University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

A Temple, with an Altar. Orthagoras, and other Priests, stand by it.
A Solemn Service of Musick.
Ort.
Almighty Sire! Parent of Gods and Men!
Attend propitious to thy Servants Prayers!

Enter Timoleon.
Timol.
Almighty Sire! Parent of Gods and Men!
Jove Eleutherius! Liberty's Assertor!
Attend, propitious to thy Servant's Prayers!
Accept these Offerings for my Country's Freedom.

[Goes up to the Altar, and makes his Offering.
Ort.
That pious Youth! Ages unborn shall wonder,
When they shall read upon Record his Name,
Who, in his Bloom, scarce ripen'd into Man,
Can thus neglect his Love, contemn his Ease,
And make the Interest of Mankind his own.

Enter Pheron.
Phe.
Revenge, I now will make thee sure; he kneels.

Timol.
[After Offering, kneels, with one Hand on the Altar.]
O thou supreme Disposer of our Fates!
In thee I trust; O, guide me by thy Light!
That I may merit thy Protection here,
By giving Peace and Liberty to Corinth.

[As Pheron's Hand is advanc'd to stab Timoleon, he is kill'd by Dinarchus in Disguise, who enters at that Minute.
Phe.
This for my Friend Lycander.

Din.
No, thou Villain;
Here end thy Murthers, and thy Life together.

Timol.
[Starting up.]
What Noise is this? What means this Outrage? Ha!
Will Murder enter here? Who, who art thou?
That thus hast dar'd to stain this Place with Blood?
Yet stand'st thus calm, and unappall'd? Who art thou?

Din.
Heav'n's Instrument, to punish base Assassins.

Timol.
Assassins!

Din.
Yes; such is the Wretch lies there.

Timol.
Pheron!

Din.
The same. Up-lifted was his Arm,
Ready to plunge that Poniard in thy Breast;
But Heav'n, Timoleon, watchful for thy Welfare,
Sent me to save thee; and in thee, my Country.

Ort.
But who art thou? Thy Country's Thanks are thine,

Din.
View me, and know me for—

Timol.
Dinarchus! Ha!
Is't possible? My Friend! My Father too!

Din.
Eunesia then is safe?

Timol.
Yes, Sir, she is.
Much she has suffer'd, but the Tale's too long.
For O! my Soul works busily within
To know what Pow'r your Freedom has procur'd.

Din.
My Jaylor, of a Temper mild and good,
(Who, as a Man, can pity what Men feel,
And scorns to trade in the Afflicted's Tears)
Was mov'd by my Distress, and on a Promise,
Soon to return, and keep my self disguis'd,
Permitted my Escape.—Strait to the Tyrant's
I bent my Steps, resolv'd to see my Daughter;
When passing by the Temple, I perceiv'd
That base, that bloody Pheron ent'ring in.
Wild at the Sight, with animated Rage
I follow'd him.—The Rest his Death declares.

Tim.
Thine is the Work, O Jove! be thine the Praise!

[Coming to the Altar.
Enter Æschylus.
Æsc.
The Time, Timoleon, calls for our Dispatch.
Our Friends are up, impatient for their Freedom,
Panting for Liberty. Some I have posted
To keep a watch upon the Tyrant's Creatures,
Others are waiting at convenient distance,
In little Parties, to prevent Suspicions,
And ready for the Word.

Tim.
Strait will I head them,
And lead them on to Liberty or Death,
For what is Life without it? Liberty!
My Soul burns in me at the glorious Call.

Æsc.
A Spy I have within the Tyrant's Palace,
Who brings me Word he's coming to the Temple,
With Rage indignant for some late Affront,
He threats Destruction at each Look around.

Din.
Here is he coming! unattended too!
Here let us slay him then.

Tim.
What! here, Dinarchus!
Shall we defile this holy Fane with Blood!
More Blood? and bring Pollution to the Altar?
Let us love Corinth, yet revere the Gods.
Let us not tempt the wrathful Bolts of Jove,
By turning to a Slaughter-house his Temple.

Ort.
Timoleon, no: Heav'n will approve the Deed.
What can we offer to the Gods, more pleasing
Than base Usurpers, Foes to them and Virtue?
What can we sacrifice to Jove more proper,
Than Lust, Injustice, Cruelty, and Rapine?
One Tyrant's Blood is a more grateful Off'ring
Than thousand Hecatombs.—And hark! the Thunder
[It Thunders.
Rowls from the Right, auspicious is the Omen,
Jove we accept it, Jove confirms my Words.

Tim.
But yet, my Friends, let me in this prevail;
Yet try with me the power of soft Perswasion.
If he is deaf to this, I give him up;
Strike then for Liberty, not for Revenge.
Think he's a Tyrant, but remember too,
He is Timoleon's Brother.—See, he comes.

Enter Timophanes.
Timop.
Ha! is he living: Pheron, thou art false.

Timol.
I hope, Timophanes, thou com'st prepar'd
To expiate thy Offences by Contrition.
Suppliant to beg Forgiveness of the Gods,
For all the Wrongs, thy injur'd Country suffers.

Timop.
Thou Talker! hence, and mingle with thy Priests!
Thou art a Tool, fit for their mean Designs,
Unworthy of Ambition's nobler Views.

Timol.
If nothing but Command will gratify thee,
Command thy Country's Armies—not her Laws.
Art thou so fond of Triumph? Triumph then
Over her Foes, not o'er her Liberties.

Timop.
Thou Preacher! go—practise thy Eloquence
On Fools; they will admiring listen to thee,
And give thee the Applause thou want'st.

Æsc.
Will nothing,
Nothing then sooth the Fierceness of thy Mind?
Nothing prevail on thee to close the Wounds
Of thy poor bleeding Country? will not Virtue?—

Timol.
Will not the Voice of Nature? will not Honour?
Will not the Prayer of Man?

Ort.
Nor fear of Heaven?

Timop.
Ha! what, another? am I to be baited?—
But ye shall find a Lion in the Toils.

Ort.
Full of thy Fate, Timophanes, I speak,
Hear the Decree of Heav'n.

Timoph.
Away, thou Dreamer!
Hence with thy idle Prophecies! Nor thou,
Nor all thy Gods, shall make me change my Purpose.
In vain your Omens, vain are all your Threats,
Their Pow'r is lost on me! Still I'm my self,
Timophanes, your Lord.

Ort.
I tell thee yet,
The Gods uplifted Vengeance hangs impending,
Ready to fall, and crush thee into Ruin.
O! think what certain Woes will be thy Doom,
When waiting Furies and surrounding Fiends
Shall heighten all the Horrors of thy Mind.

Timop.
Since thou hast found thy talking was in vain,
Bring'st thou thy Friends to preach me from my Power,
My Royalty!

Timol.
Thy ill-got Royalty,
Thy Power assum'd, not giv'n; thy Usurpation:
Think of the dreadful Cares in which it lives.

Æsc.
Think to what Fears, what Dangers 'tis expos'd.

Ort.
Think of the Infamy it leaves behind.

Timol.
What are its Pleasures? They are Cankers all.

Æsc.
What are its Trophies, but the Tears of Virtue?

Din.
What are its Titles? Parricide, and Tyrant!

Timop.
Ha! who art thou? But I will bend ye all,
Will make ye know, and own me for your King.

Ort.
Thou see'st 'tis all in vain.

[Aside to Timoleon.
Timol.
A Minute longer.
Yet see, Timophanes, behold these Tears,
They fall for thee.

Timop.
Thou Woman! I despise them,
As I do thee.

Timol.
I beg thee, I conjure thee,
Make some Atonement to thy suffering Country,
Yet do it while 'tis in our Power to save thee.

Timop.
Your Power to save me! By my Majesty,
The Wrongs you offer it you shall repent,
Shall all repent. Rouze up then, my Revenge.

Timol.
I beg thee, by a Brother's Love.

Timop.
Away,
Thou servile Fawner! hang not on my Robe.
Think'st thou I'm to be soften'd like a Girl,
By Tears, by Prayers? Timophanes, at these,
As well as Dangers, stands alike unmov'd.

Timol.
By Friendship!

Timop.
Hence!

Timol.
By Glory!

Æsc.
By Virtue!

Timol.
By thy Country!

Ort.
By the Gods!

Timol.
We do conjure thee, save thy self and Corinth.

Timop.
Be gone, or by the Fire within my Breast
'Twill rage to your undoing. Hence! or else
This Instant is your Death.

Ort.
Can nothing move thee?

Æsc.
Is all in vain?

Timol.
I give thee to thy Fate.
Liberty! Freedom!—O Timophanes!

[Here Timoleon throws his Mantle over his Face, while the others dispatch Timophanes.
Din.
Liberty!

Æsc.
Freedom!

Ort.
Corinth now is free.

Din.
Tyranny bleeds, Oppression is no more.
Such ever be the Fate of lawless Power!
Such be the Fate of Violence and Rapine!

Ort.
Such ever be the Fate of bold Usurpers!

Æsc.
Such be the Fate of Parricides and Tyrants!

Ort.
Ambition, thou art fallen. Remove the Body.
His Crimes and Corinth's Woes be bury'd with him.
Support Timoleon. View that Godlike Youth,
Who weeps the Brother, tho' he slew the Tyrant.
See what he bears for Virtue and his Country!
O let us emulate his great Example!
May we like him all Self-Affection scorn,
Think we are only for our Country born!
When Freedom calls, forget the Ties of Blood,
And fix our Interest in the public Good.

[Exeunt Omnes.