DEMETRIUS.

True.-But how to fhun that horror?

By wounding thee, whom favage pards would spare?
My heart's inhabitant! my foul's ambition!

By wounding thee, and bathing in thy blood;
That blood illuftrious, through a radiant race
Of kings, and heroes, rolling down from gods?
ERIXENE.

Heroes and kings, and gods themselves, must yield
To dire neceffity.

Stand firm and fair.

DEMETRIUS.

Since that abfolves me,

ERIXENE.

My bofom meets the point,

Than Perfeus far more welcome to my breaft.

DEMETRIUS.

Neceffity, for gods themselves too strong,

Is weaker than thy charms.

[Drops the dagger.

ERIXENE.

O my Demetrius !

[Turns, and goes to the farther part of the ftage.

That cannot feel. Mine bleeds at every vein.
Who never lov'd, ne'er suffer'd; he feels nothing,
Who nothing feels but for himself alone;

And when we feel for others, reafon reels,
O'erloaded, from her path, and man runs mad.
As Love alone can exquifitely bless,

Love only feels the marvellous of pain;
Opens new veins of torture in the foul,
And wakes the nerve where agonies are born:
E'en Dymas, Perfeus (hearts of adamant !)
Might weep these torments of their mortal foe.
ERIXENE.

Shall I be lefs compaffionate than they?

[Takes up the dagger.

What love deny'd, thine agonies have done ; [Stabs herself. Demetrius' figh outftings the dart of death.

Enter the KING, &c.

KING.

Give me Demetrius to my arms; I call him

To life from death, to transport from despair.

3

DEMETRIUS.

DEMETRIUS.

See Perfeus' wife! [Pointing at Erixene] Let Delia tell

KING.

My grief-accuftom'd heart can guess too well.

DEMETRIUS.

That fight turns all to guilt, but tears and death.

KING.

[the reft.

Death!-Who fhall quell false Perfeus now in arms?
Who pour my tempeft on the Capitol?
How shall I fweeten life to thy fad spirit ?.

I'll quit my throne this hour, and thou shalt reign.
DEMETRIUS.

You recommend that death you would diffuade;
Ennobled thus by fame and empire loft,

As well as life!-Small facrifice to Love.

[Going to ftab himself, the King runs to prevent it; but too late.

KING.

Ah, hold! nor ftrike thy dagger through my heart!

DEMETRIUS.

'Tis my first disobedience, and my last.

KING.

There Philip fell! There Macedon expir'd!

I fee the Roman eagle hovering o'er us,

[Falls down.

And the shaft broke should bring her to the ground.

[Pointing at Demetrius.

DEMETRIUS.

Hear, good Antigonus! my last request:

Tell Perfeus, if he'll fheath his impious fword
Drawn on his father, I'll forgive him all;

Though poor Erixene lies bleeding by:

Her blood cries Vengeance ;-but my father's, Peace

[Dies.

KING.

As much his goodness wounds me as his death.
What then are both?-O Philip, once renown'd!
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?
E'en at the foot of fortune's precipice,
Where the flave's figh wafts pity to the prince,
And his omnipotence cries out for more.

ANTIGONUS.

As the fwoln column of ascending fmoke,
So folid fwells thy grandeur, pigmy man!
KING.

My life's deep tragedy was plann'd with art,
From scene to scene advancing in distress,
Through a fad feries, to this dire refult;
As if the Thracian queen conducted all,
And wrote the moral in her children's blood;
Which feas might labour to wash out in vain.
Hear it, ye nations! diftant, ages! hear;
And learn the dread decrees of Jove to fear:
His dread decrees the ftricteft 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 doom'd to bleed,
A guiltless victim, for his father's deed.

AN

A N

HISTORICAL

EPILOGU E.

BY THE AUTHOR.

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 hiftory's authentic record read

What ample vengeance gluts Demetrius' shade;
Vengeance fo great, that when his tale is told,
With pity fome ev'n Perfeus may behold.

Perfeus furviv'd, indeed, and fill'd the throne,
But ceafelefs cares in conqueft made bim groan:
Nor reign'd be long; from Rome fwift 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 bofom bled:
His brother's ghoft each moment made him ftart,
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 forrow wrung;
The younger fmil'd, unconscious of their woe;

At which thy tears, O Rome! began to flow;