Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

Herb. [Aside.] Heaven, I thank thee! "Twas even beyond my hopes.

Eum. But where is Sergius?

Mess. The letter, fasten'd to an arrow's head, Was shot into the town.

Eum. I fear, he's taken

O Phocyas, Herbis, Artamon! my friends!
You all are sharers in this news; the storm
Is blowing o'er, that hung like night upon us,
And threaten'd deadly ruin--Haste, proclaim
The welcome tidings loud through all the city.
Let sparkling lights be seen from every turret,
To tell our joy, and spread their blaze to heaven.
Prepare for feasts; danger shall wait at distance,
And fear be now no more. The jolly soldier
And citizen shall meet o'er their full bowls,
Forget their toils, and laugh their cares away,
And mirth and triumphs close this happy day.

[Exeunt HERBIS and ARTAMON. Pho. And may succeeding days prove yet more happy!

Well dost thou bid the voice of triumph sound
Thro' all our streets; our city calls thee father:
And say, Eumenes, dost thou not perceive
A father's transport rise within thy breast,
Whilst in this act thou art the hand of Heaven,
To deal forth blessings, and distribute joy?

Eum. The blessings, Heaven bestows, are freely
sent,

And should be freely shar'd.

Pho. True--Generous minds
Redoubled feel the pleasure they impart.
For me, if I've deserv'd by arms or counsels,
By hazards gladly sought, and greatly prosper'd,
Whate'er I've added to the public stock,

With joy I see it in Eumenes' hands,

And wish but to receive my share from thee.
Eum. I cannot, if I would, withhold thy share,

What thou hast done is thine, the fame thy own;
And virtuous actions will reward themselves.

Pho. Fame-What is that, if courted for herself? Less than a vision ; a mere sound, an echo,

That calls with mimic voice, thro' woods and la. byrinths,

Her cheated lovers; lost and heard by fits,
But never fix'd: a seeming nymph, yet nothing.
Virtue indeed is a substantial good,

A real beauty; yet with weary steps,

Thro' rugged ways, by long, laborious service,
When we have trac'd, and woo'd, and won the dame,
May we not then expect the dower she brings?
Eum. Well-ask that dowry; say, can Damas-
cus pay it?

Her riches shall be tax'd, name but the sum,
Her merchants with some costly gems shall grace
thee;

Nor can Heraclius fail to grant thee honours,
Proportion'd to thy birth and thy desert.

Pho. And can Eumenes think I would be brib'd By trash, by sordid gold, to venal virtue !

What! serve my country for the same mean hire,
That can corrupt each villain to betray her?
Why is she say'd from these Arabian spoilers,
If to be stripp'd by her own sons?Forgive me
If the thought glows on my cheeks! I know
Twas mention'd but to prove how much I scorn it.
Yes, Eumenes,

I have ambition-yet the vast reward

That swells my hopes, and equals all my wishes,
Is in thy gift alone--it is Eudocia.

Eum. Eudocia ! Phocyas, I am yet thy friend,
And therefore will not hold thee long in doubt.
Thou must not think of her.

Pho. Not think of her!

Impossible. She's ever present to me,
My life, my soul! She animates my being,

And kindles up my thoughts to worthy actions.
And why, Eumenes, why not think of her?
Is not my rank-

Eum. Forbear--What need a herald,
To tell me who thou art ?—Yet once again-
Since thou wilt force me to a repetition,
I say, thou must not think of her.

My choice has destin'd her to Eutyches ?

Pho. And has she then consented to that choice? Eum. Has she consented !-What is her consent? Is she not mine?

Pho. She is and, in that title,

Even kings with envy may behold thy wealth,
And think their kingdoms poor!and yet, Eu

menes,

Shall she, by being thine, be barr'd a privilege
Which even the meanest of her sex may claim?
Thou wilt not force her?

Eum. Who has told thee so?

I'd force her to be happy.

Pho. That thou canst not.

What happiness subsists in loss of freedom?

Eum. 'Tis well, young man-Why then, I'll learn

from thee

To be a very tame, obedient father.

Thou hast already taught my child her duty.
I find the source of all her disobedience,
Her hate of me, her scorn of Eutyches;
Was this the spring of thy romantic bravery,
Thy boastful merit, thy officious service?

Pho. It was with pride I own it-'twas Eudocia.
I have serv'd thee in serving her, thou know'st it;
Why wilt thou force me thus to be a braggart,
And tell thee that which thou shouldst tell thyself?
It grates my soul-I am not wont to talk thus.
But I recall my words-I have done nothing,
And would disclaim all merit, but my love.

Eum. O no-say on, that thou hast sav'd Damascus ;

Is it not so ?

-Look o'er her battlements,

See if the flying foe have left their camp!

Why are our gates yet clos'd, if thou hast freed us? Tis true, thou'st fought a skirmish--What of that?

Had Eutyches been present-
Pho. Eutyches!

Why wilt thou urge my temper with that trifler?
O let him come ! that in yon spacious plain
We may together charge the thickest ranks,
Rush on to battle, wounds, and glorious death,
And prove who 'twas that best deserv'd Eudocia.
Eum. That will be seen ere long-But, since I
find

Thou arrogantly wouldst usurp dominion,
Believ'st thyself the guardian genius here,

And that our fortunes hang upon thy sword;
Be that first try'd-for know, that from this moment,
Thou here hast no command-Farewell!-So stay,
Or hence, and join the foe-thou hast thy choice.
[Exit EUMENEs.

Pho. Spurn'd and degraded !-Proud, ungrateful

man!

Am I a bubble then, blown up by thee,

And toss'd into the air, to make thee sport?
Hence to the foe! "Tis well--Eudocia,
Oh, I will see thee, thou wrong'd excellence!
But how to speak thy wrongs, or my disgrace-
Impossible! Oh rather let me walk,

Like a dumb ghost, and burst my heart in silence.

[Exit.

D

SCENE II.

The Garden.

Enter EUDOCIA.

Eud. Why must we meet by stealth, like guilty

lovers?

But 'twill not long be so

-What joy 'twill be

To own my hero in his ripen'd honours,

And hear applauding crowds pronounce me blest!
Sure he'll be here-See the fair rising moon,
Ere day's remaining twilight scarce is spent,
Hangs up her ready lamp, and with mild lustre
Drives back the hovering shade! Come, Phocyas,

come;

This gentle season is a friend to love;

And now methinks I could with equal passion,
Meet thine, and tell thee all my secret soul.

Enter PHOCYAS.

He hears me- -O my Phocyas !-What-not an

swer!

Art thou not he; or art some shadow-Speak. Pho. I am indeed a shadow-I am nothing

Eud. What dost thou mean? For now I know thee Phocyas.

Pho. And never can be thine!

It will have vent-O barbarous, curst-but hold-
I had forgot-It was Eudocia's father!

O, could I too forget how he has us'd me !
Eud. I fear to ask thee-

Pho. Dost thou fear?--Alas,

« ZurückWeiter »