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To end her woes. But the Athenian maid,
Amph. Malignant powers! or blind unerring
Fate, This is your work: now you assert your empire.
Mess. My lord, the troops of Euxus have revolted.
Rhinalces visited this night each post,
Amph. By heaven and earth, Lysander! Ha! proceed.
Mess. The sudden onset, and the cloud of night, The traitors favour'd; some escaped our swords, But many more in the sharp combat fell.
Amph. Did their fierce leader fall?
Mess. Above the rest
Command my troops, that in the Forum watch,
How beautiful she is! Should he survive,
Euan. Why hast thou call'd me hither, to afflict
[The Gate of the Prison opens, and
Amphares* Slave advances. Eternal powers! why yawn yon dreadful gates? And from what horrid deed stalks yonder villain?
Mess. Thy orders are obey'd. He lives no more.
Euan. Barbarian monster ! hast thou kill'd Ly
But I will not reproach thee, nor complain
Where murder and Amphares cannot come
[She runs towards the Dungeon. Am-
Mess. My lord, my lord,
Amph. My enemy prevails.—This way with me. My steps pursue, or by the Gods of Hell!— Euan. I will not leave this place. Draw forth
thy sword, And try if death can terrify despair.
Amph. Drag her along. [Shout.
Again !—the foe draws near.
[Shout from the other side, "Agis and
Amph. I am encompast; yet I'll mar their triumph.
[Huns at Euanthe with his sword.
Enter Ly Sander, followed by Rhesus.
La/san. Infernal dog, turn and behold Lysander! Fly, Rhesus, to the king. Traitor accurst!
Down, down, to Tartarus; there, villain, howl.
Euan. Amazing powers ! alive! victorious ! oh J Isysan. And have I come to save thee, O Euanthe !. But oh! I fear I come too late for Agis, The dungeon-mouth is open. • . ,; ,, [>•:.'.
...,.•' - ."•.. - . '•; i ''
Tell me, Rhesus.
Rhe. The king is murder'd, in yon vault he lies.
Lydan. My prince! my friend! thy goodness,
and thy virtue,
Thy clemency, thy mildness, have undone thee !, i
Will hesitate to stem corruption's tide,
Amph. He who preferr'd Lysander to Amphares,
Has paid me with his life. My dying hand
Shall rise to curse you, as [Dies.
Lysan. Thy soul is curst. There the fell spirit of Amphares fled In imprecations. Prophet of disasters, Upon the dismal banks of Acheron, Amidst the wailing ghosts, still curse thy country, And end a speech the damn'd will hate to hear. Behold the mother of our murder'd king.
Enter Agesistrata and Euxus.
Ages. Alas! I need not ask the fate of Agis: Your looks, your silence say, I have no son! Yet speak to me, for I can hear the worst, I have been long familiar with affliction; I am the widow of the sire of Agis.
Lysan. There lies the bloody author of his
death, Slain by my hand.
Ages. Alas, alas! my son! Oft has my anxious mind this hour foreseen, And warn'd thee oft. But thou the danger scorned,