 | The Works of William Mason |  |
SCENE VIII.
PHAON.What do I see? a rival at her feet!
He clasps her hand, devours it with his kisses.
Rouse thee, rash Swain, and stand prepar'd to meet
An injur'd lover's fury.
[Lycidas rushes from behind the Bower.
Lyc.
Stand there first,
And meet the fury of that injur'd lover
Who first has right of vengeance!
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Him I've caught
In am'rous dalliance; he shall first be punish'd,
Thee I can scorn at leisure.
[He runs at Sappho, strikes her on the breast, she falls.
Dor.
Stay thee, Phaon.
Ah me! the shepherd swoons. Good Lycidas
Prevent a deadlier blow.
[Lycidas seizes the crook of Sappho, and stands before the Bower to guard it, while Doris kneels and supports her.
Lyc.
Base Murderer, pause!
In me behold a man, whose firmer arm
Is brac'd to meet thy prowess, vile Assassin,
I dare thee to the combat!
Pha.
No, poor Shepherd,
Thy heart enough is wounded! Hie thee hence:
My wrath shall not assist the scorn of Doris,
Curst with the pang of unsuccessful love.
Go bear away thy woes and quit the grove.
Where the willows skirt the brook,
Go and weave a garland green,
Leave thou there thy scrip and crook,
Vent in tears thy jealous spleen:
Heave thou there thy last sad sigh,
Drop into the stream and die.
Sap.
Die didst thou say? I hop'd I had been dead;
But death, like Phaon, has deceiv'd poor Sappho.
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Sappho!
Pha.
Just Heav'ns! it is, it is my Sappho,
And I have wounded her perhaps to death!
Sap.
Would to that Heav'n thou hadst! but thou may'st still
Atchieve the deed; behold this bruised breast!
O! with thy dagger give a kinder blow,
And I shall be at peace.
Pha.
O torture! torture!
Where shall I turn? how hide me from myself?
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