Phil. Alas! I fear to yield: awhile I'll leave thee,
And at the temple's entrance wait thy coming.
Eup. Now, then, Euphrasia, now thou may'st indulge
The purest ecstacy of soul. Come forth,
Thou man of woe, thou man of every virtue.
Enter Evander, from the Monument.
Eva. And does the grave thus cast me up again,
With a fond father's love to view thee? Thus
To mingle rapture in a daughter's arms?
Eup. How fares my father now?
Eva. Thy aid, Euphrasia,
Has giv'n new life. Thou from this vital stream
Deriv'st thy being; with unheard-of duty
Thou hast repaid it to thy native source.
Eup. Sprung from Evander, if a little portion
Of all his goodness dwell within my heart,
Thou wilt not wonder.
Eva. Joy and wonder rise
In mix'd emotions!—Though departing hence,
After the storms of a tempestuous life,
Tho' I was entering the wish'd-for port,
Where all is peace, all bliss, and endless joy,
Yet here contented I can linger still
To view thy goodness, and applaud thy deeds,
Thou author of my life?—Did ever parent
Thus call his child before?—my heart's too full,
My old fond heart runs o'er; it aches with joy.
Eup. Alas! too much you over-rate your daughter;
Nature and duty call'd me—Oh! my father,
How didst thou bear thy long, long suff'rings? How
Endure their barb'rous rage?
Eva. My foes but did
To this old frame, what Nature's hand must do.
In the worst hour of pain, a voice still whisper'd me,
"Rouse thee, Evander; self-acquitting conscience
"Declares thee blameless, and the gods behold thee."
I was but going hence by mere decay,
To that futurity which Plato taught.
Thither, oh! thither was Evander going,
But thou recall'st me; thou!