University of Virginia Library

LYCUS, POLYDORE, PÆONIAN.
Lycus prisoner?
Mangled and bleeding thus?

LYCUS.
'Tis my life's blood
Shed for Polyxena, but shed in vain.

POLYDORE.
They have not forc'd her back?—

LYCUS.
Thou noble youth,
Hear what I've life to utter.—Near the ships
A secret band of Greeks unwarily
Rush'd on us. Front oppos'd to front we stood:
Fierce Eurycles bore onwards: five bold soldiers
Sunk in the fury of his mortal sword:
Cover'd at length with wounds, he fell to earth;
When to the altar they bore off the Princess;
And ere this time the bloody deed is done.

POLYDORE.
Thy wounds demand relief.—Farewel, farewel.

[Exit Lycus.
PÆONIAN.
Oh prince—

POLYDORE.
Be gone.—
[Exit Pæonian.
Oh destiny, thy dealings
Urge me to rush into the house of death,
My last, best friend. Polyxena's free spirit
Stops and looks back on me with pitying eyes;
Points me to where unhappy souls find peace.
—Loosen from thy foundation, ponderous arch,
And crush the wretch who cannot find a sword
To end him.—Open earth, and bury me
Deep in thy monstrous womb.—And wilt thou not?
Then thus perforce against thy stony breast
I dash me.—