I understand thee;—butchers, you have shed

The precious drops of life.

Phil. Alas! this frantic grief can nought avail.

Retire and seek the couch of balmy sleep,

In this dead hour, this season of repose.

Eup. And dost thou then, inhuman as thou art!

Advise a wretch like me to know repose?

This is my last abode:—these caves, these rocks,[Pg 20]

[Pg 20]

Shall ring for ever with Euphrasia's wrongs.

Here will I dwell, and rave, and shriek, and give

These scatter'd locks to all the passing winds;

Call on Evander lost;—

And cruel gods, and cruel stars invoking,

Stand on the cliff in madness and despair.

Phil. By Heav'n,

My heart in pity bleeds.

No other fear assails this warlike breast.

I pity your misfortunes; yes, by Heav'n,

My heart bleeds for you.—Gods! you've touch'd my soul!

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