Part 4 (2/2)

Will none relieve his want? A drop of water Might save his life; and even that's deny'd him.

_Eva._ These strong emotions--Oh! that eager air-- It is too much--a.s.sist me; bear me hence; And lay me down in peace.

_Eup._ His eyes are fix'd!

And those pale, quiv'ring lips! He clasps my hand: What, no a.s.sistance! Monsters, will you thus Let him expire in these weak, feeble arms?

_Enter PHILOTAS._

_Phil._ Those wild, those piercing shrieks will give th'alarm.

_Eup._ Support him; bear him hence; 'tis all I ask.

_Evan._ [_As he is carried off._] O Death! where art thou? Death, thou dread of guilt, Thou wish of innocence, affliction's friend, Tir'd nature calls thee; come, in mercy come, And lay me pillow'd in eternal rest.

My child--where art thou? give me; reach thy hand, Why dost thou weep?--My eyes are dry--Alas!

Quite parch'd, my lips--quite parch'd, they cleave together.

[_Exeunt._

_Enter ARCAS._

_Arcas._ The grey of morn breaks thro' yon eastern clouds.

'Twere time this interview should end: the hour Now warns Euphrasia hence: what man could dare, I have indulg'd--Philotas!--ha! the cell Left void!--Evander gone!--What may this mean?

Philotas, speak.

_Enter PHILOTAS._

_Phil._ Oh! vile, detested lot, Here to obey the savage tyrant's will, And murder virtue that can thus behold Its executioner, and smile upon him.

That piteous sight!

_Arcas._ She must withdraw, Philotas; Delay undoes us both. The restless main Glows with the blush of day.

The time requires Without or further pause, or vain excuse, That she depart this moment.

_Phil._ Arcas, yes; My voice shall warn her of th' approaching danger. [_Exit._

_Arcas._ 'Would she had ne'er adventur'd to our guard!

I dread th' event; and hark!--the wind conveys In clearer sound the uproar of the main.

The fates prepare new havoc; on th' event Depends the fate of empire. Wherefore thus Delays Euphrasia? Ha! what means, Philotas, That sudden haste, that pale, disorder'd look?

_Enter PHILOTAS._

_Phil._ O! I can hold no more; at such a sight Ev'n the hard heart of tyranny would melt To infant softness. Arcas, go, behold The pious fraud of charity and love; Behold that unexampled goodness; see Th' expedient sharp necessity has taught her; Thy heart will burn, will melt, will yearn to view A child like her.

_Arcas._ Ha!--say what mystery Wakes these emotions?

_Phil._ Wonder-working virtue!

The father foster'd at his daughter's breast!

O! filial piety!--The milk design'd For her own offspring, on the parent's lip Allays the parching fever.

_Arcas._ That device Has she then form'd, eluding all our care, To minister relief?

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