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Its heart blood, all its treasure, piles of plate,
Daran. "Tis true.
The bees are wisely bearing off their honey,
Daran. Forward-it looks as if they had
By Mahomet, the land wears not the face
Were sending forth their loaded caravans
Eum. I thank you.
The sun will soon go down upon our sorrows,
3 Offi. Sir, I have mark'd
The camp's extent: 'tis stretch'd quite through the valley.
I think that more than half the city's here.
My honest countrymen, t'observe your numbers:
Caled. Dogs! infidels! 'tis more than was That smiles but to betray!
Hear me, all gracious heaven,
Daran. And shall we not pursue them-Let me wear out my small remains of life,
Daran. I knew my general would not suffer
Therefore I've troops prepar'd without the gate;
Caled. No more; away
And quickly make this thriftless conquest good:
Obscure, content with humble poverty,
Curse me no more with proud prosperity!
It has undone me!
To take a farewell prospect of Damascus.
All our possessions are a grasp of air:
Eum. Poor, good old man!
What, Artamon! art thou here, too?
I never boasted much,
Yet, I've some honour, and a soldier's pride;
Eum. Thou'rt brave and honest. Nay, we'll not yet despair. A time may come, When from these brute barbarians we may wrest Once more our pleasant seats.-Alas! how soon SCENE II.-A Valley full of Tents; Baggage The flatterer, hope, is ready with his song, and Harness lying up and down amongst To charm us to forgetfulness!-No morethem. The Prospect terminating with Palm Let that be left to heaven.--See, Herbis, see, Trees and Hills at a Distance. Enter EUMENES, with Officers and Attendants. Eum. [Entering] Sleep on-and angels be thy guard!-soft slumber
Methinks we've here a goodly city yet.
Has gently stole her from her griefs awhile;
On yonder bills?
Offi. They are.
[To an Officer.
Through the long vale, as if to follow us; And kindly offers his cool wholesome draughts, Eum. [Striking his Breast] Damascus, O-To ease us in our march!-Why, this is plenty. Still art thou here!-Let me entreat you, friends, To keep strict order; I have no command, And can but now advise you.
Thy words are balsam to my griefs. Eudocia, I never knew thee till this day; I knew not How many virtues I had wrong'd in thee! Eud. If you talk thus, you have not yet forgiven me.
Eum. Forgiven thee!-Why, for thee it is, thee only,
I think, heaven yet may look with pity on us;
Eud. O, why is he not here? Why do I see Thousands of happy wretches, that but seem Undone, yet still are bless'd in innocence, And why was he not one?
Enter an Officer.
Offi. Where is Eumenes?
Eum. What means thy breathless haste?
For, as I kept my watch, I spy'd afar
Her. I saw them too,
Where the roads meet on t'other side these hills, But took them for some band of Christian Arabs, Crossing the country. This way did they move? Offi. With utmost speed.
Eum. If they are Christian Arabs,
I'll to the guard myself.
Enter another Officer.
20ffi. Arm! arm! we're ruin'd! The foe is in the camp.
Eum. So soon?
-2 Offi. They've quitted
Their horses, and with sword in hand have forc'd Our guard; they say they come for plunder. Eum. Villains!
Sure Caled knows not of this treachery! Come on--we can fight still. We'll make them know
What 'tis to urge the wretched to despair. [Exeunt.
Eud. Phocyas! O, astonishment! Then is it thus that heaven has heard my prayers? tremble still-and scarce have power to ask thee How thou art here, or whence this sudden outrage?
Pho. Sure every angel watches o'er thy safety! Thou seest'tis death t'approach thee without awe, And barbarism itself cannot profane thee. Eud. Whence are these alarms?
Pho. Some stores remov'd, and not allow'd by treaty,
Have drawn the Saracens to make a search. Perhaps 'twill quickly be agreed-But, oh! Thou know'st, Eudocia, I'm a banish'd man, And 'tis a crime I'm here once more before thee; Else, might I speak, 'twere better for the present, If thou wouldst leave this place.
Eud. No-I have a father,
(And shall I leave him?) whom we both have wrong'd:
And yet, alas!
For this last act how would I thank thee,
I've nothing now but prayers and tears to give,
'Tis then resolv'd-It was thy cruel sentence,
Pho. Never-No, here I'll lay my burden down;
O cruel man! Why wilt thou rack me thus? Didst thou ́not mark—thou didst, when last we parted,
The pangs, the strugglings of my suff'ring soul; That nothing but the hand of heaven itself Could ever drive me from thee!-Dost thou now Reproach me thus? or canst thou have a thought That I can e'er forget thee?
Pho. [Rises] Have a care!
I'll not be tortur'd more with thy false pity! Pho. Not know thee?--Yes, too well I know No, I renounce it. See, I am prepar'd.
[Shows a Dagger. O murd'rous fiend! Why all this waste of blood? Didst thou not promise
Thy cruelty is mercy now.-Farewell!
Eud. Hold-stay thee yet!-O, madness of
And wouldst thou die? Think, ere thou leap'st
When thou hast trod that dark, that unknown way,
Canst thou return? What if the change prove
O think, if then
Pho. No-thought's my deadliest foe:
How wilt thou curse thy rashness then! How start,
Pho. I thank thee!
For now I'm quite undone-I gave up all
[Throws away the Dagger.
Tell me now Eudocia,
[Turns away, weeping.
Pho. Thou weep'st!"
No distant comfort?
'Tis well, 'tis well; for now I know thee too. Perfidious, mongrel slave! Thou double traitor! False to thy first and to thy latter vows!
Pho. That's well-go on-I swear I thank thee. Speak it again, and strike it through my ear! A villain! Yes, thou mad'st me so, thou devil! And mind'st me now what to demand from thee. Give, give me back my former self, my honour, My country's fair esteem, my friends, my allThou canst not-0 thou robber!-Give me then Revenge or death! The last I well deserveThat yielded up my soul's best wealth to thee, For which accurs'd be thou, and curs'd thy prophet!
Caled. Hear'st thou this, Mahomet?-Blas-
For this thou soon shalt chew the bitter fruit
[Pushes at him with his Lance, which
Pho. Thanks to the gods, I have reveng'd my country!
Several Parties of Christians and Saracens pass over the further End of the Stage, fighting. The former are beaten. At last EUMENES rallies them, and makes a stand; then enter ABUDAH, attended.
Abu. Forbear, forbear, and sheathe the bloody sword.
Eum. Abudah! is this, well?
Abu. No-I must own
You've cause.-O Mussulmans,look here! Behold
Eum. Ha! Caled?
Abu. Dumb and breathless.
Then thus has heaven chastis'd us in thy fall,
Eum. This thirst of blood
Fly, save them, save the threaten'd lives of Chris-In his own blood is quench'd.
Caled. So, slaughter, do thy work! These hands look well.
Abu. Bear hence his clay
My father and his friends!-I dare not stay-Back to Damascus. Cast a mantle first
[Looks on his Hands.
A purer faith! Thou, better than thy sect,
Abu. O Power Supreme!
That mad'st my heart, and know'st its inmost frame,
If yet I err, O lead me into truth,
Re-enter ARTAMON and EUDOCIA.
I left him just preparing to engage:
Eud. My flight! but whither?
Art. I hope not so.
The noise is ceas'd. Perhaps they're beaten off. We soon shall know;-here's one that can inform us.
Re-enter first Officer.
Soldier, thy looks speak well;-what says thy
1 Offi. The foe's withdrawn. Abudah has been here,
Pho. No,'twas a kind one.-Spare thy tears, Eudocia!
For mine are tears of joy.
Eud. Is't possible? Pho. 'Tis done-the powers supreme have heard my prayer,
And prosper'd me with some fair deed this day: I've fought once more, and for my friends,
By me the treach'rous chiefs are slain: awhile I stopp'd the foe, till, warn'd by me before, Of this their sudden march, Abudah came. But first this random shaft had reach'd my breast. Life's mingled scene is o'er-'tis thus that heaven At once chastises, and, I hope, accepts me.
Eud. What shall I say to thee, to give thee comfort?
Pho. Say only thou forgiv'st me—O Eudocia! No longer now my dazzled eyes behold thee Through passion's mists; my soul now gazes on thee,
And sees thee lovelier in unfading charms! Bright as the shining angel host that stoodWhilst I-but there it smarts.
Eud. Look down, look down,
Ye pitying powers! and help his pious sorrow! Eum. Tis not too late, we hope, to give thee help.
See! yonder is my tent: we'll lead thee thither; Come, enter there, and let thy wound be dress'd; Perhaps it is not mortal.
Pho. No! not mortal?
No flatt'ry now. By all my hopes hereafter,
And has renew'd the terms. Caled is kill'd-Alas! I but keep in my fleeting breath
1 Offi. I left him well: by his command I came To search you out: and let you know this news. I've more; but that
Art. Is bad, perhaps, so says
A few short moments, till I have conjur'd you,
This sudden pause. Well, be it so; let's know it; O, touch not yet the broken springs of life! 'Tis but life's checker'd lot.
1 Offi. Eumenes mourns
A friend's unhappy fall-Herbis is slain-
He press'd the foe, and met the fate he wish'd. Art. See where Eumenes comes! What's this? He seems
To lead some wounded friend-Alas! 'tis[They withdraw to one side of the Stage. Re-enter EUMENES, leading in PHOCIAS, with
an Arrow in his Breast.
Eum. Give me thy wound! O, I could bear it for thee!
This goodness melts my heart. What, in a mo
Forgetting all thy wrongs, in kind embraces T'exchange forgiveness thus!
Pho. Moments are few,
And must not now be wasted. O Eumenes,
A thousand tender thoughts rise
Pho. No more-death is now painful! But say, my friends, whilst I have breath to ask (For still methinks all your concerns are mine), Whither have you design'd to bend your journey?
Eum. Constantinople is my last retreat, If heaven indulge my wish; there I've resolv'd To wear out the dark winter of my life, An old man's stock of days-I hope not many.
Eud. There will I dedicate myself to heaven. O, Phocyas, for thy sake, no rival else Shall e'er possess my heart. My father too Consents to this my vow. My vital flame There, like a taper on the holy altar, Shall waste away; till heav'n, relenting, hears Incessant prayers for thee and for myself, And wing my soul to meet with thine in bliss. For in that thought I find a sudden hope, As if inspir'd, springs in my breast, and tells me That thy repenting frailty is forgiv'n, And we shall meet again to part no more. Pho. [Plucks out the Arrow] Then all is done -'twas the last pang-at lengthI've given up thee, and the world now is-nothing. [Dies. Eum. O Phocyas! Phocyas!
Alas! he hears not now, nor sees my sorrows! A fruitless zeal, yet all I now can show;
A much-wrong'd friend, and an unhappy hero!|
A NATIVE of Ireland, and for some time one of the most successful writers for the stage. He was probably born about the year 1755, having been appointed one of the pages of Lord Chesterfield, when he was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, in 1746. He was once an officer of marines, but left the service with circumstances which do not reflect credit on him as a man. These circumstances not attacking the reputation of his writings, our readers will assist us in covering them with the charitable veil of oblivion; and we shall stand excused in the eyes of the feeling world for declining to conclude his Biography,
COMEDY by Isaac Bickerstaff. Acted at Drury Lane 1768. The general plot of this comedy is borrowed from the Tartuffe of Molière, and the principal character in it, viz. that of Doctor Cantwell, is a close copy from that great original. The conduct of the piece, however, is so greatly altered as to render it perfectly English, and the coquet Charlotte is truly original and most elegantly spirited. The author has strongly pointed out the mischiefs and ruin which sere frequently brought into the most noble and valuable families by the self-interested machinations of those skulking and pernicious vipers, those wolves in sheep's clothing, who at the troublesome and unsettled period in which this pace was first written, (by Cibber 1718) covering their private views beneath the mask of public zeal and sanctity, acted the part of the great serpent of old, first tempting to sin, and then betraying to punishment. It is an alteration of Cibber's Nonjuror. Scarcely any thing more than the character of Mawworm was written by the present author, who introduced it for the sake of Weston's comic talents. Few plays have had the advantage of better acting, and, in consequence, few had a greater share of success, It is one of the most valuable characteristics of this play, that while it severely satirizes hypocrisy, fanatism (as in Mawworm), and outrageous pretensions to sanctity, it carefully distinguishes between these and rational piety, The play met with great success in the representation, taking a run of eighteen nights; the subject itself being its protection, and its enemies not daring to show any more at that time than a few smiles of silent contempt. The consequence, however, was what the author foresaw that is to say, the stirring up a party against him, who would scarcely suffer any thing he wrote afterwards to meet with fair play, and making him the constant butt of Mist's Journal, and all the Jacobite faction, Nor do we think it by any means an improbable surmise, that the enmity and inveteracy of his antagonist Mr. Pope, and the set of wits who were connected with him, might have their original foundation traced from the appearance of this play.