Some charitable succour to a father.

Phil. Alas, Euphrasia! 'would I dare comply!

Eup. It will be virtue in thee. Thou, like me,

Wert born in Greece:—Oh! by our common parent—

Nay, stay; thou shalt not fly; Philotas, stay;—

You have a father too; think, were his lot

Hard as Evander's; if by felon hands

Chain'd to the earth, with slow-consuming pangs

He felt sharp want, and with an asking eye

Implor'd relief, yet cruel men deny'd it,

Wouldst thou not burst thro' adamantine gates,

Thro' walls and rocks, to save him? Think, Philotas,

Of thy own aged sire, and pity mine.

Think of the agonies a daughter feels,

When thus a parent wants the common food,

The bounteous hand of nature meant for all.

Phil. 'Twere best withdraw thee, princess; thy assistance

Evander wants not; it is fruitless all;

Thy tears, thy wild entreaties, are in vain.

Eup. Ha!—thou hast murder'd him; he is no more;

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