Enter EUMENES leading in PHOCYAS 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 moment "Forgetting all thy wrongs, in kind embraces "T'exchange forgiveness thus !

"Pho. Moments are few,

"And must not now be wasted. O, Eumenes,
"Lend me thy helping hand a little farther;
"O where, where is she?

Eum. Look, look here, Eudocia !

[They advance."

Behold a sight that calls for all our tears!

Eud. Phocyas, and wounded!-O what cruel hand

Pho. No, 't was a kind one

docia !

For mine are tears of joy.

Eud. Is 't possible?

-Spare thy tears, Eu

Pho. 'T is done the pow'rs supreme have heard

my prayʼr,

And prosper'd me with some fair deed this day.
I've fought once more, and for my friends, my country.
By me the treacherous chiefs are slain; a while
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't is thus that Heaven
At once chastises, and, I hope, accepts me ;
And now I wake as from the sleep of death.

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
Thro' passion's mists; my soul now gazes on thee,
And sees thee lovelier in unfading charms !
Bright as the shining angel host that stood-
-but there it smarts-

Whilst I

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 flattery now. By all my hopes hereafter,
For the world's empire I'd not lose this death!
Alas! I but keep in my fleeting breath

A few short moments, till I have conjur'd you
That to the world you witness my remorse

For my past errors, and defend my fame.

For know-soon as this pointed steel's drawn out
Life follows thro' the wound.

Eud. What dost thou say?

O touch not yet the broken springs of life!
A thousand tender thoughts rise in my soul.

How shall I give them words?

"I scarce have tasted woe

"To part-but, Oh!”.

"Oh, 'till this hour this is indeed

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.

Consents to this my vow.

My father too

"My vital flame "There, like a taper on the holy altar,

"Shall waste away; 'till Heaven 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 forgiven," And we shall meet again to part no more. Pho. [Plucking out the Arrow.] Then all is done 't was the last pang- -at length

I've given up thee, and the world now is-nothing. Eum. Alas! "he falls. Help, Artamon, support him. "Look how he bleeds! Let's lay him gently down?" Night gathers fast -look up, himOr speak, if thou hast life-Nay then-my daughter! She faints" Help there, and bear her to her tent." [Eudocia faints away.

upon

Art. [Weeping aside.] I thank ye, eyes! This is but decent tribute.

My heart was full before.

Eum. O Phocyas, Phocyas!

Alas! he hears not now, nor sees my sorrows!
Yet will I mourn for thee, thou gallant youth!
As for a son so let me call thee now.
A much-wrong'd friend, and an unhappy hero!
A fruitless zeal, yet all I now can show;
Tears vainly flow for errors learnt too late,
When timely caution should prevent our fate.

[Exeunt Omnes.

EPILOGUE.

WELL, sirs; you've seen, his passion to approve,
A desperate lover give up all for love,
All but his faith, Methinks now I can'spy,
Among you airy sparks, some who would cry,
Phoo, pox,-for that what need of such a pother?
For one faith left, he would have got another.
True: 't was your very case. Just what you say,
Our rebel fools were ripe for, t' other day;
Tho' disappointed now, they're wiser grown,

And with mnch grief-are forc'd to keep their own.
These generous madmen gratis sought their ruin,
And set no price, not they-on their undoing.
For gain, indeed, we've others would not dally,
Or with stale principles, stand shilly-shalli.-
You'll find all their religion in 'Change-Ally,
There all pursue, or better means or worse,
lago's rule Put money in your purse,"
For tho' you differ still in speculation,
For why-each head is wiser than the nation,
Th' points of faith for ever will divide you,
And bravely you declare-none e'er shall ride you.
In practice all agree, and every man,
Devoutly strives to get what wealth he can:
All parties at this golden altar bow,

Gain, powerful gain's the new religion now.