Pho. To shew thee, too, how Fate seems every way

To guard thy safety, e'en thy father now,
Wert thou within his power, would stand de-
feated

Of his tyrannic vow. Thou know'st last night,
What hope of aid flattered this foolish city.
At break of day, the Arabian scouts had seized
A second courier; and, from him, 'tis learned,
That on their march the army mutinied,
And Eutyches was slain.

Eud. And yet, that now

Is of the least importance to my peace.
But answer me; say, where is now my father?
Pho. Or gone, or just preparing to depart.
Eud. What! Is our doom reversed? And is
he then

The wretched fugitive?

Pho. Thou heavenly maid!

To free thee, then, from every anxious thought, Know, I've once more, wronged as I am, ev'n saved

Thy father's threatened life; nay, saved Damas

cus

From blood and slaughter, and from total ruin.
Terms are obtained, and general freedom granted
To all that will, to leave in peace the city.
Eud. Is't possible!-now trust me I could
chide thee:

'Tis much unkind to hold me thus in doubt:
I pray thee clear these wonders.

Pho. 'Twill surprise thee, When thou shalt know

Eud. What?

Pho. To what deadly gulphs

Of horror and despair, what cruel straits
Of agonizing thought I have been driven.
This night, ere my perplexed, bewildered soul,
Could find its way-thou saidst that thou wouldst
chide;

I fear thou wilt; indeed, I have done that

I could have wished to avoid-but for a cause So lovely, so beloved

Eud. What dost thou mean?

I'll not indulge a thought, that thou couldst do
One act unworthy of thyself, thy honour,
And that firm zeal against these foes of Heaven,
Which won my heart, at first, to share in all
Thy dangers and thy fame, and wish thee mine.
Thou couldst not save thy life by means inglo-

rious.

Pho. Alas! thou know'st me not-I'm man,

frail man, To error born; and who, that's man, is perfect? To save my life? O no, well was it risked For thee! had it been lost, 'twere not too much, And thou wert safe;-O, what wouldst thou have said,

If I had risked my soul to save Eudocia?
Eud. Ha! speak-Oh, no, be dumb-it can-
not be!

And yet thy looks are changed, thy lips grow
pale.
Why dost thou shake?- -Alas! I tremble too!
Thou couldst not, hast not, sworn to Mahomet?

Pho. No-I should first have died-nay, given up thee.

Eud. O Phocyas! was it well to try me thus ! And yet another deadly fear succeeds.

How came these wretches hither? Who revived
Their fainting arms to unexpected triumph?
For while thou fought'st, and fought'st the Chris-
tian cause,

These battered walls were rocks impregnable,
Their towers of adamant. But, oh! I fear
Some act of thine-

Pho. Oh, I must tell thee all;

But prithee do not frown on me, Eudocia!
I found the wakeful foe, in midnight council,
Resolved, ere day, to make a fresh attack,
Keen for revenge, and hungry after slaughter-
Could my racked soul bear that, and think of
thee!

Nay, think of thee exposed, a helpless prey,
To some fierce ruffian's violating arms!
O, had the world been mine, in that extreme
I should have given whole provinces away,
Nay, all-and thought it little for thy ransom !
Eud. For this, then-Oh-thou hast betrayed

the city!

every good,

Turns to a curse, if sought by wicked means.
Yet sure it cannot be! Are these the terms
On which we meet?-No; we can never meet
On terms like these; the hand of death itself
Could not have torn us from each other's arms
Like this dire act, this more than fatal blow!
In death, the soul and body only part,
To meet again, and be divorced no more;
But now-

Pho. Ha! lightning blast me! strike me,
Ye vengeful bolts, if this is my reward!
Are these my hoped-for joys! Is this the wel-

Eud. The cause? There is no cause-
Not universal nature could afford

A cause for this. What were dominion, pomp,
The wealth of nations, nay, of all the world,
The world itself, or what a thousand worlds,
If weighed with faith unspotted, heavenly truth,
Thoughts free from guilt, the empire of the
mind,

And all the triumphs of a godlike breast,
Firm and unmoved in the great cause of virtue?
Pho. How shall I answer thee?-My soul is
awed,

And, trembling, owns the eternal force of reason.
But, oh! can nothing then atone, or plead
For pity from thee?

Eud. Canst thou yet undo

The deed that's done; recal the time that's past?

O, call back yesterday; call back last night,
Though with its fears, its dangers, its distress:
Bid the fair hours of innocence return,
When, in the lowest ebb of changeful fortune,
Thou wert more glorious in Eudocia's eyes,
Than all the pride of monarchs! But that deed
Pho. No more thou waken'st in my tor-
tured heart

The cruel, conscious worm, that stings to mad

ness.

Oh, I'm undone !- -I know it, and can bear To be undone for thee, but not to lose thee. Eud. Poor wretch! I pity thee!--but art thou Phocyas,

The man I loved!-I could have died with thee Ere thou didst this; then we had gone together,

Bright as the stars themselves; and as we passed
The heavenly roads, and milky ways of light,
Had heard the blest inhabitants, with wonder,
Applaud our spotless love. But never, never
Will I be made the curst reward of treason,
To seal thy doom, to bind a hellish league,
And to ensure thy everlasting woe.

Pho. What league?-'tis ended-I renounce it-thus[Kneels. I bend to heaven and thee-O thou divine, Thou matchless image of all perfect goodness! Do thou but pity yet the wretched Phocyas, Heaven will relent, and all may yet be well.

Eud. No-we must part. Twill ask whole
years of sorrow

To purge away this guilt. Then do not think
Thy loss in me is worth one dropping tear:
But if thou wouldst be reconciled to Heaven,
First sacrifice to Heaven that fatal passion
Which caused thy fall-Farewell: forget the lost
-But how shall I ask that?-I would have said,
For thy soul's peace, forget the lost Eudocia.
Can'st thou forget her?-Oh! the killing torture
To think 'twas love, excess of love, divorced us!
Farewell for still I cannot speak that word,
These tears speak for me-O farewell-

Pho. [Raving] For ever!

[Erit.

Return, return and speak it; say, for ever!
She's gone and now she joins the fugitives.
And yet she did not quite pronounce my doom-
O hear, all gracious Heaven! wilt thou at once
Forgive, and O inspire me to some act
This day, that may in part redeem what's past!
Prosper this day, or let it be my last!

Erit.

Dar. Why, all Damascus-all its soul, its life, Its heart-blood, all its treasure, piles of plate, Crosses enriched with gems, arras and silks, And vests of gold, unfolded to the sun, That rival all his lustre.

Cal. How!

Dar. 'Tis true.

The bees are wisely bearing off their honey,
And soon the empty hive will be our own.

Cal. So forward too! Curse on this foolish treaty!

Dar. Forward--it looks as they had been forewarned.

By Mahomet, the land wears not the face
Of war, but trade! and thou wouldst swear its

merchants

Were sending forth their loaded caravans
To all the neighbouring countries.

Cal. [Aside.] Ha! this starts

A lucky thought of Mahomet's first exploit,
When he pursued the caravan of Corash,
And from a thousand misbelieving slaves
Wrested their ill-heaped goods, transferred to
thrive

Eum. I thank you.

The sun will soon go down upon our sorrows, And 'till to-morrow's dawn this is our home: Meanwhile, each as he can, forget his loss, And bear the present lot

Offi. Sir, I have marked

The camp's extent: 'tis stretched quite through the valley.

I think that more than half the city's here. Eum. The prospect gives me much relief, I'm pleased,

My honest countrymen, to observe your numbers;

And yet it fills my eyes with tears-'Tis said
The mighty Persian wept, when he surveyed
His numerous army, but to think them mortal;
Yet he then flourished in prosperity.
Alas! what's that?-Prosperity!-a harlot,
That smiles but to betray! O shining ruin!
Thou nurse of passions, and thou bane of virtue!
O self-destroying monster! that art blind,
Yet put'st out Reason's eye, that still should
guide thee-

Then plungeth down some precipice unseen,
And art no more!-Hear me, all-gracious Hea-

ven!

Let me wear out my small remains of life,
Obscure, content with humble poverty,
Or in affliction's hard but wholesome school,
If it must be I'll learn to know myself,
And that's more worth than empire. But, O
Heaven,

Curse me no more with proud prosperity!
It has undone me!-Herbis! where, my friend,
Hast thou been this long hour?

Enter HERBIS.

Herb. On yonder summit,

To take a farewell prospect of Damascus.
Eum. And is it worth a look?
Herb. No-I've forgot it.

All our possessions are a grasp of air;
We're cheated while we think we hold them
fast,

And when they're gone, we know that they were nothing.

But I've a deeper wound.

Eum. Poor, good old man! 'Tis true-thy son-there thou'rt indeed unhappy.

Enter ARTAMON.
What, Artamon!-art thou here, too?
Art. Yes, sir.

I never boasted much of my religion,
Yet I've some honour, and a soldier's pride;
I like not these new lords.

Eum. Thou'rt brave and honest.
Nay, we'll not yet despair. A time may come,
When from these brute barbarians we may wrest
Once more our pleasant seats.-Alas! how soon
The flatterer, Hope, is ready with her song
To charm us to forgetfulness!-No more-
Let that be left to Heaven-See, Herbis, see,

Thy words are balsam to my griefs. Eudocia,
I never knew thee 'till this day; I knew not
How many virtues I had wronged in thee!
Eud. If you talk thus, you have not yet for-
given me.

Eum. Forgiven thee !-Why, for thee it is, thee only,

I think, Heaven yet may look with pity on us;
Yes, we must all forgive each other now.
Poor Herbis too-we both have been to blame.
O, Phocyas!-but it cannot be recalled.
Yet were he here, we'd ask him pardon too.
My child!-I meant not to provoke thy tears.
Eud. [Aside.] O why is he not here? Why do

I see

Thousands of happy wretches, that but seem
Undone, yet still are blest in innocence,
And why is he not one?

Enter an Officer.

Offi. Where is Eumenes?

Eum. What means thy breathless haste? Offi. I fear there's danger: For as I kept my watch, I spied afar

Thick clouds of dust, and on a nearer view

I'll to the guard myself.
Soldier, lead on the way.

Enter another Officer.

2d Offi. Arm, arm! we're ruined! The foe is in the camp.

Eum. So soon!

2 Off. They've quitted

Their horses, and with sword in hand have forced Our guard; they say they come for plunder. Eum. Villains!

Sure Caled knows not of this treachery. Come on-we can fight still. We'll make them know

What 'tis to urge the wretched to despair.

[A noise of fighting is heard for some time. Enter DARAN, with a party of Saracen Soldiers. Dar. Let the fools fight at distance—Here's the harvest.

Reap, reap, my countrymen!-Ay, there-first

clear