The modern British drama

THE

GRECIAN DAUGHTER.

MURPHY.

PROLOGUE.

[Peeping in at the Stage Door. HIP! music! music! Have you more to play? Somewhat I'd offer-stop your catgut, pray. Will you permit, and not pronounce me rude, A bookseller one moment to intrude? My name is Foolscap :--all my trouble's past, Fortune hath given me a rare helping cast. To all my toils a wife hath put a stop: A devil first; but now I keep a shop. My master died, poor man ! he's out of print! His widow, she had eyes, and took my hint. A prey to grief she could not bear to be, And so turn'd over a new leaf with me.

I drive a trade; have authors in my pay, Men of all work, per week, per sheet, per day. Trav❜llers, who not one foreign country know, And past'ral poets-in the sound of Bow; Translators, from the Greek they never read; Cantabs and Sophs, in Covent-Garden bred ; Historians, who can't write, who only take Scissars and paste; cut, vamp; a book they make. I've treated for this play; can buy it too, If I could learn what you intend to do. If, for nine nights, you'll hear this tragic stuff; I have a newspaper, and there can puff.

A newspaper does wonders! none can be
In debt, in love, dependent, or quite free;
Ugly, or handsome, well, or ill in bed;
Single, or married, or alive, or dead,
But we give life, death, virtue, vice, with ease;
In short, a newspaper does what we please.
There jealous authors at each other bark;
Till truth leaves not one glimpse, no, not
one spark;

But lies meet lies, and jostle in the dark.
Our bard within has often felt the dart
Sent from our quiver, levelled at his heart.
I've press'd him, ere he plays this desperate game,
To answer all, and vindicate his name.
But he, convinc'd that all but truth must die,
Leaves to its own mortality the lie.
Would any know while parties fight pell mell,
How he employs his pen?-his play will tell.
To that he trusts; that he submits to you,
Aim'd at your tenderest feelings; moral, new.
The scenes, he hopes, will draw the heart-felt
tear;

Scenes that come home to every bosom here.

If this will do, I'll run and buy it straight; Stay, let me see; I think I'd better wait: Yes, I'll lie snug, till you have fix'd its fate.

SCENE I.

АСТ І.

Enter MELANTHON and PHILOTAS. Melan. Yet, a moment; hear, Philotas, hear me. Phil. No more; it must not be.

Melan. Obdurate man!

Thus wilt thou spurn me, when a king distressed,
A good, a virtuous, venerable king,
The father of his people, from a throne,
Which long, with every virtue he adorned,
Torn by a ruffian, by a tyrant's hand,
Groans in captivity? In his own palace
Lives a sequestered prisoner? Oh! Philotas,
If thou hast not renounced humanity,
Let me behold my sovereign; once again
Admit me to his presence; let me see
My royal master.

Phil. Urge thy suit no further;
Thy words are fruitless; Dionysius' orders
Forbid access; he is our sovereign now;
'Tis his to give the law, mine to obey.

To hurl ambition from a throne usurped,
And bid all Sicily resume her rights.

Phil. Thou wert a statesman once, Melanthon;

now,

Grown dim with age, thy eye pervades no more
The deep-laid schemes which Dionysius plans.
Know then, a fleet from Carthage even now
Stems the rough billow; and, ere yonder sun,
That, now declining, seeks the western wave,
Shall to the shades of night resign the world,
Thou'lt see the Punic sails in yonder bay,
Whose waters wash the walls of Syracuse.
Melun. Art thou a stranger to Timoleon's
name?

Intent to plan, and circumspect to see
All possible events, he rushes on

Resistless in his course! Your boasted master
Scarce stands at bay; each hour the strong block.
ade

Hems him in closer, and, ere long, thou'lt view
Oppression's iron rod to fragments shivered!

Melan. Thou can'st not mean it: his to give The good Evander then

the law!

Detested spoiler !-his! a vile usurper!
Have we forgot the elder Dionysius,
Surnamed the tyrant? To Sicilia's throne
The monster waded through whole seas of blood.
Sore groaned the land beneath his iron rod,
Till, roused at length, Evander came from Greece,
Like Freedom's genius came, and sent the tyrant,
Stripped of the crown, and to his humble rank
Once more reduced, to roam, for vile subsistence,
A wandering sophist through the realms of Greece.

Phil. Melanthon, yes: full clearly I remember
The splendid day, when all rejoicing Sicily
Hailed her deliverer.

Melan. Shall the tyrant's son
Deduce a title from the father's guilt?
Philotas, thou wert once the friend of goodness;
Thou art a Greek; fair Corinth gave thee birth;
I marked thy growing youth: I need not tell,
With what an equal sway Evander reigned,
How just, how upright, generous, and good!
From every region bards and sages came;
Whate'er of science Egypt stored,

All that the east had treasured, all that Greece
Of moral wisdom taught, and Plato's voice,
Was heard in Sicily. Shall Dionysius
Extinguish every virtue from the land,
Bow to his yoke the necks of freeborn men,
And here perpetuate a tyrant's reign?

Phil. Whate'er his right, to him, in Syracuse,
All bend the knee; his the supreme dominion,
And death and torment wait his sovereign nod.
Melan. But soon that power shall cease: be-
hold his walls

Now close encircled by the Grecian bands;
Timoleon leads them on; indignant Corinth
Sends her avenger forth, arrayed in terror,

Phil. Alas! Evander

Will ne'er behold the golden time you look for!
Melan. How! not behold it! Say, Philotas,

speak;

Has the fell tyrant, have his felon murderers-
Phil. As yet, my friend, Evander lives.
Melan. And yet,

Thy dark half-hinted purpose-lead me to him;
If thou hast murdered him-

Phil. By Heaven, he lives!

Melan. Then bless me with one tender inter

view!

Thrice has the sun gone down, since last these

eyes

Have seen the good old king; say, why is this?
Wherefore debarred his presence? Thee, Philotas,
The troops obey, that guard the royal prisoner;
Each avenue to thee is open; thou
Can'st grant admittance; let me, let me see him!
Phil. Entreat no more; the soul of Dionysius
Is ever wakeful; rent with all the pangs
That wait on conscious guilt.

Melan. But when dun night-
Phil. Alas! it cannot be: but mark my words.
Let Greece urge on her general assault.
Dispatch some friend, who may o'erleap the
walls,

And tell Timoleon, the good old Evander
Has lived three days, by Dionysius' order,
Locked up from every sustenance of nature,
And life, now wearied out, almost expires.
Melan. If any spark of virtue dwells within
thee,

Lead me, Philotas, lead me to his prison.
Phil. The tyrant's jealous care hath moved

him thence.

Melan. Ha! moved him, say'st thou?

Phil. At the midnight hour,
Silent conveyed him up the steep ascent,
To where the elder Dionysius formed,
On the sharp summit of the pointed rock,
Which overhangs the deep, a dungeon drear:
Cell within cell, a labyrinth of horror,
Deep caverned in the cliff, where many a wretch,
Unseen by mortal eye, has groaned in anguish,
And died obscure, unpitied, and unknown.

Melan. Clandestine murderer! Yes, there's

the scene

Of horrid massacre. Full oft I've walked,
When all things lay in sleep and darkness hush'd,
Yes, oft I've walked the lonely sullen beach,
And heard the mournful sound of many a corse
Plunged from the rock into the wave beneath,
That murmurs on the shore. And means he thus
To end a monarch's life? Oh! grant my prayer;
My timely succour may protect his days;
The guard is yours—

Phil. Forbear; thou plead'st in vain;
And though I feel soft pity throbbing here,
Though each emotion prompts the generous deed,
I must not yield; it were assured destruction.
Farewell! dispatch a message to the Greeks;
I'll to my station; now thou know'st the worst.
[Ext.
Melan. Oh, lost Evander! Lost Euphrasia
too!

How will her gentle nature bear the shock
Of a dear father, thus in lingering pangs
A prey to famine, like the veriest wretch,
Whom the hard hand of misery hath griped!
In vain she'll rave with impotence of sorrow;
Perhaps provoke her fate: Greece arms in vain ;
All's lost; Evander dies!

And save a virtuous king!

[Warlike music.

Enter EUPHRASIA.

Euph. War on, ye heroes,

Ye great assertors of a monarch's cause !
Let the wild tempest rage. Melanthon, ha!
Did'st thou not hear the vast tremendous roar?
Down tumbling from its base, the eastern tower
Burst on the tyrant's ranks, and on the plain
Lies an extended ruin.

Melan. Still new horrors

Once more, Melanthon, once again, my father
Shall mount Sicilia's throne.

Melan. Alas! that hour

Would come with joy to every honest heart,
Would shed divinest blessings from its wing;
But no such hour in all the round of time,
I fear, the fates averse will e'er lead on.

Euph. And still, Melanthon, still does pale
despair

Depress thy spirit? Lo! Timoleon comes,
Armed with the power of Greece; the brave,
The just, god-like Timoleon! ardent to redress,
He guides the war, and gains upon his prey.
A little interval shall set the victor
Within our gates triumphant.

Melan. Still my fears

Forebode for thee. Would thou had'st left this place,

When hence your husband, the brave Phocion, fled,

Fled with your infant son!

Euph. In duty fixed,

Here I remained, while my brave generous
Phocion

Fled with my child, and from his mother's arms
Bore my sweet little one. Full well thou know'st
The pangs I suffered in that trying moment.
Did I not weep? Did I not rave and shriek,
And by the roots tear my dishevelled hair?
Did I not follow to the sea-beat shore,
Resolved with him, and with my blooming boy,
To trust the winds and waves?

Melan. Deem not, Euphrasia,

I e'er can doubt thy constancy and love.
Euph. Melanthon, how I loved! the gods, whe

saw

Each secret image that my fancy formed,
The gods can witness how I loved my Phocion.
And yet I went not with him. Could I do it?
Could I desert my father? Could I leave
The venerable man, who gave me being,
A victim here in Syracuse, nor stay
To watch his fate, to visit his affliction,
To cheer his prison hours, and, with the tear
Of filial virtue, bid even bondage smile?

Melan. The pious act, whate'er the fates intend,
Shall merit heart-felt praise.

Euph. Yes, Phocion, go;

Go with my child, torn from this matron breast,
This breast that still should yield its nurture to

him,

Fly with my infant to some happier shore.
If he be safe, Euphrasia dies content.
Till that sad close of all, the task be mine
To tend a father with delighted care,
To smooth the pillow of declining age,
See him sink gradual into mere decay,
On the last verge of life watch every look,
Explore each fond unutterable wish,
Catch his last breath, and close his eyes in peace.
Melan. I would not add to thy afflictions; yet

Increase each hour, and gather round our heads. My heart misgives; Evander's fatal period

Euph. Still is far off; the gods have sent relief,

And once again I shall behold him king. Melan. Alas! those glittering hopes but lend a ray

To gild the clouds, that hover o'er your head, Soon to rain sorrow down, and plunge you deeper In black despair.

Euph. The spirit-stirring virtue,
That glows within me, ne'er shall know despair.
No, I will trust the gods. Desponding man!
Hast thou not heard with what resistless ardour
Timoleon drives the tumult of the war?
Hast thou not heard him thundering at our
gates?

The tyrant's pent up in his last retreat;
Anon thou'lt see his battlements in dust,
His walls, his ramparts, and his towers in ruin;
Destruction pouring in on every side;
Pride and oppression at their utmost need;
And nought to save him in his hopeless hour.
[A flourish of trumpets.
Melan. Ha! the fell tyrant comes-Beguile
his rage,

And o'er your sorrows cast a dawn of gladness.

Enter DIONYSIUS, CALIPPUS, Officers, &c. Dion. The vain, presumptuous Greek! his

hopes of conquest,

Like a gay dream, are vanished into air.
Proudly elate, and flushed with easy triumph
O'er vulgar warriors, to the gates of Syracuse
He urged the war, till Dionysius' arm

Let slaughter loose, and taught his dastard train
To seek their safety by inglorious flight.

Euph. O Dionysius, if distracting fears Alarm this throbbing bosom, you will pardon A frail and tender sex. Should ruthless war Roam through our streets, and riot here in blood, Where shall the lost Euphrasia find a shelter? In vain she'll kneel, and clasp the sacred altar. O let me, then, in mercy, let me seek The gloomy mansion, where my father dwells; I die content, if in his arms I perish.

Dion. Thou lovely trembler, hush thy fears

Evander mocks the injuries of time.
Calippus, thou survey the city round;
Station the centinels, that no surprise
Invade the unguarded works, while drowsy night
Weighs down the soldier's eye. Afflicted fair,
Thy couch invites thee. When the tumult's o'er,
Thou'lt see Evander with redoubled joy.
Though now, unequal to the cares of empire,
His age sequester him, yet honours high
Shall gild the evening of his various day.

Euph. For this benignity, accept my thanks. They gush in tears, and my heart pours its tri bute.

Dion. Perdiccas, ere the morn's revolving
light

Unveil the face of things, do thou dispatch
A well-oared galley to tamilcar's fleet;
At the north point of yonder promontory,
Let some selected officer instruct him
To moor his ships, and issue on the land.
Then may Timoleon tremble: vengeance, then,
Shall overwhelm his camp, pursue his bands,
With fatal havoc, to the ocean's margin,
And cast their limbs to glut the vulture's famine,
In mangled heaps, upon the naked shore.

(Exit DIONYSIUS Euph. What do I hear? Melanthon, can it be? If Carthage comes, if her perfidious sons List in his cause, the dawn of freedom's gone. Melan. Woe, bitterest woe impends; thou would'st not think

Euph. How?-Speak! unfold!
Melan. My tongue denies its office.
Euph. How is my father? Say, Melanthon-
Melan. He,-

I fear to shock thee with the tale of horror!
Perhaps he dies this moment. Since Timoleon
First formed his lines round this beleaguered

city,

No nutriment has touched Evander's lips. In the deep caverns of the rock imprisoned, He pines in bitterest want.

Euph. To that abode

Of woe and horror, that last stage of life,
Has the fell tyrant moved him?

Melun. There sequestered,
Alas! he soon must perish.

Euph. Well, my heart,

Well do your vital drops forget to flow! Metan. Enough his sword has reeked with public slaughter;

Now, dark insidious deeds must thin mankind. Euph. Oh! night, that oft has heard my pier cing shrieks

Disturb thy awful silence; oft has heard
Each stroke these hands, in frantic sorrow, gave,
From this sad breast resounding; now no mon
I mean to vent complaints; I mean not now
With busy memory to retrace the wrongs
The tyrant heaped on our devoted race.
I bear it all; with calmest patience bear it,
Resigned and wretched, desperate and lost.
Melun. Despair, alas! is all the sad resource
Our fate allows us now.

Euph. Yet, why despair?

Is that the tribute to a father due?

SCENE I.-A wild romantic scene amidst overhanging rocks; a cavern on one side.

ARCAS. [With a speur in his hand.] The gloom of night sits heavy on the world; And o'er the solemn scene such stillness reigns, As 'twere a pause of nature; on the beach No murmuring billow breaks; the Grecian tents Lie sunk in sleep; no gleaming fires are seen; All Syracuse is hushed; no stir abroad, Save ever and anon the dashing oar, That beats the sullen wave. And hark!-Was

that

The groan of anguish from Evander's cell,
Piercing the midnight gloom ?-It is the sound
Of bustling prows, that cleave the briny deep.
Perhaps, at this dead hour, Hamilcar's fleet'
Rides in the bay.

Enter PHILOTAS, from the cavern.
Phil. What ho! brave Arcas! ho!
Arc. Why thus desert thy couch?
Phil. Methought the sound
Of distant uproar chased affrighted sleep.

Arc. At intervals the oars resounding stroke Comes echoing from the main. Save that report, A death-like silence through the wide expanse Broods o'er the dreary coast.

Phil. Do thou retire,

And seek repose; the duty of thy watch
Is now performed; I take thy post.
Arc. How fares

Your royal prisoner?

Phil. Arcas, shall I own

A secret weakness? My heart inward melts
To see that suffering virtue. On the earth,
The cold, damp earth, the royal victim lies;
And while pale famine drinks his vital spirit,
He welcomes death, and smiles himself to rest.

[Excunt.

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Livros

The modern British drama, Volume 2