emotions--Oh! that eager air--
It is too much--assist me; bear me hence;
And lay me down in peace.

_Eup._ His eyes are fix'd!
And those pale, quiv'ring lips! He clasps my hand:
What, no assistance! Monsters, will you thus
Let him expire in these weak, feeble arms?

_Enter PHILOTAS._

_Phil._ Those wild, those piercing shrieks will give th'alarm.

_Eup._ Support him; bear him hence; 'tis all I ask.

_Evan._ [_As he is carried off._] O Death! where art thou? Death, thou
dread of guilt,
Thou wish of innocence, affliction's friend,
Tir'd nature calls thee; come, in mercy come,
And lay me pillow'd in eternal rest.
My child--where art thou? give me; reach thy hand,
Why dost thou weep?--My eyes are dry--Alas!
Quite parch'd, my lips--quite parch'd, they cleave together.
[_Exeunt._

_Enter ARCAS._

_Arcas._ The grey of morn breaks thro' yon eastern clouds.
'Twere time this interview should end: the hour
Now warns Euphrasia hence: what man could dare,
I have indulg'd--Philotas!--ha! the cell
Left void!--Evander gone!--What may this mean?
Philotas, speak.

_Enter PHILOTAS._

_Phil._ Oh! vile, detested lot,
Here to obey the savage tyrant's will,
And murder virtue that can thus behold
Its executioner, and smile upon him.
That piteous sight!

_Arcas._ She must withdraw, Philotas;
Delay undoes us both. The restless main
Glows with the blush of day.
The time requires
Without or further pause, or vain excuse,
That she depart this moment.

_Phil._ Arcas, yes;
My voice shall warn her of th' approaching danger. [_Exit._

_Arcas._ 'Would she had ne'er adventur'd to our guard!
I dread th' event; and hark!--the wind conveys
In clearer sound the uproar of the main.
The fates prepare new havoc; on th' event
Depends the fate of empire. Wherefore thus
Delays Euphrasia? Ha! what means, Philotas,
That sudden haste, that pale, disorder'd look?

_Enter PHILOTAS._

_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 parch