 | Timoleon |  |
36
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
An Apartment in the Palace of Timophanes.Enter Cleone.
Where shall I fly? that I cou'd fly my self!
Where find a lonely Gloom to hide my Sorrows,
Dark as the Grave! O were it too as quiet!
What! must I live to be the branded Mark
For Scorn's reproachful Finger! O the Tyrant!—
Gods, let him think like me, and be unhappy!
Enter Olinthus disguis'd.
Olin.
Thus far I've reach'd unseen—now to my Task;
Give me but Vengeance, Jove, I ask no more.
Cleo.
What Noise is that? Each Whisper that I hear
Sounds forth, methinks, my Shame.
Olin.
What's here? a Woman?
With Hair dishevell'd, and a Dress disorder'd?
Cleo.
What Voice is that? Is there another Villain?
Olin.
An Image of Distress she seems. Who art thou?
Turn, speak, I am not a Timophanes.
Cleo.
Oh!
Olin.
Is there ought that can asswage thy Sorrows?
What do I see? Cleone?
Cleo.
Ha!
Olin.
My Sister!
Why dost thou start? why thus avoid my Sight.
I am thy Brother—Come into my Arms.
Why dost thou tremble so? canst thou not speak?
Whisper thy Grief—or is't too great to utter?
37
The Tyrant has not dar'd to wound thy Honour!
Thou sink'st into my Arms. Villain! he has!
Blast him, avenging Jove!
Enter Timophanes.
Timop.
So close! 'Tis well.
Madam, I see 'tis not a King can please you.
You have your Slaves.
Olin.
Ha! what! Timophanes!
Cleo.
O hide me from his Sight!
Timop.
Slave! know'st thou not thy King?
Olin.
A King! 'tis true.
And this thy Glory, these thy Triumphs, Tyrant!
Timop.
Who waits there?
[Enter Attendants.
Bear him to Death.
Olin.
No, thus,
Thus do I fly to Death.—Curse on my Fate!
What! dye without Revenge?
Cleo.
O Heav'ns!
Timop.
Away!
Dispatch him hence!
Cleo.
O stay!
Timop.
What! for a Slave?
Shun me for him! my Love has wing'd its flight
At sight of this—and thou art now my Scorn.
Cleo.
O had I ever been so! but, thou Tyrant!
'Tis Heav'n alone can punish Crimes like thine.
Olin.
Why dost thou dally? Death is not so dreadful,
As is thy Sight.
Timop.
Away with him.
Cleo.
Oh! hold!
Olin.
Why dost thou sue, Cleone? Life's a trifle,
I'd sooner quit, than hold a Gift from him.
Timop.
Villains!
Cleo.
My Brother!
Timop.
Thine!
Cleo.
Mine! my Olinthus!
Olin.
And thy sworn Foe.
38
No matter; be my Foe.
Observe, Cleone, what my Love can do.
That Life his Arrogance has forfeited
I give to thee—do thou but smile Forgiveness.
Olin.
Cleone, no! wrong not thy Honour thus!
Make not my Life a Barter for his Pardon:
Hate him to Death as I do, to Destruction!
Timop.
Presumptuous Boy! dare not to urge me.
Olin.
Dare not!
Tho' all thy kindred Furies stood around thee,
And bad me Peace—
Timop.
I charge thee on thy Life!
Olin.
O for a Voice, loud as th'Eternal's Thunder,
To make the World resound, thou art a Tyrant,
A Robber! Homicide!
Timop.
Seize him again!
Such Insolence 'tis Cowardice to brook.
Cleo.
My Fear and Anger combat in my Breast,
For Conquest of me.
Timop.
What says Cleone?
Thy Smile or Frown decides his Life or Death.
Cleo.
What can I say? how form my Speech to beg?
My Passions rise impatient for a vent.
Timop.
Why then away with him.
Cleo.
O spare my Brother!
Timop.
That lovely Look! it melts my Anger down,
And tames me to her Wish; it shall be so.
Remove him hence, secure him 'till the Morn,
And with Respect attend him.
Olin.
Tyrant!
Cleo.
Hush!
Olinthus, Peace! tempt not again his Wrath.
To-morrow may secure thy Life and Vengeance.
Olin.
'Tis true. Be still, my Soul—farewel, Cleone.
Timop.
Now my fair Enemy, can'st thou forgive,
And willing yield to revel in Delight?
But 'till the Morn I leave thee to determine
Thy Brother's Doom, his Happiness and thine.
[Exit.
Cleo.
My Happiness! It must be in the Grave!
Where I may shut out Thought, forget my Reason.
39
It fancies Pleasures beyond Reason's reach,
And is insensible of Pain like mine.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
The Prison.Enter Dinarchus.
Din.
Furies and Torments! how they follow me!
But stay! there's nothing—'twas my erring Fancy.
My Senses, with my Foes, conspire to abuse me.
Who, who wou'd bear a Being on such Terms,
As only make it wretched?—What's this dying?
It may be—no—perhaps it is not that:
Is it to quit our Thought?—O! if it is,
'Tis Bliss sufficient, when each Thought's a Pain.
Why then shou'd Mortals startle thus at Death?
Gloomy indeed at the first View it looks,
And black with Horror like a distant Wood;
But, enter'd once, it opens to new Scenes
Of Joys untasted, unimagin'd Pleasures:
And this can shew the Way.
[Holds up a Dagger.
Enter Eunesia.
Eun.
My dearest Father!
What! arm'd against your Life?
Din.
Away! away!
Why woud'st thou have me linger thus in Torments?
Perpetual Pain is a perpetual Dying;
Better to dye at once then.
Eun.
O my Father!
If your own Life you think not worth your Care,
What shall, what can your poor Eunesia do,
When you are gone?
Din.
O what indeed!—My Heart!
Wo't thou still hold?
Eun.
Give me your Dagger, Sir.
Din.
Yet when I'm dead, your Sufferings may cease.
Yes, yes, they will; 'tis me alone they hate,
I am the only Cause of your Oppression,
And this shall end it.
[Offers to strike.
40
Hear me! yet hear me.
Suppose Lycander, Sir, when you are dead—
Din.
Ha! what!
Eun.
Shou'd seize me.
Din.
Let the Villain perish.
Hence with the Thought of Death: I'll live to guard thee.
[Throws away the Dagger.
Eun.
Yes, live, my Father, live; and hope for Joys.
Some unexpected Blessing yet may come
To sooth your Cares, and charm your Soul to Rest.
Din.
Strictly I've search'd each Corner of my Mind,
Yet cannot find one Gleam of Light within,
But all is dark—dark—dark—and lost in Horror.
Eun.
This Sorrow sits too heavy on your Spirits,
It weighs 'em down—O strive to throw it off—
Din.
I do, Eunesia—Yes, I do, my Child;
I chide it from me—but it clings the closer:
I reason with't, but Reason is too weak;
In vain I seek to force it from my Thoughts,
For like my Shadow it pursues me still.
A Shadow do I say? O that it were!
That it were but a Shadow! but 'tis real,
It is substantial Grief—'tis in my Heart,
'Tis fixt, 'tis rooted here—here—'tis distracting!
Eun.
O do not, do not talk thus: think of Comfort!
Din.
And is it to be found in Thinking, then?
Oh no! my Mind has rang'd from Thought to Thought,
From Place to Place, to seek it—but in vain.
At length it came unto the Court of Death.
In sullen Majesty the Horror sat,
Surrounded by a Croud of busy Courtiers;
Pain, Sickness, Frenzy, and ten thousand Cares.
Dreadful he lookt, yet dreadful smil'd on me.
He smil'd, and sent his Minister Despair
To tempt me in, with Promise of Relief.
Eun.
Ye gracious Pow'rs! ye Guardians of the Just!
Attend a Virgin's and a Daughter's Pray'r!
O show'r your Blessings on my Father's Head,
Infuse your Peace into his troubled Soul,
And let me be unhappy—I can bear it.
41
I'll in, and pray.—Consider, Gods, I'm old,
Old, old, and weak—I am unfit to bear.
Lay me down gently in Mortality,
Forgetting and forgot.
[Exit.
Eun.
My trembling Heart!
'Tis cold, and sick'ning with unusual Fears:
And tho' I brav'd it so before my Father,
And check'd my Sorrows; now, like troubled Waters,
Impatient of their Bounds, they rise, they swell,
Bear down the Banks, and deluge all around.
Ha! who is this! Protect me, save me, Heav'n!
Enter Lycander.
Lyc.
Why does the loveliest of her Sex retire
To Solitude, the Nursery of Grief,
Shrouding her Brightness in Obscurity?
What is the Cause of these incessant Tears?
Eun.
The Cause! I have sufficient for a Flood,
Eternal Cause to weep, when my poor Father
Is made a Prey to Violence and Rapine.
Lyc.
Your Breast, Eunesia, is too full of Sorrows,
That with their chilling Damps contract your Heart.
Nay, do not weep. Yet lovely are thy Tears!
Come, let me lead thee then where Joys shall court thee,
Where Joys in circling Orbs shall play around thee.
Each Wish thy rich luxuriant Fancy forms
Shall be thy own—thy Father shall be free,
And thou to such a state of Splendor rais'd,
That Mortals shall forget where they shou'd bow,
And pay their Vows to thee.
Eun.
Away! no more!
My Soul desires not such an envy'd Height.
Lyc.
Cruel Eunesia! shun'st thou thus my Sight!
Permit me but to sigh my Soul before thee.
Will you not turn? O turn! yet frown not on me.
Will you not speak?—yes, speak, but do not chide me.
Where-e'er you look, you brighten all arounnd;
When-e'er you talk—how ravishing the Musick!
Each Hearer listens, gazes, pants with Raptures.
42
To me, there is no Musick in such Praise;
'Tis Flattery all, the Fool's Delight and Ruin.
If ought can add new Horror to your Love,
'Tis that; but know, they are alike my Scorn.
Lyc.
Scorn but usurps that Face, too fair a Seat
For ought but smiling Love. Love revels there,
O let it revel in thy Heart too. Come,
Thou hast thy Wishes, in thy Cheeks they glow,
They swell thy Lips, and sparkle in thy Eyes.
Eun.
Insolent Monster!
Lyc.
I am all on Fire;
Each Look, each Touch enflame me; what must then,
What must Enjoyment do? O rapt'rous Thought!
Come, let us fly to some delightful Scene,
Shut out all Cares, and ev'ry thing—but Love.
We'll give a Loose to Love, 'till Fancy faint,
And each Desire is full—'till we dissolve
In Ecstacies, beyond the Stretch of Thought.
Eun.
Base and ignoble, to insult me thus!
To wrong that Chastity you sha'not wound,
With Words, that Modesty must blush to hear.
Lyc.
Hence with this Niceness!
Eun.
Sooner with my Life.
Lyc.
Come, you must yield; nay, 'tis in vain you struggle,
It is not in thy Power.
Eun.
It is, to dye.
[Takes up the Dagger.
Lyc.
What means that Dagger? What is thy Intent?
Eun.
To plunge it in this Breast, and at a Blow
Prevent thy Violence, and assert my Fame.
Lyc.
Thou dar'st not dye.
Eun.
Not if I had thy Crimes.
But Virtue, when distress'd, can smile at Death,
And, as a Friend, embrace it.
Lyc.
Come, 'tis Folly;
Perverseness all.
Eun.
Touch me not, or I swear
By Pallas! by my Father's Wrongs, I swear,
The Instant thou pursu'st thy Insolence,
To strike it to my Heart. Yes, thou shalt find
43
But Guilt, or Shame.—Dangers, or Death they meet,
With Minds more firm than impious Men like thee.
Lyc.
Now then, to try thy boasted Strength of Mind,
Unless thou seal my Love with instant Pleasure,
Thy Father—
Eun.
Ha!
Lyc.
Nay, do not start; 'tis fixt.
Thou soon shalt see him trembling on a Scaffold,
Ready to fall beneath a Villain's Hand.
Yes, thou may'st shudder, for 'tis fixt as Fate.
Thou soon shalt hear him in the Pangs of Death,
Amidst his Torments, hear him call on thee,
Groaning in Anguish, My ungrateful Child!
Then shalt thou see his hoary Head dissever'd,
His Body tumble quivering on the Ground,
So worn with Age, it cannot leap for Life.
Alas! she faints.—
How sweet her Breath! Sweet as Arabian Gales,
That catch the Odours of the Fields they fan.
Ha! Yes! It shall be so.—Who waits there? Pheron!
Enter Attendants.
Convey her gently off.—Hush! make no Noise.
Convey her off unseen, to my Apartment;
The Night will favour you.—So, gently, gently.
[They bear her off.
How my Heart bounds! while Love, Desire and Hope,
In busy sportive Dalliance play around it.
[Exit.
Enter Æschylus, and Jaylor.
Æsc.
Carry'd away! by whom?
Jay.
Lycander, Sir.
Æsc.
Lycander! When?
Jay.
But now; this very Instant.
You know his Power.
Æsc.
Curse on his Power, and him!
Whither will their Impiety extend?
Where is Dinarchus? Knows he ought of this?
44
No, Sir; he is within.—No, here he comes.
Æsc.
How sad! how mournful! how depress'd he looks!
A sullen Gloom hangs low'ring on his Brow,
And seems the Entrance to the dreadful Cave,
Where Care and Sorrow dwell.
[Exit Jaylor.
Enter Dinarchus.
Din.
I'll think again.
Where is my Child! my Daughter? Æschylus!
How shall I bid thee welcome to a Place
Where Joy yet never enter'd? to a Place
Where Horrors only reign?—Groans are our Musick,
And Sorrows our Companions. Where's my Child?
Æsc.
Eunesia!
Din.
Yes.—What is the Matter? Tell me.
Malice, I thought, had run her greatest Length,
Tir'd with pursuing such a Wretch as I am.
Ha! thy Lips shake! Grief rolls about thy Eyes,
Thy Breast too swells, and labours with some Sorrow;
O quick unlade and tell me! Is my Daughter—
Æsc.
Your Daughter!
Din.
Ha! Death sits upon thy Lips,
And tells me what I dread; 'tis on thy Tongue;
But say not she is dead.
Æsc.
My Friend, she is not.
Din.
I thank the Gods for that—Where is she then?
Æsc.
She's gone.
Din.
With whom?
Æsc.
Lycander bore her off,
Unseen, unheard, by any but the Jaylor.
O Heav'n, display thy awful Vengeance on him!
Eternal Darkness strike upon his Eyes,
And Horror on his Mind. O let him live
Beset with Poverty, with Shame, and Terror.
Din.
It may be so.
[Wildly.
Æsc.
He hears not.
Din.
So they say.
Æsc.
Wildly he speaks, and looks transfix'd with Horror.
45
His Age must sink beneath a Shock like this.
Who waits there? Help to bear him gently in.
Enter Jaylor.
Din.
Ha! Who art thou? Lycander! Yes, 'tis he.
How like a Gorgon!—How he chills my Blood!
Villain!—Ha!—Yes.—I'll kill him at a Blow.—
Look! he approaches me: Who holds me thus?
Nay, do not stare;—thou sha'not have my Daughter!
See! he grins at me.—O, my Heart! my Heart!
[Sinks into Æschylus's Arms.
Æsc.
He's spent with Passion; bear him gently in,
Rest may restore his Mind. Look down, ye Gods!
Pity his Age, pity his broken Heart.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
An Apartment in the Palace of Timoleon, Darken'd. A Table with a Lamp on it.Enter Timoleon.
Timol.
There is no middle way. I must submit
To see my Country sink beneath Oppression,
Or end it by a Brother's Blood. Hard Fate!
Thou Fiend, Ambition! what Extremities
Thou driv'st me to!
Enter Servant, with a Letter.
Serv.
From Demariste, Sir.
Timol.
My Mother! Scarce two Hours ago I left her.
What are her Orders at this Dead of Night?
What busy Cares intrude thus on her Rest?
Serv.
Her Letter will inform you, Sir; I cannot.
But when she gave it me, she sigh'd, she trembled,
And was all o'er an Agony.
Timol.
Just Heav'n,
Preserve my Mother! How is this? Retire.
Good Gods! But stay, here's more!—“If you design
“Against your Brother's Life, you strike at mine;
46
“For ever: And may all the Gods concur
“With me to curse you.”—Wretched Timoleon!
Curs'd by my Mother! Which way shall I turn?
Heart-racking Thought! Never to see her more!
What shall I do? Nature works strongly in me,
While Virtue, and my Country, bid me strike.
Listen then to thy Country, and the Voice
Of Virtue—but—do I not strike a Mother?
I cannot bear a Thought of wounding her;
Or ev'n her Peace.—O thou un-erring Mind!
Thou Light Eternal! guide me by thy Rays,
Point out a Path, to lead me thro' this Maze,
Lest I should blindly err from Virtue's Ways.
[Exit.
Enter Timophanes, speaking to Attendants.
Timop.
So; wait without.—But hold—Pheron, attend me
To-morrow, with your Friends: Now, where's this Brother?
Not here! Retir'd to Sleep! It shall be so.
[Draws.
The Stillness, Darkness, both conspire to urge me.
Revenge! be thou my Goddess, steel my Heart,
And guide my Hand to Actions worthy thee!
Amazement! Whence that Voice? Beware, it cry'd.
No body sees me, hears me.—Where that Voice then?
Or, was there one? No; 'twas Illusion all!
Why do I linger thus? Again!—Beware!
By Hell! I heard it plain.—'Tis no Illusion.
Yet here is no one, that can see, or know
The Purpose of my Mind.—What can this mean?
No matter what—I was not born to fear.
[Going, starts back.
I hear it yet.—Hollow, and dire the Sound,
As Winds thro' Caverns rushing: Whence this Mock'ry?
Can Fancy (for it is no more) can Fancy
Curdle my Blood thus? If I tarry longer,
47
What means this Trembling of my Limbs! O Horror!
[As he is going, the Ghost of his Father rises before him.
Ghost.
Beware, Beware, Beware Timoleon's Death.
Hear, mark, and tremble at thy future Fate.
Vengeance awaits thee; 'tis thy Father tells thee:
Hear, and attend me.—O, my Son! repent!
Repent, or soon thou wilt be doom'd to Torments,
To endless Torments, never-ceasing Pains.
I may no more.—Redress thy Country's Wrongs.
Observe, Repent, Redress.
Enter Timoleon with a Light, and Sword drawn.
Timol.
What Noise is this?
How! What! Timophanes! my Brother here!
Why are thy Eyes thus fix'd? What means this Posture?
Thou look'st a very Statue of Surprize,
As if a Light'ning Blast had dry'd thee up,
And had not left thee Moisture for a Tear.
Timop.
Shroud me in Darkness from that grizly Horror,
That ghastly Sight!
Timol.
Where! What Sight do you mean?
Timop.
Start from your Orbs, my Eyes, forget to see,
Rather than see such Terrors.
Timol.
What Terrors?
Timop.
View him!
Timol.
Ha!
Timop.
See!
Timol.
Whom?
Timop.
Look where the Phantom stands,
With hollow Eyes, and—Do not, do not look thus.
[Ghost disappears.
Timol.
There's nothing I can see.—What means all this?
This Visit! and so late! A Sword too! Drawn!
And on the Ground!—'Tis so, I see it now!
Timop.
Must the Dead rise to shake Timophanes?
48
Timol.
Trust me, Timophanes, these Frights, these Terrors,
Are all the Attendants on Usurpers Thrones.
The Man who rises on his Country's Ruin,
Lives in a Croud of Foes, himself the Chief:
In vain his Power, in vain his Pomp and Pleasures;
His guilty Thoughts, those Tyrants of the Soul,
Steal in unseen, and stab him in his Triumphs.
Wretched, distracting State! when ev'ry Object
Strikes him with Horror, ev'ry Thought with Fear.
Timop.
What dost thou talk of Fear? 'Tis not in Mortals
To make me fear.
Timol.
Nor yet in Shadows?
Timop.
No.
A Mind fatigu'd, and spent, may yield a little,
But when resolv'd like mine, cannot be conquer'd.
Timol.
Think yet, and bless the Gods for these their Warnings:
Think what it is to make a People happy,
To see 'em smile, and bless you for the Cause;
To see 'em bless'd, and owe their Bliss to you:
What Glory! what Renown!
Timop.
Their Happiness
Is not my Thought, or Care: No! for my self
I reign, and they, like Slaves, shall live for me.
Timol.
And who would reign, on the mean Terms of being
The publick Hatred, and the publick Fear?
If thou art deaf to a whole Nation's Cries,
If deaf to Honour, and the Call of Virtue,
Yet think, and dread the Anger of a People,
Who fir'd by Wrongs, and by Despair provok'd,
May rouze to Freedom, when a Leader calls.
When once broke loose, their Fury knows no Bounds,
But like an Hurricane resistless rages,
Sweeps all away, and spreads a Waste around.
Timop.
The People's Fury, as their Love, I scorn.
Keep thy Advice, I ask it not, nor need it.
Timol.
Why then this Visit in the Dead of Night?
49
But know thou too, Timoleon can forgive it.
Timop.
Forgiveness! and from thee!
Timol.
Why not from me?
Who wrongs another, makes him his Superior,
By giving him the Pow'r to pardon.
Timop.
Ha!
Timol.
Could'st thou e'er think, the Providence, I trust in,
Would not protect me? Yes, Timophanes,
Were the uplifted Dagger pointed at me,
While I revere the Gods, the Gods will guard me,
Avert the Blow, and turn it on th'Assassin.
Here, take thy Sword, and learn to use it better.
Timop.
Thus then I use it. Stand on thy Defence.
Thus I maintain the Power I have assum'd;
For Empire and my Crown, assur'd I stand;
That's the Dispute; be this my Argument.
Now, if I shrink for Fear, I am indeed
Unworthy of a Soldier's Name, like thee,
Whom ev'ry Tear can soften into Weakness.
Timol.
If Pity on the Wrongs the Injur'd suffer
Be term'd a Weakness, be it mine; for know
I glory in it, none but Cowards scorn it.
Timop.
Cowards!
Timol.
Ay, Cowards. The Brave are ever tender,
And feel the Miseries of suffering Virtue.
Timop.
Away, 'tis Fear; thy Soul is Woman all,
And shudders at the very Thought of Dangers.
Timol.
Dangers! I've seen them in their ugliest Forms.
Have seen them unappall'd;—I have pursu'd them
Thro' hostile Ranks,—where Death alone would follow.
Thou knowest I have:—but this is boasting.
Timop.
True,
'Tis only boasting, for thou dar'st not—
Timol.
What!
Timop.
Thou dar'st not justify thy foul Reproach?
Timol.
Dare not!
Timop.
No, if thou dost, come on. I hate
This Female Tongue-War, and will end it thus.
50
Away, rash Madman!
I wo'not kill thee, tho' thou art ungrateful.
Timop.
Come on.
Timol.
Hold yet.
Timop.
Art thou a Man?
Timol.
I am.
Have Passions too, 'tis dang'rous to provoke.
Timop.
Thou, thou! 'tis false.
Timol.
I feel them rise within,
And struggle for a Loose. Down, down, ye Fiends.
Timop.
Thou cold, deliberate Traitor!
Timol.
Ha! no more.
Timop.
Yes, this—
Timol.
Forbear—
Timop.
Thou art—
Timol.
By Jove the Thund'rer,
Another Word, and Fate obeys the Call.
Timop.
Thou Villain then!
Timol.
'Tis said, and thus I answer.
[They fight. Timoleon disarms Timophanes.
Timop.
Confusion! Rage! Disarm'd!
Timol.
Thou art disarm'd,
Heav'n is against thee, 'tis to Heav'n I owe it.
What hinders now but that at once I finish
Corinth's Oppression, and thy Tyranny?
Timop.
Do it, and talk not.
Timol.
Does not Virtue bid it?
Do not my bleeding Country's Wrongs expect it?
Do not the crying Orphans, sighing Widows,
And sorrowing Mothers?—Mothers! ha! my Mother,
She, only she forbids.
[Aside.
Timop.
Why this Delay?
Thou long'st to see me dead, then take thy Wish.
Timol.
No, on my Soul I do not.—O my Brother!
Heav'n knows, that, with the Hazard of my own,
Thy Life I'd save, if Virtue would allow it.
Here, take thy Sword; thy Attempt upon my Life
Is from this Hour forgot.
Timop.
What's this I feel?
Is it Remorse?—No, 'tis not that; but Scorn
51
[Aside.
Timol.
Once more, Timophanes, let me intreat,
By all the Friendship of our youthful Years,
By all the Dangers hanging o'er thy Head,
Think of the Crown unjustly thus usurp'd,
Think and resign it, and with that thy Shame.
Timop.
No more of that, it ruffles me too much,
Untunes my Soul, and makes it Discord.
Timol.
Hear me,
Yet hear me.
Timop.
No.
Timol.
I beg thee, I conjure thee.
Timop.
My Rage, that's just extinguish'd like a Lamp,
Kindles anew at the Approach of Fire,
And bursts into a Flame. I must be gone.
I leave thee then to moralize at Leisure.
[Exit Timophanes.
Timol.
He's gone!—he's lost!—Corinth or he must bleed;
Then he is doom'd.—My Country must be safe.
Corinth, I come.—Thy Wrongs at length have fix'd me.
Nature, lie still a while within my Breast;
And thou, Seducer of a Mind resolv'd,
Compassion! hence!—thou shalt no more enslave me:
My Country claims me all, claims ev'ry Passion,
Her Liberty henceforth be all my Thought!
Tho' with a Brother's Life, yet cheaply Bought:
For her my own I'd willingly resign,
And say with Transport, that the Gain were mine.
The End of the fourth Act.
| Timoleon | |