Eup. Why, my father,
Why thus adventure forth! The strong alarm
O'erwhelm'd my spirits.
Eva. I went forth, my child,
When all was dark, and awful silence round,
To throw me prostrate at the altar's foot,
And crave the care of Heav'n for thee and thine.
Melanthon there——
Enter Philotas.
Phil. Inevitable ruin hovers o'er you:
The tyrant's fury mounts into a blaze;
Unsated yet with blood, he calls aloud
For thee, Evander! thee his rage hath order'd
This moment to his presence.
Eva. Lead me to him:
His presence hath no terror for Evander.
Eup. Horror! It must not be.
Phil. No, never, never:
I'll perish rather! But the time demands
Our utmost vigour. His policy has granted
A day's suspense from arms; yet even now
His troops prepare, in the dead midnight hour,
With base surprise to storm Timoleon's camp.
Eva. And doth he grant a false insidious truce,
To turn the hour of peace to blood and horror?
Eup. I know the monster well: when specious seeming
Becalms his looks, the rankling heart within
Teems with destruction.
Mel. Now, Phocion, now, on thee our hope depends.
Fly to Timoleon; I can grant a passport:
Rouse him to vengeance; on the tyrant turn
His own insidious arts, or all is lost.