Phil. O! I can hold no more; at such a sight
Ev'n the hard heart of tyranny would melt
To infant softness. Arcas, go, behold
The pious fraud of charity and love;
Behold that unexampled goodness; see
Th' expedient sharp necessity has taught her;
Thy heart will burn, will melt, will yearn to view
A child like her.
Arcas. Ha!—say what mystery
Wakes these emotions?
Phil. Wonder-working virtue!
The father foster'd at his daughter's breast!
O! filial piety!—The milk design'd
For her own offspring, on the parent's lip
Allays the parching fever.
Arcas. That device
Has she then form'd, eluding all our care,
To minister relief?
Phil. On the bare earth
Evander lies; and as his languid pow'rs
Imbibe with eager thirst the kind refreshment,
And his looks speak unutterable thanks,
Euphrasia views him with the tend'rest glance,
Ev'n as a mother doating on her child;
And, ever and anon, amidst the smiles
Of pure delight, of exquisite sensation,
A silent tear steals down; the tear of virtue,
That sweetens grief to rapture. All her laws
Inverted quite, great nature triumphs still.
Arcas. The tale unmans my soul.
Phil. Ye tyrants, hear it,
And learn, that, while your cruelty prepares
Unheard-of torture, virtue can keep pace
With your worst efforts, and can try new modes
To bid men grow enamour'd of her charms.
Arcas. Philotas, for Euphrasia, in her cause,
I now can hazard all. Let us preserve
Her father for her.
Phil. Oh! her lovely daring
Transcends all praise. By Heav'n, he shall not die.
Arcas. And yet we must be wary; I'll go forth,
And first explore each avenue around,
Lest the fix'd sentinel obstruct your purpose.
[Exit Arcas.