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Eud. Where is Eumenes ?

1 Offi. I left him well; by his command I came To search you out: and let you know this news. I've more; but that

Art. Is bad, perhaps, so says. This sudden pause. Well, be it so ; let's know it, 'Tis but life's checquer'd lot.

1 Offi. Eumenes mourns
A friend's unhappy fall; Herbis is slain ;
A settled gloom seem'd to hang heavy on him,
Th'effect of grief, 'tis thought, for his lost son.
When on the first attack, like one that sought
The welcome means of death, with desperate valour
He press'd the foe, and met the fate he wish'd.
Art. See, where Eumenes comes! What's this?

He seems
To lead some wounded friend- -Alas! 'tis-

[They withdraw to one Side of the Stage.

Enter Eumenes, leading in PhocyAS, with an Arrow

in his Breast.

Eum. Give me thy wound ! O I could bear it for

thee !
This goodness melts my heart. What, in a moment
Forgetting all thy wrongs, in kind embraces
T'exchange forgiveness thus !

Pho. Moments are few,
And must not now be wasted. O Eumenes,
Lend me thy helping hand a little farther;
O where, where is she ?

[They advance.
Eum. Look, look here, Eudocia !
Behold a sight, that calls for all our tears !
Eud. Phocyas, and wounded ! -0) what cruel

handPho. No 'twas a kind one-Spare thy tears, Eu

docia ! For mine are tears of joy

Eud. Is't possible ?
Pho. 'Tis done the powers supreme have heard

my prayer, And prosper'd me with some fair deed this day. I've fought once more, and for my friends, my coun

try.
By me the treacherous chiefs are slain ; a while
I stopp'd the foe, till, warn'd by me before,
Of this their sudden march, Abudah came ;
But first this random shaft had reach'd

my

breast. Life's mingled scene is o'er-'tis thus that Heaven At once chastises, and, I hope, accepts me. Eud. What shall I say to thee, to give thee com

fort: Pho. Say only thou forgiv'st me--O, Eudocia! No longer now my

dazzled eyes

behold thee
Thro' passion's mists : my soul now gazes on thee,
And sees thee lovelier in unfading charms !
Bright as the shining angel host that stood-
Whilst I-but there it smarts-

Eud. Look down, look down,
Ye pitying powers ! and help his pious sorrow!

Èum. "Tis not too late, we hope, to give thee help. See! yonder is my tent: we'll lead thee thither ; Come, enter there, and let thy wound be dress’d. Perhaps it is not mortal.

Pho. No, not mortal ?
No flattery now. By all my hopes hereafter,
For the world's empire I'd not lose this death !
Alas ! I but keep in my fleeting breath
A few short moments, till I have conjur'd you,
That to the world

you
witness

my remorse
For my past errors, and defend my faine.
For know- --soon as this pointed steel's drawn out,
Life follows thro’the wound,

Eud. What dost thou say?
O touch not yet the broken springs of life !
A thousand tender thoughts rise in my soul,

How shall I give them words ? Oh, till this hour
I scarce have tasted woe!-this is indeed
To part--but, Oh !

Pho. No more-death is now painful !
But say, my friends, whilst I have breath to ask,
(For still methinks all your concerns are mine)
Whither have you design'd to bend your journey?

Eum. Constantinople is my last retreat,
If Heaven indulge my wish ; there I've resolv'd
To wear out the dark winter of my life,
An old man's stock of days—I hope not many.

Eud. There will I dedicate myself to Heaven.
O, Phocyas, for thy sake, no rival else
Shall e'er possess my heart. My father, too,
Consents to this my vow, My vital flame
There, like a taper on the holy altar,
Shall waste away; till Heaven, relenting, hears
Incessant prayers for thee and for myself,
And wing my soul to meet with thine in bliss.
For, in that thought, I find a sudden hope,
As if inspir'd, springs in my breast, and tells me,
That thy repenting frailty is forgiven,
And we shall meet again, to part no more.
Pho. [Plucking out the Arrow.] Then all is done

'twas the last pang—at lengthI've given up thee, and the world now is-nothing.

[Dies. Eum. O Phocyas ! Phocyas ! Alas! he hears not now, nor sees my sorrows ! Yet will I mourn for thee, thou gallant youth! As for a son-so let me call thee now. A much wrong’d friend, and an unhappy hero! A fruitless zeal, yet all I now can show; Tears vainly flow for errors learnt too late, When timely caution should prevent our fate.

[Exeunt Omnes.

THE END.

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