sufferings, 'tis easing myself to relieve you: know, therefore, all that's past I freely forgive. Gay. You cannot mean it, sure! I am lost in wonder! Mel. Prepare yourself for more wonder. You have another friend in masquerade here. Mr. Cook, pray throw aside your drunkenness, and make your sober appearance.-Don't you know that face, Sir? Cook. Ay, master; what! you have forgot your friend, Dick, as you used to call me? Gay. More wonder indeed! Don't you live with my father? Mel. Just after your hopeful servant there had left me, comes this man from Sir William, with a letter to me; upon which (being by that wholly convinced of your necessitous condition) I invented, by the help of Kitty and Mrs. Gadabout, this little plot, in which your friend Dick there has acted miracles, resolving to tease you a little, that you might have a greater relish for a happy turn in your affairs. Now, Sir, read that letter, and complete your joy. ærtant, Gay. [Reads.] Madam, I am father to the unfortunate young man, who, I hear, by a friend of mine (that by my desire has been a continual epy upon him) is making his addresses to you. If he is so happy as to make himself agreeable to you, whose character I am charmed with, I shall own him with joy for my son, and forget his former follies.-I am, madam, your most humble WILLIAM GAYLESS. P. S.--I will be soon in town myself to congratulate his reformation and marriage. Oh, Melissa, this is too much! Thus let me show my thanks and gratitude; for here 'tis only due. [Kneels; she raises him. Sharp. A reprieve! a reprieve! a reprieve! Kitty. I have been, Sir, a most bitter enemy to you; but since you are likely to be a little more conversant with cash than you have been, I am now, with the greatest sincerity, your most obe dient friend, and humble servant. Gay. Oh, Mrs. Pry, I have been too much indulged with forgiveness myself, not to forgive lesser offences in other people. Sharp. Well then, Madam, since my master has vouchsafed pardon to your handmaid Kitty, I hope you'll not deny it to his footman Timothy. Mel. Pardon! for what? Sharp. Only for telling you about ten thousand lies, Madam; and, among the rest, insinuating that your ladyship would Mel. I understand you; and can forgive any thing Sharp, that was designed for the service of your master; and if Pry and you will follow our example, I'll give her a small fortune, as a reward for both your fidelities. Sharp. I fancy, Madam, 'twould be better to halve the small fortune between us, and keep us both single; for as we shall live in the same house, in all probability we may taste the comforts of matrimony and not be troubled with its inconveniences. What say you, Kitty? Kitty. Do you hear, Sharp; before you talk of the comforts of matrimony, take the comforts of a good dinner, and recover your flesh a little; do puppy. Sharp. The devil backs her, that's certain, and I am no match for her at any weapon. [Aside. VOL. I....E THE GRECIAN DAUGHTER: A TRAGEDY, IN FIVE ACTS. BY ARTHUR MURPHY. REMARKS. This tragedy was produced at Drury Lane in 1772. A picture of the Roman Charity, which Mr. Murphy no ticed at the house of a celebrated painter, wherein the centinel bursts into tears at "The pious fraud of charity and love," first suggested the idea to our author. "Perhaps, of all the events recorded in history, that filial piety, on which the fable of this play is founded, may be classed amongst the most affecting-yet it was one of the most hazardous for a dramatist to adopt : for nothing less than complete skill could have given to this singular occurrence effectual force, joined to becoming delicacy In this arduous effort, Mr. Murphy has evinced the most exact judgment, and the nicest execut on."-Inchbald Groans in captivity? In his own palace Mel. Yet, a moment; hear, Philotas, hear me. My royal master." Mel. Obdurate man! Thus wilt thou spurn me, when a king distress'd, Phil. Urge thy suit no further; Mel. Thou canst not mean it: his to give the Have we forgot the elder Dionysius, Now close encircled by the Grecian bands; Phil. Thou wert a statesman once, Melanthon; now, Grown dim with age, thy eye pervades no more Resistless in his course! Your boasted master Scarce stands at bay; each hour the strong blockade Hems him in closer, and ere long thou'lt view Phil. Alas, Evander Will ne'er behold the golden time you look for! Thy dark, half-hinted purpose-lead me to him; Phil. By heaven, he lives. Mel. Then bless me with one tender interview. Thrice has the sun gone down since last these eyes Have seen the good old king; say, why is this? Wherefore debarr'd his presence? Thee, Philotas, The troops obey, that guard the royal pris'ner; Each avenue to thee is open; thou Canst 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. Me!. But when dun night Phil. Alas it cannot be: but mark my words. Mel. Ha! mov'd him, say'st thou ? To where the elder Dionysius form'd, Mel. Clandestine murderer! Yes, there's the scene Of horrid massacre. Full oft I've walk'd, Phil. Forbear; thou plead'st in vain; Arm'd with the power of Greece; the brave, the Euph. O Dionysius, if distracting fears Would thou hadst left this When hence your husband, the brave Phocion, fled; Fled with your infant son! Euph. In duty fix'd, Here I remain'd, while my brave, gen'rous Phocion Mel. 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. Catch his last breath, and close his eyes in peace. Mel. Alas! those glitt'ring 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. Like a gay dream, are vanish'd into air. Let slaughter loose, and taught his dastard train Alarm this throbbing bosom, you will pardon Indulge a daughter's love; worn out with age, Thy couch invites thee. When the tumult's o'er, To moor his ships, and issue on the land. Euph. How?-Speak! unfold! Euph. How is my father? Say, Melanthon-- I fear to shock thee with the tale of horror! Euph. Well, my heart, Euph. Yet why despair? Is that the tribute to a father due ? Melanthon, come; my wrongs will lend me force; This arm shall vindicate a father's cause. 1 The groan of anguish from Evander's cell, Enter PHILOTAS, from the Cavern. Of distant uproar chas'd affrighted sleep. Arc. At intervals the oar's 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 Your royal pris'ner? Phil. Arcas, shall I own A secret weakness? My heart inward melts Arc. May no alarm disturb thee. [Exit. ho! Speak, ere thou dar'st advance. Unfold thy purpose: Who and what art thou? Oh! give him to me;-if ever The touch of nature throbb'd within your breast, I know he pines in want; let me convey Phil. Alas! Euphrasia, would I dare comply. Euph. It will be virtue in thee. Thou, like me, Wert born in Greece:-Oh! by our common pa rent Nay, stay; thou shalt not fly; Philotas, stay; Chain'd to the earth, with slow consuming pangs Of thy own aged sire, and pity mine. Thy tears, thy wild entreaties, are in vain. no more ; I understand thee;-butchers, you have shed Retire, and seek the couch of balmy sleep, Euph. And dost thou then, inhuman that thou art, Advise a wretch like me to know repose? Euph. [Behind the scenes.] Thou need'st not This is my last abode: these caves, these rocks, fear, It is a friend approaches. Phil. Ha! what mean Those plaintive notes ? Euph. Here is no ambush'd Greek, No warrior to surprise thee on the watch. An humble suppliant comes.-Alas, my strength Exhausted quite forsakes this weary frame. Phil. What voice thus piercing through the gleam of night What art thou? what thy errand? quickly say What wretch, with what intent, at this dread hour Wherefore alarm'st thou thus our peaceful watch? [Exit. Re-enter PHILOTAS, with EUPHRASIA. Euphrasia! Why, princess, thus anticipate the dawn? The Grecian bands, the winds, the waves, are hush'd; All things are mute around us; all but you Guilt is at rest: I only wake to misery. Shall ring for ever with Euphrasia's wrongs; Phil. Yet calm this violence; reflect, Euphrasia, If here thou'rt found Her fix'd eternal home;-inhuman savages, Euph. Here is Euphrasia's mansion. [Falls Here stretch me with a father's murder'd corse. Phil. By heaven, My heart in pity bleeds. Her vehemence of grief o'erpowers me quite. My honest heart condemns the barb'rous deed, And if I dare Euph. And if you dare!-Is that The voice of manhood? Honest, if you dare! |