[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.
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;
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
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,
Will ne'er behold the golden time you look for! Melan. How! not behold it! Say, Philotas,
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
Thrice has the sun gone down, since last these
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
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
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!
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.
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
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
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
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
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
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.
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