ACT THE FIFTH.

SCENE I.

An open place in the City.

Enter CALED and DARAN meeting.

Caled. Soldier, what news? thou look'st as thou

wert angry.

Dar. And, durst I say it, so, my chief, I am; I've spoke--If it offends, my head is thine, Take it, and I am silent.

Cal. No, say on.

I know thee honest, and perhaps I guess
What knits thy brows in frowns-

Dar. Is this, my leader,

A conquer'd city?-View yon vale of palms :
Behold the vanquish'd christian triumph still,
Rich in his flight, and mocks thy barren war.
Cal. The vale of palms !

Dar. Beyond those hills, the place
Where they agreed this day to meet and halt,
To gather all their forces; there disguis'd,
Just now I've view'd their camp-O, I could curse
My eyes for what they've seen.

Cal. What hast thou seen?

Dar. Why, all Damascus :-All its souls, its

life,

Its heart blood, all its treasure, piles of plate,

Crosses enrich'd with gems, arras and silks,

And vests of gold, unfolded to the sun,
That rival all his lustre !

Cal. How!

Dar. 'Tis true.

The bees are wisely bearing off their honey,
And soon the empty hive will be our own.

Cal. So forward too! Curse on this foolish treaty ! Dar. Forward--it looks as if they had been forewarn'd.

By Mahomet, the land wears not the face

Of war, but trade! and thou wouldst swear its merchants

Were sending forth their loaded caravans

To all the neighb'ring countries.

Cal. Dogs infidels ! 'tis more than was allow'd! Dar. And shall we not pursue them-Robbers! thieves !

That steal away themselves, and all they're worth, And wrong the valiant soldier of his due ?

Cal. [Aside.] The caliph shall know this-he shall.
Abudah,

This is thy coward bargain-I renounce it,
Daran, we'll stop their march, and search.

Dar. And strip

Cal. And kill.

Dar. That's well. And yet I fear Abudah's christian friend

Cal. If possible,

He should not know of this. No, nor Abudah :
By the seven heavens, his soul's a christian too!
And 'tis by kindred instinct he thus saves

Their cursed lives, and taints our cause with mercy.
Dar. I knew my general would not suffer this,
Therefore I've troops prepar'd without the gate;
Just mounted for pursuit. Our Arab horse
Will in few minutes reach the place; yet still
I must repeat my doubts-that devil Phocyas

Will know it soon-I met him near the gate :
My nature sickens at him, and forbodes
I know not what of ill,

Cal. No more, away

With thy cold fears-we'll march this very instant, And quickly make this thriftless conquest good: The sword too has been wrong'd, and thirsts for blood. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Valley full of Tents; Baggage and Harness lying up and down amongst them. The Prospect terminating with Palm Trees and Hills at a Distance.

Enter EUMENES, with OFFICERS and ATTENDANTS.

Eum. [Entering.] Sleep on-and angels be thy guard!-soft slumber

Has gently stole her from her griefs awhile,

Let none approach the tent-Are out guards plac'd On yonder hills? [To an OFFICER.

Offi. They are.

Eum. [Striking his Breast.] Damascus, O-Still art thou here !-Let me intreat you, friends, To keep strict order; I have no command,

And can but now advise you.

Offi. You are still

Our head and leader.

We're all prepar'd to follow you.

Eum. I thank you.

The sun will soon go down upon our sorrows,
And, till to-morrow's dawn, this is our home:

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 ARTAMON.

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.