Ores. Hermione no more! O, all ye powers!
Pyl. Full of disorder, wildness in her looks,
With hands expanded, and dishevell❜d hair,
Breathless and pale, with shrieks she sought the temple ;
In the mid-way she met the corpse of Pyrrhus:
She startled at the sight; then, stiff with horror,
Gaz'd frightful! Waken'd from the dire amaze,
She rais'd her eyes to heaven with such a look
As spoke her sorrows, and reproach'd the gods;
Then plung'd a poniard deep within her breast,
And fell on Pyrrhus, grasping him in death.

Ores. I thank you, gods: never could expect
To be so wretched! You have been industrious
To finish your decrees; to make Orestes
A dreadful instance of your power to punish.
I'm singled out to bear the wrath of heaven.
Pyl. You hazard your retreat by these delays.
The guards will soon beset us. Your complaints
Are vain, and may be fatal.

Ores. True, my friend:

And therefore 'twas I thank'd the bounteous gods.
My fate's accomplish'd; I shall die content.

Oh, bear me hence. Blow winds!

Pyl. Let us be gone.

Ores. The murder'd lovers wait me. Hark! they call. Nay, if your blood still reeks, I'll mingle mine;

One tomb will hold us all.

Pyl. Alas! I fear

His raving will return with his misfortunes.

[ness!

Ores. I am dizzy! Clouds! Quite lost in utter dark

Guide me, some friendly pilot! through the storm.
I shiver! Oh, I freeze! So-light returns;
'Tis the grey dawn. See, Pylades! behold,
I am encompass'd with a sea of blood!

The crimson billows! Oh, my brain's on fire!
Pyl. How is it, sir? Repose yourself on me.
Ores. Pyrrhus, what wouldst thou? How he glares!
What envious hand has clos'd thy wounds? Have at thee.
It is Hermione that strikes. Confusion!

She catches Pyrrhus in her arms. Oh, save me!

D

How terrible she looks! She knits her brow;
She frowns me dead; she frights me into madness.
Where am I? Who are you?

Pyl. Alas, poor prince!

Help to support him. How he pants for breath!
Ores. This is most kind, my Pylades. Oh, why,
Why was I born to give thee endless trouble?

Pyl. All will go well: he settles into reason.
Ores. Who talks of reason? Better to have none,
Than not enough. Run, some one, tell my Greeks
I will not have them touch the king. Now, now!
I blaze again! See there: look where they come;
A shoal of furies. How they swarm about me!
My terror! Hide me! Oh, their snaky locks!
Hark, how they hiss! See, see their flaming brands!
Now they let drive at me! How they grin,

And shake their iron whips! My ears! what yelling!
And see, Hermione! she sets them on.

Thrust not your scorpions thus into my bosom!
Oh, I am stung to death! Dispatch me soon!
There-take my heart, Hermione! Tear it out!
Disjoint me! kill me! Oh, my tortur'd soul !

Pyl. Kind heaven, restore him to his wonted calm!
Oft have I seen him rave, but never thus.
Quite spent! Assist me, friends, to bear him off.
Our time is short: should his strong rage return,
"Twould be beyond our power to force him hence.
Away, my friends! I hear the portal open. [Exeunt.

Enter PHOENIX, attended by Guards.

Pho. All, all are fled! Orestes is not here! Triumphant villains! The base, giddy rabble, Whose hands should all have been employ'd with fire, To waste the fleet, flock'd round the dying princess: And, while they stand agaze, the Greeks embark. Oh, 'tis too plain! this sacrileg'ous murder Was authoriz'd. The ambassador's escape Declares his guilt. Most bloody embassy! Most unexampled deeds! Where, where, ye gods, Is majesty secure, if in your temples You give it no protection? See, the queen.

A Flourish of Trumpets. Enter ANDROMACHE and CEPHISA, with Attendants.

Andro. Yes, ye inhuman Greeks! the time will come When you shall dearly pay your bloody deeds! How should the Trojans hope for mercy from you, When thus you turn your impious rage on Pyrrhus? Pyrrhus, the bravest man in all your league; The man, whose single valour made you triumph. [A dead March behind.

Is my child there?

Ceph. It is the corpse of Pyrrhus;

The weeping soldiers bear him on their shields.
Andro. Ill-fated prince! too negligent of life,
And too unwary of the faithless Greeks!
Cut off in the fresh rip'ning prime of manhood,
E'en in the prime of life! thy triumphs new,
And all thy glories in full blossom round thee!
The very Trojans would bewail thy fate.

Ceph. Alas! then will your sorrows never end? Andro. Oh, never, never!--While I live, my tears Will never cease; for I was born to grieve.

Give present orders for the funeral pomp. [To Phænir.
Let him be rob'd in all his regal state;

Place round him every shining mark of honour;
And let the pile that consecrates his ashes,
Rise like his fame, and blaze above the clouds.

[Exit Phoenix. A Flourish of Trumpets. Ceph. The sound proclaims th' arrival of the prince, The guards conduct him from the citadel.

Andro. With open arms I'll meet him!-O Cephisa!
A springing joy, mix'd with a soft concern,
A pleasure, which no language can express,
An ecstasy, that mothers only feel,

Plays round my heart, and brightens up my sorrow,
Like gleams of sunshine in a low'ring sky.
Though plung'd in ills, and exercis'd in care,
Yet never let the noble mind despair.

When press'd by dangers, and beset with foes,
The gods their timely succour interpose;

And when our virtue sinks, o'erwhelm'd with grief,
By unforeseen expedients bring relief.

[Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

SPOKEN BY ANDROMACHE.

I HOPE you'll own, that with becoming art,
I've play'd my game, and topp'd the widow's part.
My spouse, poor man, could not live out the play,
But died commodiously on wedding-day,
While I, his relict, made at one bold fling,
Myself a princess, and young Sty a king.

You, ladies, who protract a lover's pain,
And hear your servants sigh whole years in vain ;
Which of you all would not on marriage venture,
Might she so soon upon her jointure enter?

"Twas a strange 'scape! had Pyrrhus liv'd till now;
I had been finely hamper'd in my vow.
To die by one's own hand, and йy the charms
Of love and life in a young monarch's arms!
"Twere an hard fate- -ere I had undergone it,
I might have took one night-to think upon it.
But why, you'll say, was all this grief exprest
For a first husband, laid long since at rest?
Why so much coldness to my kind protector?
-Ah, ladies! had you known the good man Hector-
Homer will tell you (or I'm misinform'd),
That when enrag'd, the Grecian camp he storm'd;
To break the tenfold barriers of the gate,
He threw a stone of such prodigious weight
As no two men could lift, not even of those
Who in that age of thundering mortals rose;
It would have sprain'd a dozen modern beaux.
At length, howe'er I laid my weeds aside,
And sunk the window in the well-dress'd bride.
In you it still remains to grace the play,
And bless with joy my coronation day;
Take then, ye circles of the brave and fair,
The fatherless and widow to your care.

C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.

A Tragedy.

BY JOHN HOME.

CORRECTLY GIVEN, FROM COPIES USED IN THE THEATRES

BY

THOMAS DIBDIN,

Author of several Dramatic Pieces: and
PROMPTER OF THE THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE.

Printed at the Chiswick Press,

BY C. WHITTINGHAM;