Phoc. By Heav'n, the glorious expectation swells
This panting bosom! Yes, Euphrasia, yes;
A while I leave you to the care of Heaven.
Fell Dionysius tremble; ere the dawn
Timoleon thunders at your gates! the rage,
The pent-up rage, of twenty thousand Greeks,
Shall burst at once; and the tumultuous roar,
Alarm th'astonish'd world.
Eva. Yet, ere thou go'st, young man,
Attend my words: Tho' guilt may oft provoke,
As now it does, just vengeance on its head,
In mercy punish it. The rage of slaughter
Can add no trophy to the victor's triumph;
Bid him not shed unnecessary blood.
Conquest is proud, inexorable, fierce;
It is humanity ennobles all.
So thinks Evander, and so tell Timoleon.
Phoc. Farewell;—the midnight hour shall give you freedom.
[Exit, with Melanthon and Philotas.
Eup. Ye guardian deities, watch all his ways.
Eva. Come, my Euphrasia, in this interval
Together we will seek the sacred altar,
And thank the God, whose presence fills the dome,
For all the wond'rous goodness lavish'd on us.
[Exeunt.
ACT THE FIFTH.
SCENE I.
Enter Dionysius and Calippus.
Dio. Ere the day clos'd, while yet the busy eye
Might view their camp, their stations, and their guards,
Their preparations for approaching night;—
Didst thou then mark the motions of the Greek?