Muft I not only lose thee, but be curs'd To sprinkle my own hands with thy life blood? It cannot be avoided. MANDANE. MEMNON. Nor perform❜d. Lift MANDANE. Myron! [At that MEMNON ftarts up fuddenly. ΜΕΜΝΟΝ. Ah hold! I charge thee hold! One glance that way Awakes my hell, and blows up all its flames : The world turns round; my heart is fick to death! MANDANE. Why ftand you like a ftatue? Are you dead? Are arguments that I should draw thy blood.- And shall I murder thee? Yes, thus-thus-thus MANDANE. Alas! my lord forgets we are to die. [Embracing fome time. [Memnon gazes with wonder on the dagger. By heav'n I had; my foul had took her flight Sun, hide thy face, and put the world in mourning. MANDANE. 'Tis paft; I am compos'd. MEMNON. And now and now. MANDANE MANDANE. Be not fo fearful; 'tis the fecond blow Will pain my heart—indeed this will not hurt me. ΜΕΜΝΟΝ. O thou haft ftung my foul quite through and through, And thou undo'ft it all- -I could not bear If you're a woman, I'll be something more.- ΜΕΜΝΟΝ. Struck home-and in her heart-She's dead already; And now with me all nature is expir'd. [Dies. My lovely bride, now we again are happy, [Stabs himself. And better worlds prepare our nuptial bow'r. Now every fplendid object of ambition, Which lately, with their various gloffes, play'd And all the world is vanish'd. [Dies. A march founded. Enter NICANOR and SYPHOCES, vic torious. The guards, which are advancing to the bodies, fly. NICANOR. The day's our own; the Perfian's angry pow'rs Have well repaid this morning infolence, SYPHOCES. I from the city bring you welcome news : Leaving her palace for the western tow'r, Was feiz'd, torn, scatter'd, on the guilty spot, NICANOR. The gods are juft, SYPHOCES. See where Bufiris comes; your royal captive, NICANOR, [Advancing, fees the bodies.] A fight that teaches triumph how to mourn, [He falls on his attendants, Conquer'd? 'Tis false; I am your master still; Crowns and fuccefs fuperfluous to my fame. You think this ftreaming blood will lower my thought; No, ye To me a real folitude, amid 5 A throng A throng of little beings groveling round me; I thank these wounds, these raging pains, which promise An interview with equals foon elsewhere. [He fees Memnon.] Ha! dead? 'Tis well: He rofe not to my sword; I only wish'd his fate, and there he lies. Some, when they die, die all; their mould'ring clay Is but an emblem of their memories; The space quite closes up thro' which they pass'd: Shall pluck the fhining age from vulgar time, Whofe fplendor heighten our Egyptian day, Whose strength shall laugh at time, till their great bafis, Old earth itself, fhall fail: In after-ages, Who war or build, fhall build or war from me; Grow great in each as my example fires : 'Tis I of art the future wonders raise; I fight the future battles of the world. Great Jove, I come! Egypt, thou art forfaken; [Sinks. Afia's impoverish'd by my finking glories; And the world leffens, when Bufiris falls. SYPHOCES. Bear the dead monarch to his pyramid; [Dies. From |