Its heart blood, all its treasure, piles of plate,
Crosses enrich'd with gems, arras and silks,
And vests of gold, unfolded to the sun,
That rival all his lustre !
Caled. How?

Daran. Tis true.

The bees are wisely bearing off their honey,
And soon the empty hive will be our own.
Caled. So forward too! curse on this fool-
ish treaty!

Daran. Forward- it looks as if they had

been forewarn'd.

By Mahomet, the land wears not the face
Of war, but trade! and thou wouldst swear its
merchants

Were sending forth their loaded caravans
To all the neighb'ring countries.

Eum. I thank you.

The sun will soon go down upon our sorrows,
And, till to-morrow's dawn, this is our home:
Meanwhile, each, as he can, forget his loss,
And bear the present lot.

3 Offi. Sir, I have mark'd

The camp's extent: 'tis stretch'd quite through the valley.

I think that more than half the city's here.
Eum. The prospect gives me much relief. I'm
pleas'd,

My honest countrymen, t' observe your numbers:
And yet it fills my eyes with tears-'Tis said,
The mighty Persian wept, when he survey'd
His numerous army, but to think them mortal;
Yet he then flourish'd in prosperity.
Alas! what's that?-Prosperity!—a harlot,

Caled. Dogs! infidels! 'tis more than was That smiles but to betray!

allow'd!

Hear me, all gracious heaven,

Daran. And shall we not pursue them-Let me wear out my small remains of life,

Robbers! thieves!

mercy.

Daran. I knew my general would not suffer
this,

Therefore I've troops prepar'd without the gate;
Just mounted for pursuit. Our Arab horse
Will in few minutes reach the place; yet still
I must repeat my doubts-that devil, Phocyas,
Will know it soon-I met him near the gate:
My nature sickens at him, and forebodes
I know not what of ill.

Caled. No more; away
With thy cold fears-we'll march this very
instant,

And quickly make this thriftless conquest good:
The sword too has been wrong'd, and thirsts
for blood.
[Exeunt.

Obscure, content with humble poverty,
Or, in affliction's hard but wholesome school,
If it must be-I'll learn to know myself,
And that's more worth than empire. But, O
heaven,

Curse me no more with proud prosperity!
It has undone me!-

Enter HERBIS.
Herbis! where, my friend,
Hast thou been this long hour?
Her. On yonder summit,

To take a farewell prospect of Damascus.
Eum. And is it worth a look?
Her. No-I've forgot it.

All our possessions are a grasp of air:
We're cheated, whilst we think we hold them fast:
And when they're gone, we know that they
were nothing:
But I've a deeper wound.

Eum. Poor, good old man!
'Tis true-thy son-there thou'rt indeed unhappy.
Enter ARTAMON.

What, Artamon! art thou here, too?
Arl. Yes, sir.

I never boasted much,

Yet, I've some honour, and a soldier's pride;
I like not these new lords.

Eum. Thou'rt brave and honest. Nay, we'll not yet despair. A time may come, When from these brute barbarians we may wrest SCENE II.—A Valley full of Tents; Baggage The flatterer, hope, is ready with his song, Once more our pleasant seats.-Alas! how soon and Harness lying up and down amongst To charm us to forgetfulness!-No more— them. The Prospect terminating with Palm Let that be left to heaven.-See, Herbis, see, Trees and Hills at a Distance. Methinks we've here a goodly city yet. Enter EUMENES, with Officers and Attendants. Was it not thus our great forefathers liv'd, Eum. [Entering] Sleep on-and angels be In better times-in humble fields and tents, thy guard!-soft slumber With all their flocks and herds, their moving wealth?

Has gently stole her from her griefs awhile; Let none approach the tent-Are out-guards See, too, where our own Pharphar winds his plac'd

On yonder hills?

Offi. They are.

stream

[To an Officer. Through the long vale, as if to follow us; And kindly offers his cool wholesome draughts,

Eum. [Striking his Breast] Damascus, O-To ease us in our march!-Why, this is plenty.

Still art thou here!-Let me entreat you, friends,

To keep strict order; I have no command,
And can but now advise you.

Off. You are still

Our head and leader.

We're all prepar'd to follow you.

Enter EUDOCIA.

My daughter!-wherefore hast thou left thy tent?
What breaks so soon thy rest?

Eud. Rest is not there,

Or I have sought in vain, and cannot find it.

O cruel man! Why wilt thou rack me thus?
Didst thou not mark-thou didst, when last we
parted,

The pangs, the strugglings of my suff'ring soul;
That nothing but the hand of heaven itself
Could ever drive me from thee!- Dost thou now
Reproach me thus? or canst thou have a thought
That I can e'er forget thee?

Pho. [Rises] Have a care!

I'll not be tortur'd more with thy false pity! Pho. Not know thee?--Yes, too well I know No, I renounce it. See, I am prepar'd. thee now,

[Shows a Dagger. O murd'rous fiend!. Why all this waste ofblood?
Didst thou not promise-

Thy cruelty is mercy now.-Farewell!
And death is now but a release from torment! Caled. Promise!-Insolence!

Eud. Hold-stay thee yet!-0, madness of 'Tis well, 'tis well; for now I know thee too.
Perfidious, mongrel slave! Thou double traitor!
False to thy first and to thy latter vows!
Villain!

despair! And wouldst thou die? Think, ere thou leap'st the gulf,

When thou hast trod that dark, that unknown way,

Canst thou return? What if the change prove worse?

O think, if then

tians,

Enter CALED, Caled. So, slaughter,do thy work! These hands look well.

Pho. That's well-go on-I swear I thank thee. Speak it again, and strike it through my ear! A villain! Yes, thou mad'st me so, thou devil! And mind'st me now what to demand from thee. Give, give me back my former self, my honour, My country's fair esteem, my friends, my allThou canst not-O thou robber!-Give me then Revenge or death! The last I well deserveThat yielded up my soul's best wealth to thee, For which accurs'd be thou, and curs'd thy prophet!

Caled. Hear'st thou this, Mahomet?-Blas-
pheming mouth!

For this thou soon shalt chew the bitter fruit
Of Zacon's tree, the food of fiends below.
Go-speed thee thither—

[Pushes at him with his Lance, which
Phocyas puts by, and kills him.
Pho. Go thou first thyself.
Caled. [Falls] O dog! thou gnaw'st my
heart!-

Eum. Ha! Caled?

Abu. Dumb and breathless.

Then thus has heaven chastis'd us in thy fall,
And thee for violated faith! Farewell,
Thou great, but cruel man!

Eum. This thirst of blood
In his own blood is quench'd.
Abu. Bear hence his clay

hear!

My father and his friends!-I dare not stay-Back to Damascus. Cast a mantle first
Heav'n be my guide, to shun this gath'ring ruin! O'er this sad sight: so should we hide his faults.—
[Exit. Now hear, ye servants of the prophet,
A greater death than this demands your tears,
For know, your lord, the caliph, is no more!
Good Abubeker has breath'd out his spirit
To him that gave it. Yet your caliph lives,
Lives now in Omar. See, behold his signet,
Appointing me, such is his will, to lead
His faithful armies warring here in Syria.
Alas!-foreknowledge sure of this event
Guided his choice! Obey me then, your chief.
For you, O Christians; know, with speed I came,
On the first notice of this foul design,
Or to prevent it, or repair your wrongs.
Your goods shall be untouch'd, your persons safe.
Nor shall our troops henceforth, on pain of death,

[Looks on his Hands. Phocyas!Thou'rt met-But whether thou art here [Comes forward. A friend or foe, I know not; if a friend, Which is Eumenes' tent? Pho. Hold, pass no further. Caled. Say'st thou, not pass? Pho. No-on thy life no further. Caled. What, dost thou frown too?-Sure, thou know'st me not!

A purer faith! Thou, better than thy sect,
That dar'st decline from that to acts of mercy!
Pardon, Abudah, if thy honest heart
Makes us ev'n wish thee ours.

Abu. O Power Supreme!

That mad'st my heart, and know'st its inmost
frame,

If yet I err, O lead me into truth,
Or pardon unknown error!-Now, Eumenes,
Friends, as we may be, let us part in peace.
[Exeunt severally.

Re-enter ARTAMON and EUDOCIA.
Eud. Alas! but is my father safe?
Art. Heaven knows.

I left him just preparing to engage:
When, doubtful of th' event, he bade me haste
To warn his dearest daughter of the danger,
And aid your speedy flight.

Eud. My flight! but whither?
O no-if he is lost-

Art. I hope not so.

The noise is ceas'd. Perhaps they're beaten off. We soon shall know;-here's one that can inform us.

Re-enter first Officer.

Soldier, thy looks speak well;-what says thy

tongue?

1 Offi. The foe's withdrawn. Abudah has been here,

Pho. No,'twas a kind one.-Spare thy tears,
Eudocia!

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 country.

By me the treach'rous chiefs are slain: awhile
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

comfort?

Pho. Say only thou forgiv'st me-O Eudocia!
No longer now my dazzled eyes behold thee
Through 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!
Eum. 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 flatt'ry now. By all my hopes hereafter,
For the world's empire I'd not lose this death.

And has renew'd the terms. Caled is kill'd-Alas! I but keep in my fleeting breath
Art. Hold-first thank heaven for that!
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

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 fame.
For know, soon as this pointed steel's drawn out,
Life follows through the wound.

Eud. What dost thou say?

This sudden pause. Well, be it so; let's know it; O, touch not yet the broken springs of life!

Tis but life's checker'd lot.

1 Offi. Eumenes mourns

A friend's unhappy fall-Herbis is slain-
A settled gloom seem'd to hang heavy on him;
'fh' effect of grief, 'tis thought, for his lost son.
When on the first attack, like one that sought
The welcome means of death, with desp'rate

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.
Re-enter EUMENES, leading in PHOCIAS, 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 mo

ment

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 band a little further;
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!-Oh, what
cruel hand-

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 heav'n, 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 forgiv'n,
And we shall meet again to part no more.
Pho. [Plucks out the Arrow] Then all is done
-'twas the last pang-at length-
I've given up thee, and the world now is-nothing.
Dies.

Eum. O Phocyas! Phocyas!

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

[Exeunt.

---—"--

A NATIVE of Ireland. and for some time one of the most successful writers for the stage. He was probably born boat the year 1755, having been appointed one of the pages of Lord Chesterfield, when he was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, in 1746. He was once an officer of marines, but left the service with circumstances which do not reflect credit sa him as a man. These circumstances not attacking the reputation of his writings, our readers will assist us in coverng them with the charitable veil of oblivion; and we shall stand excused in the eyes of the feeling world for declinng to concinde his Biography.

THE HYPOCRITE,

COMEDY by Isaac Bickerstaff, Acted at Drury Lane 1768. The general plot of this comedy is borrowed from the Tartuffe of Molière, and the principal character in it, viz. that of Doctor Cantwell, is a close copy from that great al. The conduct of the piece, however, is so greatly altered as to render it perfectly English, and the "coquet Charlette is truly original and most elegantly spirited. The author has strongly pointed out the mischiefs and ruin which frequently brought into the must noble and valuable families by the self-interested machinations of those skulking praicions vipers, those wolves in sheep's clothing, who at the troublesome and unsettled period in which this pice was first written, (by Cibber 1718) covering their private views beneath the mask of public zeal and sanctity, the part of the great serpent of old, first tempting to sin, and then betraying to punishment. It is an alteration of Cher's Nonjuror. Scarcely any thing more than the character of Mawworm was written by the present author, who tradaced it for the sake of Weston's comic talents. Few plays have had the advantage of better acting, and, in conrace, few had a greater share of success. It is one of the most valuable characteristics of this play, that while it everely satirizes hypocrisy, fanatism (as in Mawworm), and outrageous pretensions to sanctity, it carefully distinguishes between these and rational piety. The play met with great success in the representation, taking a run of eighteen h; the subject itself heing its protection, and its enemies not daring to show any more at that time than a few miles of silent contempt. The consequence, however, was what the author foresaw; that is to say, the stirring up a party against him, who would scarcely suffer any thing he wrote afterwards to meet with fair play, and making him the constant butt of Mist's Journal, and all the Jacobite faction. Nor do we think it by any means an improbable sur, that the enmity and inveteracy of his antagonist Mr. Pope, and the set of wits who were connected with him, might have their original foundation traced from the appearance of this play..

ACT I.

OLD LADY LAMBERT. CHARLOTTE. MAWWORM: YOUNG LADY LAMBERT. BETTY. SCENE. London.

SCENE - A Hall in SIR JOHN LAMBERT'S

House.

Sir J. So I do, sir, that I am her father, and will dispose of her as I please.

Col. L. I do not dispute your authority, sir; Enter SIR JOHN LAMBERT and COLONEL to be concerned for your honour. but as I am your son too, I think it my duty Have not

LAMBERT.

Col. L. PRAY Consider, sir.

you countenanced his addresses to my sister? has not she received them? Mr. Darnley's