Philotas

Eva. Whither, oh! whither shall Evander go?

I'm at the goal of life; if in the race

Honour has follow'd with no ling'ring step,

But there sits smiling with her laurel wreath,

To crown my brow, there would I fain make halt,

And not inglorious lay me down to rest.

Eup. And will you then refuse, when thus the gods

Afford a refuge to thee?

Eva. Oh! my child,

There is no refuge for me.

Eup. Pardon, sir:

Euphrasia's care has form'd a safe retreat;

There may'st thou dwell; it will not long be wanted.

Soon shall Timoleon with resistless force,

Burst yon devoted walls.

Eva. Timoleon!

Eup. Yes.

The brave Timoleon, with the pow'r of Greece;

Another day shall make this city his.

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