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Was pointed. If he fell not on the spot,
Command my troops, that in the Forum watch, To join Rhinalces. I myself will follow.
How beautiful she is! Should he survive,
Euan. Why hast thou call'd me hither, to afflict And torture me with spectacles of woe?
[The Gate of the Prison opens, and
Amph Ares' 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
Enter Lysandeb, followed by Rhesus.
Lysan. Infernal dog, turn and behold Lysander! Fly, Rhesus, to the king. Traitor accurst!
[Exit Rhesus. Down, down, to Tartarus; there, villain, howl.
[ Amphake s falls.
Euan. Amazing powers ! alive ! victorious ! oh! Lysan. And have I come to save thee, O Euanthe! But oh! I fear I come too late for Agis, The dungeon-mouth is open.
Tell me, Rhesus.
Rhe. The king is murder'd, in yon vault he lies.
Lysan. My prince! my friend! thy goodness,
and thy virtue,
Thy clemency, thy mildness, have undone thee!
Amph. He who preferr'd Lysander to Amphares,
Has paid me with his life. My dying hand
Shall rise to curse you, as Cities.
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 scorn'd,
When Sparta's glory was the price of peril.
Arriving then, I heard her .shriek for help,