That cannot feel. Mine bleeds at every vein. Who never loved, ne'er suffered; he feels nothing,

Who nothing feels but for himself alone;
And, when we feel for others, reason reels,
O'erloaded, from her path, and man runs mad.
As love alone can exquisitely bless,
Love only feels the marvellous of pain;
Opens new veins of torture in the soul,
And wakes the nerve, where agonies are born.
E'en Dymas, Perseus, (hearts of adamant !)
Might weep these torments of their mortal foe.
Erix. Shall I be less compassionate than they?
[Takes up the dagger.
What love denied, thine agonies have done,
[Stabs herself.
Demetrius' sigh outstings the dart of death.
Enter the King, &c.
King, Give my Demetrius to my arms; I call

him

Who pour my tempest on the capitol?
How shall I sweeten life to thy sad spirit?-
I'll quit my throne this hour, and thou shalt
reign.

Dem. You recommend that death, you would
dissuade;

Ennobled thus by fame and empire lost,
As well as life! Small sacrifice to love.

[Going to stab himself, the king runs to pre-
cent him; but too late.

King. Ah, hold! nor strike thy dagger through my heart!

Dem. 'Tis my first disobedience, and my last.
(Falls.
King. There Philip fell! There Macedon ex-
pired!

I see the Roman eagle hovering o'er us,
And the shaft broke, should bring her to the
ground. [Pointing to DEMETRIUS.
Dem. Hear, good Antigonus, my last request:
Tell Perseus, if he'll sheath his impious sword
Drawn on his father, I'll forgive him all;
Though poor Erixene lies bleeding by:
Her blood cries vengeance; but my father's-
[Dies.
King. As much his goodness wounds me, as

peace

his death.

What then are both? O Philip, once renowned!
Where is the pride of Greece, the dread of Rome,
The theme of Athens, the wide world's example,
And the god Alexander's rival, now?
Even at the foot of fortune's precipice,
Where the slave's sigh wafts pity to the prince,
And his omnipotence cries out for more!

art,

Ant. As the swoln column of ascending smoke, So solid swells thy grandeur, pigmy man! King. My life's deep tragedy was planned with From scene to scene, advancing in distress, Through a sad series, to this dire result; As if the Thracian queen conducted all, And wrote the moral in her children's blood; Which seas might labour to wash out in vain. Hear it, ye nations! distant ages, hear, And learn the dread decrees of Jove to fear! His dread decrees the strictest balance keep; The father groans who made a mother weep; But if no terror for yourselves can move, Tremble, ye parents, for the child ye love; For your Demetrius: mine is doomed to bleed, A guiltless victim, for his father's deed.

[Exeunt omnes

AN epilogue, through custom, is your right, But ne'er, perhaps, was needful till this night; To-night the virtuous falls, the guilty flies, Guilt's dreadful close our narrow scene denies.

In history's authentic record read
What ample vengeance gluts Demetrius' shade:
Vengeance so great, that when his tale is told
With pity some even Perseus may behold,

Perseus surviv'd, indeed, and fill'd the throne;
But ceaseless cares in conquest made him groan.
Nor reign'd he long; from Rome swift thunder
flew,

And headlong from his throne the tyrant threw:
Thrown headlong down, by Rome in triumph led,
For this night's deed, his perjur'd bosom bled.
His brother's ghost each moment made him start,
And all his father's anguish rent his heart.
When rob'd in black his children round him
hung,

And their rais'd arms in early sorrows wrung;
The younger smil'd, unconscious of their woe,
At which thy tears, O Rome! began to flow,
So sad the scene: what then must Perseus feel,
To see Jove's race attend the victor's wheel:
To see the slaves of his worst foes increase,

From such a source!- -an emperor's embrace!
He sicken'd soon to death, and, what is worse,
He well deserv'd and felt the coward's curse;
Unpitied, scorned, insulted his last hour,
Far, far from home, and in a vassal's power:
His pale cheek rested on his shameful chain,
No friend to mourn, no flatterer to feign.
No suit retards, no comfort sooths his doom,
And not one tear bedews a monarch's tomb.
Nor ends it thus-dire vengeance to complete,
His ancient empire, falling, shares his fate.
His throne forgot!-his weeping country chain'd!
And nations ask-Where Alexander reign'd?
As public woes a prince's crimes
pursue,
So public blessings are his virtues due.
Shout, Britons, shout! auspicious fortune bless,
And cry, long live-our title to success!

A

BY

WHEN breathing statues mould'ring waste away,
And tombs, unfaithful to their trust, decay,
The muse recalls the suffering good to fame,
Or wakes the prosp'rous villain into shame:
To the stern tyrant gives fictitious pow'r,
To reign the restless monarch of an hour.

Obedient to her call, this night appears
Great Herod rising from a length of years;
A name enlarg'd with titles not his own,
Servile to mount, and savage on the throne:
Whose bold ambition trembling Jewry view'd,
In blood of half her royal race imbru'd.
But now reviving in the British scene,
He looks majestic with a milder mien:
His features soften'd with the deep distress

| Of love, made greatly wretched by excess ! From lust of pow'r to jealous fury tost, We shew the tyrant in the lover lost.

If no compassion, when his crimes are weigh'd,
To his ill-fated fondness must be paid,
Yet see, ye fair! and see with pitying eyes,
The bright afflicted Mariamne rise.

No fancied tale our op'ning scenes disclose,
Historic truth, and swell with real woes.
Awful in virtuous grief the queen appears,
And strong the eloquence of royal tears.
Then let her fate your kind attention raise,
Whose perfect charms were but her second praise:
Beauty and virtue your protection claim;
Give tears to beauty, and to virtue fame.

PHERORAS, the King's Brother.

SOHEMUS, first Minister.

NARBAL, a Lord of the Queen's Party.

HAZEROTH, a young Lord related to the Queen. High-Priest.

MARIAMNE.

SCENE I.

Enter PHERORAS, NARBAL, and SOHEMUS. Pher. The morning in her richest purple rob'd, Smiles with auspicious lustre on the day, Which brings my royal brother back from Rhodes, Confirm'd in empire by the general voice Of Cæsar, and the senate.

Nar. This blest day

In latest annals shall distinguish'd shine,
Sacred to majesty, and dear to love:
The same which saw the royal lovers march
In nuptial pomp, revolving, now restores
Herod to Mariamne, and his crown.

Soh. Fortune at length to merit grows a friend,
Or fate ordain'd the happiest stars to shed
Their influence on his birth: or sure, since Rome,
With civil discord rent, so oft hath chang'd
Her own great lords, (as bleeding conquest rais'd,
Or sunk the doubtful balance,) we had shar'd
The same vicissitudes of restless pow'r.

Nar. Herod avow'd the dear respect he bore To Antony, and dropp'd a generous tear To grace his ruins.

Pher. Yes, and Cæsar sat Pensive and silent; in his anxious breast Perhaps revolving, that of all his train, Who proudly wanton in his mounted rays, Gay flutt'ring insects of a summer noon, How few would bear the wintry storms of fate! At length he smiling rose, receiv'd the crown From Herod's hand, and plac'd it on his brow; Crying, shine there! for Cæsar cannot find A worthier head to wear thee.

Soh. From the grace

Of such a victor to receive a crown,
With such peculiar attributes of fame,
Confers more glory than a chronicle
Of scepter'd ancestors.

Pher. Narbal, your care

Will see due honours to the day discharg'd.
Let the shrill trumpet's cheerful note enjoin
A general feast, and joy with loud acclaim
Through all the streets of Solyma resound:
Let steams of grateful incense cloud the sky,
Till the rich fragrance reach the utmost bounds
Of Herod's empire: let each smiling brow
Wear peaceful olive, whilst the virgin choirs
Warbling his praise, his paths with flow'rs per-
fume,

Who guards Judæa with the shield of Rome.

SCENE II.

PHERORAS and SOHEMUS.

[Exit NAR.

With Narbal's talents; none is better form'd
To gild the pageant of a gaudy day:
He's nobly born, and popularly vain,
Rare tinsel-stuff t'adorn a room of state!
But in the council, where the public care-

Pher. In that high sphere you, Sohemus, alone
Must ever shine: and may your wisdom raise
Your master's fortune, to divide the globe
With this new Cæsar; and no longer sway
A short precarious sceptre, which must shake
With each tempestuous gust that blows from
Rome.

Soh. With blushes I must hear you call me wise,

When one impassion'd woman can destroy
My surest plans, and with a sigh blow down
The firmest fabric of deliberate thought.
Heav'ns! that a king consummate for a throne,
So wise in council, and so great in arms,
Should, after nine long years, remain a slave,
Because his wife is fair! What art thou, beauty,
Whose charm makes sense and valour grow as

tame

As a blind turtle?

Pher. Is thy wisdom proof

Against the blandishments of warm desire?
It ill defends thee from Arsinoe's charms!
The sullen sweetness of a down-cast eye,
A feign'd unkindness, or a just reproach,
Breath'd in a sigh, and soften'd with a tear,
Would make thy rigid marble melt like snow
On the warm bosom of the youthful spring.
Soh. In thoughtless youth, gay nature gives the
rein

To love, and bids him urge the full career:
But Herod should restrain his head-strong course,
Now reason is mature.

Pher. He never can;

For Mariamne with superior charms
Triumphs o'er reason; in her look she bears
A paradise of ever-blooming sweets:
Fair as the first idea beauty prints

On the young lover's soul: a winning grace
Guides every gesture, and obsequious love
Attends on all her steps; for, majesty
Streams from her eye to each beholder's heart,
And checks the transport which her charms in-
spire:

Who would not live her slave !-Nor is her mind
Form'd with inferior elegance !—By her,
So absolute in every grace, we guess
What essence angels have.

Soh. Who can admire

agrees

VOL. II.

As from the wrinkle of a tyrant's frown:

D

Crush the crown'd basilisk, or else she kills Whate'er her eye commands.-You need, my lord,

No clearer light than this, by which to read
The purpose of my soul.

Pher. Though 'tis obscure,

It strikes like lightning that with fear confounds
The pale night-wanderer, whilst it shews the path.
You, Sohemus, have cause to think the queen
Charges the taking off her uncle's head
To your advice; and gladly would atone
Her kindred blood with yours: revenge still glows,
Though hid in treacherous embers; and you'll
feel

The dire effect, whene'er occasion breathes
A gale to waken and foment the flame.
But I, unpractis'd in th' intrigues of courts,
And disciplin'd in camps, will not supply
Increase of fuel to these home-bred jars :
I hope the king will see them soon supprest;
Or care succeeding care will ever tread
The circle of his crown.

Soh. If to pursue

The safest measure to secure his throne,
Shall irritate the queen to make me fall
A victim to her rage, the conscious pride
Of having acted what the king ordained,

Enter Messenger with a Letter to PHERORAS.
Will yet support me. 'Tis not worth my care,
Whether the trembling hand of age must shake
From the frail glass my last remaining sand;
Or fortune break the phial, ere the sum
Of half my life is told.

Pher. 'Tis from the king:

A most unpleasing message for the queen.
Soh. May I, my lord, partake?
Phar. The infant prince

Must live an hostage of the league at Rome;
Cæsar hath sent a minister of trust

With guards to wait him. This perhaps the king
Hath kept concealed, that his return might calm
The afflicted queen, and soften the surprise.
Soh. Names he, my lord, the general to whose

care

The prince must be consigned?

Pher. Rome could not chuse For that high charge a nobler delegate, Than my Flaminius; for a bolder hand Ne'er flew her conquering eagles at their prey. We in the Parthian wars together learned The rudiments of arms; the summer sun Hath seen our marches measured by his own; In battle so intrepid, that he shewed An appetite of danger; oft I've heard The weary veterans, resting on their spears, Swear by the gods and majesty of Rome, They blushed with indignation to behold

Sal. That vain boy

Believes his near relation to the queen
Exempts his haughty youth from all restraint.
He's Mariamne's echo, and repeats
But half her menaces.

Soh. What time more fit

To put her threats in act, than when the king
Flies with redoubled ardour to her arms?
Passion improves with absence; and his heart
So soft and passive to the power of love,
Will then be vacant only to his queen.-
Fortune of late a glorious scene disclos'd,
But soon snatch'd back the visionary joy!
The blissful hour is past-Curst, doubly curst
Be this boy-emperor! who tamely spar'd
The warmest friend that Antony could boast.
Had Herod perish'd by his vengeful sword,
I soon had sent (for so he left in charge)
His queen, the worshipp'd idol of his soul,
To attend him to the shades.-Clouds of despair
Now terminate our view!

Sal. Can you discern

No glimmering hope? Though dim, the distan

ray

May serve to steer our course.
Soh. The king will send

His son for hostage, to reside in Rome.

Sal. Were triple thunder vollied at the queen, It could not rend her bleeding bosom more Than such a message.

Soh. At this little spark,