Meanwhile, each, as he can, forget his loss,
And bear the present lot-

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.

Eum. The prospect gives me much relief. I'm
pleas'd,

My honest countrymen, t'observe your numbers;
And yet it fills my eyes with tears-'Tis said,
The mighty Persian wept, when he survey'd
His numerous army, but to think them mortal;
Yet he then flourish'd in prosperity.

Alas! what's that?-Prosperity!—a harlot,
That smiles but to betray!

Hear me, all gracious Heaven,

Let me wear out my small remains of life
Obscure, content with humble poverty,

Or, in affliction's hard but wholesome school,

If it must be I'll learn to know myself,

And that's more worth than empire. But, O Heaven,
Curse me no more with proud prosperity!

It has undone me!-Herbis! where, my friend,
Hast thou been this long hour?

Enter HERBIS.

Herb. On yonder summit,

To take a farewell prospect of Damascus.
Eum. And it is worth a look?

Herb. No-I've forgot it.

All our possessions are a grasp of air:

We're cheated, whilst we think we hold them fast: And when they're gone, we know that they were nothing.

But I've a deeper wound.

Eum. Poor, good old man!

'Tis true-thy son-there thou'rt indeed unhappy.

Enter ARTA MON.

What, Artamon! art thou here, too?

Art. Yes, sir.

I never boasted much,

Yet I've some honour, and a soldier's pride;
I like not these new lords.

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
The flatterer hope is ready with his song,
To charm us to forgetfulness!-No more-
Let that be left to Heaven.-See, Herbis, see,
Methinks we've here a goodly city yet.
Was it not thus our great forefathers liv'd,
In better times-in humble fields and tents,
With all their flocks and herds, their moving wealth!
See, too, where our own Pharphar winds his stream
Through the long vale, as if to follow us,

And kindly offers his cool, wholesome draughts,
To ease us in our march !—Why, this is plenty.

Enter EUDOCIA,

My daughter!-wherefore hast thou left thy tent? What breaks so soon thy rest?

Eud. Rest is not there,

Or I have sought in vain, and cannot find it.
Oh, no!-we're wanderers, it is our doom;
There is no rest for us.

Eum. Thou art not well.

Eud. I would, if possible, avoid myself. I'm better now, near you.

Eum. Near me! alas,

The tender vine so wreathes its folded arms
Around some falling elm-It wounds my heart
To think thou follow'st but to share my ruin.
I have lost all but thee.

3

Eud. O, say not so!

You have lost nothing; no--you have preserv'd,
Immortal wealth, your faith inviolate

To Heaven and to your country.
Ruin is yonder, in Damascus, now
The seat abhorr'd of cursed infidels.
Infernal error, like a plague, has spread
Contagion through its guilty palaces,
And we are fled from death.

Eum. Heroic maid!

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;
Yes, we must all forgive each other now.
Poor Herbis, too-we both have been to blame.
O, Phocyas!-but it cannot be recall'd.

Yet, were he here, we'd ask him pardon too.
My child! I meant not to provoke thy tears.

Eud. [Aside.] 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?

Offi. I fear there's danger:

For, as I kept my watch, I spy'd afar

Thick clouds of dust, and, on a nearer view,
Perceiv'd a body of Arabian horse

Moving this way. I saw them wind the hill,
And then lost sight of them.

Herb. I saw them too,