Is now perform'd; I take thy post.

Arcas. How fares

Your royal pris'ner?

Phil. Arcas, shall I own

A secret weakness? My heart inward melts

To see that suffering virtue. On the earth,

The cold, damp earth, the royal victim lies;

And while pale famine drinks his vital spirit,

He welcomes death, and smiles himself to rest.

Oh! 'would I could relieve him!

Arcas. May no alarm disturb thee.

[Exit.

[

Phil. Some dread event is lab'ring into birth.

At close of day the sullen sky held forth

Unerring signals. With disastrous glare,

The moon's full orb rose crimson'd o'er with blood;[Pg 18]

[Pg 18]

And lo! athwart the gloom a falling star

Trails a long tract of fire!—What daring step

 Prev. P 23/101 next