Believe the occasion fair, by this advantage,
To purchase their retreat on easy terms:
That failing, we the better stand acquitted
To our own citizens. However, brave Phocyas,
Cherish this ardour in the soldiery,

And in our absence form what force thou canst;
Then if these hungry bloodhounds of the war
Should still be deaf to peace, at our return
Our widened gates shall pour a sudden flood
Of vengeance on them, and chastise their scorn.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-A Plain before the City. A Pros

pect of Tents at a distance.

Enter CALED, ABUDAH, and DARAN.
Dar. To treat, my chiefs! what, are we mer-
chants then,

That only come to traffic with those Syrians,
And poorly cheapen conquest on conditions?
No; we were sent to fight the caliph's battles,
Till every iron neck bend to obedience.
Another storm makes this proud city ours;
What need we treat? I am for war and plunder.
Cal. Why, so am I-and but to save the lives
Of mussulmen, not christians, I would not treat.
I hate these christian dogs; and 'tis our task,
As thou observ'st, to fight; our law enjoins it :
Heaven, too, is promised only to the valiant.
Oft has our prophet said, the happy plains
Above lie stretched beneath the blaze of swords.
Abu. Yet, Daran's loth to trust that heaven
for pay;

This earth, it seems, has gifts that please him

more.

Cal. Check not his zeal, Abudah.
Abu. No; I praise it.

Yet, I could wish that zeal had better motives.
Has victory no fruits but blood and plunder?
That we were sent to fight, 'tis true; but where-
fore?

For conquest, not destruction. That obtained, The more we spare, the caliph has more subjects,

And Heaven is better served-But see, they

come.

Enter EUMENES, HERBIS, and ARTAMON. Cal. Well, christians, we are met, and war awhile,

At your request, has stilled his angry voice,
To hear what you'll propose.

Eum. We come to know,

After so many troops you've lost in vain,
If you'll draw off in peace, and save the rest.
Herb. Or rather to know first-for yet we
know not-

Why on your heads you call our pointed arrows,
In our own just defence? What means this visit?

And why see we so many thousand tents
Rise in the air, and whiten all our fields?
Cal. Is that a question now? you had our sum

mons,

When first we marched against you, to sur render.

Two moons have wasted since, and now the third
Is in it's wane. 'Tis true, drawn off awhile,
At Aiznadin we met and fought the powers
Sent by your emperor to raise our siege.
Vainly you thought us gone; we gained a con-
quest.

You see we are returned; our hearts, our cause,
Our swords the same.

Herb. But why those swords were drawn, And what's the cause, inform us.

Eum. Speak your wrongs,

If wrongs you have received, and by what means They may be now repaired.

Abu. Then, christians, hear!

And Heaven inspire you to embrace its truth! Not wrongs to avenge, but to establish right, Our swords were drawn: For such is heaven's

command

Immutable. By us great Mahomet,
And his successor, holy Abubeker,
Invite you to the faith.

Art. [Aside.] So-then, it seems
There is no harm meant; we are 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 Heaven, what faith is this,

That stalks gigantic forth thus armed with terrors,

As if it meant to ruin, not to save?
That leads embattled legions to the field,
And marks its progress out with blood and
slaughter?

Herb. Bold, frontless men! that impudently
dare

To blend religion with the worst of crimes; And sacrilegiously usurp that name, To cover fraud, and justify oppression ! Eum. Where are your priests? What doctors of your law

Have you e'er sent to instruct us in its precepts ?

To solve our doubts, and satisfy our reason,
And kindly lead us through the wilds of error
To these new tracts of truth-This would be
friendship,

And well might claim our thanks.
Cal. Friendship like this

With scorn had been received: your numerous vices,

Your clashing sects, your mutual rage and strife,
Have driv'n religion and her angel guards,
Like out-casts, from among you. In her stead,
Usurping superstition bears the sway,
And reigns in mimic state, 'midst idol shows,
And pageantry of power. Who does not mark
Your lives! Rebellious to your own great pro-

phet

Who mildly taught you-Therefore Mahomet

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 some sleeping village,

Or watch the shepherd's folded flock for prey? Cal. Blasphemer, know, your fields and towns are our's;

Our prophet has bestow'd them on the faithful, And heaven itself has ratified the grant.

Eum. Oh! now indeed you boast a noble
title!

What could your prophet grant? a hireling slave!
Not even the mules and camels, which he drove,
Were his to give; and yet the bold impostor
Has cantoned out the kingdoms of the earth,
In frantic fits of visionary power,

To soothe his pride, and bribe his fellow madmen!

Cal. Was it for this you sent to ask a parley, To affront our faith, and to traduce our prophet?

Well might we answer you with quick revenge.
Nor such indignities-Yet hear, once more,
Hear this, our last demand; and, this accepted,
We yet withdraw our war. Be christians still,
But swear to live with us in firm alliance,
To yield us aid, and pay us annual tribute.
Eum. No-Should we grant you aid, we must
be rebels;

And tribute is the slavish badge of conquest.
Yet since, on just and honourable terms,
We ask but for our own-Ten silken vests,
Weighty with pearl and gems, we'll send your
caliph :

Two, Caled, shall be thine; two thine, Abudah.
To each inferior captain we decree
A turban spun from our Damascus flax,
White as the snows of heaven; to every soldier
A scimitar. This, and of solid gold
Ten ingots, be the price to buy your absence.
Cal. This, and much more, even all your shi-
ning wealth,

Will soon be ours: look round your Syrian frontiers !

See in how many towns our hoisted flags
Are waving in the wind; Sachna, and Hawran,
Proud Tadmor, Aracah, and stubborn Bosra

Have bowed beneath the yoke-behold our march O'er half your land, like flame through fields of harvest.

And last view Aiznadin, that vale of blood! There seek the souls of forty thousand Greeks, That, fresh from life, yet hover o'er their bodies. Then think, and then resolve.

Herb. Presumptuous men!

What though you yet can boast successful guilt, Is conquest only your's? Or dare you hope That you shall still pour on the swelling tide, Like some proud river that has left its banks, Nor ever know repulse?

Eum. Have you forgot!

Not twice seven years are past since e'en your prophet,

Bold as he was, and boasting aid divine,
Was by the tribe of Corish forced to fly,
Poorly to fly, to save his wretched life,
From Mecca to Medina.

Dost thou bring peace?-Thou dost, and I am happy!

Pho. Not yet, Eudocia: 'tis decreed by Heaven I must do more to merit thy esteem. Peace, like a frighted dove, has winged her flight

To distant hills, beyond these hostile tents; And through them we must thither force our way,

If we would call the lovely wanderer back
To her forsaken home.

Eud. False flattering hope!

Vanished so soon! alas, my faithful fears
Return, and tell me, we must still be wretched!
Pho. Not so, my fair; if thou but gently smile,
Inspiring valour, and presaging conquest,
These barbarous foes to peace and love, shall

soon

Be chased, like fiends before the morning light, And all be calm again.

Eud. Is the truce ended?

Must war, alas! renew its bloody rage,
And Phocyas ever be exposed to danger?
Pho. Think for whose sake danger itself has
charms.

Dismiss thy fears; the lucky hour comes on,
Full fraught with joys, when my big soul no

more

Shall labour with this secret of my passion,
To hide it from thy jealous father's eyes.
Just now, by signals from the plain, I've learned
That the proud foe refuse us terms of honour;
A sally is resolved; the citizens

And soldiers, kindled into sudden fury,
Press all in crowds, and beg I'll lead them on.
Oh, my Eudocia! if I now succeed-
Did I say if I must, I will; the cause
Is love, 'tis liberty, it is Eudocia !-
What then shall hinder, since our mutual faith
Is pledged, and thou consenting to my bliss,
But I may boldly ask thee of Eumenes,
Nor fear a rival's more prevailing claim?
Ead. May blessings still attend thy arms!-
Methinks

I've caught the flame of thy heroic ardour! And now I see thee crowned with palm and olive;

The soldiers bring thee back with songs of triumph,

And loud applauding shouts; thy rescued country

Resounds thy praise; our emperor Heraclius
Decrees thee honours for a city saved,
And pillars rise, of monumental brass,
Inscribed To Phocyas the deliverer.

Pho. The honours and rewards, which thon hast named,

Are bribes too little for my vast ambition. My soul is full of thee!Thou art my all Of fame, of triumph, and of future fortune. 'Twas love of thee first sent me forth in arms, My service is all thine, to thee devoted, And thou alone canst make e'en conquest plea: sing.

Eud. O, do not wrong thy merit, nor restrain it To narrow bounds; but know, I best am pleased To share thee with thy country. Oh, my Phocyas!

With conscious blushes oft I've heard thy vows, And strove to hide, yet more revealed my heart;

But 'tis thy virtue justifies my choice,
And what at first was weakness, now is glory.
Pho. Forgive me, thou fair pattern of all good-

You say, the people-Yes, that very people, That coward tribe that pressed you to surrender!

Well may they spurn at lost authority;
Whom they like better, better they'll obey.
Eum. O I could curse the giddy changeful
slaves,

But that the thought of this great hour's event
Possesses all my soul.-If we are beaten!-
Herb. The poison works; 'tis well-I'll give
him more.
[Aside.
True, if we're beaten, who shall answer that?
Shall you, or I? Are you the governor ?
Or say we conquer, whose is then the praise?
Eum. I know thy friendly fears; that thou
and I

be it,

Must stoop beneath a beardless rising hero;
And in Heraclius' court it shall be said,
Damascus, nay perhaps the empire too,
Owed its deliverance to a boy.Why,
So that he now return with victory;
'Tis honour greatly won, and let him wear it.
Yet I could wish I needed less his service.
Were Eutyches returned-

Herb. [Aside.] That, that's my torture.
I sent my son to the emperor's court, in hopes
His merit at this time might raise his fortunes;
But Phocyas-curse upon his forward virtues !-
Is reaping all this field of fame alone,
Or leaves him scarce the gleanings of a harvest.
Eum. See, Artamon with hasty strides return-
ing.

He comes alone !-O friend, thy fears were just.
What are we now, and what is lost Damascus !
Enter ARTAMON.

Art. Joy to Eumenes!
Eum. Joy!is it possible?

Dost thou bring news of victory?

Phocyas, thou hast done bravely, and 'tis fit
Successful virtue take a time to rest.
Fortune is fickle, and may change; besides,
What shall we gain, if from a mighty ocean
By sluices we draw off some little streams?
If thousands fall, ten thousands more remain;
Nor ought we hazard worth so great as thine
Against such odds. Suffice what's done already:
And let us now, in hopes of better days,
Keep wary watch, and wait the expected suc-

cours.

Pho. What!to be cooped whole months within our walls?

To rust at home, and sicken with inaction?
The courage of our men will droop and die,
If not kept up by daily exercise.

Again the beaten foe may force our gates;
And Victory, if slighted thus, take wing,
And fly where she may find a better welcome.
Art. [Aside.] It must be so-he hates him, on
my soul!

This Herbis is a foul old envious knave."
Methinks Eumenes too might better thank him.
Eum. [To HERBIS aside.] Urge him no more;~
I'll think of thy late warning;

And thou shalt see I'll yet be governor.

'Twas even beyond my hopes.

Eum. But where is Sergius?

Proportioned to thy birth and thy desert.
Pho. And can Eumenes think I would be

bribed

By trash, by sordid gold, to venal virtue?

Was shot into the town.

Eum. I fear he's taken

O Phocyas, Herbis, Artamon! my friends!
You all are sharers in this news: the storm
Is blowing o'er, that hung like night upon us,
And threaten'd deadly ruin- -Haste, proclaim
The welcome tidings loud through all the city.
Let sparkling lights be seen from every turret,
To tell our joy, and spread their blaze to heaven.
Prepare for feasts; danger shall wait at dis-

tance,

And fear be now no more. The jolly soldier
And citizens shall meet o'er their full bowls,
Forget their toils, and laugh their cares away,
And mirth and triumphs close this happy day.
[Exeunt HERB. and ANT.
Pho. And may succeeding days prove yet more

happy!

Well dost thou bid the voice of triumph sound Through all our streets; our city calls thee father;

And say, Eumenes, dost thou not perceive
A father's transport rise within thy breast,
Whilst in this act thou art the hand of Heaven,
To deal forth blessings, and distribute joy?

Eum. The blessings Heaven bestows are freely sent,

And should be freely shared.

Pho. True-Generous minds Redoubled feel the pleasures they impart. For me, if I've deserved by arms or counsels, By hazards gladly sought, and greatly prospered, Whate'er I've added to the public stock, With joy I see it in Eumenes' hands, And wish but to receive my share from thee.

Eum. I cannot, if I would, withhold thy share. What thou hast done is thine, the fame thy

own;

And virtuous actions will reward themselves. Pho. Fame-What is that, if courted for herself?

Less than a vision; a mere sound, an echo, That calls, with mimic voice, through woods and labyrinths,

Her cheated lovers; lost and heard by fits,
But never fixed: a seeming nymph, yet no-
thing.

Virtue indeed is a substantial good,
A real beauty; yet with weary steps
Through rugged ways, by long, laborious ser-
vice,

When we have traced, and wooed, and won the

That can corrupt each villain to betray her?
Why is she saved from the Arabian spoilers,
If to be stripped by her own sons ?-Forgive me
If the thought glows upon my cheeks! I know
'Twas mentioned, but to prove how much I
scorn it.

As for the emperor, if he owns my conduct,
I shall indulge an honest pride in honours
Which I have strove to merit. Yes, Eumenes,
I have ambition-yet the vast reward,
That swells my hopes, and equals all my wishes,
Is in thy gift alone it is Eudocia.

Eum. Eudocia! Phocyus, I am yet thy friend, And therefore will not hold thee long in doubt. Thou must not think of her.

Nor thanks his host, but starves amidst abundance.

Eum. 'Tis well, young man-Why then, I'l learn from thee

To be a very tame obedient father.
Thou hast already taught my child her duty.
I find the source of all her disobedience,
Her hate of me, her scorn of Eutyches;
Ha! Is't not so!Come, tell me! I'll forgive
thee:

Hast thou not found her a most ready scholar?
I know thou hast. Why, what a dull old wretch
Was I, to think I ever had a daughter!