Hear! and record the purpose of my soul !' With trembling lips then kissed the sacred vase, And, as our country's solemn rites require, Drank of the hallowed liquor. From her hand The king received it, and, with eager joy, As to his soul he took the nectared draught, With stedfast eye she viewed him, whilst a smile Of sickly joy gleamed faintly o'er her visage. Tig. Well, she's our queen-the diadem is her's

Zop. How long to wear it, Heaven alone can tell.

SCENE II.-The back scene draws, and discovers the king's pavilion, with an altar, and fire blazing on it; soft music is played, and they come forward.

Enter PHARASMENES and ZENOBIA. Phar. At length my Ariana's soft compliance Endears the present bliss, and gives an earnest Of joy, to brighten a long train of years.

Zen. Alas! fond man expatiates oft in fancy, Unconscious of the fates, and oft, in thought, Anticipates a bliss he ne'er enjoys.

Phar. Away with gloomy care, for thou art
mine;

Thou, Ariana! all our future days
Shall smile with gay, with ever-young desire,
And not a cloud o'er-cast the bright serene.
Zen. And does thy penetrating eye pervade
What time has yet in store?

Phar. Why dost thou ask?

Zen. I have been used to grief-release the
Roman,

And give him hence safe conduct to his friends;
I then shall be at peace.

Phar. Beware, beware!
Nor rouse again the pangs, that fire a soul,
Which fiercely doats like mine.

Zen. Dismiss him hence;
Give him his life-it was your marriage vow
He should not suffer-let me see him first;
Grant me one interview, one little hour;
In that poor space I can crowd all that's left me
Of love, and tenderness, and fond concern,
Before we part for ever-

Phar. Fond concern!

And love, and tenderness! and shall the Roman Usurp a monarch's due? that look betrays The secret workings of a heart estranged! And shall the man, who dares dispute my love, Shall the slave breathe a moment? Haste, Tigranes,

And see immediate execution on him.

[Exit TIGRANES. Zen. Oh! stay, Tigranes-barbarous man,

recall

Zen. You shall not fly meNow tear me, drag me, grovelling in the dust, Tear off these hands-tear, tear me piece-meal

first

Phar. Nay, then, since force must do it-
[Shakes her off.

Zen. Barbarous tyrant!

[She lies stretched on the ground. Phar. I go to see the minion of your heart Expire in pangs before me-ha! what means This more than winter's frost that chills my veins! Zen. [Looking up. That groan revives, and

calls me back to life!

Phar. I cannot move-each vital function's lost

The purple current of my blood is stoptI freeze-I burn-Oh! 'tis the stroke of death[Falls on the ground. Zen. [Rising.] Yes, tyrant, yes; it is the stroke of death,

And I inflict it-I have done it all

Phar. Pernicious traitress! thou!
Zen. My vengeance did it—
Zenobia's vengeance! 'tis Zenobia strikes!
Zenobia executes her justice on thee!

Phar. Oh! dire, accurst event! art thou Zenobia?

Zen. Yes, thou fell monster, know me for Ze-
nobia!

Know, the ambassador is Rhadamistus!
Haste thee, Zopiron, and proclaim him king.

Phar. May curses light upon thee-
die!

And racks and wheels disjoint me

Zen. Writhe in torment,

[Exit Zop. -Oh! I

In fiercer pangs than my dear father knew.
But I revenge his death-I dashed the cup
With precious poison !-[A flourish of trumpets.]
-ha! now, tyrant, wake,

And hear those sounds-my Rhadamistus reigns! Phar. What, and no help! it is too late-the fates,

The fiends surround me-more than Ætna's fires
Burn in my veins--yet Heaven--no-'tis in vain-
I cannot rise-my crimes--my ten-fold crimes--
They pull me! oh!--
[Dies.

Zen. There fled the guilty spirit!
Shade of my father, view your daughter now!
Behold her struggling in a righteous cause!
Behold her conquering in the tyrant's camp!
Behold your murderer levelled in the dust!

[A second flourish of trumpets. Rhad. [Within the scenes.] Where is Zenobia? Zen. Rhadamistus, here!

Revive, my love! thy Rhadamistus thus,
Thus calls your fluttering spirit back to life!

Zen. It will not be---the toil of life is o'erMy Rhadamistus- [Sinks down on the ground. Rhad. Must I lose thee, then?

Zen. Oh! the envenomed cup! the marriage rites

Required that I should drink it first myself--
There was no other way--I did it freely
To save thy life-to save thee for my child.-

Rhad. Árt thou a victim for a wretch like me?
Is there no antidote to stop the course
Of this vile poison?

Zen. None--it rages now

It rages through my veins my eyes grow dim

They are lost in darkness-oh! I cannot see thee

Where art thou, Rhadamistus? must I breathe
Longer in life, and never see thee more!
And are my eyes forbid one dear farewell?
Oh! cruel stars! must they not fix on thee
The last expiring glance!

Rhad. Relentless powers!

ZOPIRON, &c.

Call every angel down; bid them behold
That matchless excellence, and then refuse
Soft pity if they can!

Zen. Megistus, seek my child,
And bring him to his father-Rhadamistus,
Wilt thou protect him? My sweet orphan-babe,
I leave thee, too!--oh!-train him up in vir-

Love shall unite us in one peaceful grave.
Meg. Now, old Megistus, gods! has lived too
long!

Ter. Bring every aid, all medicinal skill,
To call a wretched brother back to life,
And give each lenient balm to woes like his.
From thee, ambition, what misfortunes flow,
To thee, what varied ills weak mortals owe!
'Twas this for years laid desolate the land,
And armed against a son the father's hand;
To black despair poor lost Zenobia drove;
The hapless victim of disastrous love!-

[Exeunt omnes.

6

[She peeps through the curtain. How do you all, good folks? In tears for certain, I'll only take a peep behind the curtain.' You're all so full of tragedy and sadness, For me to come among ye, would be madness: This is no time for giggling--when you've leisure, Call out for me, and I'll attend your pleasure; As soldiers hurry at the beat of drum, Beat but your hands, that instant I will come. [She enters upon their clapping. This is so good to call me out so soon!The Comic Muse by me intreats a boon; She call'd for Pritchard, her first maid of honour, And begg'd of her to take the task upon her; But she,-I'm sure you'll all be sorry for❜t, Resigns her place, and soon retires from court: To bear this loss we courtiers make a shift, When good folks leave us, worse may have a lift. The Comic Muse, whose every smile is grace, And her stage sister, with her tragic face, Have had a quarrel-each has writ a case; And on their friends assembled now I wait, To give you of their difference a true state. Melpomene complains, when she appears, For five good acts, in all her pomp of tears, To raise your souls, and with their raptures wing 'em,

Nay, wet your handkerchiefs, that you may wring 'em,

Some flippant hussey, like myself, comes in,
Crack goes her fan, and, with a giggling grin,

Hey! Presto pass!-all topsey turvy see,
For Ho, ho, ho! is changed for He, he, he!
We own the fault, but 'tis a fault in vogue,
'Tis theirs who call and bawl for- Epilogue!
Oh, shame upon you--for the time to come,
Know better--and go miserable home.
What says our comic goddess?-with reproaches
She vows her sister Tragedy encroaches!
And, spite of all her virtue and ambition,
Is known to have an am'rous disposition:
For in False Delicacy' wond'rous sly,
Join'd with a certain Irishman-O fye!
She made you, when you ought to laugh,
cry-

Her sister's smiles with tears she sought to smother,

Rais'd such a tragi-comic kind of pother,
You laugh'd with one eye, while you cried with

t'other.

[Peeping in at the Stage Door. HIP! music! music!-Have you more to play? Somewhat I'd offer-stop your catgut, pray, Will you permit, and not pronounce me rude, A bookseller one moment to intrude? My name is Foolscap all my trouble's past, Fortune hath given me a rare helping cast. To all my toils a wife hath put a stop: A devil first; but now I keep a shop. My master died, poor man! he's out of print! His widow, she had eyes, and took my hint. A prey to grief she could not bear to be, And so turn'd over a new leaf with me.

I drive a trade; have authors in my pay, Men of all work, per week, per sheet, per day. Trav❜llers, who not one foreign country know, And past'ral poets-in the sound of Bow; Translators, from the Greek they never read; Cantabs and Sophs, in Covent-Garden bred; Historians, who can't write, who only take Scissars and paste; cut, vamp; a book they make. I've treated for this play; can buy it too, If I could learn what you intend to do. If, for nine nights, you'll hear this tragic stuff; I have a newspaper, and there can puff.

A newspaper does wonders! none can be
In debt, in love, dependent, or quite free;
Ugly, or handsome, well, or ill in bed;
Single, or married, or alive, or dead,

But we give life, death, virtue, vice, with ease;
In short, a newspaper does what we please.
There jealous authors at each other bark;
Till truth leaves not one glimpse, no, not
one spark;

But lies meet lies, and jostle in the dark.
Our bard within has often felt the dart
Sent from our quiver, levelled at his heart.
I've press'd him, ere he plays this desperate game,
To answer all, and vindicate his name.
But he, convinc'd that all but truth must die,
Leaves to its own mortality the lie.
Would any know while parties fight pell mell,
How he employs his pen?-his play will tell.
To that he trusts; that he submits to you,
Aim'd at your tenderest feelings; moral, new.
The scenes, he hopes, will draw the heart-felt
tear;

Scenes that come home to every bosom here.

If this will do, I'll run and buy it straight; Stay, let me see; I think I'd better wait: Yes, I'll lie snug, till you have fix'd its fate,

SCENE I.

Enter MELANTHON and PHILOTAS.

Melan. Yet, a moment; hear, Philotas, hear me. Phil. No more; it must not be.

Melan. Obdurate man!

Thus wilt thou spurn me, when a king distressed,
A good, a virtuous, venerable king,
The father of his people, from a throne,
Which long, with every virtue he adorned,
Torn by a ruffian, by a tyrant's hand,
Groans in captivity? In his own palace
Lives a sequestered prisoner? Oh! Philotas,
If thou hast not renounced humanity,
Let me behold my sovereign; once again
Admit me to his presence; let me see
My royal master.

Phil. Urge thy suit no further;

Thy words are fruitless; Dionysius' orders
Forbid access; he is our sovereign now;
'Tis his to give the law, mine to obey.

To hurl ambition from a throne usurped,
And bid all Sicily resume her rights.

Phil. Thou wert a statesman once, Melanthon;

now,

Grown dim with age, thy eye pervades no more
The deep-laid schemes which Dionysius plans.
Know then, a fleet from Carthage even now
Stems the rough billow; and, ere yonder sun,
That, now declining, seeks the western wave,
Shall to the shades of night resign the world,
Thou'lt see the Punic sails in yonder bay,
Whose waters wash the walls of Syracuse.
Melan. Art thou a stranger to Timoleon's
name?

Intent to plan, and circumspect to see
All possible events, he rushes on

Resistless in his course! Your boasted master
Scarce stands at bay; each hour the strong block-

ade

the law!

Detested spoiler !-his! a vile usurper!
Have we forgot the elder Dionysius,
Surnamed the tyrant? To Sicilia's throne

The monster waded through whole seas of blood.
Sore groaned the land beneath his iron rod,
Till, roused at length, Evander came from Greece,
Like Freedom's genius came, and sent the tyrant,
Stripped of the crown, and to his humble rank
Once more reduced, to roam, for vile subsistence,
A wandering sophist through the realms of Greece.

Phil. Melanthon, yes: full clearly I remember The splendid day, when all rejoicing Sicily

Hailed her deliverer.

Melan. Shall the tyrant's son
Deduce a title from the father's guilt?
Philotas, thou wert once the friend of goodness;
Thou art a Greek; fair Corinth gave thee birth;
I marked thy growing youth: I need not tell,
With what an equal sway Evander reigned,
How just, how upright, generous, and good!
From every region bards and sages came;
Whate'er of science Egypt stored,

All that the east had treasured, all that Greece
Of moral wisdom taught, and Plato's voice,
Was heard in Sicily. Shall Dionysius
Extinguish every virtue from the land,
Bow to his yoke the necks of freeborn men,
And here perpetuate a tyrant's reign?

Phil. Whate'er his right, to him, in Syracuse, All bend the knee; his the supreme dominion, And death and torment wait his sovereign nod. Melan. But soon that power shall cease: be

hold his walls

Now close encircled by the Grecian bands; Timoleon leads them on; indignant Corinth Sends her avenger forth, arrayed in terror,

Phil. Alas! Evander

Will ne'er behold the golden time you look for! Melan. How! not behold it! Say, Philotas, speak;

Has the fell tyrant, have his felon murderers— Phil. As yet, my friend, Evander lives. Melan. And yet,

Thy dark half-hinted purpose-lead me to him; If thou hast murdered him

Phil. By Heaven, he lives!

Melan. Then bless me with one tender inter

view!

Thrice has the sun gone down, since last these

eyes

Have seen the good old king; say, why is this?
Wherefore debarred his presence? Thee, Philotas,
The troops obey, that guard the royal prisoner;
Each avenue to thee is open; thou

Can'st grant admittance; let me, let me see him!
Phil. Entreat no more; the soul of Dionysius
Is ever wakeful; rent with all the pangs
That wait on conscious guilt.

Melan. But when dun night

Phil. Alas! it cannot be: but mark my words. Let Greece urge on her general assault. Dispatch some friend, who may o'erleap the walls,

And tell Timoleon, the good old Evander
Has lived three days, by Dionysius' order,
Locked up from every sustenance of nature,
And life, now wearied out, almost expires.
Metan. If any spark of virtue dwells within
thee,

Lead me, Philotas, lead me to his prison.
Phil. The tyrant's jealous care hath moved
him thence.

Melan. Ha! moved him, say'st thou ?