Graham del.

MHOLMAN as HIPPOLITUS.
Hip. His idle horn on fragrant myrtles hung,
His arrows scatterd, and his bow unstrung:
London,Printed for G.Cawthorn,British Library, Strand.Aug 20.1796.

"Will you not go? then here I'll wait my doom.
"Come, raving Phædra; bloody Lycon come!
"I offer to your rage this worthless life,
"Since 'tis no longer my Ismena's care.”

Ism. Oh! haste away, my lord; I go, I fly, Through all the dangers of the boist'rous deep: When the wind whistles through the crackling masts, When through the yawning ship the foaming sea Rowls bubbling in; then, then I'll clasp thee fast, And in transporting love forget my fear. Oh! I will wander through the Scythian gloom,

O'er ice, and hills of everlasting snow;

There, when the horrid darkness shall inclose us, When the bleak wind shall chill my shiv'ring limbs, Thou shalt alone supply the distant sun,

And chear my gazing eyes, and warm my heart.
Hip. Come, let's away, and, like another Jason,
I'll bear my beauteous conquest through the seas:
A greater treasure, and a nobler prize

Than he from Colchis bore. Sleep, sleep in peace,
Ye monsters of the woods, on Ida's top
Securely roam; no more my early horn
Shall wake the lazy day. Transporting love
Reigns in my heart, and makes me all its own.
So, when bright Venus yielded up her charms,
The blest Adonis languish'd in her arms;
His idle horn on fragrant myrtles hung,
His arrows scatter'd, and his bow unstrung:
Obscure in coverts lie his dreaming hounds,

And bay the fancy'd boar with feeble sounds;
For nobler sports he quits the savage fields,
And all the hero to the lover yields.

[Exeunt.

ACT III. SCENE 1.

LYCON and Guards enter.

Lycon.

HEAV'N is at last appeas'd: the pitying gods
Have hear'd our wishes, and auspicious Jove
Smiles on his native isle; for Phædra lives,
Restor❜d to Crete, and to herself, she lives:

Joy with fresh strength inspires her drooping limbs,
"Revives her charms," and o'er her faded cheeks
Spreads "
a fresh" rosy bloom : "as kindly springs
"With genial heat renew the frozen earth,
"And paint its smiling face with gaudy flow'rs.
"But see she comes, the beauteous Phædra comes.

PHEDRA, and four Ladies, enter.

"How her eyes sparkle! how their radiant beams "Confess their shining ancestor the sun!" Your charms to day will wound despairing crowds, And give the pains you suffer'd: nay, Hippolitus, The fierce, the brave, th' insensible Hippolitus, Shall pay a willing homage to your beauty, And in his turn adore.-

Phaed. 'Tis flatt'ry all.

Yet when you name the prince, that flatt'ry's pleasing;
You wish it so; poor good old man, you wish it.
The fertile province of Cydonia's thine :

Is there aught else? has happy Phædra aught
In the wide circle of her far-stretch'd empire?
Ask, take, my friend, secure of no repulse.
Let spacious Crete through all her hundred cities
Resound her Phædra's joy. "Let altars smoak,
"And richest gums, and spice, and incense roll
"Their fragrant wreaths to Heav'n, to pitying Heav'n,
"Which gives Hippolitus to Phædra's arms.
"Set all at large, and bid the loathsome dungeons
"Give up the meagre slaves that pine in darkness
"And waste in grief, as did despairing Phædra :
"Let them be cheer'd, let the starv'd prisoners riot,
"And glow with gen'rous wine."-Let sorrow cease.
Let none be wretched, none, since Phædra's happy.
"But now he comes, and with an equal passion
"Rewards my flame, and springs into my arms!"

A Messenger enters.

Say, where's the prince ?

Mess. He's no where to be found.

Phaed. Perhaps, he hunts.

Mess. He hunted not to-day.

Phaed. Ha! have you search'd the walks, the courts,

the temples?

Mess. Search'd all in vain.

Phaed. Did he not hunt to-day?

Alas! you told me once before he did not: [Exit Mess. My heart misgives me.

Lyc." So indeed doth mine." Then my fears were

true.

Phaed. Could he deceive me? could that godlike youth

Design the ruin of a queen that loves?

Oh! he's all truth; his words, his looks, his eyes,
Open to view his inmost thoughts.- -He comes.
Ha! who art thou? whence com'st thou? where's
Hippolitus?

A Messenger enters.

Mess. Madam, Hippolitus with fair Ismena Drove tow'rd the port.

Phaed. With fair Ismena!

Curst be her cruel beauty, curst her charms, Curst all her soothing, fatal, false endearments. "That heav'nly virgin, that exalted goodness, "Could see me tortur'd with despairing love, "With artful tears could mourn my monstrous suff 'rings,

"While her base malice plotted my destruction." Lyc. A thousand reasons crowd upon my soul, That evidence their love.

"Phaed. Yes, yes, they love;

"Why else should he refuse my profer'd bed?

"Why should one warm'd with youth, and thirst of

glory,

"Disdain a soul, a form, a crown like mine?