For her confederate nations fought, and kings | Begone! I know thee not! Thou fell barbarian! were slain, ! Troy was o'erthrown, and a whole empire fell. My eyes want force to raise a lover's arm, Against a tyrant that has dared to wrong me Cleo. Madam, like Helen, trust your cause to Greece. Her. No; I'll avenge myself! I'll to the temple! I'll overturn the altar, stab the priest ! I'll hurl destruction, like a whirlwind, round me! They must not wed! they must not live! they shall not! Let me be gone! I have no time to lose! Orest. Madam, 'tis done; your orders are obeyed: The tyrant lies expiring at the altar. Orest. Even now he gasps in death: I'll Scourge his foes; henceforward be he styled The Trojan king; I swear it at the altar, And call the gods to ratify my vows. His subjects, with loud acclamations, shook The spacious dome. Our Grecks, enraged, cried out, Revenge! revenge! broke through the thronging press, And rushed, tumultuous, on the unguarded king; He reeled, he groaned, and at the altar fell. Orest. Madam, forgive their rage. I own your vengeance had been more complete, Had Pyrrhus fallen by me, and had he known Hermione chastised him by my arm. Her. Peace, monster! peace! Go tell thy horrid tale To savages, and howl it in the desert. Hence to thy Greeks, and boast thy foul exploits! My soul abhors them! I disclaim the deed! What had he done? What could provoke thy madness, To assassinate so great, so brave a man? Orest. Oh, grant me patience, Heaven! Her. What if, transported by my boundless I could not bear to see him wed another, And all my anger was excess of love. Orest. Hear me but speak: Heaven knows, against my will Her. Why did you not return? Why not consult me A second time? And, undetermined still, hounds! To do with my revenge? What drew you hither? To bring on me the vengeful woes that haunt you? Are these the fruits of your detested love? But chiefly I renounce thee! monster, thee! [Exit. Orest. Am I awake? Where am I? Soft, my Be not too rash.- -Was that Hermione? Enter PYLADES, attended by Greeks. to stay. Andromache reigns queen: she gives the alarm, And vows revenge upon the foes of Pyrrhus. The people arm and muster in the streets: Our Greeks will not be able long to guard The palace gates, and to secure our flight. We must be speedy, sir. Orest. You may depart, My friends- -Hermione and I remain- Orest. Hermione no more!-Oh, all ye powers! Pyl. Full of disorder, wildness in her looks, With hands expanded, and dishevelled hair, Breathless and pale, with shrieks she sought the temple; In the mid-way she met the corpse of Pyrrhus; She started at the sight; then, stiff with horror, Gazed frightful: waking from the dire amaze, She raised her eyes to heaven with such a look, As spoke her sorrows, and reproached the gods: Then plunged a poniard deep within her breast, And fell on Pyrrhus, grasping him in death. Orest. I thank you, gods-I never could ex- To be so wretched-You have been industrious Pyl. You hazard your retreat by these delays. The guards will soon beset us. Your complaints Are vain, and may be fatal. Orest. True, my friend: Pyl. Alas! I fear His ravings will return with his misfortunes. Orest. I am dizzy!—Clouds !—Quite lost in utter darkness. Guide me, some friendly pilot, through the storm. It is Hermione that strikes -Confusion! She catches Pyrrhus in her arms.-Oh, save me! How terrible she looks! She knits her brow! She frowns me dead! She frights me into madness! Where am I?-Who are you? Pyl. Alas, poor prince! I blaze again! See there! Look where they come A shoal of furies-How they swarm about me! My terror! Hide me! Oh, their snakey locks! Hark, how they hiss! See, see, their flamin brands! Now they let drive full at me! How they grin, And shake their iron whips! My ears! What yelling! And see, Hermione! She sets them on- Oft have I seen him rave, but never thus: Quite spent! Assist me, friends, to bear him off; Our time is short: should his strong rage return, 'Twould be beyond our power to force him hence. Away, my friends! I hear the portal open. [Exeunt. When thus you turn your impious rage on Pyrrhus; Pyrrhus, the bravest man in all your league; The man whose single valour made you triumph? [A dead march behind. Is my child there?- Help to support him.-How he pants for breath! And too unwary of the faithless Greeks! Cut off in the fresh ripening prime of manhood, Even in the pride of life; thy triumphs new, And all thy glories in full blossom round thee! The very Trojans would bewail thy fate. Ceph. Alas, then, will your sorrows never end! Andr. Oh, never, never!——While I live, my tears Will never cease; for I was born to grieve.Give present orders for the funeral pomp: [TO PHOENIX. Let him be robed in all his regal state; Place round him every shining mark of honour: And let the pile, that consecrates his ashes, Rise like his fame, and blaze above the clouds. [A flourish of trumpets. Ceph That sound proclaims the arrival of the prince; The guards conduct him from the citadel. A springing joy, mixt with a soft concern, Plays round my heart, and brightens up my sorrow, Like gleams of sunshine in a lowering sky. Though plunged in ills, and exercised in care, EPILOGUE. SPOKEN BY ANDROMACHE. I hope you'll own, that, with becoming art, I've play'd my game, and topp'd the widow's part. My spouse, poor man, could not live out the play, But died commodiously on his wedding-day; You, ladies, who protract a lover's pain, Might she so soon upon her jointure enter? 'Twas a strange 'scape! Had Pyrrhus liv'd till now, I had been finely hamper'd in my vow. I might have took one night-to think upon it. Homer will tell you, (or I'm misinform❜d,) At length, howe'er, I laid my weeds aside, THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. BY HUGHES. PROLOGUE. OFT has the Muse here tried her magic arts, By faction weaken'd, and disunion broke, Britons, be warn'd; let e'en your pleasures here New states are form'd, and ancient empires fall. Convey some moral to th' attentive ear. Beware, lest blessings long possest displease; No common woes to-night we set to view; And swiftly o'er the neighbouring country ran: Then scorn the rumours of religious wars; MEN. EUMENES, governor of Damascus. DRAMATIS PERSONE. HERBIS, his friend, one of the chiefs of the city. PHOCYAS, a noble and valiant Syrian, privately in love with Eudocia. ARTAMON, an officer of the guards. MEN. CALED, general of the Saracen army. SERGIUS, an Express from the emperor Hera- RAPHAN, &c. } Saracen captains. clius. WOMEN. EUDOCIA, daughter to Eumenes. Officers, soldiers, citizens and attendants. Officers, soldiers and attendants. SCENE, The City of Damascus, in Syria, and the Saracen Camp before it. And, in the las? Act, a Valley adjacent. SCENE I-The City. ACT I. What will you next? Eum. I have sent a fresh recruit; Enter EUMENES, PHOCYAS, ARTAMON, &c. Eum. Brave Phocyas, thanks! Mine and the people's thanks. [People shout and cry, A Phocyas, &c. Yet, that we may not lose this breathing space, Hang out the flag of truce. You, Artamon, Haste with a trumpet to the Arabian chiefs, And let them know, that, hostages exchanged, I'd meet them now upon the eastern plain. [Exit ARTAMON. Pho. What means Eumenes? Pho. On terms of peace! What terms can you expect from bands of rob bers? serts, The valiant Phocyas leads them on-whose deeds Long have they viewed from far, with wishing In early youth assert his noble race; A more than common ardour seems to warm And though I braved it to the trembling crowd, [Exeunt. [A noise is heard without, of officers giving orders. 1st Offi. Help there! more help! all to the eastern gate! 2d Offi. Look where they cling aloft, like clustered bees! Here, archers, ply your bows. ist Offi. Down with the ladders! What, will you let them mount? 2d Offi. Aloft there! give the signal, you that wait eyes, Our fruitful vales, our fig-trees, olives, vines, For barren sands, and native poverty, Eum. What can we do? Our people in despair, our soldiers harassed Herb. Besides, you know what frenzy fires their minds Of their new faith, and drives them on to dan ger. Eum. True; they pretend the gates of Paradise Stand ever open, to receive the souls Pho. Then would I send their souls to Para dise, And give their bodies to our Syrian eagles. Herb. So-the tide turns; Phocyas has driven To leave us desperate. Aids may soon arrive: it back. The gate once more is ours. Mean time, in spite of their late bold attack, The city still is ours; their force repelled, |