When I am dead, as presently I shall be
(For the grim tyrant grasps my heart already),
Speak well of me: and if thou find ill tongues
Too busy with my fame, don't hear me wrong'd;
"Twill be a noble justice to the memory
Of a poor wretch, once honour'd with thy
love.
[Dies.

Enter CHAMONT and ACASTO.
Cham. Gape, earth, and swallow me to
quick destruction,

If I forgive your house!
Ye've overpower'd me now!
But, hear me, heav'n! Ah! here's a scene of
death!

My sister, my Monimia, breathless!--Now,
Ye pow'rs above, if ye have justice, strike!
Strike bolts through me, and through the curs'd
Castalio!

Cas. Stand off! thou hot-brain'd, boisterous,
noisy ruffian!

And leave me to my sorrows.
Cham. By the love

I bore her living, I will ne'er forsake her;
But here remain till my heart burst with sobbing.
Cas. Vanish, I charge thee! or-

Cham. What?

Acas. Have patience.

Cas. Patience! preach it to the winds,
To roaring seas, or raging fires! for curs'd
As I am now, 'tis this must give me patience:
Thus I find rest, and shall complain no more.
[Stabs himself.

Chamont, to thee my birthright I bequeath:-
Comfort my mourning father-heal his griefs;

[Acasto faints into the Arms of a Servant.
For I perceive they fall with weight upon him-
And, for Monimia's sake, whom thou wilt find
I never wrong'd, be kind to poor Serina-
Now all I beg is, lay me in one grave
Thus with love-Farewell! I now am-
nothing.

my

[Dies. Cham. Take care of good Acasto, whilst I go [Draws a Dagger. To search the means by which the fates have plagu'd us.

Cham. Thou canst not kill me! That would be kindness, and against thy nature! 'Tis thus that heav'n its empire does maintain: Acas. What means Castalio? Sure thou wilt It may afflict; but man must not complain.

not pull

[Exeunt.

PHILIP S.

Не

AMBROSE PHILIPS was descended from a very ancient and considerable family of that name in Leicestershire. was born about the year 1671, and received his education at St. John's College, Cambridge. During his stay at the university he wrote his Pastorals, which acquired him at this time a high reputation. He also, in 1700 published a life of John Williams, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, Bishop of Lincoln, and Archbishop of York, in the reigns of King James and Charles 1. in which are related some remarkable occurrences in those times, both in church and state; with an appendix, giving an account of his benefactions to St. John's College. When he quitted the university, and came to London, he became a constant attendant at, and one of the wits of, Button's coffee-house, where he obtained the friendship and intimacy of many of the celebrated geniuses of that age, more particularly of Sir Richard Steele, who, in the first volume of his Tatler, has inserted a little poem of Mr. Philips's, which he calls a Winter Piece, dated from Copenhagen, and addressed to the Earl of Dorset, on which he bestows the highest encomiums: and, indeed, so much justice is there in these his commendations that even Pope himself, who had a fixed aversion for the author, while be affected to despise his other works, used always to except this from the number. Sir R. Steele intended to produce Mr. Philips's Pastorals with a critical comparison of them, in favour of Philips, with Pope's; but Pope artfully took the task upon himself, and, in a paper in The Guardian, by drawing the like comparison, and giving a like preference, but on principles of criticism apparently fallacious tried to point out the absurdity of such a judgment. A quarrel ensued; Pope was too much for Philips in wit; and Philips would have been too much for Pope in fisty-cuffs, if he had made his appearance at Button's, where a rod had been hung up for him by Philips. Pope wisely avoided the argumentum baculinum. Mr. Philips's circumstances were in general, through his life, not only easy, but rather affluent, in consequence of his being connected, by his political principles with persons of great rank and consequence. He was, soon after the accession of King George 1, put into the commission of the peace; and, in 1717, appointed one of the commissioners of the lottery; and, on his friend Dr. Boulter's being made primate of Ireland, he accompanied that prelate across St. George's Channel, where he had considerable preferments bestowed on him, and was elected a member of the House of Commons there, as representative for the county of Armagh. In Sept. 1754, he was appointed register of the Prerogative Court in Dublin. At length, having purchased an annuity for life of four hundred pounds, he came over to England some time in the year 1748, but did not long enjoy his fortune, being struck with a palsy, of which he died June 18, 1749, in his 78th year, at his lodgings near Vauxhall.

THE DISTREST MOTHER.

It is,

ACTED at Drury Lane, 1719. This play is little more than a translation from the Andromaque of Racine, however, very well translated, the poetry pleasing, and the incidents of the story so affecting that although it is, like all the French tragedies, rather too heavy and declamatory, yet it never fails bringing tears into the eyes of a sensible audience; and will, perhaps, ever continue to be a stock play on the lists of the theatres. The original author, however, has deviated from history and Philips likewise followed his example in making Hermione kill herself on the body of Pyrrhus, who had been slain by her instigation; whereas, on the contrary, she not only survived, but became wife to Orestes. How far the licentia poetica will authorize such oppositions to well-known facts of history, is, however, a point concerning which we have not time at present to enter into a disquisition. Dr. Johnson observes, that such a work requires no uncommon powers; but that the friends of Philips exerted every art to promote his interest. Before the appearance of the play, a whole Spectator, none indeed of the best, was devoted to its praise; while it yet continued to

be acted, another Spectator was written, to tell what impression it made upon Sir Roger de Coverley; and on the first night a select audience, says Pope, was called together to applaud it.

SCENE.-A great Hall in the Court of PYRRHUS, at BUTHROTOS, the capital City of EPIRUS.

ACT I.

SCENE. I.

Th'

avenger

His lovely daughter, to the happy Pyrrhus,
of his wrongs,
thou saws't my grief,
From sea to sea, a heavy chain of woes.
My torture, my despair; and how I dragg'd,
O Pylades! my heart has bled within me,
To see thee, press'd with sorrows not thy own,
Still wand'ring with me like a banish'd man,
Watchful, and anxious for thy wretched friend,
To temper the wild transports of my mind,
And save me from myself.

Pyl. Why thus unkind?

Enter ORESTES, PYLADES, and Attendants.
Ores. O PYLADES! what's life without a friend!
At sight of thee my gloomy soul cheers up,
My hopes revive, and gladness dawns within me.
After an absence of six tedious moons,
How could I hope to find my Pylades,
My joy, my comfort! on this fatal shore!
Even in the court of Pyrrhus? in these realms,
These hated realms, so cross to all my wishes. Why will you envy me the pleasing task
O, my brave friend! may no blind stroke of fate Of generous love, and sympathising friendship?
Divide us more, and tear me. from myself. Öres. Thou miracle of truth! But hear me on.
Pyl. O prince! O my Orestes! O my friend! When in the midst of my disastrous fate,
Thus let me speak the welcome of my heart. I thought how the divine Hermione,
[Embraces. Deaf to the vows, regardless of my plaints,
Since I have gain'd this unexpected meeting, Gave up herself, and all her charms, to Pyrrhus;
Blest be the powers that barr'd my way to Greece, Thou may'st remember, I abhorr'd her name,
And kept me here! e'er since the unhappy day Strove to forget her, and repay her scorn.
When warring winds (Epirus full in view) I made my friends, and even myself, believe
Sunder'd our barks on the loud stormy main.
Ores. It was, indeed, a morning full of horror!
Pyl. A thousand boding cares have rack'd
my soul

In your behalf. Often, with tears, I mourn'd
The fatal ills, to which your life's involv'd;
And grudg'd you dangers which I could not share.
I fear'd to what extremities the black despair
That prey'd upon your mind, might have be-
tray'd you,

And lest the gods, in pity to your woes,
Should hear your pray'rs, and take the life
loath'd.

you

But now with joy I see you!--The retinue,
And numerous followers that surround you here,
Speak better fortunes, and a mind dispos'd
To relish life.

Ores. Alas! my friend, who knows
The destiny to which I stand reserv'd!
I come in search of an inhuman fair;
And live or die, as she decrees my fate.
Pyl. You much surprise me, prince! I thought
you cur'd

Of your unpity'd, unsuccessful passion.
Why, in Epirus, should you hope to find
Hermione less cruel, than at Sparta?

I thought her pride, and the disdainful manner
In which she treated all your constant sufferings,
Had broke your fetters, and assur'd your
freedom:

Asham'd of your repulse, and slighted vows,
You hated her; you talk'd of her no more:
Prince, you deceiv'd me.

Ores. I deceiv'd myself.

Do not upbraid the unhappy man that loves thee.
Thou know'st I never hid my passion from thee;
Thou saw'st it, in its birth, and in its progress;
And when at last the hoary king, her father,
Great Menelaus, gave away his daughter,

My soul was freed. Alas! I did not see,
That all the malice of my heart was love.
Triumphing thus, and yet a captive still,
In Greece I landed; and in Greece I found
The assembled princes all alarm'd with fears,
In which their common safety seem'd concern'd.
join'd them: for I hop'd that war and glory
Might fill my mind, and take up all my thoughts;
And that my shatter'd soul, impair'd with grief,
Once more would reassume its wonted vigour,
And every idle passion quit my breast.

I

Pyl. The thought was worthy Agamemnon's

son.

Ores. But see the strange perverseness of

my stars,
Which throws me on the rock I strove to shun!
The jealous chiefs, and all the states of Greece,
With one united voice complain of Pyrrhus;
That now, forgetful of the promise giv'n,
And mindless of his godlike father's fate,
Astyanax he nurses in his court;
Astyanax, the young, surviving hope
Of ruin'd Troy; Astyanax, descended.
From a long race of kings-great Hector's son.
Pyl. A name still dreadful in the ears of Greece!
But, prince, you'll cease to wonder why the child
Lives thus protected in the court of Pyrrhus,
When you shall hear the bright Andromache,
His lovely captive, charms him from his purpose:
The mother's beauty guards the helpless son.

Ores. Your tale confirms what I have heard;
and hence

Spring all my hopes. Since my proud rival wooes
Another partner to his throne and bed,
Hermione may still be mine. Her father,
The injur'd Menelaus, thinks already
His daughter slighted, and th' intended nuptials
Too long delay'd. I heard his loud complaints
With secret pleasure; and was glad to find

Full of Achilles, his redoubted sire,
Pyrrhus is proud, impetuous, headstrong, fierce;
Made up
of passions: will he then be sway'd,
And give to death the son of her he loves?
Ores. Oh, would he render up Hermione,
And keep Astyanax, I should be blest!
He must; he shall: Hermione is my life,
My soul, my rapture! I'll no longer curb
The strong desire that hurries me to madness:
I'll give a loose to love; I'll bear her hence;
I'll tear her from his arms; I'll-O, ye gods!
Give me Hermione, or let me die!.
But tell me, Pylades, how stand my hopes?
Is Pyrrhus still enamour'd with her charms?
Or dost thou think he'll yield me up the prize,
The dear, dear prize, which he has ravish'd
from me?

Himself, in all his sorrows, at her feet.'
[Exit Pylades.

Enter PYRRHUS, PHOENIX, and Attendants.
Before I speak the message of the Greeks,
Permit me, sir, to glory in the title
Of their ambassador; since I behold
Troy's vanquisher, and great Achilles' son,
Nor does the son rise short of such a father:
If Hector fell by him, Troy fell by you.
But what your father never would have done,
You do. You cherish the remains of Troy;
And, by an ill-tim'd pity, keep alive
The dying embers of a ten years' war.
Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector?
The Greeks remember his high brandish'd sword,
That fill'd their state with widows and with
orphans ;

For which they call for vengeance on his son.
Who knows what he may one day prove?
Who knows

But he may brave us in our ports, and fill'd
With Hector's fury, set our fleets on blaze?
You may, yourself, live to repent your mercy.
Comply then with the Grecians' just demands;
Satiate their vengeance, and preserve yourself.
Pyr. The Greeks are for my safety more con-

cern'd

Than I desire. I thought your kings were met
On more important counsel. When I heard
The name of their ambassador, I hop'd
Some glorious enterprise was taking birth.
Is Agamemnon's son dispatch'd for this?
And do the Grecian chiefs, renown'd in war,
A race of heroes, join in close debate,
To plot an infant's death? What right has Greece
To ask his life? Must I, must I alone,
Of all her scepter'd warriors, be deny'd
To treat my captive as I please? Know, prince,
When Troy lay smoking on the ground, and each
Proud victor shar'd the harvest of the war,
Andromache, and this her son, were mine;
Were mine by lot. And who shall wrest

Pyl. I dare not flatter your fond hopes so far; The king indeed, cold to the Spartan princess, Turns all his passion to Andromache, Hector's afflicted widow. But in vain, With interwoven love and rage, he sues The charming captive, obstinately cruel. Oft he alarms her for her child, confin'd Apart; and when her tears begin to flow, As soon he stops them, and recals his threats, Hermione a thousand times has seen His ill-requited vows return to her; And takes his indignation all for love. What can be gather'd from a man so various? He may, in the disorder of his soul, Ulysses bore away old Priam's queen; Wed her he hates, and punish her he loves. Cassandra was your own great father's prize. Ores. But tell me how the wrong'd Hermione Did I concern myself in what they won? 'Brooks her slow nuptials, and dishonour'd Did I send embassies to claim their captives? Ores. But, sir, we fear for you, and for

charms?

Pol. Hermione would fain be thought to

scorn

Her wavering lover, and disdain his falsehood;
But, spite of all her pride and conscious beauty,
She mourns in secret her neglected charms,
And oft has made me privy to her tears;
Still threatens to be gone, yet still she stays,
And sometimes sighs, and wishes for Orestes,
Ores. Ab, were those wishes from her heart,
my friend,

I'd fly in transport- [Flourish within.
Pyl. Hear! The king approaches
To give you audience. Speak your embassy
Without reserve: urge the demands of Greece,
And, in the name of all her kings, require
That Hector's son be given into your hands.
Pyrrhus, instead of granting what they ask,
To speed his love, and win the Trojan dame,
Will make it merit to preserve her son.
But, see: he comes!

Óres. Meanwhile, my Pylades,
Go, and dispose Hermione to see

Her lover, who is come thus far, to throw

them from me?

selves.

our

Troy may again revive, and a new Hector
Rise in Astyanax. Then think betimes—

Pyr. Let dastard souls be timorously wise:
But tell them, Pyrrhus knows not how to form
Far fancied ills, and dangers out of sight.

Ores. Sir, call to mind the unrivall'd strength
of Troy;

Her walls, her bulwarks, and her gates of brass;
Her kings, her heroes, and embattled armies.

Pyr. I call them all to mind; and see them all
Confus'd in dust; all mix'd in one wide ruin!
All but a child, and he in bondage held.
What vengeance can we fear from such a Troy?
If they have sworn to extinguish Hector's race,
Why was their vow for twelve long months

deferr'd?

Why was he not in Priam's bosom slain ?
He should have fall'n among the slaughter'd heaps,
Whelm'd under Troy. His death had then
been just.

My fury then was without bounds; but now,
My wrath appeas'd, must I be cruel still

And, deaf to all the tender calls of pity,
II
Like a cool murderer, bathe my hands in blood? I
An infant's blood? No, prince; go bid the
Greeks

Mark out some other victim; my revenge
Has had its fill. What has escap'd from Troy
Shall not be sav'd to perish in Epirus.

Ores. I need not tell you, sir, Astyanax
Was doom'd to death in Troy; nor mention how
The crafty mother sav'd her darling son.
The Greeks do now but urge their former sen-

[Exeunt Pyrrhus and Attendants. To search out my own thoughts, and sound Andro. T'll go, and in the anguish of my heart, Weep o'er my child; if he must die, my life Be blind to what thou seest: believe me cur'd: