
With  pleading  paflion  ever  to  purfue, 
Yet  triumph,  only  to  undo* 

2. 
Go  to  the  deeps,  below,  thou  joylefs /««£/' 

And  never  rife  again,  to  fow  despair  ; 
Nor  you,  ye  heedlefs/#.>r  occafions  lend,. 

To  blaji  your  blooming  hopes.,  and  bring  on  care;. 
Never  conclude  your  innocence  fecure, 

Prudence,  -alone,  makes  h<ve  endure.. 

[As  Jhe  is  going  cjf,  he  meets  far,  and  put's  her  beck^ 

detaining  her,  while  he  jings,   what  follows*. 
He.  Ever,  ever,  doubt,  the  fair  -  \nforro-iv. 
Mourning,  as  if  they  felt  cmnpajjion^ 
Yet,  what  they  *w:ep  far  to  day — to-morrow,  ^f£ 

They'll  be  the  firft  to  laugh  in  to /#/£/<?/?;. 
None  are  betray'dif  they  truft  not  the  charmer  ;; 

Jealoufy^«flr</j  the  weak,  from  falling  ; 
Wou'd  you  never  catch— you  muft,  oft,,  alarm  hei%. 
Hearts  to  deceive  is  a  woman's  calling... 

[After  the  fcng  he  lets  her  go,  and  they  join*  in  duet. 
She.  Come,' — let  us  be  friends^  and  no  longer  abuje,. 
condemn,  and  accufe,, 

each  otheri, 

Mi.  Wou.'d;you  have  us, agree-,. you  muft,  fairly,  confef^ 
the  love,  we  carefs, 

.   we  Imother.v  .   • 
A  6  She,. 


xii         A    C  O  MIC    C  H  O  R  tf  S,    &c, 

She.  I  am  Ibth  to  think  that 

H\  Yet,  you  know,  it  is  true  J 

Sbc.        •  Well,— what  if  1  doT 

no  matter. 

He*  Cou'd  you  teach  us  a  way,  to  love  on,  without  flrife  t 
Sve..  Suit  the//r/?  part  of  life,. 

to  the  latin-. 

Hcf  JTis  anhoneft advice,  for,  when  love  is  newblovtn,, 
gay  colours  ars  fliown, 

too  glaring. 
She.  T&eri alas!  for/«wwww/  -  com«s a 

and  blows  'em  away,. 

moll  fearing! 


After  the  Third  A  C  TV 
Bj  Mr.  Bea/d  aKar. 

MARK,  O,  ye  beauties! — gay,  and  young, 
Mark  the  piainfal  fwoesrB.nd  *wccfingt 
That,  from  forc'd  concealment  fprUng,. 

Puniih-thefin  of  jf&etf  keeping. 
'9"i^fth<fen—  nor  «v^/a  willing  heart, 

When  the  /<re/*r,  /<n»  V,  alarms  it ;: 
Bftt — \Qfcctb  the  pleafmg^wrr, 

Whifper  the  gJowing  loijk,  that  warms  it. 
She  that  wou'd  bide  the  gentle  flame, 

Do«s  but  teacLher  Sape,  to  laagui/h  ; 
She,  that  boldly  TELI^S  her  aim,, 

.{[•lies  from  the  pntk  that  lead*  to  aTigmJh* 
Not  that  too  far,  your  tn»ft  fhou'M  go  ;. 

Att  that  yony/iy — co  AUL  dtfcover ; 

All,  tksPtyoti  Xo but  t<an  fhould  know, 

Owe  of  *em  j<?«,  and  oT»e  your  /over-. 

fa$6e  meets  him*,  going  ojjp,^ 
She,  Ah  !  than,  thoa  wert  always  a  traitor^ 

Thou  giv'ft  thy  advice,  to  bttray  ; 
Ah!  forro'd  &jna,.rc?<*w,  by  nature, 

leader>  of  lov^  the  wrong  >vay» 

4-  Wou'd 


A     COMIC     CHORUS,     fefr. 

Wou'd  "women  let  ivomett<a.dvife  'em, 

They  cou'd  not  fo  eafilyy?r^y. 
*Tis  trufting  to  lovers,  fupplies  'em 

With  will,  and  excuje,  to  betray. 
She's/;?/?,  who,  in  guard  of  her  paffion, 

Far,  far,  from  eonfejjing  her  pain,. 
Keeps  f.lenct)  in  fpice  of  thef*/hio*t 

Nor  fuffcr  her  gv/,   to  EXPLAIN. 


XiU 


After  the  Fourth  A  C  T. 


ELL>  what  do  yon  /£/»£—  of  thefefoprows,  and* 
,     joys, 
Thefe  calms,  and  thefe  whirlwinds—this  ulence,  and  noifc  ? 

Which  love,  in  the  bofom  of  man*  employ*,? 
He.  For  my  part,  wou'd  lowers  be  govern  'd  by  me> 
Not  one  of  you  women  fo  wife?  d  for  ,  fhou'd  b», 

Since,  here,  we  a  /w^f  o£  your  mifchief  fee. 
5^.  Why,  what  wou'd  you  do,  to  efcape  the  diitrefs  ? 
He.  I  wou'd  Jo—I  wou'd  do—  by  my  foul,,  I  can?r  guefs— 
^^.  Poor  wretch  !   by  iny  foul  !  I  imagin'd  ^o  lefs. 
Come,  come  —  let  me  tell  you,  thefe  tempefts  of  love,, 
Po  but  blow  up  -ftefire,  its  brilkneft  to  prove, 
Which  elfe  wou'd  —  you  know—  *od  too  lazily  move. 
Were  women  like  legs  —  ^of  a  make  to  lie  ItilJ^ 
Men  wou'd  fleep,  and  groxv  dull  —  bat  vur  afyo'liite  witt 
Sets  life  all  a  whirling  —  like  wheeh  ia  a  mill. 

He.  Ambition,  in  woman,  like  valour  in  mart, 
Tempts  danger  ^-from  which,,  they'd  be  fafe,  if  they  tan  %. 
And  once  get  yem  in  —  get  'em  <?«/  how  you  can.  \ 

She.  Pray,  what  will  you  give  me,  to  teach  you  the  mof, 
To  keep  your  wife  fleas'd,  either  healthy,,  or  fick  f 
He.  The  man,  who  bits  that,  fure  \  mull  touch  to  the  quick  I 
S'be.  Learn  this  —  and  depend  on  a  life,  without  pain, 
Say  nothing  to  war  her,  yet  let  her  complain  ; 
Submit  to  yvwffot*,  —  and  difturb  not  her  rtign  : 
Be  mofJ  when  ihe'syJi^—  and  be  pleaf-d  when  ftie'«  gay} 
Believe  her,  and  truft  her  —  and  give  her  —  her  wty  $ 
For  wajit  of  this  rule—  there's  the  de<vil  to  pay<> 
,  For  want  of  this  r*h%  there's  the  dewl  to  pay* 


f  *fr  I 
PROLOGUE, 

Written   by  COLLEY  GIBBER,  Efg; 
Spoken  by  Mr.    GIBBER. 


French,  however  mercurial  they  may  feemy 
Extinguijh  half  their  fire,  by  critic  phlegm  : 
While  Englifh  writers  nature1  s  freedom  claim, 
And  warm  their  fcenes  with  an  ungcvern'  *d  'Jlamt  .• 
tfTis  ft  range  that  Nature  never  Jhould  infpire 
A  Racine'/  judgment,  with  a  Shakefpeare'j/Vv/" 

However,  to-night  —  (to  promife  much  'we're  loth) 
But  —  -you've  a  chance,  to  have  a  tafte  of  both. 
From  Englifh  plays,  Zara'/  French  author  /rV, 
Confefs  V  his  Mufe,  beyond  h  erf  elf  ,   infpir'd; 
From  racked  Othello'/  rage,  he  raised  his  ftyle, 
And  Snatch1  d  the  brand,  that  lights  this  tragic  pile  :. 
-  ZzTn'sJitccefs  his  utmojl  hopes  ouffleiv, 
And  a  twice  twentieth  weeping-audience  drew. 

As  for  our  Englifh  friend,  he  leaves  to  you± 
Whatever  may  feem  to  his  performance  due  ; 
No  views  of  gain,  his  hopes  or  fears  engage  ^ 
He  gives  a  child  of  leifure  to  the  ft  age  :. 
Willing  to  try,  //yet,  forfaken  Nature, 
Can  charm  with  any  one  remembered  feature. 

^husfar,  the  author  fpeaks  -  but  now,  the  player,     • 
With  trembling  heart,  prefers  his  humble  prayer. 
*To-night,  the  great  eji  venture  of  my  life, 
Js  loft,  or  fav'd  as  You  receive  —  a  wife  : 
If  time,  you  think,  may  ripen  her,  to  merit, 
With  gentle  fmiles,  fupport  her  wav'ring  fpirit. 
Zara  in  France,  at  cnce,  an  aclrefs  rais'd, 
Warm'd  into  (kill,  by  being  kindrjrpraisM  : 
O  /  cou*d  fuch  wonders  here  from  favour  flow, 
flew  would  our  Zara'/  heart,  av.A$  tranjjicrt  gtcw  / 


PROLOGUE.  xr 

But  Jhe,  alas  !  by  jufter  fears  opprefs'd,. 
Begs  but  your  bare  endurance,  at  the  beft. 
Her  unjkill 'd  tongue  would  JtmpJe  Nature  fpeak, 
Nor  flares  her  bounds,  for  falje  applaufes  break. 
Amidft  a  thoufand  faults,  her  bejt  pretence 

^To  pleafe is  unprejuming  innocence. 

When  a  cbafte  heart's  diftrejs  your  grief  demand's + 
One  feler.t  tear  outweighs  a  thoufand  hands. 
If '  Jhe  conveys  the  pleajlng  paffions,    RIGHT,  " 
Guard  and  Support  her,  this  decifive  night ; 

If  Jhe  MISTAKES cr,  fnds  her  Rrength  too  frhall,  •, 

Let  inter pcfing  pity — —  break  her  fall. 
In  you  it  refts,  to  fa<ve  her,  or  dejiroy, 
If  fie  draws  tears  from  you,  \weep-r-for  Joy, 


» 

: 

- 


4 

« 


JPER. 


PERSONS    REPRESENTED 


At  a&ed  at  the  Theatre-Royal  in  Cerent-Garden,  177$. 

Oftnan,  Sulta*  of  Jerufalemt  Mr.  Lee. 

na"'   'f.  °f  *<tl°i,  *  tbe  \  Jfr,  Barry. 
tftian  £wgs  of  Jerujalem,         3 


Orafmin,  Minifter  to  the  Sultan,  Mr.  Leftrange. 

Me  lido  r,  an  Ojfiter  of  the  Seraglio,       Mr.  Branfby. 


At  Dmry-Lane,  1775'. 

lu/Ignan,     ..---...  Mr.  Garrick. 

€fman,    ........  Mr.  Reddifh. 

Kereftan,      .....'..  Mr.  Packer. 

Chatillon,      -      -      -  -    .     -     -      i  Mr.  Aickin. 

O/afmin,     -      ...      \     -      -  Mr.  Hurft. 

Melidor,     ....      .      ...  Mr.  Wheeler.. 

Selima,     .....       •*  ..  —  Mrs.  Reddifh. 

Zara,    .---...     .     -  Miff  Yoqpge. 


* 


THE 


TRAGEDY 


*    -, 
OF 

&&fc 

, 

-.  .VW&4 
<i">': 


Z*      A.      R      A. 

91 


ACT    I.        SCENE  C" 

„  r  *  ,.          ,.,*  ?:£i<i-  /• 

ZaramFSehimu 

Selima. 
.       ,  .  •          _ 

r  moves  my  wonder,  young  and  beauteous  Zara*  r 
JL  Whence  thefe  new  ientiments  infpire  your  heart  I 
Your  peace  of  mind  increafes  with  your  charms ; 
Tears,  now,  no  longer  fhade  your  eyes  foft  luftre  ; 
You  meditate,  no  more,  thofe  happy  climes, 
To  which  Nere/lan  will  return  to  guide  you  : 
You  taik  no  more  of  that  gay  nation,  now, 
Where  men  adore  their  wives,  and  woman's  powar 
Draws  rev'rence  from  a  polifliM  people'*  foftnefo ; 
Their  hu(haod&'  equals,  and  their  lovers'  queens  1 

*  9P*~ 


18  Z    A    R     A. 

Free  without  fcandal ;  wife,  without  rellraint  j 
The.ir  virtue,  due  to  nature,  not  to  fear  ! 
'Why  have  you  ceas'd  to  wilh  this  happy  change  ? 
A  barr'd  Seraglio  !  —  fad,  unfocial  life  ! 
Scorn'd,  and  a  flave!  All  this  has  loft  its  terror : 
And  Syria  rivals,  now,  the  banks  of  Seine  ! 

Zara.  Joys,  which  we  do  not  know,  we  do  not  wifh  ; 
My  fate's  bound  in,  by  S ion's  facred  wall ; 
Clos'd,  from  my  infancy,  within  this  palace, 
Cttftom  has  learnt,  from  time,'  the  power  toplee/e. 
I  claim  no  mare  ih  the  remoter  world, 
The  Sultan's  property,  his  will  my  law  ; 
Unknowing  all,  but  him,  his  power,  his  fame  j 
To  live  his  fubje<5l,  is  my  only  hope, 
All,  elfe,  an  empty  dream.  — • 

Selima.  Have  you  forgot 

Abfent  Nereftan,  then?  Whofe  gcn'rous  friernlfhip, 
So  nobly  vow'd  redemption  from  your  chains  ! 
How  oft  have  you  admir'd  his  dauntlefs  foul ! 
Ofman,  his  conqu'ror,  .by  his  courage  charm'd, 
Trailed  his  faith,  and,  on  his  word,  releas'd  him  : 

Tho*  not  returned,  in  time we,  yet,  expect  him. 

Nor  had  his  noble  journey  other  motive, 
Than  to  procure  pur  ranfoin  : — And  is  this, 
This  dear/  warm  hope — become  an  idle  dream  ? 

Zara.  Since  after  two  long  years,  he  not  returns, 
'Tis  plain,  his  pro'mife  ftretch'd  beyond  his  power: 
A  ftranger,  and  a  flave,  unknown  like  him, 
Propofing  much,  means  little  ;— talks,  and  vows^ 

Delighted  with  a  profpeft  of  efcape : 

He  promis'd  to  redeem  ten  Chriftians  more, 
And  free  us  all,  from  flavery  ! — I  own 
I  once  admir'd  th*  unprofitable  zeal, 
But,  now,  it  charms  no  longer.— • 

Selima.  What  if  yet, 

.He,  faithful,  fhou'd  return,  and  hold  his  vow  ! 
Wou'd  you  not,  then 

Zara.  No  matter — Time  is  paft ; 
And  every  thing  is  chang'd — ~ 


Z     A    R     A.  14 

But,  whence  comes  this  ? 

Zara.   Go — 'twere  too  much  to  tell  the€  Zara's  fate  $ 
The  Sultan's  fecrets,  all,  are  facred  hers  : 
But  my  fond  heart  delights  to  mix  with  thirrfe. — 
Some  three  months  part,  when  thou,  and  other  flaves, 
Were  forc'd  to  quit  fair  Jordan's  flow'ry  bank  ; 
Heav'n,  to  cut  fhort  the  anguifh  of  my  days, 
Rais'd  me,  to  comfort,  by  a  powerful  hand  I 
This  mighty  Qfman  ! 

Selima.  What  of  him  ? 

Zara.  This  Sultan  ! 
Thi$  conqu'ror  of  the  Chriftians  !  loves— 

Selima.  Whom? 

7,ara.   Zara  | 

Thou  blumeft,  and  I  guefs,  thy  thoughts  accufe  me  5 
But,  know  me  better  —'twas  unjuft  fufpicion  : 
All  Emperor,  as  he  is,  I  cannot  ftoop 
To  honours,  that  bring  fhame  and  bafenefs  with  'em  : 
Reafon,  and  pride,  thofe  props  of  modefty, 
Suftain  my  guarded  heart,  and  ftrengthen  virtue  ; 
Rather  than  fink  to  infamy,  let  chains  l,;j; 

Embrace  n  e  with  a  joy  ;  fuch  love  denies  :  ^ 

No 1  mall,  now,  aflonifii  thee  ; His  greatnefs 

Submits^  to  own  a  pure,  and  honeft  flame  ; 

Among  the  ftiining  crowds,  which  !:-ve,  to  pleafe  hinij 

His  whole  regard  is  fix'd  en  Me,  alone  :  ; 

He  offers  marriage  — and  its  rites,  now,  wait, 

To  crown  me  Emprefs  of  this  Eailern  world. 

Seliftia.    Ycur   virtue,    and  your   charms,    de&rve  it 

All: 

My  heart  is  not  furpriz'd,  but  itruck,  to  hear  it ; 
If,  to.be  Ewprefs)  can  compleat  your  happinefs, 
I  rank  rnyfelf,  with  joy,  among  your  flaves. 

Zara.    Be,    #ill,    my   equal— and  enjoy  my   blefr 

fings  : 
For,  thou  partaking,  they  will  blefs  me  more. 

Selima.  Alas!  but  heaven!    will  it  permit  this  mar 
riage  ? 

Will  not  this  grandeur,  falfely  call'd  a  blifs, 
Plant  bitternefs,  and  root  it,  in  your  heart  ? 
Have  you  forgot,  you  are  of  ChriiUan  blood  ? 

Zara. 


30  2    A    R    A.      , 

Zara.  Ah  me!  What  haft  thou  faid?  Why  wouttft 

thou,  thus, 

Recall  my  wavering  thoughts  ?  — How  know  I,  what, 
Or  whence  I  am  ?  Heaven  kept  h,  hid,  in  darknefs, 
Conceal'd  me  from  myfelf,  and  from  my  blood. 

Selima.  Nereftan,  wliowas  born  a  Chriftian,  here, 
Aflerts,  that  you,  like  him,  had  Chriftian  parent?  j 
Befides — tb*t  crofs,  which,  from  your  in£ant  years, 
Has  been  preferv'd,  was  found  upon  your,  bofom, 
As  if  defign'd  by  heaven,  a  pledge  of  faith, 
Due  to  the  God,,  you  purpofe  to  forfake  f 

Zara.  Can  my  fond  heart,  on  fuch  a  feeble  proof* 
Embrace  a  faith,  abhor'd  by  him  J  love  ? 
J  fee,  too  plain ly,  cuftom  forms  us  all^ 
Our  thoughts,  our  morals,  our  moft  fix'd  belief, 
Are  confequences  of  our  place  of  birth  : 
Born  beyond  Ganges,  I  had  been  a  Pagan, 
In  France  a  Chriftian  ; — I  am,  here,  a  Saracen  t 
*Tis  but  tvjlruflion,  all  J  Our  parents'  hand 
Writes,  on  our  heart,  the  firft,  faint  characters, 
Whic£  time,  re- tracing,  deepens  into  ftrength, 
That  nothing  can  eflace,  but  death,  or  heaven  !— 
Thou  wert  not  made  a  pxts'ner  in.  this  place, 
'Till,  after  rcafon,  borrowing  force  from  years, 
Had  lent  its  luftre,  to  enlighten  faith  : — 
For  me,  who  in  my  cradle  was  their  flave, 
Thy  Chriftian  doctrines  were,  too  lately,  taught  me  : 
Yet,  far  from  having  loft  the  rev'rence  due, 
This  crofs,  as  often  as  it  meets  my  eye, 
Strikes  thro*  my  heart  a  kind  of  awful  f«ar  J 
I  honour,  from  my  foul,  the  Chriftian  laws, 
Thofe  laws,  which.,  foft'ning  nature,  by  humanity, 
Melt  nations  into  brotherhood  ;— no  doubt, 
Chriftians  are  happy ;  and,  'tis  juft  to  love,  'em., 

Selima.  Why  have  you,  then,  declar'd  yourfelf  their 

foe* 

Why  will  you  join  your  hand,  with  this  proud  Ofman's  ? 
Who  owes  his  triumph  to  the  Chriftians'  ruin  ! 

Zara.  Ah  \-Who  could//^/  the  offer,  of  his  .heart  ? 
Nay — for  I  inea»  to  tell  thee  all  my  weaknefs ; 

Perhaps,. 


ZARA.  2f 

Perhaps,  I  had,  ere  now,  profefs'd  thy  faith, 

But  Ofman  /wVme~- and  I've  &/?  it  all : — 

J  think,  on  none,  but  Ofman— my  pleased  heart, 

Fill'd  with  the  blefljng,  to  be  lov'd,  by  him, 

Wants  room  for  other  happinefs  : — place  thou, 

Before  thy  eyes,  his  merit,  and  his  fame, 

His  youth,  yet,  blooming  but  in  manhood's  dawn ! 

How  many  conquer'd  kings  have  fwelPd  his  pow'r] 

Think,  too,  how  lovely  !  now  his  brow  becomes 

This  wreath  of  early  glories !— Oh  !  my  friend ! 

I  talk  not  of  a  fceptre,  which  he  gives  me : 

No—  to  be  eharm'd  with  that,  were  thanks,  too  humble  I 

Offenfive  tribute,  and,  too  poor,  for  love  ! 

'Twas  Ofman,  won  my  heart,  not  Ofman's  crown : 

1  love  not,  in  him,  aught,  befides  himfelf. 

Thou  think'il,  perhaps,  that  thefe  are  ilarts  of  paflion  } 

But,  had  the  will  of  Heav'n,  lefs  bent  to  blefs  him, 

Doom'd  Ofman  to  my  Chains,  and  me,  to  fill 

The  throne,  that  Oftnan  fits  on— ruin  and  wretchednefsj 

Catch  and  confume  my  wifhes,  but  I  wou'd— 

To  raifs  me,  to  my  j elf,  Jefcend  to  him. 

Sslima.  Hark  !  the  wiih'd  mufic  founds 'Tis  to*— 

he  comes—-  [Exit  Selima. 

Zara.  My  heart  prevented  him,  and  found  him  near ; 
Abfent,  two  whole  long  days,  the  flow-pac'd  hour, 
At  laft,  is  come — and  gives  him,  to  Jfiy  wiihes ! 

Enter  Ofman,    vtading  a  Paper ^  which  fa  re~Jttn>trt  19 
Orafrain. 

Ofman.  Wait  my  return— or,  fliou'd  there  be  a  caufc, 
That  may  require  my  prefence— do  not  fear 
To  enter— ever  mindful)  that  my  eatw 

[Exit  Orafmin» 

Follows  my  peoptis  happinefs. — At  length, 
Cares  have  releas'd  my  heart— to  love  and  Zara. 

Zara.  'Twas  not  in  cruel  abfence,  to  deprive  m6 
Of  your  imperial  image  -  every  where, 
You  reign,  triumphant :  memory  fuppljes 
Reflexion,  with  your  pow'r  5  and  you,  like  heaven* 


ft*  Z    A    R     A. 

Are  always  ,prefent—  and  arc,  always -gracious.' 

Ofman.  The  Sultans,  my  great  anceik>rs,  bequcatli'4 
Their  empire  to  me,  but  their  tafte  they  gave  not ; 
Their  laws,  their  lives,  their  loves,  delight  not  me* 
I  know,  our  prophet  (miles  on  am'rous  wifhes  ; 
And  opens  a  wide  field,  to  vaft  de£re : 
I  know,  that,  at  my  will,  I  might  poflefsi 
That,  wafting  tendernefs,  in  wild  prefufion, 
I  might  look  down,  to  my  furroun.ded  feet, 
And  blefs  contending  beauties. — I  might  fpeak> 
Serenely  flothful,  from  within  my  palace, 
And  bid  my  pleafure,  be  my  people's  few. 
But,  fweet,  as  foftnefs  is,  its  end  is  cruel ; 
I  can  look  round,  and  count  a  hundred 
Unconquer'd,  by  themfelves,  and  flaves  to  others : 
Hence  was  Jerufalem,  to  Chriftians,  loft ; 
But,  heaven,  to  blaft  that  unbelieving  race> 
Taught  me,  to  be  a  king,  by  thinking  like  one. 
Hence  from  the  diftant  Euxine,  to  the  Nile, 
The  trumpet's  voice  has  wok'd  the  world  to  war-; 
Yet,  amidft  arms,  and  death,  fly  power  has  reach'd  me ;  ; 
.For,  thou  difdain'ft,  like  met  a  languid  love  ;     .   . 
Glory,  and  Zara,  join — and  charm,  together. 

Zara.  I  hear  at  once,  with  bkilhes,  and,  with  joy, 
This  paflion,  fo  unlike  your  country's  cuftoms. 

Ofman.    Paflion,    lik«    mine,    difdains   my    country's 
The  jealoufy,  the  faintnefs,  the  diftruft,  [cuftoms, 

The  proudv  fupc/rior,  coldnefs,  of  the.eaft: 
I  know  to  love  you,  Zaw,  with  efteem  ; 
To  truft  your  virtue,  and  to  court  your  foul. 
Nobly  confiding,  I  unveil  my  heart, 
And  dare  inform  you,  that,  *tis  all  your  owft  •: 
My  joys  muft,   a/I,  be  yours— oni.y  my  fares 
Shall  lie,  conceaPd,  within— and  reach  not  Zara. 

Zara.  Oblig'd,  by  this  eXcefs  of  tendtrnefs, 
How  low,  how  wretched,  was  the  lot  of  Zara  ! 
Too  poor  with  aught,  but  thanks,  to  pay  fuch  blcihngs  ! 

Ofman. .  Not  fo— I  Jove— and  wou'd  be  lov'd  again  ; 
Let  me  confefs  it,  I  poiTeis  a  foul, 

That  what  it  wilhes,  wilhes,  ard.  vtly-. 

1  mow  d 


£    A    R    A.  23 

t  Ciou'd  believt,  you  hated,  had  you  power 

To  /ow,  with  moderation :  'tis  ray  aim, 

In  every  thing,  to  reach  fupreme  perfection. 

If,  with  an  equal  flame,  I  touch  your  heart, 

Marriage  attends  your  fmile— But  know,  'twill  make 

Me  wretched,  if  it  makes  not  Zara  happy. 

Zara.  Ah !  Sir,  if  fuch  a  heart,  as  gen'rous  Ofman's, 
Can,  from  my  will,  fubmit  to  take  its  blifs, 
What  mortal,  ever,  was  decreed  fo  happy  ! 
Pardon  the  pride,  with  which  I  own  my  joy  j 
Thus,  wholly,  to  poftefs  the  man,  I  love  ! 
To  know,  and  to  confefs,  his  will  my  fate ! 
To  be  the  happy  work  of  his  dear  hands  1 
To  be KJ    . 

%nter  Orafmin. 

Ofman.  Already  interrupted  !  What  > 
Who? Whence? 

Orafmin,  This  moment,  Sir,  there  is  arrived 
That  ChrilHan  ftave,  who,  licens'd,  on  his  faith, 

Went  hence,    to  France and,   now   return'd,    prays 

audience. 

Zara.  [Aftde.']  O!  heaven! 

Ofman.  Admit  him— What  ?— Why  comes  he  not  ?— 

Orafmin.    He  waits  without. No  Chriftian  dares 

approach 
This 'place,  long  facred  to  the  Sultan*s  privacies. 

Ofman.    Go — bring   him    with  thee  — monarche,   like 

the  fun, 

Shine  but  in  vain,  unwarming,  if  unfeen; 
With  forms,  and  rev'rence,  let  the  great  approach  us  i 
Not  the  unhappy  $ — every  place,  alike, 

Gives  the  diftrefs'd  a  privilege  to  enter .• 

[Exit  Orafmin* 

I  think,  with  horror,  on  thefe  dreadful  maxims, 
Which  harden  kings,  ihfenfibly,  to  tyrants* 

Re-enter  Orafmin,  with  Nereftan. 
Kereflan*  Imperial  Sultan  1  honour 'd,  even  by  fbes ! 


34  2    A    *    A, 

See  me,  return'd,  regardful  of  my  vow, 

And  punctual  to  difcharge  a  Chriftian's  duty  I 

I  bring  the  ranfom  of  the  captive,  Zara, 

Fair  Selima,  the  partner  of  her  fortune, 

And  of  ten  Chriftian  captives,  prisoners,  here. 

You  promis'd,  Sultan,  if  I  (hou'd  return, 

To  grant  their  rated  liberty  -.-—Behold, 

I  am  return'd,  and  they  are  yours  no  more. 

I  wou'd  have  ftretch'd  my  purpofe,  to  myfelf, 

But  fortune  has  deny'd  it ; — my  poor  all 

SuiSc'd,  no  further ;  and  a  noble  poverty 

Is,  now,  my  whole  poffeffion  t— I  redeem 

The  promis'd  Chriitians ;  for  I  taught  'em  hope. 

But,  for  myfelf,  I  come,  again,  your  Have, 

To  wait  the  fuller  hand  of  future  charity* 

Ofman.  Chriftian  !  I  muft  confefs,  thy  courage  charms 

me; 

But  let  thy  pride  be  taught,  it  treads  too  high, 
When  it  prefumes  to  climb  above  my  mercy* 
Go»  ranfomlefs,  thyfelf  —  and  carry  back 
Their  unaccepted  ranfoms,  join'd  with  gifts, 
ph.  to  reward  thy  purpofe  :— inftead  of  ten, 
Demand  a  hundred  Chriftians :  they  are  thine : 
Take  *em — and  bid  'em  teach  their  haughty  country, 
They  left  fome  virtue,  among  Saracens.— 
Be  Lufignan,  alone  excepted— He 
Who  boalb  the  blood  of  kings,  and  dares  lay  claint 
To  my  Jerufalem— that  claim  his  guilt ! 
Such  is  the  law  of  ftates ;  had  7  been  vanquilh'd, 
Thus  haci  be  faid  of  me : — I  mourn  his  lot, 
Who  mu£,  in  fetters,  loft  to  daylight,  pine, 
And  figh  away  old  age,  in  grief,  and  pain.— 
For  Zara — but  to  name  her,  as  a  captive, 
Were  to  difhonour  language  ;-^-fhe's  a  prize, 
Above  thy  purchafe  ;~all  the  Chriftian  realms, 
With  all  their  kings  to  guide  'em,  would  unite 
In  vain,  to  force  her  from  me^Go,  retire— 

Nereftan*  For  Zara's  ranfom,  with  her  own  confent, 
I  had  your  royal  word— For  Lufignan— 
Unhappy,  poor,  old  man— • 


Z    A    R    A.  25 

Ofman.  Was  I  not  heard  ? 
Have  I  not  told  thee,  Chriftian,  all  my  will  ? 
What,  if  I  prais'd  thee  !  —  This  prefumptuous  virtue, 
Compelling  my  efteern,  provokes  my  pride  : 
Be  gone  —  and,  when  to-morrow's  fun  fhall  rife 
On  my  dominions,  be  not  found—  too  near  me, 

[Exit  NereHaa. 

Zara.  [JfiJe.]  Aflifl  him,  heaven  ! 
Ofman.  Zara,  retire  a  moment  — 
ArTiime,  throughout  my  palace,  fovereign  empire, 
While  I  give  orders,  to  prepare  the  pomp; 
That  waits,  to  crown  the  miftrefs  of  my  throne, 

[Leads  hir  out,  and  returns* 
Orafmin  !  didft  thou  mark  th>  imperious  flave  ? 
What  cou'd  he  mean  ?  —  he  figh'd  —  and,  as  he  went, 
Turn'd,  and  look'd  back  at  Zara  !—  did'ft  thou  mark  it  ?• 
Orafmin.  Alas  !  my  fovereign  mafter  !  let  not  jealoufy 
Strike  high  enough,  to  reach  your  noble  heart. 

Ofman.  Jealouiy,  faid'll  thou  ?  I  difdain  it  ;—  No  !  — 
Diitruit  is  poor  ;  and  a  mifplac'd  fufpicion  • 
Invites,  and  jutlifics,  the  fallhood  fear'd.—  - 
Yet,  as  I  love  with  warmth  —  fo,  I  couJ4  hate  ! 
But  Zara  is  above  difguife  and  art  :— 
My  love  is  ftronger,  nobler,  than  my  power. 
Jealous  !  —  I  was  not  jealous  !  —  if  I  was, 
I  am  not  —  no  —  my  heart  —  but,  let  us  drown 
Remembrance  of  the  word,  and  of  the  image  : 
My  heart  is  fill'd  with  a  diviner  flame,  — 
Ga—  and  prepare  for  the  approaching  nuptials  j 
Zara  to  careful  empire  joins  delight, 
I  muft  allot  one  hour  to  thoughts  of  itate, 
Then,  all  the  fmiling  day  is  love,  and  Zara's. 

[Exit  Orafmiii.. 

Monarchs,  by  forms  of  pompous  mifery,  prefs'd, 
In  proud,  unfocial  mifery,  unblefs'd, 

,  but  for  love's  foft  influence,  curfe  their  throne, 


And,  among  crowded  millions,  live,  alone. 
End  of  the  FIRST  A  c  T. 

'B  ACT 


26  Z    A    R    A. 

A  C  T    II.        S  C  E  N  E    I. 
Nereflan,  Chatillon. 

Chat.  ]i>TATCHLESS   Nereftan  !     generous,    and 

iVl       great! 

You,  who  have  broke  the  chains  of  hopelefs  Haves  ! 
You,  chriftian  faviour  !  by  a  faviour  fent ! 
Appear,  be  known,  enjoy  your  due  delight ; 
The  grateful  weepers  wait,  to  clafp  your  knees, 
They  throng,  to  kifs  the  happy  hand,  that  fav'd  'em  : 
Indulg«  the  kind  Impatience  of  their  eyes, 
And,  at  their  head,  command  their  hearts,  for  ever. 

Nereftan.  llluftrious  Chatillon  !  this  praife  o'erwhelms 

me  ; 

What  have  I  done,  beyond  a  chriftian 's  duty  > 
Beyond,  what  You  woird,  in  my  place,  have  done  ? 

Chatillon.  True — It  is  ev'ry  honeft  chriftian's  duty  ; 
Nay,  'tis  the  blefFmg  of  fuch  minds  as  ours, 
For  others'  good  to  facrifice  our  own. — 
Yet,  happy  they,  to  whom  Heav'n  grants  the  power, 
To  execute,  like  you,  that  duty's  call ! 
For  us — the  relicks  of  abandon'd  war, 
Forgot  in  France,  and,  in  Jerufalem, 
Left,  to  grow  old,  in  fetters ; — Ofman's  father 
Confign'd  us  to  the  gloom  of  a  damp  dungeon, 
Where,  but  for  you,  we  mutt  have  groan'd  out  life ; 
And  native  France  have  blefs'd  our  eyes  no  more. 

Nereftan.  The  will  of  gracious  heaven,  that  foften'd 

Ofman, 

Infpir'd  me,  for  your  fakes  ; — But,  with  our  joy, 
Flows,  mix'd,  a  bitter  fadnefs— I  had  hop'd, 
To  fave,  from  their  perverfion,  a  young  beauty, 
Who,  in  her  infant  innocence,  with  me, 
Was  made  a  flave  by  cruel  Noradin  ; 
When,  fprinkling  Syria,  with  the  blood  of  chriflians, 
Csefarea's  walls  law  Lufignan,  furpriz'd, 
And  the  proud  crefcent  rife,  in  bloody  triumph  : 
From  tliis  Seraglio,  having,  young,  efcap'd, 

Fate, 


ZARA.  27 

Fate,  three  years  fince,  reftor'd  me  to  my  chains ; 
Then,  fent  to  Paris,  on  my  plighted  faith, 
I  flatter'd  my  fond  hope,  with  vain  refolves, 
To  guide  the  lovely  Zara  to  that  court, 
Where  Lewis  has  eftablifh'd  virtue's  throne  ;  — 
But  Ofman  will  detain  her— yet,  not  Ofman  ; 
Zara,  herfelf,  forgets  me  is  a  chriftian, 
And  loves  the  tyrant  Sultan  '.  —  Let  that  pafs: 
I  mourn  a  difappointment,  ftill,  more  cruel ; 
The  prop  of  all  our  chriftian  hope  is  loft  ! 

Chatillon.  Difpofe  me,  at  your  will — I  am  your  own. 

Nereftan.    Oh,    Sir,   great    Lufignan,    fo   long    their 

captive, 

That  laft,  of  an  heroic  race  of  kings  ! 
That  warrior !  whofe  paft  fame  has  filPd  the  world  ! 
Ofman  refufes,  to  my  fighs,  for  ever  ! 

Chatillon.  Nay,  then,  we  have  been  all  redeemed  in 

vain  ; 

Perim,  that  foldier,  who  wou'd  quit  his  chains, 
And  leave  his  noble  chief,  behind,  in  fetters. 
Alas !  you  know  him  not,  as  I  have  known  him  ; 
Thank  heav'n,  that  plac'd  your  birth  fo  far  remov'd 
From  thofe  detefted  days  of  blood,  and  woe ; 
But  I,  lefs  happy,  was  condemned  to  fee 
Thy  walls,  Jerufalem,  beat  down — and  all 
Our  pious  fathers'  labours  loft,  in  ruins  1 
Heav'n  !  had  you  feen  the  very  Temple  rifled ! 
The  facred  fepulchre,  itfelf,  profan'd  ! 
Fathers  with  children,  mingled,  flame  together ! 
And  our  laft  king,  opprefs'd  with  age  and  arms, 
Murder'd — and  bleeding,  o'er  his  murder'd  fons  ! 
Then,  Lufignan,  fole  remnant  of  his  race, 
Rallying  our  fated  few,  amidft  the  flames, 
Fearlefs,  beneath  the  crulh  of  falling  towers, 
The  conqu'rors  and  the  conquered,  groans  and  death  ! 
Dreadful — and,  waving  in  his  hand  his  fword, 
Red  with  the  blood  of  infidels — cry'd  out, 
This  way,  ye  faithful  chriftians !  follow  Mi?— 

Nereftan.  How  full  of  glory  was  that  brave  retreat ! 

B  2  C-hatilfan, 


28  2     A    R    A. 

,  Cbetillon.    'Twas  heav'n,  no  doubt,  that  fav'd,  and 

led  him  on  ; 

Pointed  his  path  ;  and  march'd  cur  guardian  guide  : 
We  reach'd  Caefarea — there,  the  general  voice 
Chofe  Lufignan,  thenceforth,  to  give  us  laws  ; 
Alas  !  'twas  vain — Caefarea  cou'd  not  ftand, 
When  Sion's  felf  was  fallen  ! — we  were  betray'd  ; 
And  Lu/ignan  condemn'd,  to  length  of  life, 
In  chains,  in  damps,  and.  darknefs,  and  defpair  : 
Yet,  great,  amidft  his  miferies,  he  look'd, 
As  if  he  could  not  feel  his  fate,  himfelf, 
But  as  it  reach'd  his  followers : — And  mall  we, 
For  whom  our  gen'rous  leader  fuffer'd  this, 
Be,  vi'ely,  fafe  ?  and  dare  be  blefs'd  without  him  ? 

Nereftan.  Oh  !  I  fhou'd  hate  the  liberty  he  ihaPd  not ; 
I  knew,  too  well,  the  miferies  you  defcribe, 
For  I  was  born  amidft  'em  —  Chains,  ^nd  death, 
Caefarea  loft,  and  Saracens  triumphant, 
Were  the  firft  objects  which  my  eyes  e'er  look'd  on. 
Hurried,  an  infant,  among  other  infants, 
Snatch'd  from  the  bofoms  of  their  bleeding  mothers, 
A  temple  fav'd  us,  till  the  flaughter  ceasM  5 
Then  were  we  fent  to  this  ill-fated  city, 
Here,  in  the  palace  of  our  former  kings, 
To  learn,  from  Saracens,  their  hated  faith, 

And  be  completely  wretched. Zara,  too, 

Shar'd  this  captivity ;  we,  both,  grew  up, 
So  near  each  other,  that  a  tender  friendihip 
Endear'd  her  to  my  wimes  :— My  fond  heart — 
Pardon  its  weaknefs  !  bleeds,  to  fee  her  loft, 
And,  for  a  barb'rous  tyrant,  quit  her  God  ! 

Cbatillon.  Such  is  the  Saracens',  too  fatal,  policy  ! 
Watchful  feducers,  ftill,  of  infant  weaknefs  : 
Happy,  that  Tou9  fo  young,  efcap'd  their  hands ! 

But,  let  us  think May  not  this  Zara's  int'reft, 

Loving  the  Sultan,  and,  by  him  belov'd, 
For  Lufignan  procure  fome  fofter  fentence  ? 
The  wife,  and  juft,  \vith  innocence,  may  draw 
Their  own  advantage,  from  the  guilt  of  others. 

N ere/tan.  How  ihall  I  gain  admiffion  to  her  prefence  ? 

OfmaR 


Z     A    R    A.  2$ 

Ofman  has  banifhM  me — but  that's  a  trifle ; 

Will  the  feraglio's  portals  open  to  me  ? 

Or,  cou'd  I  find  that,  eafy,  to  my  hopes, 

What  profpect  of  fuccefs,  from  an  apoftate  ? 

On  whom  I  cannot  look,  without  difdain  ; 

And  who  will  read  her  mame  upon  my  brow  ? 

The  hardeft  trial  of  a  gen'rous  mind 

Is,  to  court  favours,  from  a  hand  it  fcorns. 

Cbatillon.  Think,  it  is  Lufignan  we  feek  to  ferve., 
Nereftan.  Well— it  fhall  be  attempted— Harlt!  who's 
this  ? 

Are  my  eyes  falfe  ?  or,  is  it,  really,  Hie  ? 

Enter  Zara. 

Zara.  Start  not,  my  worthy  friend !  I  come  to  feek 

you; 

The  Sultan  has  permitted  it ;  Fear  nothing  :— 
But,  to  confirm  my  heart,  which  trembles,  near  you, 
Soften  that  angry  air,  nor  look  reproach ; 
Why  Ihould  we  fear  each  other,  both,  miftaking? 
Aflbciates,  from  our  birth,  one  prifon  held  us, 
One  friendihip  taught  affliction,  to  be  calm  ; 
Till  heav'n  thought  fit  to  favour  your  efcape, 
And  call'  you  to  the  fields  of  happier  France  ;    .:  j; 
Thence,  once  again,  it  was  my  lot  to  find  you, 
A  pris'ner  here  ;  where,  hid,  amongft  a  crowd 
Of  undiitinguifh'd  ilaves,  with  lefs  reilraint, 

I  mar'd'your  frequent  converfe  ; 

It  pleas'd  your  pity,  mail  I  fay,  your  friendihip  ? 
Or,  rather,  (hall  I  call  it  £gnerous  charity  ? 
To  form  that  noble  purpofe,  to  redeem 
Diftrefsful  Zara — you  procur'd  my  ranfom, 
And,  with  a  greatnefs  that  out-foar'd  a  crown, 
Return'd,.  yourfelf  a  (lave,  to  give  me  freedom  ! 
But  heaven  has  call  our  -fate,  for  different  climes ; 
Here,  in  Jerusalem,  I  fix,  for  ever: 
Yet,  among  all  the  mine,  that  marks  my  fortune, 
I  (hall,  with  frequent  tears,  remember  yours ; 
Your  goodnefs  will,  for  ever,  footh  my  heart> 
B  3 


30  Z     A    R     A. 

And  keep  your  image,  ftill,  a  dweller,  there, 
Warm'd,  by  your  great  example,  to  protect 
That  faith,  that  lifts  humanity  fo  high, 
I'll  be  a  mother  to  diftreisful  Chrittians. 

Ncrgfta*.    How  I — YQU  protect    the  Chriftians  !   jevf 

who  can 

Abjuie  their  laving  truth  !  — and,  coldlyy^Tee 
Great  Lufignan,  their  chief,  die  flow,  in  chains  ? 

Zara.  To  bring  him  freedom,  you  behold  me  here, 
You  will,  this  moment,  meet  his  eyes,  in  joy. 

Cbatillcn.    Shall  I,    then,    live,    to  blefs   that  happy 

hour  ? 
.    Ne  reft  an.  Can  Chriftians  owe  fo  dear  a  gift  to  Zara  ? 

Zara.  Hopelefs,  I  gathered  courage,  to  intreat 
The  Sultan,  for  his  liberty — amaz'd, 
So  foon,  to  gain  the  happinefs,  I  wifh'd  1 
See  !  where  they  bring  the  good,  old  chief,  grown  dim 
With  age,  by  pain,  and  forrows,  haften'd  on  ! 

Ckatilion,  How  is  my  heart  difTolvM/with  fudden  joy  I 

Zara.  J  long  to  view  his  venerable  face, 
But  tears,  I  know  not  why,  eclipfe  my  fight ! 
J  feel,  methinks,  redoubled  pity  for  him  j 
But  I,  alas  !  myfelf,  have  been  a  flave  ; 
And,  when  we  pity  woes,  which  we 
JTis  but  a  partial  virtue  ! 

Nereftan.    Amazement  I — Whence    this  greatnefs,    in 
an  infidel. 

Enter  LuTignan,  led  in  ly  two  guards* 

Lufignan.  Where  am  I  I  what  forgiving  angel's  voice 
Has  call'd  me,  to  revifit  long-loft  day  ? 
Am  I  with  Chriflians  ?— I  am  weak— forgive  me, 
And  guide  my  trembling  ileps. — I'm  full  of  years, 
Yet,  mifery  has  worn  me,  more  than  age. 
[Seating  kim/elf*}  Am  J,  in  truth,  at  liberty  ? 

Chatillon.  You  are ; 
And  every  Chriftian's  grief  takes  end,  with  yours. 

an*  O,    Light  l—O  !    dearer,    far,  than  light! 
that  voice ! 

Chatillon  J 


2     A    R    A.       x  31 

Chatillon  !  is  it  you  ? — my  fellow  martyr  ! 

And,  {hall  our  wretchednefs,  indeed,  have  end  ? 

In  what  place  are  we  now  ?— my  feeble  eyes, 

Difus'd  to  day-light,  long,  in  vain,  to  find  you. 
Chatillon.  This  was  the  palace  of  your  royal  fathers, 

'Tis,  now,  the  fon  of  Noradin's  feraglio. 

Zara.  The  mailer  of  this  place. — the  mighty  Ofman  ! 

DiiUnguifhes,  and  loves  to  cherifh,  virtue ; 

This  gen'rous  Frenchman,  yet,  a  ftranger  to  you, 

Drawn  from  his  native  foil,  from  peace,  and  reft, 

Brought  the  vow'd  ranfoms  of  ten  Chriftian  flaves, 

Himielf,  contented,  to  remain  a  captive  : 

But  Ofman,  charm'd  by  greatnefs,  like  his  own, 

To  equal,  what  he  lov'd,  has  giv'n  him  you. 

Lufignan.  So,  gen'rous  France  infpires  her  focial  Sons  ! 

They  have  been,  ever,  dear,  and  ufeful  to  me ! 

Wou'd  I  were  nearer  to  him Noble  Sir ! 

[Nereftan  approaches. 

How  have  I  merited,  that  you,  for  me, 

Shou'd  pafs  fuch  diftant  feas,  to  bring  me  blefiings, 

And  hazard  your  own  fafety,  for  my  fake  ? 

Nereftan.  My  Name,  Sir,  is  Nereilan  —  born,  in  Syrh, 
I  wore  the  chains  of  flavery,  from  my  birth  ; 
Till,  quitting  the  proud  crefcent,  for  the  court, 
Where  warlike  Lewis  reigns,  beneath  his  eye, 
I  learnt  the  trade  of  arms : — the  rank  I  hold, 
Was  but  the  kind  diftindtion  which  he  gave  me, 
To  tempt  my  courage,  to  deferve  regard. 
Your  fight,  unhappy  prince,  wou'd  charm  his  eye; 
That  beft,  and  greateft  monarch,  will  behold, 
With  grief,  and  joy,  thofe  venerable  wounds, 
And  print  embraces,  where  your  fetters  bound  you  : 
All  Paris  will  revere  the  crofs's  martyr; 
1'aris,  the  refuge,  Hill,  of  ruin'd  kings ! 

Lufignan.    Alas !    in    times,    long  pad,   I've  feen   it$ 

glory  : 

When  Philip,'  the  victorious,  liv'd — I  fought, 
A  bread,  with  Montmorency,  and  Melun, 
D'Eftaing,  De  Neile,  and  the  far-famous  Courcy;— - 
Names,  which  were,  then,  the  praife,  and  dread,  of  war ! 

B  4  But, 


32  Z    A     K     A. 

But,  what  have  I  to  do,  at  Paris,  nmv? 
\  Hand  upon  the  brink  of  the  cold  grave ; 
That  way,  my  journey  lies — to  find,  I  hope, 
The  king  of  kings,  and  move  remembrance,  there, 
Of  all  my  woes,  long-fuffer'd,  for  his  fake. — 
You,  gen'rous  witnefTes  of  my  laft  hour, 
While  I  yet  Jive,  afHlt  my  humble  prayers, 
And  join  the  resignation  of  my  foul. 
Nereiian  !   Chatillon  !  and  you— fair  mourner  \ 
V7hofe  tears  do  honour  to  an  old  man's  forrows ! 
Pity  a  father,  the  unhappieft,  fure, 
That  ever  felt  the  hand  of  angry  heav'n  ! 
My  eyes,  tho'  dying,  ftill,  can  furnifh  tears  : 
Half  my  long  life  they  flow'd,  and,  ftill,  will  flow  ! 
A  daughter,  and  three  fons,  my  heart's  proud  hopes, 
Were,  all,  torn  from  me,  in  their  tend'reft  years ; 
My  friend  Ghatillon  knows,  and  can  remember • 

Chatillon.  Wou'd  I  were  able,  to  forget  your  woe. 

Lufignan.  Thou  vvert  a  pris'ner,  with  me,  in  Caefarca, 
And,  there,  beheld'fl  my  wife,  and  two  dear  Tons, 
Perith,  in  flames — they  did  not  need  the  grave. 
Their  foes  wou'd  have  deny'd  'em  ! — I  beheld  it ; 
Hujband!  m&  father!  helplefs,  I  beheld  it! 
Deny'd  the  mournful  privilege  to  die  ! 
If  ye  are  faints  in  heaven,  as,  fure,  ye  are  ! 
Look,  with  an  eye  of  pity,  on  that  brother, 
Tffat  filler,  whom  you  left !— If  I  have,  yet, 
Or  fon,  or  daughter: — for, -in  early  chains, 
Far  from  their  loft,  and  unaffiiling  father, 
I  heard,  that  they  were  fent,  with  numbers  more, 
To  this  Seraglio  ;  hence  to  be  difpers'd, 
In  namelefs  remnants,  o'er  the  eaft,  and  fpread 
Our  Chriftian  miferies,  round  a  faithlefs  world. 

Chatillon.  JTwas  true for,  in  the  horrors  of  that  day, 

I  match 'd  your  infant  daughter  from  her  cradle ; 
But,  finding  ev'ry  hope  of  flight  was  vain, 
Scarce  had  I  fprinkled,  from  a  public  fountain, 
Thofe  facred  drops,  which  warn  the  foul  from  fin ; 
When,  from  my  bleeding  arms,  fierce  Saracens 
Forc'd  the  loft  innocent,  who,  fmiliog,  lay, 

And 


Scene  3 . 


Z    A'    R    A.  w 

And  pointed,  playful,  at  the  fwarthy  fpoilers  ! 
With  her,  your  youngeft,  then,  your  only  fon, 
Whofe  little  life  had  reach'd  the  fourth,  fad  year, 
And,  juft,  giv'n  fenfe,  to  feel  his  own  misfortunes, 
Was  order'd  to  this  city. 

Nereftan.  I,  too,  hither,.     . 
Juft,  at  that  fatal  age,  from  loft  Ojcfarea, 
Came,  in  that  crowd  of  undiftinguifh'd  Chriftians.— .. 

Lufignan.  Ton  ?.  —  Qamejou  thence? — Alas  !  who  knows 

but  you 

Might,  heretofore,  have  feen  my  two,  poor- children  ? 
[Looking  up.~\  Hah!  Madam  !  that  fmall  ornament  you, 

wear,. 

Its  form  a  ftranger  to  this  country's  fafhion,, 
How  long  has  it  been  your's  ?. 

Zara.  From  my  firft  birth,  Sir — 

Ah !  what !  you  feem  furpriz'd  '.—Why  fjiould '/£//  move 
yoa? 

Lufignan.    Wou!d    you    confide  it    to    my    trembling, 
hands  ? 

Zara,  To  what  new  wonder  am  I  now  refery'd? 
©h !  Sir, ,  what  mean  you  B 

Lufegnan,  Providence  !  and  heaven  ! 
G,  failing  eyes !  deceive  ye  not  my  hope  ?.. 
Can  this^be  poffible  ?— Y.es,  yes— 'tis  me  I 

This  little  crofs^ 1  know  it,i  by  fure  marks ; 

Oh  !  take  me,,  Heav'n  !  while.  I  can  die  with  joy?—         t 

Zara.  O  !  do  not,  Sir,  diftrafl  me!— rifing  thoughts,, 
And  hopes,  and  fears,  overwhelm  me  ! . 

Lujtgnan.  Tell  me,  yet, 
Has  it  remain 'd,  for  ever,  in  your  hands  ? 
What !— Both, brought  captives,  from  Csefarea  hither.? 

Zara.  Both,   both 

Nereftan.  Oh,  heaven  !  have  I' then  found  a  father  ? 

Lujignan.  Their,  voice  !  their  looks  ! 
The  living  images  of  their  dear  mother  ! 
O,  thou  !  who,  thus,  ca,nft  blefs.my  life's  laft  fan4! 
Strengthen  my  heart,  too  feeble  for  this  joy. 
Madam!  Nereftan  ! —Help  me,  Chatillon  !          [#£%• 
Nereftan  !  if  thou  eught'ft  to  own  that  name,.. 

Shines 


34  Z     A    R     A. 

Shines  there,  upon  thy  breaft,  a  noble  fear, 
Which,  ere  Casfarea  fell,  from  a  fierce  hand, 
Surprifmg  us,  by  night,  my  child  receiv'd  ? 

Nereftan,    Blefs'd   hand  ! — I  bear    it,    Sir— tKe  mark 
is  there ! 

Lufignan.  Merciful  heaven ! 

Nerejian.   {Kneeling.'}  O,  Sir !— O,  Zara,  kneel.— 

Zara.   [Kneeling.']  My  father ? — Oh! — 

Lufignan.  O,  my  loft  children  ! 

Both.  Oh  ! [bracing  your 

Lujignan.     My    fon !     my    daughter  I     loft,    in    em- 
J  wou'd  now  die,  left  this  fhou'd  prove  a  dream. 

Ckatlllon.    How    touch'd   is    my   glad   heart,    to  fee 
their  Joy ! 

Lufignan.  Again,  I  find  you — dear,  in  'wretcbednefs  » 
O,  my  brave  fon — and,  thou,  my  namelefs  daughter  I 
Now,  diffipate  all  doubt,  remove  all  dread  : 
Has  heaven,  that  gives  me  back  my  children — giv'n  'em, 
Such  as  I  loft  'em  ? — Gome  they,  Chriftians,  to  me  ? — 
One  weeps — and  one  declines  a  confcious  eye  ! 
Your  filence  fpeaks— too  well  I  underftand  it. 

Zara.  I  cannot,  Sir,  deceive  you— Ofman's  laws 
Were  mine  -  and  Ofman  is  not  Chriftian. — 

Lujignan.    Oh  !   my  mifguided  child ! — at  that  fad 

word, 

The  little  life,  yet  mine,  had  left  me,  quite, 
But  that  my  death  might  fix  thee,  loft,  for  ever. 
Full  iixty  years,  I  fought  the  Chriftians'  caufe, 
Saw  tiieir  doom'd  temple  fall,  their  power  deftroy'd : 
Twenty,  a  captive,  in  a  dungeon's  depth, 
Yet,  never,  for  myfelf,  my  tears  fought  heaven;: 
All  for  ?ny  chjldren  refe  my  rruitlefs  prayers :. 
Yet,  what  avails  a  father's  wretched  joy  ? 
I  have  a  daughter  gain'd,  and  kearfn  an  enemy. 
But,  'tis  my  guilt,  not  her's — thy  father's  prifon 
Depriv'd  thee  of  thy  faith — yet,  do  not  lofe  it :. — 
Reclaim  thy  birthright — think  upon  the  blood 
Of  twenty  Chriftian  kings,  that  fills  thy  veins  j 
'Tis  heroes'  bl^od  —  the  blood  of  faints,  and  martyrs  ! 
What  vvcu'd  thy  mother  feel,  to  fee  thee,  thus  ? 

She,, 


Z    A    R    A.  35 

She,  and  thy  murder'd  brothers  !— think,  they  call  thee  ; 

Think,  that  thou  fee'ft  'em,  ftretch  their  bloody  arms, 

And  weep,  to  win  thee,  from  their  murderers'  bofom. 

Kv'n,  in  the  place,  where  thou  betrafft  thy  God, 

He  dfd,  my  child,  to  fave  thee.— Turn  thy  eyes, 

And  fee  ;  for  thou  art  near>  his  facred  fepulchre  ; 

Thou  can'ft  riot  move  a  ftep,  but  where  he  trod! 

Thou  trembleft — Oh  !  admit  me  to  thy  foul', 

Kill  not  thy  aged,  thy  afHicled  father ; 

Take  aot,  thus  foon,  again,  the  life  thou  gav'ft  him  ; 

Shame  not  thy  mother  — nor  betray  thy  God. — 

'Tis  paft  —Repentance  dawns,  in  thy  fweet  eyes ; 

I  fee  bright  truth,  defcending  to  thy  heart, 

And  now,  my  long-loll  child,  is  found,,  for  ever. 

Nerejlan.  O  !  doubly  blefs'd  !  a  fitter,  and  a  foul,. 
To  be  redeem'd,  together  L 

Zara.  O  F  my  father  ! 

Dear  author  of  my  life  !  inform  me,  teach  me, 
What  fhou'd  my  duty  do  ? 

Lufignan.  By  one  Ihort  word, 
To  dry  up  all  my  tears,  and  make  life  welcome, 
Say,  thou  art  Chriltian 

Zara..  Sir— I  am  a  Chriftian. 

Lujignan,    Receive    her,   gracious  heaven  I    and  blefjj 
her^  for  it. 

Enter  Orafmin^ 

Orafmtn.  Madam,  the  Sultan  order'd  me,  to  tell  you,, 
1" hat  he  expects,  you,  inftant,  quit  this  place, 
And  bid  your  laft  farewell,  to  thefe  vile  Chriftians : 
You,  captive  Frenchmen,  follow  me ; — for  youx 
It  is  my  tafe,  to  anfwer. • 

Chatillon,  Still,  new  Miferies ! 
How  cautious  man  fnou'd  be,  ta  fay,  I'm  happy ! 

Lufignan.    Thefe  are  the  times,  when  men  of  virtue 

prove, 
Tha  'us  the  mind,  not  blood,  infures.  their  firmnefs. 

Zor*    Alas  I  Sir— Oh!— 


36  Z    A    R    A. 

Lufignan.  6,  you !— I  dare  not  name  you  : 
Farewell — but,  come  what  may,  be  fare,  remember, 
You  keep  the  fatal  fecret I—for  the  reft, 
Leave  all  to  heaven, — be  faithful,  and  be  bleft. 

End  of  tke  SECOND  ACT. 


.  A  C  T    III.        SCENE    L 
Ofman,  and  Orafmin. 

O/man.  f\  R  A  S  M  IN I  this    alarm  was  falfe,  and 

\J'  groundlefs ; 

Lewis,  no  longer,  turns  his  arms,  on  me  : 
The  French,  grown  weary,,  by  a  length  of  woes, 
Wifli  not,  at  once,,  to  quit  their  fruitful  plains, 
And  fandfii,  on  Arabia's  defart  fands. 
Their  mips,  'tis  true,  have  fpread  the  Syrian  feas  ; 
And  Lewis,  hovering,,  o'er  the  coaft  of  Cyprus, 
Alarms  the  fears  of  Aila.; — But,  I've  learnt, 
That,  fleering  wide,  from  our  unmenac'd  ports, 
He  points  his  thunder,  at  th'  Egyptian  fhore. 
There,  let  him  war,  and  wafte  my  enemies ; 

Their  mutual  conflict  will  but  fix  my  throne. • 

fceteafe  thofe  Chriftians — I  reftore  their  freedom ; 
'Twill  pleafe  their  mailer,  nor  can  weaken  me  : 
Tranfport  'em,  at  my  coft,  to  find  their  king ; 
I;wiih,  to  have  him  knsvj  me  :  carry  thither 
This  Luiignan,  whom,  tell  him,  I  rcilore, 
Becaufe  I  cannot  feaj  his  fame  in  arms; 
But  love  him,  for  his  virtue^,  and  his  blood. 
Tell  him,  my  father  haying  concjuer'd,  twice, 
Condemned  him  to  perpetual  chains ;  but  I 
Ifave  fet  Jiim/hv?,  that  I  might  triumph  more. 

Orafmin.  The  Chriftians  gain  an  army,  in  his  name. . 
i  I  cannot  fear  a./wW.— • 

Qrafmin* 


Z    A    R    A.  3jr' 

Ora/min.  But,  Sir,  —  fhou'd  Lewis 

Ofman.  Tell  Lewis,  and  the  world — it  flail  be  Co  : 
Zara  propos'd  it,  and  my  heart  approves  : 
Thy  ftatefman's  reafon  is  too  dull,  for  love ! 
Why  wilt  thou  force  me,  to  confefs  it  all  ? 
Tho'  I,  to  Lewis,  fend  back  Luiignai\, 
I  give  him  but  to  Zara — I  have  griev'd  her ; 
And  ow'd  her  the  atonement  of  this  joy. 
Thy  falfe  advices,  which,  but  now,  mifled 
My  anger,  to  confine  thofe  helplefs  Chriftians, 
Gave  her  a  pain,  I  feel,  for  her  and  me  : 
But  I  talk  on,  and  wafte  the  fmiling  moments. 
For  one  long  hour,  I  yet,  defer  my  nuptials ; 
But,  'tis  not  toft,  that  hour  !  'twill  all  be  her's  ! 
She  wou'd  employ  it,  in  a"  conference, 

With    that    Nereflan,     whom    thou    know'ft That 

Chriftian  ! 

Qrafmin.    And  have  you,    Sir,  indulg'd  that  ftrange 
defire  ?_ 

O/man.  What  mean'ft  thou  ?   they  were  infant  flaves 

together ; 

Friends  mould  part,  kind,  who  are  to  meet  no  more ; 
When  Zara  afks,  I  will  refufe  her  nothing. 
Reftraint  was  never  made  for  thofe,  we  love ; 
Down  with  thefe  rigours,  of  the  proud  feraglio  j 
1  hate  its  laws — where  blind  aufterity 
$inks  virtue,  to  neceffity. — My  blood  '  $ 

Difclaims  your  Afian  jealoufy  ; — I  hold 
The  fierce,  free,  plainnefs,  of  my  Scythian  anceftors, 
Their  open  confidence,  their  honeft  hate, 
Their  love,  unfearing,  and  their  anger,  told. 
Go— the  good  Chriftian  waits— conduct  him  to  her  ; 
Zara  expects  theer— What  me  wills,  obey. 

\Exit  Ofmair. 

Qrafmin.    Ho!    ChrifUaft !    enters-wait,    a  momen.t, 
herd;. 

£to- NereHan. 

Zara  will  foon  approach— I  go,  to  find  her. 

[Exit  Orafmiiu 


3.S  Z     A    R    A. 

Nerefiatf.  In  what  a  Hate,  in  what  a  place,  I  leave  her! 
O,  faith  !  O,  father  !  O  !  my  poor,  loft  filler ! 
She's  here !- — 

Enter  Zarav 

Thank  heaven r  it  is  not,  then,  unlawful, 
To  fee  you,  yet,  once  more,  my  lovely  filler ! 
Not  all  fo  happy ! — We,  who  met,  but  now, 
Shall  never  meet  again — for  Lulignan — 
We  mall  be  orphans,  flill,  and  want  a  father. 

Zara.  Forbid  it,  heaven  ! 

Nerefian.  His  laft,  fad  hour's  at  hand. 

That  flow  of  joy,  which  folio  w'd  our  difcovery^ 
Too  flrong,  and  fudden,  for  his  age's  weaknefs, 
Walling  his  fpirits,  dry'd  the  fource  of  life, 
And  nature  yields  him  up,  to  time's  demand : 
Shall  he  not  die,  in  peace  ?— Oh  !  let  no  doubt 
Difturb  his  parting  moments,  with  diftruft; 
Let  me,  when  I  return,  to  clofe  his  eyes, 
Compofe  his  mind's  impatience,  too,  and  tell  him, 
You  are  confirm'd  a  Chrillian.— - 

Zara.  Oh !  may  his  foul  enjoy,  in  earth,  and  KeaVeji, 
Eternal  reft !  nor  let  one  thought,  one  figh, 
One  bold  complaint,  of  mine,  recall  his  cares  ! 
But,  you  have  injur'd  me,  who,  ftill,  can  doubr.?~ 
What !  am  I  not  your  fitter  ?  and  mall  you 
Refufe  me  credit  ?  you  fuppofe  me  light  ? 
You,  who  ihould  judge  my  honour,  by  your  own ! 
Shall  you  diftruft  a  truth,  I  dar'd  avow, 
And  ftamp  apoftate,  on  a  filler's  heart ! 

Nerejlari.  Ah  !  do  not  mifconceive  me  I  — if  I  err'd, 
Affe&ion,  not  diilruft,  mifled  my  fear  ; 
Your  will  may  be  a  Chriftian,  yet,  not  you ; 
There  is  a  facred  mark — zjign,  of  faith, 
A  pledge,  of  promife,  that  muft  firm  your  claim  j. 
Wafh  you  from  guilt,  and  open  heaven  before  you. 
Swear,  fwear,  by  all  the  woes,  we  all  have  borne, 
By  all  the  martyr'd  faists,  who  call  you  daughter; 

That 

-    • 


Z     A    R     A.  39 

That  you  confent,  this  day,  to  feal  our  faith, 
By  that  myfterious  rite,  which  waits  your  call. 

Zara.  I  fwear,  by  Heaven,  and  all  its  holy  hoft, 
Its  faints,  its  martyrs,  its  attefting  angels, 
And  the  dread  prefence  of  its  living  author, 
To  have  no  faith,  but  yours ;  —  to  die  a  Chriftian  I 
Now,  tell  me,  what  this  myftic  faith  requires  ? 

Nereftan.  To  hate  the  happinefs  of  Qjman's  throne,, 
And  love  that  God,  who,  thro'  his  maze  of  woes, 
Has  brought  us  all,  unhoping,  thus,  together  ; 
For  me — I  am  a  foldier,  uninftrufted, 
Nor  daring  to  inftrud,  tho'  ftrong  in  faith  : 
But  I  will  bring  th'  ambafiador  of  heaven  * 
To  clear  your  views,  and  lift  you  to  your  God  : 
Be  it  your  talk,  to  gain  admiffion  for  him.  — 
But  where  ?  from  whom  ? — Oh!  thou  immortal  power,  t 
Whence  can  we  hope  it,  in  this  curs'd  feraglio  ? 
Who  M  this  flave  of  Ofman  ? — yes,  this  flave  ! 
Does  me  not  boaft  the  blood  of  twenty  kings  ? 
Is  not  her  race  the  fame,  with  that  of  Lewis  ? 
Is  Jhe  not  Lufignan's  unhappy  daughter? 
A  Chriilian  ?  and  my  filler  ?— yet,  a  flave ! 
A  willing  flave ! — I  dare  not  fpeak,  more  plainly. 

Zara.  Cruel !  go  on — Alas  1  you  know  not  me-!' 
At  once,  a  ftranger,  to  my  fecret  fate, 
My  pains,  my  fears,  my  wifties,  and  my  power  : 
I  am— I  will  be,  Chriftian — will  receive 
This  holy  prieft,.  with  his  myfterious  blefling ; 
I  wifl  not  do*  nor  fuffer,  aught,  unworthy 
Myfelf,  my  father,  or  my  father's  race. — 
But,  tell  me — nor  be  tender,  on  this  point  5. 
What  punifhment  your  Chriftian  laws  decree,. 
For  an  unhappy  wretch,  who,  to  herfelf, 
Unknown,  and,  all  abandoned,  by  the  world, 
Loft,  and  enlrav'd,  has,  in  her  fov'reign  matter, 
found  a  protedor,  generous,  as  great, 
Has  toucK'd  his  heart,  and  giv'n  him,  all  her  own  ? 

Nertfan.  The  punifhment  of  fuch  a  flave,  Jbou'4  be 
Death,  in  this  world— and  pain,  in  that  to  come. 


ft  Z    A    R    A. 

Zara.    I    am  that   Have — ftrike  here—and    fave  my 
(hame. 

Nereftan.  Deflru&ion  to  my  hopes !— Can  it  be  you  ? 

Z*ara.  It  is — ador'd  by  Ofman,  I  adore  him  : 
This  hour,  the  nuptial  rites  will  make  us,  one. 

Nereftan.  Whatt  marry  Ofman  ! — Let  the  world  grow 

dark,. 

That  the  extinguifiiM  fun  may  hide  thy  fhame  t 
Cou'd  it  be  thus,  it  were  no  crime  to  kill  thee. 

Zarat.  Strike,   ftrike — I  love  him— yes,,  by  heav'n !  1 
love  him. 

Nercftan.  Death  is  thy  due; — but  not  thy  due  from  me  ; 

Yet,  were  the  honour  of  our  houfe  no  bar 

My  father's  fame,  and  the  too  gentle  laws 

Of  that  religion,  which  tllou  haft  difgrac'd — 

Did  not  the  God,  thou  quit'fl,  hold  back  my  arm, 

Not  there — I  cou'd  not  there  ; — but,  by  my  foul, 

I.  wou'd  rulh,  defp'rate,  to  the  Sultan's  breail, 

And  plunge  my  fword  in  his  proud  heart  who  damns  thee. 

Oh  !  fhame !  fhame !  fliame  !  at  fuch  a  time,  as  this ! 

When  Lewis,  that  awak'ner  of  the  world, 

Beneath  the  lifted  crofs,  makes  Egypt  pale, 

And  draws  the  f,vord  of  heaven,  to  fpread  our  faith  !; 

No<w,  to  fubmit  to  fee  my  filler,  doom'd 

A  bofom  flave,  to  him,  whofe  tyrant  heart 

But  meafures  glory,  by  the  Chriflian's  woe; 

Yes  — I  will  dare  acquaint  our  father  with  it ;; 

Departing  Lufignan  may  live  fo  long, 

As  juft,  to  hear,  thy  fhame,  and  die,  to  'fcape  it; 

Zara.  Stay — my  too  angry  brother^—  flay— perhaps, 
Zara  has  refolution,  great  as  thine: 
JTis  cruel— and  unkind  ! — Thy  words  are  crimes ; 
My  iveaknefs  but  misfortune  !  Doll  thou  fuffer  ? 
I  fufrer  more  ;  — Oh  !  wou'd  to  heavep,  this  blood 
Of  twenty  boafled  kings,  would  flop,  at  once, 
And  ftagnate  in  my  hearft! — It,  then,  no  more 
Would  rufh,  in  boiling  fevers,  thro'  my  veins, 
And  ev'ry  trembling  drop  be  fill'd  with  Ofman. 
How  has  he  70o>V  me !  how  has  he  obliged  me  ! 
Lowe  tbet.  to  him  !  what  has  he  not  done, 


ZARA.  41 

To  jufiify  his  boundlefs  pow'r  of  charming  ! 

For  «£,  he  ibftens  the  fevere  decrees 

Of  his  own  faith  ; — and  is  it  juft  that  mine 

Should  bid  me  hate  him,  but  becaufe  he  loves  me  ? 

No — I  will  be  a  Chriftian — but  preferve 

My  gratitude  as  facred  as  my  faith  : 

If  I  have  death  to  fear,  for  Ofman's  fake, 

It  muft  be  from  his  coldnefs,  not  his  /o-ve. 

Nereftan.  I  muft,  at  once,  condemn  and  pity  thee  ; 
I  cannot  point  thee  out,  which  way  to  go, 
But  providence  will  lend  its  light  to  guide  thee. 
That  facred  rite,  which  thou  malt,  now,  receive, 
Will  ftrengthen  and  fupport  thy  feeble  heart, 
To  live,  an  innocent ;  or  die,  a  martyr  : 
Here,  then,  begin  performance  of  thy  vow; 
Here,  in  the  trembling  horrors  of  thy  foul, 
Promife  thy  king,  thy  father,  and  thy  God, 
Not  to  accompHih  thefe  detefted  nuptials, 
Till,  firft,  the  rev'rend  prieft  has  clear'd  your  eyes, 
Taught  you  to  know,  and  giv'n  you  claim  to  heav'ft. 
Promife  me  this— 

Zara.  So  blefs  me,  heaven  !  I  do.— 
Go — haften  the  good  prieft,  I  will  expe£l  him  ; 
But,  firft,  return — cheer  my  expiring  father, 
Tell  him,  I  am,  and  will  be,  all  he  wimes  me  : 
Teil  him,  to  give  him  life,  'twere  joy  to  die. 

Nertftan.  I  go — farewell — farewell,  unhappy  filler  ! 

[Exit  Nereftaa. 

Zara.  I  am  alone — and,  now,  be  juft,  my  heart  I 
And  tell  me,  wilt  thou  dare  betray  thy  God  ! 
What  am  I  ?  what  am  I  about  to  be  ? 
Daughter  of  Lufignan  ? — or  wife  to  Ofman  ? 
Am  J  a  lover,  moft  ?  or,  moft,  a  Chriftian  ? 
Wou'd  Selima  were  come  !  and,  yet,  'tis  juft, 
All  friends  fhou'd  fly  her,  who  forfakes  herfelf : 
What  mail  I  do  ?— What  heart  has  ftrength  to  bear 
Thefe  double  weights  of  duty  ? — help  me,  heaven  ! 
To  thy  hard  laws  I  render  up  my  foul : 
But,  Oh  I  demand  it  back— for,  now,  'tis  Ofman's. 


4*  Z     A    R    A. 

Enter  Ofman, 

Ofman.    SKIne    out,    appear,    be    found,    my    lovely 

Zaia  ! 

Impatient  eyes  attend — the  rites  exped  thee  ; 
And  my  devoted  heart,  no  longer,  brooks 
This  diftance  from  its  foft'ner  1-r-all  the  lamps 
Of  nuptial  love  are  lighted,  and  burn  pure, 
As  if  they  drew  their  brightnefs  from  thy  blufhes  ; 
The  holy  mofque  is  fill'd  with  fragrant  fumes, 
Which-  emulate  the  fweetnefs  of  thy  breathing : 
My  proftrate  people,  all,  confirm  my  choice, 
And  fend  their  fouls  fo  heaven,  in  prayer,  for  bleflings,. 
Thy  envious  rivals,  confcious  of  thy  right, 
Approve  fuperior  charms,  and  join  to  praife  thee  ; 
The    throne,    that   waits    thee,    feems    to    fhine   more 

richly, 

As  all  its  gems,  with  animated  luflre, 
Fe^r'd  to  look  dim,  beneath  the  eyes  of  Zara  ! 
Come,  my  flow  love !  the  ceremonies  wait  thee  ; 
Come,  and  begin,  from  this  dear  hour,  my  triumph. 

Zara*  Oh!    what  a  wretch  am  I?    O,  grief!    Oh» 
love ! 

Ofman.  Come come 

Zara.  Where  mail  I  hide  my  bluihes? 

Of  man.  Blumes  ? — here,  in  my  bofom,  hide  'em.— - 

Zara.   My  Lord? 

Oftnan.  Nay,  Zara — give  me  thy  hand,  and  come— 

7,ara.  Inftruft  me,  heaven  ! 
What  I  mou'd  fay— Alas !  I  cannot  fpeak : 

Ofman.     Away this    modeft,     fweet,     relu&afft^ 

trifling 
But  doubles  rny  defires,  aad  thy  own  beauties ! 

Zara.  Ah,  me ! 

Ojman.  Nay— but  thou  (hould'ft  not  be  too  cruel— 

Zara.  I  can,  no  longer,  bear  it — Oh  !  my  Lord— 

Ofman.  Ha !— what !— whence  ?— how  £.— 


Z     A    R    A.  45 

Zara.  My  Lord  !  my  Sovereign  ! 

Heaven  knows,  this  marriage  vvou'd  have  been  a  blifs, 
Above  my  humble  hopes ! — yet,  witnefs  love  ! 
Not  from  the  grandeur  of  your  throne,  that  blifs, 
But,  from  the  pride  of  calling  Ofman,  mine. 
Wou'd,  you  had  been  no  Emperor  !  and  I, 
Poffefs'd  of  power,  and  charms,  deferving_y0«  / 
That,  flighting  Afia's  thrones,  I  might,  alone, 
Have  left  a  profter'd  world,  to  follow  you, 
Through  defarts,  uninhabited  by  men, 
And  blefs'd,  with  ample  room,  for  peace,  and  love  I 
But,  as  it  is thefe  Chriftians 

Ofman.   Chriilians  !  what ! 
How  {tart  two  images  into  thy  thoughts, 
So  diftant as  the  Chriftians,  and  my  love  \ 

Zara.  That  good,  old  Chriftian,  rev'rend  Lufignan, 
Now,  dying,  ends  his  life,  and  woes,  together  ! 

Ofman.  Weil !  let  him  die— What  has  thy  heart  to  feel, 
Thus  preffing,  and  thus  tender,  from  the  death 
Of  an  old,  wretched  Chriftian  ?— Thank  our  Prophet, 
Thou  art  no  Chriftian  !— educated,  here, 
Thy  happy  youth  was  taught  our  better  faith  : 
Sweet,  as  thy  pity  mines,  'tis,  now,  mis--tim'd , 
What !  tho'  an  aged  fuiPrer  dies,  unhappy, 
Why  fhou'd  his  foreign  fate  difturb  our  joys  ? 

Zara.  Sir,  if  you  love  me,  and  wou'd  have  me  thinly 
That,  I  am,  truly  dear 

Ofman.  Heaven  !  if  I  love  — 

Zara.  Permit  me— — 

Off/fan.  What  ? 

Zara.  To  defire 

Ofman.  Speak  out 

Zara.  The  nuptial  rites 
May  be  deferr'd,  till 

Ofman.  What  ?— Is  th^t  the  voice 
Of  Zara? 

Zara .  Oh  !  I  cannot  bear  his  frown  ! 

Ofman*  Of  Zara  ! 

Zara.  It  is  dreadful  to  my  heart, 
To  give  you  but  a  feeming  caufe,  for  anger ;  ^ 


44.  Z    A    R    A. 

Pardon  my  grief — Alas !  I  cannot  bear  it ; 
There  is  a  painful  terror  in  your  eye, 
That  pierces  to  my  foul — hid,  from  your  fight, 
I  go,  to  make  a  moment's  truce,  with  tears, 
And  gather  force,  to  fpeak  of  my  defpair. 

\Exit  d  f orders  a  t 

Ofman.  I  fland,  immoveable,  like  fenfelefs  marble  I 
Horror  had  frozen  my  fufpended  tongue  : 
And  an  aftoniih'd  filence  robb'd  my  will 
Of  power,  to  tell  her,  that  fhe  mock'd  my  foul ! 
Spose  me  to  me  ? — fure,  I  mifunderftood  her  ! 
Cou'd  it  be  me,  ihe  left  ?  —  What  have  I  feen  I 

Enter  Orafmin* 

Orafmin  !  What  a  change  is  here !  —  She's  gone. 
And  I  permitted  it,  I  know  not  how  ! 

Orafmin.  Perhaps,  you  but  accufe  the  charming  fault 
Of  innocence,  too  modeft,  oft,  in  love. 

Ofman.  But  why,    and  whence,    thofe  tears  ?— thofe 

looks !   that  flight ! 

That  grief !  fo  ftrongly  ftamp'd  on  every  feature  ! 
If  it  has  been  that  Frenchman  !  —  What  a  thought ! 
How  low,  how  horrid,  a  fufpicion,  that ! 
The  dreadful  flalh,  at  once,  gives  light,  and  kills  me  | 
My  too  bold  confidence,  repell'd  my  caution  ; 
An  infidel ! — a  flave  ! — a  heart,  like  mine, 
Reduc'd,  to  fufFer,  from  fo  vile  a  rival  ! 
But,  tell  me,  did'ft  thou  mark  'em,  at  their  parting  ? 
Did'ft  thou  obferve  the  language  of  their  eyes  ? 
Hide  nothing  from  me — Is  my  love  bet  ray 'd  ? 
Tell  me  my  whole  difgrace  :  nay,  if  thou  -.rembleft, 
1  hear  thy  pity  fpeak,  though  thou  art  filent. 

Orafmin,  I  tremble  at  the  pangs,  I  fee  you  fuffer  j 
Let  not  your  angry  apprehenfion  urge 
Your  faithful  flave,  to  irritate  your  anguifh  ; 
I  did,  'tis  true,  obferve  fome  parting  tears ; 
But,  there  are  tears,  of  charity,  and  grief: 
I  cannot  think,   there  was  a  caufe,  deferving 
This  Agony  of  paflion 

Ofmanu 


Z     A    R    A. 


45 


O/man.  Why,  no — I  thank  thee 
Oraimin,  thou  art  wife  !  It  cou'd  net  be, 
That  I  fhou'd  ftand,  expos'd,   to  fuch  an  infult: 
Thou  know'ft,  had  Zara  meant  me  the  offence, 
She  wants  not  wifdom,  to  have  bid  it,  better  j 
How  rightly  did'ft  thou  judge  ! — Zara  lhall  know  it : 
And  thank  thy  honed  fervice — After  all, 
Might  flie  not  have  fome  caufe  for  tears,  which  I 
Claim  no  concern  in — but  the  grief  it  gives  her  ? 
What  an  unlikely  fear — from  a  poor  flave  ! 
Who  goes,  to-morrow,  and,  no  doubt,  who  wiihes, 
Js[ay,  who  refolves  to  fee  thefe  climes  no  more  ! 

Orafmin.    Why  did  you,    Sir,    againfl  our  country's 

cuftom, 

Indulge  him,  with  a  fecond  leave  to  come  ? 
He  faid,  he  ihou'd  return,  once  more,  to  fee  her. 

Ofman.  Return  !  the  traitor  !  he  return  '.-—Dares  he 
Preibme,  to  prefs  a  fecond  interview  ? 
Wou'd  he  be  feen  again  ? — He  fhall  be  feen  ; 
But  dead; — I'll  puniili  the  audacious  flave, 
To  teach  the  faithlefs  Fair,  to  feel  my  anger  : 
Bej#///,  my  tranfports  ;  violence  is  blind  : 
1  know,  my  heart,  at  once,  is  fierce,  and  weak  ; 
I  feel,  that  I  defcend,  below  myfelf  ; 
Zara  can  never  juilly  be  fufpecled  ; 
Her  fweetnefs  was  not  form'd  to  cove*  treafon  : 
Yet,  Ofman  muft  not  ftoop  to  woman's  follies. 
Their  tears,  complaints,  regrets,  and  reconcilements, 
V/ith  all  their  light,  capricious,  roll  of  changes, 
Are  arts,,  too  vulgar,  to  be  try'd  on  me. 
It  wou'd  become  me,  better,  to  refume 
The  empire  of  my  will : — Rather  than  fall 
Beneath  myfelf,  I  muft,  how  dear  foe'er 
It  cofts  me, .  rife — till  I  look  down,  on  Zara ! 
Av/ay — but  mark  me — thefe  Seraglio  doors, 
Againfl:  all  Chriftians,  be  they,  henceforth,  fhut, 
Clofe,  as  the  dark  retreats  of  filent  death. — 
What  have  I  done,  juft  heav'n  !  thy  rage  to  move, 
That  thou  fhould'ft  fmk  me  down,  fo  kw,  to  love  ? 

End  of  the   THIRD    ACT. 


46  ZARA. 

A  C  T    IV.        S  C  E  N  E    J. 

Zara,    Seliina. 

Selima. 

AH !  Madam,  how,  at  once,  I  grieve  your  fate, 
And,  how  admire  your  virtue  ! — Heaven  permits, 
And  heaven  will  give  you  itrength,  to  bear  misfortune  ; 
To  break  thefe  chains,  fo  ftrong,  and,  yet,  fo  dear. 

Zara.  Oh  I  that.  I  could  fupport  the  fatal  ftruggle! 

Selima.  Th'  Eternal  aids  your  weaknefs,  fees  your  will ; 
Direcis  your  purpofe,  and  rewards  your  forrows. 

Zara.  Never  had  wretch  more  caufe,  to  hope,  he  does. 

Selima.  What !  tho',  you  here,  no  more,  behold  your 

father  ! 

There  is  a  Father  to  be  found,  above, 
Who  can  reilore  that  father  to  his  daughter. 

Zara.  But,  I  have  planted  pain,  in  Ofman's  bofom  5 
He  loves  me,  ev'n  to  death  J— and  I  reward  him, 
With  anguifh,  and  defpair  :  —  How  bafe  ;  how  cruel ! 
But  I  delerv'd  him  not,  I  (hou'd  have  been 
Too  happy,  and  the  hand  of  heaven  repell'd  me. 

Selima.  What !  will  you,  then,  regret  the  glorious  lofs, 
And  hazard,  thus,  a  vicl'ry,  bravely  won  ? 

Zara.  Inhuman  vicVry ! — thou  doft  not  know, 
This  love,,  fo  povv'rful,  this  fole  joy  of  life, 
This  firft,  be  ft  hope  of  earthly  happinefs, 
Is,  yet,  lefs  pow'rfd,  in  my  heart,  than  heaven  ! 
To  him,  who  made  that  heart,  I  offer  it  ; 
There,  there,  I  iacrifice  my  bleeding  paflion  : 
I  pour,  before  him,  ev'ry  guilty  tear  ; 
I  teg  him,  to  efface  the  fond  impreiTion, 
And  fill  with  his  own  image,  all  my  foul  ; 
But,  while  I  weep,  and  figh,  repent,  and  pray, 
Remembrance  brings  the  object  of  my  love, 
And  ev'ry  light  illuuon  floats  before  him. 

I  fee, 


Z    A    R    A. 


47 


I  fee,  I  hear  him,  and,  again,  he  charms! 

Fills  my  glad  foul,  and  mines,  'twixt  me,  and  heav'n  ! 

Oh  I  all  ye  royal  anceftors  !  Oh,  father  / 

Mother !  you  ChrilHans,  and  the  Chriftians*  God ! 

You,  who  deprive  me  of  this  gen'rous  lover  ! 

If  you  permit  me  not  to  live  for  him, 

Let  me  n.-t  live  at  all,  and  I  am  blcfe'd  : 

Let  me  die,  innocent ;  let  his  dear  hand 

Clofe  the  fad  ey^-s  of  her,  he  ftoop'd  to  love, 

And  I  acquit  my  fate,  and  aik  no  more. 

But  he  forgives  me  not regardlef?,  now, 

Whether,  or  how,  I  live,  or,  when  I  die. 
He  quits  me,  fcorns  me — and  I,  yet  live  on, 
And  talk  of  death,  as  diflant. . 

Se/ima.  Ah  !  defpair  not, 
Truft  your  Eternal  Helper,  and  be  happy. 

Zara.  Why what  has  Ofman  done,    that  he,   too, 

mou'd  not  ? 

Has  heaven,  fo  nobly,  form'd  his  heart,  to  hate  it  ? 
Gen'rous,  and  juft,  beneficent,  and  brave, 
Were  he  but  Chriftian  —  What  can  man  be,  more  ? 
I  wifh,  methinks,  this  reverend  prieft  were  come, 
To  free  me  from  thefe  doubts,  which  fhake  my  foul : 
Yet,  know  not,  why  I  mould  not  dare  to  hope, 
That  heav'n,  whofe  mercy  all  confefs,  and  feel, 
Will  pardon,  and  approve,  th'  alliance  wiih'd  : 
Perhaps,  it  feats  me  on  the  throne  of  Syria, 
To  tax  my  pow'r,  for  thefe  good  Chriftians'  comfort. 
Thou  know'ft  the  mighty  Saladine,  who,  firft, 
Conquer'd  this  empire,  from  my  father's  race, 
Who,  like  my  Ofman,  charm'd  th'  admiring  world, 
D*ew  breath,  tho'  Syrian,  from  a  Chriftian  mother. 

Selima.  What  mean  you,  Madam  I  Ah  !    you  do  not 
fee 

Zara.  Yes,  yes  —I  fee  it  all ;  I  am  not  blind  : 
I  fee,  my  country,  and  my  race,  condemn  me ; 
I  fee,  that,  fpite  of  all,  1  Hill  love  Ofman. 
What !  if  I,  now,  go  throw  me  at  his  feet, 
And  tell  him,  there,  fmcerely,  what  I  am. 

Selima. 


48  Z    A    R    A. 

Selima.  Confider  -  that  might  coft  your  brother's  life, 
Expoie  the  Chriftians,  and  betray  you  all. 

Lara.  You  do  not  know  the  noble  heart  of  Ofman. 

Se'ima.  I  know  him  the  protector  of  a  faith, 
Sworn  enemy  to  ours  ;  -  The  more  he  loves, 
The  left  will  he  permit  you,  to  profefs 
Opinions,  which  he  hates  :  to-night,  the  prieft, 
In  private,  introduced,  attends  you,  here; 
You  promis'cj  him  admiflion  - 

Zara.  Wou'd  I  had  not  ! 
I  promised,  too.,  to  keep  this  fatal  fecret  ; 
My  father's  nrg'd  command  required  it,  twigs  ; 
I  muft  obey*  .all  dangerous,  as  it  is  : 
Compell'd'to  filence,  Ofman  is  enrag'd, 
Sufpicion  follows,  and  I  lofe  his  love. 


Ofman.  Madam  !  there  was  a  time,  when  my  charm'd 

heart 

Made  it  a  virtue,  to  be  loft,  in  love  ; 
When,  without  bluihing,  I  indulg'd  my  flame  ; 
And  ev'ry  day,  ftill,  made  you  dearer  to  me. 
You  taught  me,  Madam,  to  believe,  my  love 
Rewarded,  and  returned  —  nor  was  that  hope, 
Methinks,  too  bold  for  reafon  :  Emperors, 
Who  chufe  to  figh,  devoted,  at  the  feet  f 

Of  beauties,  whom  the  world  conceive  their  flaves, 
Have  fortune's  claim,  at  leaft,  to  fure  fuccefs  : 
But,  'twere  prophane  to  think  of  pow'r,  in  love. 
Dear,  as  my  paflion  makes  you,  I  decline 
PoiTefTion  of  her  charms,  whofe  heart's  another's  ;' 
You  will  not  find  me  a  weak,  jealous,  lover, 
By  coarfe  reproaches  giving  pain  to  you, 
And  ihaming  my  own  greatnefs  —  wounded  deeply, 
Yet  fhunning,  and  difdaining,  low  complaint, 
I  come  -  to  tell  you  - 

Zara.  Give  my  trembling  heart 
A  moment's  refpite  —  <-. 

OJman.  That  unwilling  coldnefs, 

i  Is 


Z    A    R    A.  4? 

Is  the  juft  prize  of  your  capricious  lightnefs ; 

Your  ready  arts  may  fpare  the  fruitless  pains, 

Of  colouring  deceit  with  fair  pretences  ; 

I  would  not  wifh  to  hear  your  flight  excufes  ; 

I  cherifli  ignorance,  to  fave  my  brumes. 

Ofman,  in  ev'ry  trial,  ihall  remember, 

That  he  is  Emperor — Whate'er  I  fuffer, 

'Tis  due  to  honour,  that  I  give  up  you, 

And,  to  my  injur'd  bofom,  take  defpair, 

Rather  than,  fhamefully,  poflefs  you,  fighing, 

Convinced,  thofe  fighs  were,  never,  meant  for  me.-* 

Go,  Madam— you  are  free — from  Ofman's  pow'r — 

Expect  no  wrongs,  but  fee  his  face  no  more, 

Zara.  At  laft,  'tis  come — the  fear'd,   the  murd'ring 
moment 

Is  come— and  I  am  curs'd  by  earth  and  Tieaven  ! 

[Throws  kerf  elf  on  the  ground. 
If  it  is  true,  that  I  am  lov'd  no  more  ;— - 

If  you 

Ofman,  It  is  too  true,  my  fame  requires  itf 
It  is  too  true,  that  I,  unwilling,  leave  you  : 
That  I,  at  once,  renounce  you,  and  adore— — 
Zara  ! — - — you   weep  ! 

Zara.  If  I  am  doom'd  to  lofe  you, 
If  I  muft  wander  o'er  an  empty  world, 
Unloving,  and  unlov'd— — Oh!  yet,  dojuflice 

To  the  afflicted do  not  wrong  me  doubly  ; 

Punifh  me,  if  'tis  needful  to  your  peace, 

But  fay  not,  I  deferv'd  it -This,  at  leaft, 

Believe for,  not  the  greatnefs  of  your  foul 

Is  truth,  more  pure,  and  facred no  regret 

Can  touch  my  bleeding  heart,  for  I  have  loft 
The  rank,  of  her,  you  raife  to  mare  your  throne  : 
I  know,  I  never 'ought  to  have  been  there ; 
My  fate,  and  my  defects  require,  I  lofe  you  : 
But  ah  !  my  heart  was,  never,  known  to  Ofman, 
May  heaven,  that  punilhes,  for  ever  hate  me, 
If  I  regret  the  lofs  of  aught,  but  you. 
Ofman.  Rife— rife — This  means  not  love  ? 

\Rayes 
C 


50  Z    A    R    A. 

Zara.  Strike — Strike  me,  heaven! 
Qjman.  What !  is  it  love,  to  force  yourfelf  to  wound 
The  heart,  you  wifh  to  gladden  ? — But  I  find, 
Lovers  leaft  know  them/elves  ;  for,  I  believ'd, 
That  I  .had  taken  back  the  power  I  gave  you  ; 
Yet,  fee ! — you  did  but  weep,  and  have  refum'd  me  I 
Proud,  as  I  am — I  muft  confefs,  one  wifti 
Evades  my  power— the  bleffing  to  forget  you. 
Zara — Thy  tears  were  form'd  to  teach  difdain, 

That  foftnefs  can  difarm  it. 'Tis  decreed, 

I  muft,  for  ever,  love — but,  from  what  caufe, 
Jf  thy  confenting  heart  partakes  my  fires, 
Art  thou  relu&ant  to  a  bleffing,  meant  me  ? 
Speak  ?  Is  it  levity — or,  is  it  fear  ? 
Fear  of  a  power,  that,  but  for  bleffing  the, 
Hadi  without  joy,  been  painful. — Is  it  artifice  ? 
Oh  !  fpare  the  needlefs  pains — Art  was  not  made 
For  Zara;  —  ArtJ  however  innocent, 
Looks  like  deceiving — I  abhorr'd  it  ever. 

Zara.  Alas  !  I  have  no  art,  not  ev'n  enough, 
To  .hide  this  love,  and  this  diftrefs,  you  give  me. 

Ofman.  New  riddles!    Speak,    with  piainnefs  to  nay 

foul; 
What  can'ft  thou  mfean  ? 

Zara.  I  have  no  power  to  fpeak  i*. 
Ofman.  Is  it  fome  fecret,  dangerous  to  my  ftate  ? 
Is  it  fome  Chriftian  plot,  grown  ripe,  againft  ine  ? 

7.ara.  Lives  there  a  wretch,  fo  vile,  as  to  betray  you  ! 
Ofman  is  blefs'd,  beyond  the  reach  of  fear ; 
Fear.>,  and  misfortunes,  threaten  only  Zara. 
Ofman.  Why  threaten  Zara  ? 
Zara.  Per  in  it  me,   at  your  feet, 
Thus,  trembling,  to  befeech  a  favour  from  you. 

Ofman.    A    favour !— Oh ;     you    guide    the  will    of 

Ofman. 

Zara.  Ah  !  wou'd  to  heaven,  our  duties  were  united, 
Firm,  as  our  thoughts  and  wilhes ! — But  this  day, 
But  this  one  fad,  unhappy  day,  permit  me, 
Alone,  and  far-divided,  from  your  eye, 
To  cover  my  diitrefs,  left  you,  too  tender, 

Shou'd 


2    A    R    A.  5t 

Shou'd  fee,  and  (hare  it  with  me; — from  to-morrow, 
I  will  not  have  a  thought,  conceal'd  from  you. 

Ofman.  What   ftrange  difquiet !    from  what  ftranger 

caufe  ? 

Zara.  If  I  am,  really,  blefs'd  with  Ofman's  love, 
He  will  not,  then,  refufe  this  humble  prayer. 

Ofman.  If  it  mult  be,  it  muft. — Be  pleas'd — my  will 
Takes  purpofe,  from  your  wifhes ; — and,  confent 
Depends  not  on  my  choice,  but  your  decree  : 
Go — but  remember,  how  he  loves,  who  thus, 
Finds  a  delight  in  pain,  becaufe  you  give  it. 

Zara.  It  gives  me  more  than  Pain,  to  make  you  feel 

it. 

Ofman.  And — can  yon,  Zara,  leave  me  ? 
Zara.  Alas  !  my  lord  !  [Exit  Zara.. 

Ofman.  [Aloni\  It  fhou'd  be,  yet,  methinks,  too  foon 

to  fly  me ! 

Too  foon,  as  yet,  to  wrong  my  eafy  faith  ; 
The  more  I  think,  the  lefs  I  can  conceive, 
What  hidden  caufe  fhou'd  raife  fuch  ftrange  defpair  ! 
Now,  when  her  hopes  have  wings,  and  ev*ry  wifh 
Is  courted  to  be  lively  ! — When  I  love, 
And  joy,  and  empire,  prtfs  her  to  their  bofom  ; 
When,  not  alone  belov'd,  but,  ev'n,  a  lover : 
Profeffing,  and  accepting ;  blefs'd,  and  blefling  ; 
To  fee  her  eyes,  through  tears,  fliine  myftic  love  ! 
*Tis  madnefs  I  and  I  were  unworthy  power, 
To  fuffer,  longer,  the  capricious  infult  I 
Yet,  was  I  blamelefs  ? — No — I  was  too  ralh  ; 
I  have  felt  jealoufy,  and  fpoke  it,  to  her  ; 
I  have  diftrufted  her — and  ftill  me  loves : 
Gen'rous  atonement,  that!  and 'tis  my  duty 
To  expatiate,  by  a  length  of  foft  indulgence, 
The  tranfports  of  a  rage,  which,  ftill,  was  love. 
Henceforth,  I,  never,  will  fufpect  her  falfe  ; 
Nature's  plain  power  of  charming  dwells  about  her, 
And  innocence  gives  force  to  ev'ry  word : 
I  owe  full  confidence  to  all,  me  looks, 
For,  in  her  eye,  mines  truth,  and  ev'ry  beam 
Shoots  confirmation  round  her:— I  rcmark'd, 

C  2  Ev'n, 


p  £     A     R     A. 

Ev'n,  while  flie  vve^t,  her  foul,  a  thoufand  times, 
Sprung  to  her  lips,  and  longM  to  leap  to  mine, 
,With  honeil,  ardent,  utt'rance  of  her  love. 
"Who  can  poffefs  a  heart,  fo  low,  fo  bafe, 
To  look  fuch  tendernefs,  and,  yet,  have  none  ? 

Enter  Melidor,  with  Orafmin. 

Melidor.  This  letter,  great  difpofer  of  the  world  1 
AddrefsM  to  Zara,  and,  in  private,  brought, 
Your  faithful  guards,  this  moment,  intercepted, 
And,  humbly,  offer,  to  your  fovereign  eye. 

Ofman.  Come  nearer  ;  give  it  me. — To  Zara. — Rife  1 
Bring  it  with  Ipeed — Shame  on  your  flatt'ring  diftance — 
[jldwancing,  and  fnatching  the  letter* 
Be  honeft  -  and  approach  me,  like  a  fubjeft, 
Who  ferves  the  Prince,  yet,  not  forgets  the  man. 

Melidor.  One  of  the  ChriiHan  flaves,  whom,  late,  your 

bounty 

Releas'd  from  bondage,  fought,  with  heedful  guile, 
Unnotic'd,  to  deliver  it — Difcover'd 
He  waits,  in  chains,  his  doom,  from  your  decree. 

Ofman.  Leave  me — I  tremble,  as  if  fomething  fatal, 
Were  meant  me,  from  this  letter — ihou'd  I  read  it  ? 

Orafmin.  Who  knows,    but  it   contains    feme  happy 

truth, 
That  may  remove  all  doubts,  and  calm  your  heart  ? 

Ofman.  Be  it,  as  'twill— it  Jhall  be  read — my  hands 
Have  apprehenfion,  that  outreaches  mine  ! 
Why  Ihou'd  they  tremble,  thus  ? — 'Tis  done — and  now, 

[Opens  the  letter. 
Fate  be  thy  call  obey'd — Orafhiin,  mark 

"  There  is  a  fecret  paffage,  tow'rd  the  mofque, 

"  That  way,  you  might  efcape  ;  and,  unperceiv'd, 

**  Fly  your  obfervers,  and  fulfil  our  hope  ; 

"  Defpife  the  danger,  and  depend  on  me, 

**  Who  wait  you,  but  to  die,  if  you  deceive." 

Hell !  tortures  !  death  !  and  woman  ! — What  ?  Orafrnin  ? 
I  Are 


Z     A     R    A.  S3 

Are  we  awake  ?  Heard'ft  thou  ?  Can  this  be  Zara  ? 

Orafmin.  Wou'd  I  had  loft  all  fenfe-for  ,vhat  I  heard 
Has  cover'd  my  affli^ed  heart  with  horror ! 

Ofman.  Thou  fee'ft  how  I  am  treated  ? 

Orafmin.  Monftrous  treafon  ! 

To  an  affront,  like  this,  you  cannot — muft  not— 
Remain,  infenfible— You,  who,  but  now, 
From  the  moft  flight  fufpicion,  felt  fuch  pain, 
Muft,  in  the  horror  of  fo  black  a  guilt, 
Find  an  effectual  cure,  and  banifhlove. 

Ofman.  Seek  her  this  inftant— go — Orafmin,  fly^ 
Shew  her  this  letter— bid  her  read,  and  tremble  : 
Then,  in  the  rifing  horrors  of  her  guilt, 
Stab  her  unfaithful  breaft  — .and  let  her  die. 
Say,  while  thou  ftrik'ft— —  Stay,  ftay— return,  and  pity 

rne  : 

I  will  think,  firft,  a  moment—Let  that  Chriftian 
Be,  ftrait,  confronted  with  her— Stay — I  will, 
I  will — I  know  not  what ! — Wou'd,  I  were  dead  ! 
Wou'd,  I  haddy'd,  unconfcious  of  this  mame  ! 

Orafmin.  Never  did  Prince  receive  fo  bold  a  wrong. 

Ofman.  See  !  here,  detected,  this  infernal  fecret  \ 
This  fountain  of  her  tears-,  which  my  weak  heart 
Miftook  for  marks  of  tendernefs  and  pain  ! 
Why  !  what  a  reach  has  woman,  to  deceive  1 
Under  how  fine  a  veii,  of  grief,  and  fear, 
Did  flie  propofe  retirement,  'till  to-morrow  ! 
And  I,   blind  dotard  !   gave  the  fool's  confent, 
Sooth'd  her,  and  fufter'd  her  to  go  !  —  She  parted, 
DifTolv'd  in  tears  ;  and  parted,  to  betray  me  ! 

Orafmin.  Refieciion  ferves  but  to  confirm  her  guilt : 
At  length,  refume  yourfelf ;  awaken  thought; 
AfTert  your  greatnefs ;  and  refolve,  like  Ofman. 

Ofman.  Nereftan,  too — Was  this  the  boafted  honour 
Of  that  proud  Chriftian  ?  whom  Jerufalem 
Grew  loud,  in  praifing  !  whofe  half-envy'd  virtue 
I  wonder'd  at,  myfelf  \  and  felt  difdain, 
Tte  be  but,  equal,  to;a  Chriftian's  greatnefs  ! 
And  does  he  thank  me  thus — bafe  infidel  ! 
Honeft,  pretending,  pious,  praying,  villain  !    • 

C  3  Yet, 


54  Z     A     R     A,  } 

Yet,  Zara  is,  a  thoufand  times,  more  bafe, 
More. hypocrite,,  than  he  ! — a  flave  !  a  wretch  ! 
So  lovvj  fo  loft,  that,  ev'n  the  vileft  labours, 
In  which  he  lay,  condemn'd,  could  never  fink  him, 
Beneath  his  native  infamy— Did  fhe  not  know, 
What  I.have  done,  what  fuffer'd  —  for  her  fake? 

O  raj  mm.  Cou'd  you,    my  gracious  lord  !    forgive  my 

zeal, 
You  wou'd  ~ 

OJ'TMH.  I  know  it — Thou  art  right — I'll  fee  her — 
I'll  tax  her,  -in  thy  prefence  ; — I'll  upbraid  her — . 
Til  let  her  learn — Go  —  find,  and  bring  her,  to  me. 

Qryfmln.  Alas  !  my  lord,  diforder'd  as  you  are, 
What  can  you  wifh  to  fay  ? 

Ofinau.  I  know  not,  now  :-— 
But 'I  refolve  to  fee  her — left  me  think, 
Her  falfhood  has,  perhaps,  the  power  to  grieve  me. 

Orafmin.    Believe    me,    Sir,    your    threat'nings,    your 

complaints, 

What  will  they  all  produce,  but  Zara's  tears, 
To  quench  this  fancy'd  anger !  your  loft  heart, 
SeduQ'd,  againft  itfelf,  will  fearch  but  reafons, 
To  jullify  the  guilt,  which  gives  it  pain  : 
Rather  conceal,  from  Zara,  this  difcovery  : 
And  let  feme  trufty  flave  convey  the  letter, 
Reclos'd,  to  her  own  hand— then,  mall  you  learn, 
Spite  of  her  frauds,  difguife,  and  artifice, 
The  firmnefs,  or  abafement,  of  her  foul. 

Ofman.  Thy  counfel  charms  me  !  We'll  about  it,  now  : 
'Twill  be  fome  recompence,  at  leaft,  to  fee 
Her  bluihes,  when  detected. 

Orafmin.   Oh  !  my  Lord, 
I  doubt  you,  in  the  trial for,  your  heart 

OJman.  Diftruit  me  not my  love,   indeed,  is  weak, 

.But,  honour,  and  difdain,  more  ftrong  than  Zara: 
Here,  take  this  fatal  letter — chufe  a  flave, 
Whom,  yet,  fhe  never  faw,  and  who  retains 

His  try'd  fidelity-. — Difpatch be  gone 

[Exit  Orafmin. 
Now,  whither  mall  I  turn  my  eyes,  and  fteps, 


Z     A     R     A.  5S 

The  fureft  way,  to  fhun  her ;  and  give  time 
For  this  difcovering  trial  ? — Heav'n !  {he's  here  ! 

Enter  Zara. 

So,  Madam  !  fortune  wi  1  befriend  my  caufe, 

And  fre«  me  from  your  fetters  : — You  are  met, 

Moll  aptly,  to  difpel  a  new-ris'n  doubt, 

That  claims  the  fineft  of  your  arts,  to  glofs  it. 

Unhappy,  each,  by  other,  it  is  time, 

To  end  our  mutual  pain,  that  both  may  reft : 

You  want  not  generofity,  but  love  : 

My  pride  forgotten,  my  obtruded  throne, 

My  favours,  cares,  refpeft,  and  tendernefs, 

Touching  your  gratitude,  provok'd  regard  ; 

fTill,  by  a  length  of  benefits,  befieg'd, 

Your  heart  fubmitted,  and  you,  thought  'twas  love  ; 

But,  you  deceiv'd  yourfelf,  and  injured  me. 

There  is,  I'm  told,  an  objecl,  more  deferving 

Your  love,  than  Ofman — I  wou'd  know  his  name  : 

Be  juft,  nor  trifle  with  my  anger  :  tell  me, 

Kpw,  while  expiring  pity  flruggles,  faint ; 

While  I  have  yet,  perhaps,  the  pow'r  to  pardon  : 

Give  up  the  bold  invader  of  my  claim, 

And  let  him  die,  to  faye  thee. — Thou  art  known  ; 

Think,  and  refolve While  I  yet  fpeak,  renounce  him  ; 

While  yet  the  thunder  rolls,  fufpended,  ftay  it ; 
Let  thy  voice  charm  me,  and  recall  my  foul, 
That  turns,  averfe,  and  dwells  no  more  on  Zara. 

Zara.  Can  it  be  Ofman,  fpeaks  ?  and  fpeaks  to  Zara? 
I, earn,  cruel  !  learn,  that  this  afflicted  heart, 
This  heart,  which  heaven  delights  to  prove,'  by  tortures, 
Did  it  not  love,  has  pride,   and  pow'r,  to  fliun  you  : 
Alas  !  you  will  not  know  me  !  What  have  I 
To  fear,  but  that  unhappy  love,  you  queilion  ? 
That  love,  which,  only,  cou'd  outweigh  the  /hame, 
I  feel,  while  I  defcend,  to  weep  my  wrongs. 
I  know  not,  whether  heaven,  that  frowns  upon  me, 
Has  deflin'd  my  unhappy  days,  for  your's  ; 
But,  be  my  fate,  or  blefs'd,  or  curs'd,  I  fwear, 
By  honour,  dearer  ev'n  than  life,  or  love, 
C  4. 


56  Z     A     R     A. 

Cou'd  Zara  be*  but  miitrefs  of  herfelf, 
She  wou'd,  with  cold  regard,  look  down  oh  kings, 
And,  you  alone  excepted,  fly  'em  all : 
Wou'd  you  learn  more,  and  open  all  my  heart  ? 
Know  then,  that,  fpite  of  this  renewed  injuftice, 
J  do  not — :cannot—  wiih  to  love  you  lefs : 
That,  long  before  you  look'd  fo  low,  as  Zara, 
She  gave  her  heart  to  Ofman — Yours,  before 
Your  benefits  had  bought  her,  or  your  eye 
Had  thrown  diftindtion  round  her  ;  never  had, 
Nor  ever  will  acknowledge,  other  lover.     • 
And,  to  this  facred  truth,  attefting  heaven  ! 
I  call  thy  dreadful  notice  !  If  my  heart 
Deferves  reproach,  'tis  for,  but  not  from  Ofman. 

Ofman*  What!    does     me,      yet,     prefume    to   fwea* 

finceriry  ! 

Oh  !  boldnefs'  of  unblufhing  perjury  t 
Had  I  not  feen,  had  I  not  read,  fuch  proof, 
Of  her  light  falfhood,  as  extinguifh'd  doubt, 
I  cou'd  not  be  a  man,  and  not  believe  her. 

Zara.  Alas !  my  Lord,    what  cruel  fears  have  feiz'd 

you? 
What  harih,  myfterious  words  were  thofer  1  heard  ? 

Ofman'.  'What  fears  mould  Ofman  feel,    fince   Zara 
loves  him  ? 

Zara.  1  cannot  live,  and  anfwer  to  your  voice, 
In  that  reproachful  tone  !— Your  angry  eye 
Trembles  with  fury,  while  you  talk  of  love  ; 

Ofman.  Since  Zara  LOVES  him  ! 

Zara*  Is  it  poffible, 

Ofman  ihould  difbelive  it? — Again,  again 
Your  late-repented  violence  returns ; 
Alas  !  what  killing  frowns  you  dart  againft  me  \ 
Can  it  be  kind  ?  Can  it  be  juft,  to  doubt  me  ? 

Ofman.  No- — I  can  doubt  no  longer— — You*may 
retire.  [&«>  Zara- 

Re-enter  Orafmia. 
Orafmia!  (he's  perfidious,  ev'n  beyond  „  ^ 


ZARA.  5 

Her  fex's  undifcover'd  power  of  feeming  : 
She's  at  the  topmofl  point  of  fhamelefs  artifice ; 
.  An  emprefa,  at  deceiving  !— Soft,  and  eafy, 
Deftroying  like  a  plague,  in  calm  tranquillity  : 
She's  innocent,  fhe  fwears — So  is  the  fire  ; 
Itfoines,  in  harmlefs  diftance,  bright,  and  pleafing, 

Confuming  nothing,  till.it,  firft,  embraces. 

Say  ?  Haft  thou  chos'n  a  flave  ? — Is  he  initrudled  ? 
Hafte,  to  detect  her  vilenefs,  and  my  wrongs. 

Orafmin.  Punctual,  I  have  obey'd  your  whole  command  ; 
But,  have  you  arm'd,  my  Lord,  your  injur'd  heart, 
With  coldnefs,  and  indiff'rence  ?  Can  you  hrar, 
All,  painlefs'and  unmovM,  the  falfe  one's  frame  ? 
Ofman.  Orafmin  !  I  adore  her,  more  than  ever1/ 
Orafmin.  My  Lord  1  my  Emperor!  forbid  it,  heaven  !: 
Ofman.  I  have  difcern'd  a  gleam  of  diftant  hope  ; 
This  hateful  Chriftian,  the  light  growth  of  France, 
Proud,  young,  vain,  amorous,  conceited,  raih, 
Has  mifconceiv'd  fome  charitable  glance, 
And  judg'd  it  love,  in  Zara :  He,  alone, 
Then,  has  offended  me. — Is  it  her  fault,. 
Jf  thofe,  fhe  charms,  are  indrfcreet  and  daring  ? 
Zara,  perhaps,  expected  not  this  letter ; 
And  I,  with  rafhnefs,  groundlefs,  as  its  writer's, 
Took  fire,  at  my  own  fancy,  and  have  wrong'd  her.. 
Now,  hear  me,  with  attention — Soon  as  night 
Has  thrown  her  welcome  fhadows  o'er  the  palace  j.  '   '\ 
When  this  Nereftan,  this  ungrateful  Ghriltian, 
Shall  lurk,  in  expectation,  near  our  walls, 
Be  watchful,  that  our  guards  furprize,  and  feiae  him  ; 
Then,  bound  in  fetters,  and  o'erwhelm'd  with.  fhame>: 
Conduft  the  daring  traitor  to  my  prefence  jj.3 
But,  above  all,  be  fure,  you  hurt  not  Zaras^ii 
Mindful  to  what  fupreme  excefs,  I  love.       iwo'/  to;i  »rTl 
J  feel,  I  mult  confefs,  a  kind  of  fhame, 
And  blufh,  at  my  own  tendernefs  ;.— but,  faith, 
Howe'er  it  feems  deceiv'd,  were  weak,  as  I  am, 
Cou'd  it  admit  ditfruft,  to  blot  its  face, 
And  give  appearance,  way,  till  proof  takes  place, 

JEW  of  the   FOURTH   ACT, 


58  Z    A    R    A.  £ 

ACTV.        SCENE    I. 

Zara,  Selima. 
Zara.  O  O  O  T  H    me,    no    longer,    with    this    vain 


To  a  reclufe,  like  me,  who  dares,  henceforth, 
Prefume  admiffion  !  —  the  Seraglio's  Jbut  — 
Barr'd,  and  unpaflable  —  as  death  ,  to  time! 
My  brojther  ne'er  muft  hope  to  fee  me,  more  :-— 
How  now  !  what  unknown  flave  accofts  us,  here  ! 

Enter  Melidor. 

•   ?r  *  :!  :*TJ»1^ 

Melidor.  This  letter,  trufted  to  nay  hands,  receive, 
In  fecret  witnefs,  I  am,  wholly,  yours. 

[Zara  reads  the  letter. 
Selima.     [djide.]     Thou,    everlaiting    ruler    of    the 

world  ! 

Shed  thy-  wifh'd  mercy  on  our  hopelefs  tears  ; 
Redeem  us  from  the  hands  of  hated  infidels, 
And  fave  my  princefs  from  the  breaft  of  Ofman. 
Zara.    I    wiih,    my   friend,    the    comfort   of    your 

council.     \\ 

Selima.  Retire  —  you  fhall  be  call'd—  wait  near—  Go, 

leave  us:    \w  [Exit  Melidor. 

Zara.    Read  this  —  -and  tell  me>   what  I  ought  to 

anfwer  > 
For  I  would,  gladly  hear  my  brother's  voice. 

Selima.    Say   rather,    you   wouM    hear   the   voice   of 

heavjn. 
'Tis  not  your  brother,  calls  you,  but  your  God. 

Zara.  I  know  it,  nor  refift  his  awful  will  ; 
Thou  know'ft  that,  I  have  bound  my  foul,  by  Oath  > 
But,  can  I  —  ought  I  —  to  engage  myfelf, 
My  brother,  and  the  Chriftians  in  this  danger  ? 

Selima.  'Tis  not  their  danger,  that  alarms  your  fear  ; 
Your  love  fpeaks  loudeft,  to  your  ihrinking  foul  •„ 

I  knew 


ZARA.  59 

I  know  your  heart,  of  ftrength,  to  hazard  all,. 

But,  it  has  let  in  traitors,  who  furrender, 

On  poor  pretence  of  fafety : — Learn,  at  lead, 

To  underiland,  the  weaknefs  that  deceives  you  t 

You  tremble,  to  offend  your  haughty  lover, 

Whom  wrongs,  and  outrage,  but  endear  the  more  ; 

Yes — you  are  blind  to  Ofman's  cruel  nature, 

That  Tartar's  fiercenefs,  that  obfcures  his  bounties : 

This  tiger,  favage,  in  his  tendernefs, 

Courts,  with  contempt,  and  threatens,  amidft  foftnefs  ; 

Yet,  cannot  your  neglected  heart  efface 

His  fated,  fix'd  impreffion  ! 

Zara.  What  reproach 

Can  I,  with  juftice,  make  him  ? 1,  indeed, 

Have  given  him  caufe  to  hate  me ! — 
Was  not  his  throne,  was  not  his  temple,  ready  ? 
Did  not  he  court  his  flave,  to  be  a  queen  ? 
And  have  not  I  declin'd  it  ? — I,  who  ought 
To  tremble,  confcious  of  affronted  power  I 
Have  not  I  triumph'd  o'er  his  pride,  and  love  I 
Seen  him  fubmit  his  own  high  will,  to  mine  ? 
And  facrifice  his  wimes,  to  my  weaknefs  ? 

Selima.  Talk  we,  no  more,  of  this  unhappy  paffion  : 
What  refolution  will  your  virtue  take  ? 

Zara.  All  things  combine,  to  fink  me  to  defpair ; 
From  the  Seraglio,  death,  alone,  will  free  me. 
J  long  to  fee  the  ChriftiansJ  happy  climes ; 
Yet,  in  the  moment,  while  I  form  that  prayer* 
I  figh  a  fecret  wilh,  to  languifh,,  here : 
How  fad  a  ftate  is  mine  !  my  reftlefs  fouj 
All  ign'rant,  what  to  do,  or  what  to  wifhZ 
My  only  perfeft  fenfe  is,  that  of  pain. 
O,  guardian  heav'n  1  protect  my  brother's  life  : 
For  I  will  meet  him,  and  fulfil  his  prayer. 
Then,  when,  from  Solyma's  unfriendly  walls,. 
His  abfence  fhall  unbind  his  filler's  tongue, 
Ofman  mail  learn  the  fecret  of  my  birth, 
My  faith  un&aken,  and  my  deathlefs  Jove  i 
He  will  approve  my  choice,  and  pity  me. 
I'll  fend  my  brother  word,  he  may  expeft  me; 


60  Z    A    R    A. 

Call  in  the  faithful  flave— God  of  my  fathers ! 

[Exit  Selima. 
Let  thy  hand  fave  me,  and  thy  will  direft, 

Enter  Selima,  and  Melidor. 

Go . — tell  the  Chriftian,  who  intrufted  thee, 

That  Zara's  heart  is  nVd,  nor  ihrinks  at  danger  ^ 
And,  that  my  faithful  friend  will,  at  the  hour, 
Expe£l,  and  introduce  him,  to  his  wifh. 
Away— the  Sultan  comes ;  he  muft  not  find  us. 

[Exeunt  Zara  and  Selima. 

Enter  Ofman,  *WOrafmin. 

Ofman.  Swifter,  ye  hours,  move  on  ;  my  fury  glows 
Impatient,  and  wou'd  pufh  the  wheels  of  time  : 
How    now !     What  meflage   doft   thou  bring  ?    Speak 

boldly 

What  anfwer  gave  me,  to  the  letter,  fent  her  ? 

Melidor.  She  blufti'd,  and  trembled,  and  grew   pale, 

and  paus'd ; 

Then  blufh'd,  and  read  it ;  and,  again-,  grew  pale  ; 
And  wept,  and  fmil'd,  and  doubted,  and  refolv'd  : 
For,  after  all  this  race  of  vary'd  paflions, 
When  ihe  had  fent  me  out,  and  call'd  me  back, 
Tell  him  (me  cry'd)  who  has  intrufted  thee, 
That  Zara's  heart  is  fix'd,  nor  fhrinks  at  danger; 
And,  that  my  faithful  friend  will,  at  the  hour, 
Expect,  and  introduce  him,  to  his  wiih. 

Ofman.  Enough— be  gone— I  have  no  ear  for  more. — 

[To  the  fl&ve> 
Leave  me,  thou1,  too,  Orafmin. — Leave  me  life, 

[To  Orafmin, 

Eor,  ev'ry  mortal  afpeft  moves  my  hate  : 
Leave  me,  to  my  diftraftion — I  grow  mad, 
And  cannot  bear  the  vifage  of  a  friend. 
Leave  me,  to  rage,  defpair,  and  fhame,  and  wrongs ; 
Leave  me,  to  feek  rflyfelf— and  Ihun  mankind. 

[Alone.] 


ZARA.  fa 

[  Alone.  ] 

Who  am  I  ?—Heav'n  !  Who  am  I  ?  What  refolve  I  ? 
Zara !  Nereftan  !  Sound  thefe  words,  like  names 
Decreed  to  join  !— Why  paufe  I  ?•— Perifh  Zara— 
Wou'd,  I  cou'd  tear  her  image  from  my  heart  :  — 
'Twere  happier,  not  to  live,  at  all,  than  live 
Her  fcorn,  the  fport  of  an  ungrateful  falfe  one  ! 
And  fink  the  fovereign,  in  a  woman's  property. 

Re-enter  Orafmin. 

Orafmin ! — Friend  !  return — I  cannot  bear 

This  abfence,  from  thy  reafon  :  'Twas  unkind, 

'Twas  cruel,  to  obey  me,  thus  diftrefs'd, 

And  wanting  pow'r  to  think,  when  I  had  loft  thee. 

How  goes  the  hour  ?  Has  he  appear'd  ?  This  rival ! 

Periih  the  fhameful  found— This  villain  Chriftian ! 

Has  he  appear'd,  below  ? 

Orafmin.  Silent,  and  dark, 
Th*  unbreathing  world  is  hufh'd,  as  if  it  heard, 
And  Kftened  to,   your  forrows.   •   : 

Ofman.  O,  treach'rous  night!    -   «:x. 
Thou  lend'ft  thy  ready  veil,  to  ev'ry  treafon, 
And  teeming  mifchiefs  thrive,  beneath  thy  fhade.  --tO 
Orafmm  !  Prophet !  Reafon  !  Truth  !  and  Love  1 
After  fuch  length  of  benefits,  to  wrong  me! 
How  have  I  over-rated,  how  miftaken, 
The  merit  of  her  beauty  ! — Did  I  not 
Forget  T  was  a  monarch  ?  Did  I  remember, 
That  Zara  was  a  flave  ? — I  gave  up  all ; 
Gave  up  tranquillity,  drftincHon,  pride,    'Yi 
And  fell,  the  Ihameful  victim  of  my  love ! 

Orajmin.  Sir !  fovereign  !  fultan  !  rny  imperial  mafter ! 
Refteft  on  your  own  greatnefs,  and  difdain 
The  diilant  provocation.— 

Ofman.  Heard'ft  thou  nothing  ? 

Orafmin.  My  Lord  ? 

Ofmcn.-  A  voice,  like  dying  groans'? 

Orafmin.  I  liften,  -but  can  hear  nothing, 

Ofman.  Again  !~  look  out— he  comes— 

Qrafmin* 


62  Z     A    R    A. 

Orafmin.  Nor  tread  of  mortal  foot— nor  voice  I  hear: 
The  ftill  Seraglio  lies,  profoundly  plung'd, 
In  death-like  filence !  nothing  Mrs.  — The  air 
Is  foft,  as  infants'  fleep,  no  breathing  wind 
Steals,  thro'  the  ftiadows,  to  awaken  night. 

Ofman.    Horrors,    a  thoufand  times   more  dark  than 

thefe, 

Benight  my  fufF 'ring  foul— Thou  doft  not  know 
To  what  excefs  of  tendernefs,  I  lov'd  her: 
I  knew  no  happinefs,  but  what  me  gave  me, 
Nor  cou'd  have  felt  a  mis'ry,  but  for  her ! 
Pity  this  weaknefs — mine  are  tears,  Orafmin  ! 
That  fall  not  oft,  nor  lightly. 

Orafmtn.  Tears ! — Oh,  heaven  ! 

Ofman.  The   firft,   which,   ever,    yet,    unmanned  my 

,      eyes ! 

O !  pity  Zara — pity  me — Orafmin, 
Thefe  but  forerun  the  tears  of  deftin'd  blood. 

Orafmin.  Oh,    my  unhappy  Lord! 1  tremble  for 

Ofman.  Do tremble  at  my  fuff 'rings,  at  my  love  ; 

At  my  revenge,  too,  tremble — for,  'tis  due, 
And  will  not  be  deluded.  /.  ^ 

Orafmin.  Hark  !  I  hear 
The  fteps  of  men,  along  the  neighb'ring  wall ! — 

Ofman.  FJy— feize  him 'tis  Nereftan  !  wait  no 

chains, 
But,  drag  him  down,  to  my  impatient  eye. 

>.  «iii    ttffiii  \Exi*  Orafmin. 

Enter  Zara,  and  Selima,  i*  the  dark. 

Zara.  Where  art  thou,  Selima  ?  Give  me  thy  hand  ; 
It  is  fo  dark,  I  tremble,  as  I  ftep, 
With  fears,  and  ftartings,  never  felt,  'till  now  ! 

Ofman.  Damnation !    'tis  her  voice  !  the  well-known 

found, 

That  has,  fo  often,  charm'd  me  into  bafenefs  I 
Oh!  the  perfidious  hypocrite !•— me  goes, 


Z    A    R    A.  63 

To  meet  th>  inviting  infidel ! now,  now, 

[Drawing  a  dagger. 

Revenge,  (land  firm,  and  intercept  his  wifhes : — 
Revenge  !  On  whom  ?— no  matter — Earth,  and  heaven, 
Wou'd  blufh,  fliou'd  I  forbear  :  Now — Zara,  now  ; 

[Drops  the  dagger. 

I  muft  not — cannot  ftrike,  the  ftarting  Heel, 
Unwilling,  flies  my  handj  and  fhuns  to  wound  her. 
Zara.  This  is  the  private  path — come  nearer,    lead 

me — • 
Are  we  not  notic'd,  think'ft  thou  ? 

Selima.  Fear  not,  Madam  ; 
It  cannot,  now,  be  long,  ere  we  mail  meet  him. 

Ofman.  That  word  has  giv'n  me,  back,    my  ebbing 
rage—  [Recovers  the  dagger. 

Zara.  I  walk  in  terror,  and  my  heart  forebodes  : 
Who's  there  ? — Nereftan  !  Is  it  you? — Oh  !  welcome — 
Ofman.  [Stabbing  far.]  This  to  thy  heart — 'Tis  not 

the  traitor  meets  thee, 
'Tis  the  betray'd— who  writes  it,  in  thy  blood. 

Zara.  O,  gracious  heaven  I  receive  my  parting  foul. 

[Dies. 
Ofman.  Soul  ? — then  Revenge  has  reach'd  thee — I  will, 

now, 

Hafte,  from  this  fatal  place— I  cannot  leave  her  \ 
Whom  did  I  ftrike  ?  Was  this  the  ad  of  love  ? 
Swallow  me,  earth  ! — She's  filent— Zara's  dead  ! 
And  mould  I  live,  to  fee  returning  day, 
'Twill  (hew  me  but  her  blood  !  —  mew  me,  left  joylefs, 
In  a  wide,  empty  world,  with  nothing  round  me, 
But  penitence,  and  pain — and,  yet,  'twas  juft  i— 

Hark  ! Deftiny  has  fent  her  lover  to  me, 

To  fill  my  vengeance,  and  reftore  my  joy.. 

Enter  Orafmin  with  Nereftan. 

Approach,  thou  wretch !  thou  more  than  curs'd !  come 

near 

Thou  !  who,  in  gratitude,  for  freedom  gain'd, 
Haft  giv'n  me  miferies,  beyond  thy  own ! 


64  Z    A    R    A. 

Thou  heart  of  hero,  with  a  traitor's  foul ! 
Go — reap  thy  due  reward,  prepare  to  fuffer, 
Whate'er  inventive  malice  can  inflict, 
To  make  thee  feel  thy  death,  and  perifli,  flow. 
Are  my  commands  obey'd  ? 

Orafmin.  All  is  prepar'd. 

Ofman.  Thy  wanton  eyes  look  round,  in  fearch  of  her, 
Whofe  love,  defcending  to  a  flave,  like  thee, 
From  my  diihonour'd  hand,  receiv'd  her  doom  : 
See!  where  fhe  lies 

Nereftan.  O,  fatal,  rafli,  miflake  ! 

Ofman.  Dolt  thou  behold  her,  flave  ? 

Nereftan.  Unhappy  filler  ! 

Ofman.    Sifter! Did'ft    thou  fay  filter?     If    thou 

did'ft, 
Blefs  me  with  deafnefs,  heaven ! 

Nereftan.  Tyrant !  I  did- • 

She  'was  my  filter — All,  that,  now,  is  left  thee, 

Difpatch From  my  diftracled  heart,  drain,  next. 

The  remnant  of  the  royal,  Chriftian,  blood  : 

Old  Lufignan*  expiring,  in  my  arms, 

Sent  his  too  wretched  fon,  with  his  lait  blefling, 

To  his,  now,  murder'd  daughter  ! 

Wou'd  I  had  feen  the  bleeding  innocent ! 

I  wou'd  have  liv'd,  to  fpeak  to  her,  in  death  ; 

Wou'd  have  awaken'd  in  her  languid  heart, 

A  livelier  fenfe  of  her  abandoned  God  : 

That  Gcd,  who,  Jeft  by  her,  forfook  her,  too, 

And  gave  the  poor,  loft,  fufPrer,  to  thy  rage. 

Ofman.    Thy    fifter  ? Lufignan,    her    father— 

Selima  \ 
Can  this  be  true ; — and  have  I  wrong'd  thee,  Zara  ? 

Selima.  Thy  love  was  all  th0  cloud,  'twixt  her,  and 
4     heav'n ! 

Ofman.    Be  dumb        for    thou  art  bafe  to  add  dif~ 

traction, 

To  my,  already,  more  than  bleeding  heart  : 
And  was  thy  love  fincere  ?— What,  then,  remains  ? 

Nereftan*  Why  fhou'd  a  tyrant  hefitate,  on  murder  ! 
There,  now,  remaijas,  but  mine,  of  all  the  blood, 

Which, 


2     A    R    A.  65 

Which,  through^thy  father's  cruel  reign,  and  thine, 

Has,  never,  ceas'd  to  ftream,  on  Syria's  fands ;. 

Reftore  a  wretch  to  his  unhappy  race ; 

Nor  hope,  that  torments,  after  fuch  a  fcene, 

Can  force  one  feeble  groan,  to  feaft  thy  anger. 

I  wafte  my  fruitlefs  words,  in  empty  air  ; 

The  tyrant,  o'er  the  bleeding  wound,   he  made, 

Hangs  his  unmoving  eye,  and  heeds  not  me. 

Ofman.   O,   Zara  !— 

Orafmin.    Alas !     my  lord,    return whither  wou'd 

grief 
Tranfport  your  gen'rous  heart  ? — This  Chriftian  dog— 

Ofman.  Take  off  his  fetters,  and  obferve  my  will: 
To  him,  and  all  his  friends,  give  inftant  liberty  : 
Pour  a  profufion  of  the  richeft  gifts 
On  thefe  unhappy  Chriftians ;  and,  when  heap'd, 
With  vary'd  benefits,  and  charg'd,  with  riches, 
Give  'em  fafe  conduct,  to  the  neareft  port. 

Orafmin.  But,   Sir 

Ofman.  Reply  not,  but  obey.— 
Fly — nor  difpute  thy  mailer's  laft  command, 
Thy  prince,    who  orders — and  thy  friend,    who    loves 

thee! 

Go — lofe  no  time— farewell — be  gone— and  thou  I 
Unhappy  warrior  ! — yet,  lefs  loft,  than  I ! — 
Hafte,  from  our  bloody  land— and,  to  thy  own, 
Convey  this  poor,  pale,  objecl  of  my  rage  : 
Thy  King,  and  all  his  Chriftian?,  when  they  hear 
Thy  miferies,  mall  mourn  'em,  with  their  tears ; 
But,  if  thou  tell'ft  'em  mine,  and  tell'ft  'em,  truly, 
They,  who  fhall  hate  my  crime,  mall  pity  me. 
Take,  too,  this  poignard,  with  thee,  which  my  hand 
Has  ftain'd  with  blood,  far  dearer  than  my  own  ; 
Tell  'em — with  this,  I  murder'd,  her,  I  lov'd  ; 
The  nobleft,  and  moft  virtuous,  among  women  I 
The  foul  of  innocence,  and  pride  of  truth  1 
Tell  'em,  I  laid  my  empire  at  her  feet ; 
Tell  'em,  I  plung'd  my  dagger  in  her  blood ; 
Tell  'em,  I  fo  ador'd— and,  thus  reveng'd  her. 

[Stabs  bimfelf. 
Rev'rence 


66  Z  .  A     R     A.,  ^ 

Rev'rence  this  heroe  — and  conduct  him  fafe.  [£/>/. 

Nereftan.  Direft  me,  Great  infpirer  of  the  foul  ! 
How  fhou'dl  aft,  how  judge,  in  this  diilrefs  ? 
Amazing  grandeur  1  and  detefted  rage  ! 
Ev'n  I,  amidft  my  tears,  admire  this  foe, 
And  mourn  his  death,  who  liv'd  to  give  me  woe. 

. 

\    ..    .         jO        . 


, 
. 

•   .  ' . 

t      '  • 
<>f  tfa  FIFTH  ACT, 


»  «av 

i'.\  4*  . 


B  P 


EPILOGUE, 

Spoken  by  Mrs.    C  L  I  V  E. 

HERE,  take  afurfeit,  Sirs,  of  being  jealous, 
And  fliun    the    pains,    that    plague    thofe   Turkifh 

fellows  ; 
Where    LOVE    and  DEATH  join   hands,    their  darts  con 

founding, 
Save  us,   good  hearfn  !  from  this  new  way  of  WOUND 


ING 


Curs'd  climate  !  —  where,  to  CARDS,  a  lone-left  Woman 
Has  only,  one  of  her  black  guards,  to  fummon  ! 
Sighs,  and  Jits  mop*d,  with  her  tame  beaft  to  gaze  at  : 
And,  that  cold  treat,  is  all  the  game  Jhe  plays  at  / 
For  —  -Jhould  Jhe  once,  fame  abler  hand  be  trying, 
Poignard'j  the  word  !  and,  thefirjl  deal  is  —  DYING  ! 

'Slife  !  Jhou'd  the  bloody  whim  get  grwnd,  in  Britain 
Where  woman'.*  FREEDOM  has  fuch  heights,  to  Jit  on  ; 
Daggers,  PROVOK'D,  woifd  bring  on  DESOLATION  : 
And,  murder'd  belles  un-people  half  the  nation  /—  — 

Fain  wou'd  I  hope  this  Play,  to  move  compaffion  ; 
And  live,  to  hunt  SUSPICION  out  of  Fajhion.  - 
FOUR  motives,  Jirongly  recommend,  to  lowers, 
Hate  of  this  weakneis,  that  our  fcene  difcewrs  : 

Firfl  thm—Awoman  WILL,  or  WON'T  —  depend  on  '/  . 
If  Jhe  will  do't,  fie  WILL  -.—and,  there'  s  an  end  on't. 
But,  if  Jhe  won't—  Jince  fafe  and  found  your  truft  is, 
Fear  is  AFFRONT  :  and  jealoufy  INJUSTICE. 

Next,—  /&  who  bids  his  dear  do,  what  me  pleafes, 
Blunts  wedlock's  edge  ;  and,  all  its  torture  cafes  : 
for—  not  to  feel  your  faff*  rings,  is  the  fame, 
As  not  to  fuffer  \-Allthe  difference—  name. 


Thirdly— 


EPILOGUE, 

Thirdly—  The  jealous  hujband  wrongs  his  honour  y, 
No  wife  goes  lame,  without  fome  hurt  upon  her  : 
^  the  malicious  world  willftill  be  gueffing, 
y  eft,  dines  out,  di/likcs  her  oven  cook's  dreffing.. 


Fourthly,  tfWlaftly,  —  to  conclude  my  Ie8urey 
Ifjduivoii'J-Fix  tb*  in  cbnftant  wife—  RESPECT  tier. 
She  ivho  perceives  her  virtues  OVER-RATED, 
Will  fear  to  have  tb*  account  more  juilly  ftaicd  : 
dnd,  borrowing,  from  her  pride*  the  good  wife's  SEEMING,, 
Greiv  RtALLY  SUCH—  »t6  merit  ywr  efteetning* 


' 

THE     END, 

. 


A 


PR      The  new  English  theatre 

1241 

N4 

v.10 


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