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Ye Persians of the pit he does despise,
As originally acted, 1677. Alexander the Great.
Mr. Hart. Clytus
Mr. Mohun. Lysimachus
Mr. Griffin. Hephestion.
Mr. Clarke. Cassander
Mr. Kynaston. Polyperchon
Mr. Goodman. Thessalus
Mr. Wiltshire. Perdiccas
Mr. Lydall. Eumenes
Mr. Watson. Meleager.
Mr. Perin. Aristander
Mr. Coysh. Sysigambis
Mrs. Cory. Statira.
Mrs. Bowtell. Roxana .
Mrs. Marshall. Parisatis
Drury Lane, 1800. Covent Garden, 1815. Alexander the Great Mr. Kemble. Mr. Betly. Clytus.
Mr. Bensly. Mr. Egerton. Lysimachus Mr. Barrymore. Mr. Abbott. Hephestion. Mr. C. Kemble. Mr. Hamerton. Cassander
Mr. Palmer. Mr. Barrymore. Polyperchon Mr. Caulfield. Mr. Creswell. Thessalus,
Mr. Maddocks. Mr. Jefferies. Perdiccas
Mr. Whitfield. Mr. Claremont. Eumenes .
Mr. Benson. Mr. King. Aristander. Mr. Packer. Mr. Chapman.
Sysigambis . Mrs. Hopkins. Miss Logan.
Mrs. Powell. Miss Foote.
Mrs. Siddons. Mrs. Renaud. Parisatis.
Miss Miller. Miss Bristow. Attendants, Slaves, Guards, &c.
SCENE I. The Gardens of SEMIRAMIS. Enter HEPHESTION and LYSIMACHUS, fighting;
Clytus parting them. Cly. What, are you madmen? this a time for quarPat up, I say—or, by the gods that form’d me, [rel? He who refuses makes a foe of Clytus.
Lys. I have his sword. Cly. But must not have his life. Lys. Must not? old Clylus ! Cly. Hair-brain'd boy, you must not. Heph. Lend me thy sword, thou father of the war, Thoa far-fam'd guard of Alexander's life : Curse on this weak, unexecuting arm ! Lend it, old Clytus, to redeem my fame; Lysimachus is brave, and else will scorn me. Lys. There, take thy sword; and since thou’rt bent
on death, Know 'tis thy glory that thou dy'st by me.
Cly. Slay thee, Lysimachus; Hephestion, hold; I bar you both; my body interpos'd,
Now let me see which of you dares to strike.
Lys, Some prop’rer time must terminate our quarrel.
Lys. Our cause of quarrel may to thee seern light; But know a less has set the world in arms.
Cly. Yes, Troy, they tell us, by a woman fell; Curse on the sex, they are the bane of virtue! Death! P'd rather this right arm were lost, Tban that the king should hear of your imprudenceWhat! on a day thus set apart for iriumph!
Lys. We were indeed to blame. Cly. The memorable day! When our hot master, whose impatient soul Outrides the sun, and sighs for other worlds To spread his conquests, and diffuse his glory; Now bids the trumpet for awhile be silent, And plays with monarchs, whom he us’d to drive; Shall we by broils awake him into rage, And rouse the lion, that bas ceas'd to roar? Lys. Clytus, thou’rt right-put ap thy sword, He
phestion: Had passion not eclips'd the light of reason, Untold we might this consequence have seen.
Heph. Why has not reason pow'r to conquer love? Why are we thus enslav’d?