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ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.

Enter DIonysius and CALIPPUs.

Dio. Ere the day clos'd, while yet the busy eye

Might view their camp, their stations, and their guards,

Their preparations for approaching night;— Didst thou then mark the motions of the Greeks 2

Cal. From the watch-tower I saw them: all things

spoke

A foe secure, and discipline relax'd.

Dio. Their folly gives them to my sword. Are all My orders issued:

Cal. All.

Dio. The troops retir'd
To gain recruited vigour from repose

Cal. The city round lies hush’d in sleep.

Dio. Anon
Let each brave officer, of chosen valour,
Forsake his couch, and with delib’rate spirit.
Meet at the citadel. An hour, at furthest,
Before the dawn, 'tis fix'd to storm their camp.
Haste, Calippus,
Fly to thy post, and bid Euphrasia enter.

[Exit CALIPPUs.

Evander dies this night:—Euphrasia too
Shall be dispos'd of. Curse on Phocion’s fraud,
That from my power withdrew their infant boy.
In him the seed of future kings were crush'd,
And the whole hated line at once extinguish'd.

scENE 1.] THE GRECIAN DAUGHTER. 51

Enter EUPHRAs.I.A.

Once more approach and hear me; ’tis not now
A time to waste in the vain war of words,
A crisis big with horror is at hand.
I meant to spare the stream of blood, that soon
Shall deluge yonder plains. My fair proposals
Thy haughty spirit hath with scorn rejected.
And now, by Heav'n, here, in thy very sight,
Evander breathes his last.
Eup. If yet there's wanting
A crime to fill the measure of thy guilt,
Add that black murder to the dreadful list;-
With that complete the horrors of thy reign.
Dio. Woman, beware: Philotas is at hand,
And to our presence leads Evander. All
Thy dark complottings, and thy treach'rous arts,"
Have proved abortive.
Eup. Ha!—What new event?
And is Philotas false?—Has he betray'd him
[Aside.
Dio. What, ho! Philotas I

Enter PHILoTAs.

Eup. How my heart sinks within me!
Dio. Where’s your pris'ner?
Phil. Evander is no more.
Dio. Ha!—Death has robb’d me
Of half my great revenge.
Phil. Worn out with anguish,
I saw life ebb apace. With studied art
We gave each cordial drop, alas, in vain;
He heav'd a sigh, invok'd his daughter's name,
Smil'd and expir’d. -
Dio, Bring me his hoary head!
Phil. You'll pardon, sir, my over-hasty zeal.

I gave the body to the foaming surge
Down the steep rock despis’d.
Dio. Now rave and shriek,
And rend your scatter'd hair. No more Evander
Shall sway Sicilia's sceptre.
Now then, thou feel'st my vengeance.
Eup. Glory in it;
Exult and triumph. Thy worst shaft is sped.
Yet still th' unconquer'd mind with scorn can view
thee;
With the calm sunshine of the breast can see
Thy pow'r unequal to subdue the soul
Which virtue form'd, and which the gods protect.
Dio. Philotas, bear her hence; she shall not live;
This moment bear her hence!—you know the rest:—
Go, see our will obey'd ; that done, with all
A warrior's speed, attend me at the citadel;—
There meet the heroes whom this night shall lead
To freedom, victory,+to glorious havoc,
And the destruction of the Grecian name. [Erit.
Eup. Accept my thanks, Philotas;—generous man!
These tears attest th' emotions of my heart.
But, oh! should Greece defer
Phil. Dispel thy fears;
Phocion will bring relief: or should the tyrant
Assault their camp, he’ll meet a marshall'd foe.
Let me conduct thee to the silent tomb.
Eup. Ah! there Evander, naked and disarm’d,
Defenceless quite, may meet some ruffian stroke.
Phil. Lo! here's a weapon; bear this dagger to him.
In the drear monument, should hostile steps
Dare to approach him, they must enter singly:
This guards the passage; man by man they die.
There may’st thou dwell amidst the wild commotion.
Eup. Ye pitying gods, protect my father there !
[Ereunt.

SCENE II.
The Citadel.

Enter CALIPPUs, and several OFFICERs: Dionysius meeting them.

Dio. Ye brave associates, who so oft have shar'd Our toil and danger in the field of glory, My fellow warriors, what no god could promise Fortune hath giv'n us. In his dark embrace Lo! sleep envelops the whole Grecian camp. Against a foe, the outcasts of their country, Freebooters, roving in pursuit of prey, Success by war, or covert stratagem Alike is glorious. Then, my gallant friends, What need of words? The gen’rous call of freedom, Your wives, your children, your invaded rights, All that can steel the patriot breast with valour, Expands and rouses in the swelling heart. Follow th' impulsive ardour; follow me, Your king, your leader: in the friendly gloom Of night, assault their camp; your country's love, And fame eternal, shall attend the men Who march'd through blood and horror, to redeem From the invader's pow'r their native land.

Cal. Lead to the onset; Greece shall find we bear Hearts prodigal of blood when honour calls; Resolv’d to conquer, or to die in freedom.

Dio. Thus I've resolv’d: When the declining moon

Hath veil'd her orb, our silent march begins.
The order thus:–Calippus, thou lead forth
Iberia's sons with the Numidian bands,
And line the shore.—Perdiccas, be it thine

To march thy cohorts to the mountain's foot,
Where the wood skirts the valley; there make halt
Till brave Amyntor stretch along the vale.
Ourself, with the embodied cavalry
Clad in their mail'd cuirass, will circle round
To where their camp extends its furthest line;
Unnumber'd torches there shall blaze at once,
The signal of the charge; then, oh, my friends !
On every side, let the wild uproar loose,
Bid massacre and carnage stalk around,
Unsparing, unrelenting; drench your swords
In hostile blood, and riot in destruction.
Away, my friends !
Rouse all the war! fly to your sev'ral posts,
And instant bring all Syracuse in arms!
[Ereunt.—Warlike Music.

SCENE III.
The Inside of the Temple.

A Monument in the Middle.

EUPHRASIA, ERIxENE, and FEMALE ATTENDANTs.

Eup. Which way, Erixene, which way, my virgins, Shall we direct our steps ? What sacred altar Clasp on our knees?

Eric. Alas, the horrid tumult Spreads the destruction wide. On ev'ry side The victor's shouts, the groans of murder'd wretches, In wild confusion rise. Once more descend Eudocia's tomb; there thou may'st find a shelter.

Eup. Anon, Erixene, I mean to visit, * Perhaps, for the last time, a mother's urn. This dagger there, this instrument of death, Should fortune prosper the fell tyrant's arms,

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