University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

SCENE A Prison.
Enter Dinarchus.
How curst is Man, thro' ev'ry Scene of Life!
Our Life is one continu'd Toil for Fame;
Like Ants, we toil, and raise a little Mole-hill,
That ev'ry Brute can level.—In old Age,
Hope—ev'n that too is deny'd us—Hope!
Youth's best Prerogative—its sweetest Blessing!
The poor Man's Feast—the sick Man's richest Cordial:
In Youth, the Winds may blow, the Rains may beat,
Still green, still gay, still lovely does it flourish;
But, nip'd in Age, it droops, it fades, and dies.
[Pauses.
A little yet, my Soul, and thou shalt leave
This World, for Joys immortal as thy self:
With that Reflection, bear a little longer.

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
My Lord, I come commission'd from Lycander,
With Offers of your Life, your Liberty.

Din.
Lycander! Who's Lycander? What, a God!
That he can give us Life? Where is his Pow'r?

Mess.
Timophanes has granted him the Pow'r,
And he will do it; by the Gods he swears,
On one Condition.

Din.
What is this Condition?

Mess.
You have a Daughter—

Din.
Ha!

Mess.
A fair one.

Din.
Well!

Mess.
Lycander, Sir, compassionates your Weakness,
Your Age, your Grief, and hopes you think Eunesia
A slender Recompence for—

Din.
Death! and Furies!
What, am I fall'n so low, to be the Sport
Of Villains? Recompence! Torments and Plagues!
I tell thee, Ruffian—O ye Immortal Pow'rs!
Let your avenging Thunder speak its Rage,
And burst with hideous Ruin on his Head.

Mess.
Lycander, Sir, wou'd grieve to be oblig'd
To show that Pow'r, which—

Din.
Hence! away! begone!
Thou art below my Rage. [Exit Mess.]
O this Lycander!
Cou'd he not break my Heart, but he must tear
Its Fibres by the Roots?

Enter Eunesia.
Eun.
My dearest Father!

Din.
My Child!—Inhuman Wretch! he has no Children.
Had he a Child, he'd feel a Parent's Yernings,
Wou'd know the Pangs that struggle in my Heart.
How did'st thou gain Admittance?

Eun.
Æschylus
Has won the Jaylor, who was late his Servant,
To give free Entrance to each Friend of yours.

Din.
And thou art come to heal my Cares, and cheer
My Age!

Eun.
I am.

Din.
O thou Delightful Sweetness!
Thou can'st dispel the Horrors of this Place,
And brighten ev'n a Dungeon. Damn'd Lycander!

Eun.
What is't you start at?

Din.
I will tell thee, Child.
That Villain! that Lycander!

Eun.
Ha!

Din.
I cannot.
By Heav'n I cannot.

Eun.
What's the Cause of this?

Din.
Thou art!

Eun.
Am I? alas! am I the Cause?

Din.
Eunesia, yes, thou art the Innocent Cause;
Thou art the Victim that's requir'd to save me.

Eun.
Am I? With Pleasure then my Life I give;
Nor shall it cost a Sigh, since giv'n for you.
Or if it does, 'twill be a Sigh for you.

Din.
Almighty Pow'r! hear, and revenge my Wrongs;
Let your swift Light'ning dart its Fury on him,
And blast the Wretch. What, to insult our Woes!

Eun.
What is this Grief, that is too great for Utterance?

Din.
Why, thou shalt hear it, Child. This Dog, Lycander,
Has offer'd me—O Heav'n's! was such an Offer
Fit for a Father's Ears? he offer'd me
My Life, my Liberty, if I would sell
Thy Innocence, thy spotless Purity,
To Infamy, and his polluting Lust.

Eun.
O impious!

Din.
Nay, he dar'd; the Villain dar'd
To threaten Force.

Eun.
Force! Just Gods! but stay—Death!
That's still within our Pow'r. Death can prevent it.

Din.
'Tis true! Death can prevent it, as she says.
'Tis justly thought.—Within I have a Dagger,
I've kept it safe for my last worldly Refuge,
In secret kept it.

[Exit.
Eun.
Where is Timoleon now? Why is he absent?
Methinks, by Sympathy, his Heart should know
Its fond, fond Partner languishes in Grief.

Enter Timoleon.
Timol.
Where is Dinarchus, where?

Eun.
My dear Timoleon!

Timol.
My Love! where is thy Father?

Eun.
Here, within.
A Slave he is to a thousand warring Passions;
Sometimes they inward work, like lab'ring Earthquakes;
Then fierce, as Whirlwinds, rage and roar without.
His Age cannot sustain it.

Timol.
O Eunesia!
Do not weep thus—yet can I blame your Grief?
My Soul!—But let me kiss this falling Tear.
O! it is sweeter than the Jessamin's Dew!
For ev'ry Pain, each Sorrow thou hast felt,
If possible—my Fondness shall repay thee;
And ev'ry Thought shall be to find thee Pleasure.

Enter Dinarchus.
Din.
I have it in reserve.

Timol.
My Lord!

Din.
Timoleon!
Thou honour'd Youth! by Glory's sacred Name,
Welcome! I joy to see thee.

Timol.
O Dinarchus!
I blush to see thee thus! I blush to think
I have a Brother, such a Foe to Virtue.

Din.
Why, true, Timoleon—is this proper, think'st thou?
Is this the Setting of a Life of Glory?
This loathsome Dungeon a Retreat for Age,
Worn down in Corinth's Service?

Timol.
No, Dinarchus.
Yet Corinth suffers too; like thine, her Wrongs.

Din.
But say, Timoleon; this Timophanes,
Is he not subject unto Pain as I am?

Timol.
Ay, sure, Dinarchus.

Din.
Must he not perish too?
And rot into Corruption?

Timol.
Certainly.

Din.
What will they then avail him in the Grave?
His various Policies, refin'd Devices,
His subtle Wit, his quick capacious Thought?
Will they go with him to the Grave? No, no!
Why then shou'd he be proud? Unthinking Wretch!
Proud! what! of a momentary Power
T'oppress Mankind! O trifling Vanity!
The Worm, he treads on, turns, as if to tell him
It soon will have its Fill of Vengeance on him.

Timol.
Compose your Mind, Dinarchus. Rest assur'd,
Your Wrongs shall be redrest, and ev'ry Sorrow
Shall be—but hush—we are observ'd—retire,
Where I may safely pour into thy Mind
Balm, that will heal the Wounds thy Grief has made.

Din.
Come, let us seek a Corner of the Dungeon
To sooth our Sorrows, 'twill befit our Thoughts.
Let proud Prosperity encircled go
With Crowds of Folly, watching ev'ry Motion;
Unseen, unheard, we will retire to Death;
For no one counts the Steps of Misery.

[Exeunt.