Alex. Ha! who talks of heaven?

I am all hell; I burn, I burn again;
The war grows wondrous hot; hey for the Tigris!
Bear me, Bucephalus, amongst the billows.

[Jumps into the Chair.
O'tis a noble beast; I would not change him
For the best horse the sun has in his stable;
For they are hot, their mangers full of coals;
Their manes are flakes of lightning, curls of fire;
And their red tails like meteors whisk about.
Lys. Help all; Eumenes, help.

Alex. Ha, ha, ha! I shall die with laughter.
Parmenio, Clytus, do you see yon fellow,
That ragged soldier, that poor tatter'd Greek?
See how he puts to flight the gaudy Persians,
With nothing but a rusty helmet on, through which
The grisly bristles of his pushing beard
Drive 'em like pikes-ha, ha, ha!

Per. How wild he talks!

Lys. Yet warring in his wildness.

Alex. Sound, sound, keep your ranks close; ay, now they come;

O the brave din, the noble clank of arms!

Charge, charge apace, and let the phalanx move:
Darius comes-ay, 'tis Darius;

I see, I know him by the sparkling plumes,
And his gold chariot drawn by ten white horses.
But like a tempest thus I pour upon him-

He bleeds; with that last blow I brought him down;
He tumbles, take him, snatch the imperial crown.
They fly, they fly; follow, follow-Victoria,
Victoria, victoria- [Leaps into the Soldier's Arms.
Per. Let's bear him softly to his bed.

Alex. Hold, the least motion gives me sudden death;
My vital spirits are quite parch'd, burnt up,
And all my smoaky entrails turn'd to ashes.
Lys. When you, the brightest star that ever shone,
Shall set, it must be night with us for ever.
Alex. Let me embrace you all, before I die.

[All kneel and weep.

Weep not, my dear companions, the good gods
Shall send ye in my stead a nobler prince;
One that shall lead ye forth with matchless conduct.
Lys. Break not our hearts with such unkind expres-
sions.

Per. We will not part with you, nor change for Mars.
Alex. Perdiccas, take this ring,

And see me laid in the temple of Jupiter Ammon. Lys. To whom does your dread majesty bequeath The empire of the world?

Alex. To him that is most worthy.

Per. When will you, sacred sir, that we should give To your great memory those divine honours

Which such exalted virtue does deserve?
Alex. When you are most happy, and in peace.
Your bands-O father, if I have discharg'd
The duty of a man to empire born;

If by unwearied toil I have deserv'd
The vast renown of thy adopted son,

Accept this soul which thou didst first inspire,
And which this sigh thus gives thee back again. [Dies.
Lys. There fell the pride and glory of the war.
If there be treason let us find it out;

Lysimachus stands forth to lead you on;

And swears, by these most honour'd dear remains,
He will not taste those joys which beauty brings,
Until he has reveng'd the best of kings.

[The Curtain falls to slow Music.

SPOKEN BY ROXANA.

ARRAIGN'D for murder-lo! I stand before ye,
But ere you pass my sentence, hear my story.
What passive woman, were she in my place,
Could brook such usage? Horrible disgrace!
To kiss the saucy minx before my face.

Hang on her neck, and sigh, and swear, and bellow-
Oh, I've not patience with the filthy fellow.

What, though one world my hero deem'd deficient,
One wife for any hero's sure sufficient.
You must allow 'twould any mortal vex
To lose the only comfort of one's sex.

Her nuptial right; which of you all would share it?
And half a husband, gods! what wife could hear it?
But what's still worse than all the rest provokes me,
To think his crowns and sceptres e'er could coax me.
Let all the empire of the world's wide span,
Be hers-but not an atom of my man.
Methinks I hear each wedded fair one cry,
Well done, Roxana she deserv'd to die.

What Christian wife could bear such double dealing?
And sure your heathen women have their feeling.
Two wives! "Tis matrimonial fornication:
Pray heav'n avert such customs from this nation!
By such let eastern wives be bubbled still,

Two wives! for shame; two husbands if you will.
Ay, this indeed might suit a free born woman,
Besides, our beaus-poor things!—are not like Ammon.
While thus you plead, this inference let me draw,
Nature is love's great universal law.

All feel alike what some disguise with art,
And each wrong'd wife's Roxana in her heart.
If none of you could tamely yield her man,
Then find me guilty, ladies, if you can.

C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.

OR,

THE WORLD WELL LOST.

A Tragedy.

BY JOHN DRYDEN.

CORRECTLY GIVEN, FROM COPIES USED IN THE THEATRES,

BY

THOMAS DIBDIN,

Author of several Dramatic Pieces, &c.

Printed at the Chiswick Press,

BY C. WHITTINGHAM;

ROW, LONDON.