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Yet full of high and pleasing thoughts he fell.
Euan. Euanthe's tears shall ever flow with yours,
Lysan. The son of Agis lives, his infant years
Enter. Messenger. Mess. My lord,. The people, headed by the priests of Jove : And Hercules, in long procession come, Bearing the body of their royal lord, From that base dungeon to the sculptured tomb, Which guards the sacred dust of Sparta's kings.
Enter the Procession with the body of Agis.
Ages. My son, my son !
. . Chorus.. .
Priest of JUPITER.
To treason Agis bow'd his head, And by his guilty subjects bled : Betray'd by those his mercy spared ; Ingratitude was his reward.
Chorus. Shame is mix’d with Sparta’s woe, Blood of kings the city stains, Ever let our sorrows flow, Shame indelible remains.
Priests of JUPITER. Yet Agis triumph’d in his fall;. For Virtue triumphs over all! Great, superior to his fate, He only grieved for Sparta’s state. When Jove decrees a nation's doom, He calls their heroes to the tomb. Fearless they fall, immortal rise, And claim the freedom of the skies.
Agis triumph'd in his fall,
Such a king shall ne'er return :
Priests of HERCULES. Agis fell, by fraud o’ercome; Alike was great Alcides' doom : Yet then most worthy of his sire, The son of Jove, when wrapt in fire, Victorious crown'd his labours past : His noblest labour was the last.
· Chorus of all.