 | The Distrest Mother |  |
43
SCENE VII.
Phœnix, alone.
Oh Pyrrhus! Oh, what Pity 'tis, the Gods,
Who fill'd thy Soul with every kingly Virtue,
Formed thee for Empire and consummate Greatness,
Should leave thee so exposed to wild Desires,
That hurry thee beyond the Bounds of Reason!
Such was Achilles: Generous, fierce, and brave;
Open, and undesigning: But impatient,
Undisciplin'd, and not to be controul'd.
I fear this Whirl of Passion, this Career,
That over-bears Reflection and cool Thought.
I tremble for the Event!—But see, the Queen,
Magnificent in royal Pride, appears.
I must obey, and guard her Son from Danger.
Who fill'd thy Soul with every kingly Virtue,
Formed thee for Empire and consummate Greatness,
Should leave thee so exposed to wild Desires,
That hurry thee beyond the Bounds of Reason!
Such was Achilles: Generous, fierce, and brave;
Open, and undesigning: But impatient,
Undisciplin'd, and not to be controul'd.
I fear this Whirl of Passion, this Career,
That over-bears Reflection and cool Thought.
I tremble for the Event!—But see, the Queen,
Magnificent in royal Pride, appears.
I must obey, and guard her Son from Danger.
| The Distrest Mother | |