University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Polydore and soldiers, Procles, Eurydice, Leonidas, &c.
Polydore
pushing back Procles with his lance.
No, traitor, murderer, no. Heaven is more just
Than to permit a life so much its care
To fall by thy vile hand. Secure the Tyrant.
[to his soldiers.
My mother!

Eurydice.
O my son!

Polydore.
Transporting joy!

Eurydice.
O ecstacy! and do I see thy face?
And do I hold thee in my trembling arms?
Thou darling of my love! thou early heroe!
O thou hast sav'd us all!

Polydore.
This, this is triumph!
And I can ask of bounteous heaven no more.
Was ever joy so full? This feeble arm,
O pride to think! has sav'd the sacred lives

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From whom I drew my own.

Eurydice.
And is this possible?
What shall I say?—But language all is poor
To speak the tender yearnings of my soul.
O Polydore! did ever parents know
Such transports as do thine? Did ever son
Deserve so well of parents?—Good Leonidas,
I saw thee not before; indeed I could not:
My eyes, my soul, were so close fix'd on him.
But say, redouble this day's bliss, and say,
Whence this amazing change?

Leonidas.
My royal Mistress,
The Gods have done this. One half of the fleet,
As led by their peculiar hand, escap'd
Yesterday's ruinous storm, and with the dawn
Enter'd the port unseen; their secret landing
Befriended by the morn's wide-hovering mists.
Instant, inform'd of his great father's fate,
Your Polydore, this gallant royal youth,
Pour'd forth his eager troops; and at their head,
Swift as heaven's darted fire, flew towards Corinth,
Which open'd wide her arms to take him in.
His fortune speaks the rest.

Eurydice.
O sovereign Goodness!
Be thine the praise: this is thy wonderous work.
The King, how was he sav'd?

Leonidas.
Struck with this danger,
The Tyrant had to present death devoted
His sacred head. I counsel'd, and prevail'd
(Procles still thought me his) in bonds to hold him
As our sure pledge of safety, should success

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Desert our arms. The following moment saw him
Free from his chains, and foremost in the fight—
And hark! these joyous strains proclaim his triumph.

Eurydice.
Retire, my son; I would not meet him here.