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Then thou wilt pity me-O generous maid!

Thou hast charm'd down the rage that swell'd my heart,

And chok'd my voice--nowI can speak to thee.
And yet 'tis worse than death, what I have suffer'd;
It is the death of honour !-Yet that's little;
'Tis more, Eudocia, 'tis the loss of thee!

Eud. Hast thou not conquer'd-What are all these shouts,

This voice of general joy, heard far around What are these fires, that cast their glimmering light

Against the sky? Are not all these thy triumphs! Pho. O name not triumph! Talk no more of conquest!

It is indeed a night of general joy;
But not to me? Eudocia, I am come
To take a last farewell of thee for ever.
Eud. A last farewell!

Pho. Yes ;-
-How wilt thou hereafter
Look on a wretch despis'd, revil'd, cashier'd,
Stript of command, like a base, beaten coward?
Thy cruel father——I have told too much ;
I should not but for this have felt the wounds
I got in fight for him-now, now they bleed!
But I have done-and now thou hast my story,
Is there a creature so accurst as Phocyas?

Eud. And can it be ?-Is this then thy reward?
O Phocyas! never wouldst thou tell me yet,
That thou hadst wounds; now I must feel them too.
For is it not for me thou hast borne this?
What else could be thy crime? Wert thou a traitor,
Hadst thou betray'd us, sold us to the foe--
Pho. Would I be yet a traitor, I have leave;
Nay, I am dar'd to it, with mocking scorn.
My crime indeed was asking thee; that only
Has cancell'd all, if I had any merit!
The city now is safe, my service slighted,

And I discarded, like an useless thing,

Nay, bid begone-And if I like that better,

Seek out new friends, and join yon barbarous host! Eud. Hold-let me think a while

Tho' my heart bleed,

[Walks aside.

I would not have him see these dropping tears-
And wilt thou go, then, Phocyas ?

Pho. To my grave;

Where can I bury else this foul disgrace?

Eud. Art thou sure

Thou hast been us'd thus ? art thou quite undone? Pho. Yes, very sure- -What dost thou mean? Eud. That then, it is a time for me-O, Heaven! that I

Alone am grateful to this wondrous man!

To own thee, Phocyas, thus-[Giving her Hand.] nay, glory in thee,

And show, without a blush, how much I love.
We must not part-

Pho. Then I am rich again! [Embracing her.
O, no, we will not part! Confirm it, Heaven!
Now thou shalt see how I will bend my spirit,
With what soft patience I will bear my wrongs,
Till I have weary'd out thy father's scorn:
Yet I have worse to tell thee-Eutyches-
Eud. Why wilt thou name him ?
Pho. Now, even now, he's coming!
Just hovering o'er thee, like a bird of prey :
Thy father vows-for I must tell thee all-
'Twas this that wrung my heart, and rack'd my
brain,

Even to distraction !-vows thee to his bed;
Nay, threaten'd force, if thou refuse obedience.
Eud. Force threaten'd force !-my father-—
where is nature !

Is that, too, banish'd from his heart!— then

I have no father-How have I deserv'd this ?

[Weeping. No home, but am henceforth an outcast orphan; For I will wander to earth's utmost bounds, Ere give my hand to that detested contract. O, save me, Phocyas! thou hast sav’d Must I yet call him so, this cruel fatherHow wilt thou now deliver poor Eudocia?

my

father

Pho. See, how we're join'd in exile! How our .
fate

Conspires to warn us both to leave this city!
Thou know'st the emperor is now at Antioch;
I have an uncle there, who when the Persian,
As now the Saracen, had nigh o'errun

The ravag'd empire, did him signal service,
And nobly was rewarded. There, Eudocia,
Thou mightst be safe, and I may meet with justice.
Eud. There-any where, so we may fly this place.
See, Phocyas, what thy wrongs and mine have
wrought,

In a weak woman's frame ! for I have courage
To share thy exile now, thro' ev'ry danger.
Danger is only here, and dwells with guilt,
With base ingratitude, and hard oppression.

Pho. Then let us lose no time, but hence, this night.

The gates I can command, and will provide
The means of our escape. Some five hours hence,
"Twill then be turn'd of midnight, we may meet
In the piazza of Honoria's convent.

Eud. I know it well; the place is most secure,
And near adjoining to this garden wall.

There thou shalt find me—Oh, protect us, Heaven!
Pho. Fear not; thy innocence will be our guard;
Some pitying angel will attend thy steps,
Guide thee unseen, and charm the sleeping foe,
Till thou art safe! Oh, I have suffer'd nothing,
Thus gaining thee, and this great generous proof

How blest I am in my Eudocia's love!
My only joy, farewell !

Eud. Farewell, my Phocyas!

I have no friend but thee-yet thee I'll call
Friend, father, lover, guardian !-Thou art all!

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

[Exeunt

CALED's Tent.

Enter CALED and ATTENDANTS. SERGIUS held by Two GUARDS, bound with Cords.

Ser. Oh, mercy, mercy

!

Cal. Mercy! what's that?-Look, yonder on the field Of our late fight! Go, talk of mercy there. Will the dead hear thy voice?

Ser. O spare me yet.

Cal. Thou wretch !-Spare thee; to what? To live in torture!

Are not thy limbs all bruis'd, thy bones disjointed, To force thee to confess? and wouldst thou drag, Like a crush'd serpent, a vile, mangled being? abhor a coward-Hence, and die!

My eyes

Ser. Oh! I have told thee all-When first pursu'd, I fix'd my letters on an arrow's point,

And shot them o'er the walls

Cal. Hast thou told all?

Well, then thou shalt have mercy to requite thee;
Behold I'll send thee forward on thy errand.
Strike off his head; then cast it o'er the gates!
There let thy tongue tell o'er its tale again!

Ser. O, bloody Saracens !

[Exit SERGIUS, dragged away by the GUARDS.

Enter ABUDAH.

Cal. Abudah, welcome!

Abu. O Caled, what an evening was the last!
Cal. Name it no more; remembrance sickens with

it,

And therefore sleep is banish'd from this night;
Nor shall to-morrow's sun open his eye

Upon our shame, ere doubly we've redeem'd it.
Have all the captains notice?

Abu. I have walk'd

The rounds to-night, ere the last hour of prayer,
From tent to tent, and warn'd them to be ready.
What must be done!

Cal. Thou know'st th' important news,
Which we have intercepted by this slave,
Of a new army's march. The time now calls,
While these soft Syrians are dissolv'd in riot,
Fool'd with success, and not suspecting danger,
To form a new attack ere break of day;
So, like the wounded leopard, shall we rush
From out our covers on these drowsy hunters,
And seize them, unprepar'd to 'scape our vengeance.
Abu. Great captain of the armies of the faithful!
I know thy mighty and unconquer'd spirit;
Yet hear me, Caled, hear and weigh my doubts,
Our angry prophet frowns upon our vices,
And visits us in blood. Why else did terror,
Unknown before, seize all our stoutest bands?
The angel of destruction was abroad;
The archers of the tribe of Thoal fled,
So long renown'd, or spent their shafts in vain;
The feather'd flights err'd thro' the boundless air,
Or the death turn'd on him that drew the bow!
What can this bode?-Let me speak plainer yet;

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