Eup. Oh! give the means,
And I will bless thee for it.
Dio. From a Greek
Torments have wrung the truth. Thy husband, Phocion—
Eup. Oh! say, speak of my Phocion.
Dio. He; 'tis he
Hath kindled up this war; with treacherous arts
Inflam'd the states of Greece; and now the traitor
Comes with a foreign aid to wrest my crown.
Eup. And does my Phocion share Timoleon's glory?
Dio. With him invests our walls, and bids rebellion
Erect her standard here.
Eup. Oh! bless him gods!
Where'er my hero treads the paths of war,
List on his side; against the hostile javelin
Uprear his mighty buckler; to his sword
Lend the fierce whirlwind's rage, that he may come
With wreaths of triumph, and with conquest crown'd,
And a whole nation's voice
Applaud my hero with a love like mine!
Dio. Ungrateful fair! Has not our sovereign will
On thy descendants fix'd Sicilia's crown?
Have I not vow'd protection to your boy?
Eup. From thee the crown! from thee! Euphrasia's children
Shall on a nobler basis found their rights;
On their own virtue, and a people's choice.
Dio. Misguided woman!