PHAETON: OR, The Fatal Divorce. A TRAGEDY As it is Acted at the THEATRE ROYAL IN Imitation of the ANCIENTS.  
With some Reflections on a Book called, a Short View of the Immorality and Profaneness of the English Stage.  
Principibus placuisse Viris non ultima Laus est. Hor. lib. Epist. 1. Eist. 17. Non ego ventosae Plebis Suffragia venor. Lib. eodem. Ep. 19  
LONDON, Printed for Abel Roper, at the Black-boy over against St. Dunstan's Church in Fleetstreet. 1698.   

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES MONTAGUE, Esq Chancellor of the Exchequer, One of the Lords of the Treasury, and One of His Majesty's most Honourable Privy Council, etc.  
SIR,  
I Have, methinks, a sort of Right to your Patronage for this Play, since to you alone I own the Power of writing it; for it was YOU alone, by the most generous Action in the World, and done in the most generous and engageing Manner, that delivered me from Misfortunes that might else have oppressed me, and made me incapable of all Attempts of this Nature. And that Satisfactiou a Poet finds in the Success of his Endeavours, I receive with infinite Additions, since it gives me an Opportunity of owning in Public the uncommon Obligations I have to Mr. MONTAGUE's Generosity. Our Acknowledgements and Thanks are All the Returns required of us by Heaven, and the Poet has no other to make to the Great, who, when dignifyed with your Virtues, Sir, are the true Images of Heaven. There is a Pain in being Obliged to most Men, but there is so Reasonable a Vanity in Receiving a Favour from Mr. Montague (distinct from the Benefit) that we are fond of it, and that exalts the Satisfaction into a pleasure almost equal to the Power of Obliging.  
But besides the Duty I am under of laying this Play, Sir, at Your Feet, it brings me this Advantage, that I secure myself from the Severe Censurers of Dedications, for flattery here would be an unpardonable Folly as well as Crime, a superfluous Falsehood, that would rather weaken, than support the Truth, and so instead of heightening I should only debase the Character, I so much admire.  
When a Poet, indeed, makes so imprudent a Choice, as to throw himself on a Poverty of Desert, he lies under a sort of Necessity of having a Recourse to the Embellishments of his Art; yet then, the Dawbney is easily seen through: For let the Poets pretend to what they please, they can in Reality add no true Lustre to a Piece, that has not an Innate Worth. In spite of their Gild, the base Metal will soon appear to a nice Observer. But under this just, and more happy Choice, I have no occasion for Heigthings, no shadow of a Pretence to seek additional, when the Native Beauties are so numerous, and so perfect; to lose Those would be to lose the Likeness in imaginary Charms, and that would be to lose the Value of the Draught, for an Unaccountable and Useless indulgence to Fiction.  
Your Easiness of Access; your Affability; your admirable Address in the Dispatch of Business; the Vivacity of your Wit, your Penetration, and true Judgement in Books, Men, and in the most perplexing Affairs, and Exigencies of State; your Candour, Integrity, Justice, and Open Truth, with all the other Virtues, that make YOU, Sir, conspicuous, and your Friends and the Nation happy, are an evident Proof of this. But to show the Advantages that Particulars, as well as the Public, receive from them every day, would make a Volume of this Epistle, and yet amount to no more, than what daily Experience, and the general Voice afford us; from which ev'ry one says of Tou, what Horace said of Quintilius to Virgil.  
Cui Pudor, & Justiciae soror  
Incorrupta Fides, nudaque Veritas,  
Quando ullum invenient Parem?  
The Benefits the Nation has received from your Administration are too Numerous, too evident, and too important to suffer us to forget the Virtues, whence we derive them. 'Tis your Happiness, Sir, to have Obliged the bravest People, and the greatest King in the World; for such vast, and uncommon Services, deserve the Name of OBLIGATIONS.  
You found the STATE engaged in a most important, necessary, and expensive War, for the Honour, and for the Safety of Europe; in which the Liberties of our Neighbouring Nations, as well as of our own, lay at Stake; and in which they all had so absolute a Dependence on US, that without our Extraordinary Help the whole Cause must have fallen. At such a Time as this, at so very nice and difficult a Conjuncture, Providence brought You from a private Life to do your Country, and all Europe, such stupendious Services, that Seven Years ago, would have been looked on, as impossible to be done, and Chimaeras to be promised.  
Money (next to the admirable Conduct of the greatest Prince, and General of the Age) was the Support, the Life, the Nerve of the War. The means of raising which, with all that Satisfaction and Ease to the People, as we have found it done, was a Talon Peculiar to yourself. But as by the Continuance of the War the Difficulty every Year increased, so it gave every Year fresh Proofs of your Abilities, and how necessary your Administration was to make us Happy. But never was such a Tug of judgement, never was such a Noble, daring and necessary Undertaking, as the Alteration of the whole Coin of the Nation, by the villainy of so many, corrupted to the public Misery, and to the Ruin of our Trade, of our Glory, nay, of our very Liberties, and all that could, or aught to be, dear to Mankind, had it not been for Your admirable Address and Management: This dreadful Evil, that had been so many Years coming to a head, You, in a moment (as I may say) removed.  
Who is there that does not know? Who is there, that does not sensibly enjoy the Benefit of your Counsels, in this great and happy Turn of Affairs? Who is there, that as long, as he possessess the Advantage of this Service, can forget the Virtue, the Judgement, and the unwearyed Industry, to which he chief owes it? In this you have obliged Posterity, as well as the Present Age, since both must derive their Wealth and Safety from Mr. Montague.  
Such Singular, and such Important Services as these, Sir, have gained you the most noble Testimony of Your Merit, that Man can desire, and which we have seen none but You obtain. I mean that Public Vote to your Honour, of the most August Assembly in the World, the HOUSE of COMMONS'. The Vote of that HOUSE OF COMMONS', that has given so many evident and admirable Proofs of their Wisdom, Justice and Zeal for the public Good; in the Useful and necessary Laws they have promoted, and the Punishments they have inflicted, like the Old Romans, or (what is not less Praise) like the Old English, without Regard to the Power or Wealth of the Offender. But their Glory had been imperfect, had we had no Example of their Justice in REWARDS, as well as PUNISHMENTS. Mr. MONTAGUE alone was that Noble Object of their Esteem, You alone could furnish them with this Example which they wanted, and to You they owed the completing of their Character and Praise, in their memorable Vote of the 16th. of Feb. 1697.  
Resolved, That 'tis the Opinion of this House, that the Honourable Charles Montague, Esq Chancellor of the Exchequer, for his good Services to this Government, does deserve his Majesty's Favour.  
I have put their own Words, because they are more Glorious, and Emphatic, than all the weak Flourishes of a false Rhetoric. This is no flattery of a Mercenary Pen, but the Sentiments, the awful judgement of a HOUSE of COMMONS', that have all along had the impartial GOOD and HONOUR of their Country perpetually in their Eye: a HOUSE of COMMONS', which no Considerations have yet been able to Bias from the divine Medium of RIGHT, and from whom nothing but a tried and substantial Virtue, could bear off so noble and distinctive a Mark of Honour. And in this they are the True Representatives of the English Nation, which, nobly jealous of their Liberties, will be soothed by no gaudy Show, no mere Appearance; Virtue alone must win their Love, as Yours has done. For this Vote is the Voice of the People, not excepting your very Enemies, who are yours only, as they are so to that Government, to the support of which your Wisdom, your Industry, and your Virtue do so much contribute.  
You, Sir, have the Happiness at once to have the Love of the People, and the peculiar Favour of your King, which is a Sovereign Mark of undoubted Merit. And there can be no greater Proof of the Goodness, and the Wisdom of a Prince, than when a jealous People approve the Choice of his Ministers, for that must be an undeniable Confirmation of both their Capacity, and their Virtue. And this Confirmation is most evident in Mr. MONTAGUE, who is unanimously owned at once the Darling of the Bravest People, and of the wisest King.  
To whom, therefore, should neglected Learning fly for shelter but to You, Sir? From whom implore and hope an immediate Protection but from You? You have already given us many Instances of your Care and Encouragement of Wit and Learning, in the Favours you have bestowed on several Men of Merit; from whence we draw an Expectation, that one day the English Nation will owe as much to You for her Honour and Glory in the Ornaments of Peace, as she has for the Support and Establishment of them in the War: And that France will have nothing to boast of their Richlieu (unless in precedence of time) but what we shall receive from our MONTAGUE, in an Academy of Sciences equal, if not superior, to theirs.  
but, Sir, when you unbend from the Thoughts of your important Employments, permit me to offer this Play amidst your more valuable Diversions. Your judgement in Poetry, aught to make me dread your Censure; but your Candour and Generosity forbidden my Fears, and make me hope you will, with some honourable judges, that are pleased to approve it, excuse my Defects for the Usefulness and Boldness of the Attempt, from whence the Stage may get the Advantage of Encouraging some better Pens to go on with the Design. Yet this I may say for my Performance, that I am free from all that Immodesty, Immorality and Profaneness, objected by a late Author, against our Modern Plays, and I'm confident, that he himself (that is so industrious at perverting the Meaning of the Poets, and giving their Words a most false and malicious Turn) will not be able to fix any shadow of an Accusation on this Play.  
I have no Reason to Complain of the Success it had on the Stage, which was more than I had Assurance to hope, even from the Helps of Euripides. But if it prove so fortunate as to please Mr. MONTAGUE, it will complete the Satisfaction of  
SIR, Your most Obliged, most Devoted, and most Humble Servant,   

THE PREFACE.  
'TIS not that I'm fond of following the Mode of Prefacing, that I trouble the Reader with this; but, because I lie under, what I esteem one of the greatest Duties of Mankind, that of Gratitude to a dead Hero, and living Friend, to make my Public Acknowledgements for the helps I have had from them both, in the following Poem.  
That I own a great many of its Beauties to the Immortal EURIPIDES, I look on as my Glory, not Crime; and I have so little to fear on that Account even from my Enemies, that I find their chief Objections is, that I have not followed him yet more close. But I hope, the Impartial-Reader that can, and will with Candour compare this Play with the Medea of EURIPIDES, will own that I had Reasons sufficient to justify my deffering from him in some particulars. For my Intention being to compose a Piece (if I could,) to Please our Audience; I was no farther to follow my great Master than both our Two Hearers agreed; but where their Sentiments differed, there I was obliged to forsake him, and comply with those who had my Profit, and what is much more in my Opinion, my Reputation in their Hands.  
The little Observation I had made of our Audience, gave me reason to think, that a Play after the Model of the Ancients, would be far from displeasing them, for I found that what delighted and transported them, was contained in a very little compass of those long Plays, that were in Possession of the Theatre, which was the chief Characters only, and the violent Emotions of their Passions; that the multiplicity of great Characters (under the spacious name of variety) divided their concern, and by consequence, render it of less force; and that the several inconsiderable Persons were only born with, for the sake of the Chief, and most passionate Parts. And this seems to me, to have been long ago observed by our admirable SHAKESPEARE, when he says, 
As when a well graced Actor leaves the Stage,  
Our Eyes are IDLY bend on him that enters next,  
Thinking his prattle to be TEDIOUS, etc.   
Now whatever is tedious, can never please; and therefore I concluded, that the paring off those Superfluities that only swelled the Bulk, without contributing to the end, could not render my undertaking less agreeable.  
Fixed in this Opinion, before it was my good Fortune to meet with the Medea of EURIPIDES, I drew the Plot of an Opera according to this my proposed Model, from some hints of the French Opera of Phaeton; but after I had drawn the out-lines of the whole, and proceeded to the very Turns, and business, nay, almost Expression of the two first Acts; the Medea of EURIPIDES, accidentally fell into my Hands, and not only gave an extraordinary pleasure in the perusal, but made me resolve, since my Plot came so very near it, to make use of those Advantages the Imitation of so excellent an Author might afford me. But the Third Act was finished before I could prevail with myself to quit any design'd Catastrophe of the Fall of Phaeton for that which now it has, which was one of the reasons of my preserving the Names of Phaeton and the rest,  
But for fear this should not satisfy our sou'r Critics, (Custom will make me give them the generous Name Critics) that my altering the Names of Medea and of jason, is not so inexcusable as they seem to make it; I shall proceed to some, perhaps, of more force.  
I saw a necessity on my first perusal of EURIPIDES of altering the two chief Characters of the Play, in consideration of the different Temper and Sentiments of our several Audience. First I was Apprehensive, that Medea, as Euripides represents her, would shock us. When we hear of her rearing her Brother to pieces, and the murdering her own Children, contrary to all the Dictates of Humanity and Mother-hood, we should have been too impatient for her Punishment, to have expected the happy Event of her barbarous Revenge, nay, perhaps, not have allowed the Character within the Compass of Nature; or at least decreed it more unfit for the Stage, than the Cruelties of Nero. Monsters in Nature not affording those just Lessons a Poet ought to reach his Hearers. But we should with the extremest Indignation have seen her (as Mr. Dryden observes) at last furnished with a Flying Chariot to escape her just Punishment. Nor would our Audience, I fear, ever have considered the reasons that might justify Euripides in so uncommon a Character, viz, First, that Medea is the Instrument of the Gods to bring a wonderful Punishment of Perjury about, on those, whom Power had secured from all other means. Or Secondly, that he, by this Inhumanity of a Barbarian Woman, strove to deter the Athenians from Marriages with those, whom they generally esteemed Barbarous, and by that means, enforced by the most prevailing Motive Example, a known Law of Athens against any Athenians Marrying a Stranger. Or Thirdly, that Medea being the Granddaughter of the SUN, had that Chariot as a Present from him. The Descendants of the Gods, (at least of so near a degree) being exempted, by the Pagan Theology, from the common Rules of Mankind, as if walking more at large, and being a superior, and more unconfined sort of Being's.  
These considerations would sufficiently justify Euripides; but I could not hope the whole, or even the greater part of my Hearers, should allow 'em as a Defence for me; and my Opinion was so far justifi'd by some, that I read my Play to, that they thought, the very Revenge of Althea, though the Natural Result of slighted Love, lost her a great share of that pity I wished she might find. And this was the reason that I made use of those Advantages of the Heathen System of Divinity, which the Foundation of my Play allowed me, as of juno, Hymen, and her Father's Ghost, to fire her with that resentment her unhappy Love might else have smothered; by this means to render her Revenge as in-involuntary an Act as possibly I could; though it was all along my own Opinion, that the Natural Effect of those Passions every one finds in himself, would have moved our pity, when her yielding to their most violent impuls, had brought ●o deplorable ruin on self, and her Children.  
Revenge in Woman for slighted Love, for being cast off for another, while yet she was, and thought herself Beautiful, after Possession, after Vows, and Oaths of Constancy, after the highest Benefits, is so natural a Frailty, that I'm confident no Woman of any Spirit would bear it, without attempting some Revenge or other, and that, more or less violent, according to the Temper of the Woman. So that I could not see how this, could reasonably rob Althaea of pity; since no unfortunate Character ought to be introduced on the Stage, without its Humane Frailties to justify its Misfortunes: For unfortunate Perfection, is the Crime of Providence, and to offer at that, is an Impiety a Poet ought never to be guilty of; being directly opposite to his duty of Rewarding the Innocent, and punishing the Guilty; and by that means, to establish a just notion of Providence in its most important Action, the Government of Mankind.  
This the great Sophocles has been notoriously guilty of in his Oedipus Tyrannus, where he punishes Oedipus for an Accident, as much as for the most Criminal Offences. For 'tis evident, ●that his Mind was ever so far from being guilty of Parricide and Incest, than he always expresses the utmost horror of them. And his voluntary Banishment from Corinth, proved, that he had done all, that Man could do to avoid the threatened Evil. I know very well, that some pretend, that he was punished for his Curiousity and Rashness, not Parricide and Incest, but I can find no tolerable reason for this their Assertion. For, first, it is not to be gathered from the Play itself, nor from the Moral of it; and next the Curiosity he was guilty of in consulting the Oracle, was so far from being a Fault in the Heathen Religion, that it was one of its chief Duties; and then for a Man to defend himself against several insolent Assaulters, was rather an Act that merited a Reward, than Punishment, and Laius, not Oedipus, was here the Offender. The Grecians (as is evident from the Laws of Athens, etc.) were too great lovers of Bravery, to encourage any passive Notions, and too Zealous for their Religious Rites to suffer any Moral, or Lesson of a Play to expose them as foolish. But the miseries of a King or Tyrant, however brought about, were agreeable in a Democractic Government. And I'm apt to believe, Sophocles, in this, run along with the Sin of the Times, which entertained none of the most favourable Notions of Providence. And the Sons of Orpheus might well be guilty of complementing the depravity of Humane-kind with the Doctrine of Necessity, at the expense of Providence; since he himself had, by perverting Religion into Profane Mystery, and Evidence into Fables, scarce left the Deity one Attribute uncorrupted; and his Successors made the Godhead guilty of all those Crimes, which (according to them) were caused in his Family of Mankind by a fatal Necessity.  
But to return from this Digression, (into which I insensibly am fallen) what I have faid, proves, that it is necessary that the unfortunate Characters should be guilty of some Frailties at least, to make Providence just in those Evils that fall upon them. And those Frailties that produce those Misfortunes being what we may all be subject to, must cause our pity for the suffering Object; and this I think, would demand it for Althaea, if I had not in compliance with my Friends opinions, added those Machine's to take off from her Gild.  
But if these nice Judges could not pardon her punishing the Guilty, by her Revenge, how would they have born her destroying the Innocent, and those her own Children? For whom, Nature imprints in every Woman an uncommon tenderness. Althaea runs mad for the Death of her Children, Medea in-humanly Butcher's hers; which made Seneca give a very odd, and impious Conclusion to his Play on this Subject; when he makes jason (when she's aloft in her Chariot) flying away, say, 
Per alta vade spatia, sublimi aethere  
Testare nullos esse qua veberis deos.   
This, I hope, is sufficient to justify my altering the Character of Medea. I shall now proceed to that of JASON, which, however justifiable in the Original, I had some reason to fear would not be forgiven in my Copy. In the first Sense of my Fourth Act, on their meeting after his forsaking her jason, would seem too harsh, rough, and Ungentleman-like, to a Lady on our Stage; for to this purpose is his first Speech to her;  
I was always of opinion, that ungoverned Anger was an impotent, and desperate Evil. Your own vain words (that hurt not me) have driven you to Exile; whereas, could you have quietly born the Commands of Power, you might here calmly have enjoyed your House, and Home. Continue to call me as you do, the most prosligate of Men, I matter it not; but if you're Banished for what you vent against the Royal House, you may take your Exile as a favour. I endeavoured to appease them, to remit your Banishment, but by your proceeding still foolishly to rail against them, you do not suffer for me, but your own exorbitant Tongue. But words do not make me desert my Friends, and therefore, Woman, I am come to know how I can be serviceable to you, that you may not go with your Children destitute of Necessaries. For Exile brings inconvenencies enough of its own along with it; nor can I wish you evil, though you hate me.  
I must beg pardon that I have not put this Speech of Euripides into a better, and more Poetical dress, but that want of leisure will not permit; beside, I quote not this as a Specimen of his Poetry, but a Proof of the Character of jason; which in my Opinion, would have seemed on our Stage too Magisterial Proud, and Inhuman an Address to a Woman he had unjustly forsaken, to whom he should (in our Climate at least) have rendered his leaving her more soft and easy, but he after her passionate Reply, makes a more cruel and barbarous Answer, which in Prose is to this effect.  
Woman, I find, I ought to be no small proficient in Eloquence, but like an artful Pilot sheer by that empty Loquacity of your. Since therefore you so extol your Benefit, I must tell you, that Venus alone preserved my Life, as she alone was the Convoy of my Voyage; nor do I think that I'm obliged to any other, either of Gods or Men. Your Gall, and the sharp fertility of your Wit, furnish you with Words; but 'tis all but a mere arrogant boast of Speech, when you upbraid me with what Love compelled you to do, that is, to deliver me from Dangers. I'll not attribute it to a worse Cause, but as you did assist me, I acknowledge it, and freely own the Favour. But I shall make it evident to you, that you've received greater Advantages from my Safety than myself. First, instead of your own native barbarous Country, you enjoy Greece, where Law and Equity flourish, and where Right gives not place to Favour, or to Force. Your Parts and Learning are made known to the polite Grecians themselves, among them your Fame and Reputation is spread: Whereas if you had still been confined to those obscure remote parts of the Earth, you had lived and died unknwon, etc.  
In the same Speech he tells her, that Nature had done better to have found out some other way of propagating Mankind, than by Woman etc. That the Impotence of Women was arrived to that Degree, that an Injury to their Bed dissolved the strictest Friendship, and made them mortal Foes to them they Loved before.  
In need quote no more, to show the Reader the Motive of my presuming to alter this Character too. For tho' Euripides, full of noble Thoughts of his Country, or to flatter his Countrymen, makes it a Favour beyond any Retaliation, to be made an Inhabitant of Greece: Yet I feared that would not be allowed a Justification of such a manner of dealing here; therefore as Phaeton is young (the Age of Compassion) as well as Ambitions, I have given him a more generous sense of his Obligations. For tho' his Heart, and his Love, were not in his Power, yet it was always in his Power to endeavour to render his parting with a Woman that loved him, and to whom he had such uncommon Obligations, as easy as he possibly could, and not to make this his Endeavours, seemed too Barbarous to me, when there was no necessity of so cruel a Character. It must always be some Pain to a generous Temper not to be able to Love, where a Man is beloved, and impossible to use a Woman harshly for the violent Effects of that Love.  
Being, as I thought, under an Obligation to make such Alterations in these two chief Characters, I confess I had not Assurance enough to keep the Names, my great Master had made use of, since that might be pardoned in an Imitation, which would not be forgiven in a Translation. I might indeed, had I thought it worth my while, have chosen other Names than what I have; but that Objection is so egregiously trifling, that I think it not worth an Answer.  
The next Objection my Hypercritics make, is,— against Phaeton's being in Love with Two at the same time: But this, I am bold enough to say, proceeds from want of Reflecting (a Crime our Critics are often guilty of) as I shall, I hope, make evident in the sequel of this Preface. But let a Play succeed, or not, Faults must be found, or some Men would lose a Character they seem very fond of; for they have a peculiar Aversion to the being distinguished by their discovery of the Beauties and Excellencies of a Poem; but desire rather to be known by their si●ting, turning and winding the best Performances, to squeeze out at least the Shadow of a Fault, if they miss the Substance; grossly mistaking the true Business of a Critic, and forgetting the Justice of the best of Critics (because a Poet) Horace, who says of himself.  
Verum ubi plura nitent in Carmine, non ego paucis  
Offender Maculis, quas aut incuria fudit,  
Aut humana parum cavit Natura, etc.  
I am far from imagining, that this Play, notwithstanding its Success, is without its Faults; for 'tis impossible any Man should produce a Work of this Nature, where the Principles of the Art are not Demonstrations, but what will be liable to critical Disputes: For this very Reason the generous part of Men should excuse what they may dislike, for the pains the Poet has been at to please them.  
But besides these Gentlemen, who soured with their Learning, are too ungenerous, to have their little Endeavours of force enough to influence the Lovers of Poetry. I have another Sort of Readers to undeceive, who are much better Natured, and who may Condemn me through Ignorance, not Malice. Their want of Acquaintance with the Ancients, may give them a prejudice to my uncommon Model. To do myself Justice with these, I am obliged to lay down a very succinct Account of the Difference betwixt the Ancients and the Moderns, from which they will be the better able to pass a just Sentence on my Performance.  
First, the Ancients to dismiss their Audience with that Pleasure and Profit they designed them by their Plays, scarce ever extended their Tragedies to above half the Lengths of ours: For, by obliging the Mind to a too long Attention, they thought they should make it grow dull, and tired, whi●● must of necessity render it less susceptible of those Ends they proposed: Tho' the Diversion indeed was something lengthened by the singing of their Chorus, which answers the Music I have brought in in Mine.  
The Moderns on the contrary generally Spin out theirs to an unreasonable Extent, by adding Under-plots, and several Persons, no way necessary to their Design, which was admirably avoided by the Ancients, by introducing no more Characters than were indispensably necessary to ONE Complete Design. And in this I have endeavoured, here to imitate them.  
Next the Ancients differed from the Moderns, in the Choice of their Subject. We are for making the Scene of our Plays, the Field of Battle, a Siege, Camp, etc. Where, what ever we do else, we are sure to keep the Audience awake with our Drums and Trumpets, and make them Laugh with our Battles and Rencounters on the Stage, when they ought to be more concerned: The Ancients never, as I can remember, chose such noisy Opportunities of perverting the End they proposed in their Tragedies, viz. the moving Terror and Compassion, which can never be touched, where such tumultuary Objects come in view.  
I urge not this, nor any other Argument here, to Reflect on those great Men of our Nation, who have followed this way; who finding it delivered down to them from an Ignorant Age of the Theatre, thought, without doubt, that no other way would please, because this had been so long received. But I'm confident those who have so much excelled others in this, would have excelled themselves in the more Natural Way of the Ancients.  
Thirdly, the Ancients differed from our Poets in their Incidents. We seek after various, and surprising Turns in the Fortune of the Persons introduced, which seldom or never happen in Common Life (the just Object of a Poet) and so very often lose all PROBABILITY, in what we falsely esteem ADMIRABLE.  
Thus, striving to draw, not the Passions, and Natural Inclinations of Man, by which we might inform the Reader and Hearer in himself, but the Fortune, which is something foreign and extrinsic, and the Faults of which lie seldom in our power to amend. Whereas the Ancients only (or chief at least) had regard to the Representation of Man in himself; and the Turns they made use of in their Tragedies (at least the most Beautiful of them) were of the Passions, and not of the Fortune only, the Turns of which were ever so placed, as to give a better Light to the Passions they drew. In this too I have made it my Endeavours to imitate Them. In the first ACT I have aimed a a Representation of the Turns, and Sturglings, of an expiring Love, and one that is just rising. On one side Ambition and Novelty; on the other Obligations and Use, contending with all their Force for the Mastery: The sure, and Experienced Love of the present Object, enforced with an uncommon Burst of Tenderness, prevailing, for that Instant, over the absent, and uncertain Beauty.  
This may, in some measure, Answer the Objection I hinted at before, of Phaeton's being in Love with two at the same time; for a sensible and just Reader, or Hearer, would easily find that I had Nature, and certain Experience, not any Dogmatical Notions in my Eye, when I formed that Scene. For a Generous, and an Amorous Man, when he passes from his first Love, to a new Affair, does not immediately lose all his former Ties; but doubts a great while, which he loves best, his old Mistress, or his New; and may very well mistake the Effects of Use and Gratitude, for the Sentiments of Love, especially when these are increased and magnified, (as in my First ACT) by all the Tenderness of a constant Passion. justice, Gratitude, and a thousand other Motives, range themselves on the side of the Present Beauty, and experienced Charms, and may well hold the Mind in suspense a while, which Passion is the most prevailing. And as our Best Resolutions, are often broke by a present Temptation, so I am very sure, that any young Man, in Phaeton's Circumstance, would have the same Sentiments. And as his present Love for Althaea, might be the Effect of other Causes, so might that Passion he thought he had for Lybia, own its greatest share to Ambition; as, on a further Thought, he himself seems to imagine, 
Love and Ambition bear such equal sway,  
And have such blended Power o'er my Soul,  
That 'tis with Difficulty they're distinguished.   
This I am certain every Man, that has his share of Love and Ambition, must experience in himself on the like occasion.  
But I must not forget Ovid, the Great Master of LOVE— Who justifies this particular in a much higher degree, in his Verses to Graecinus; in those he is positive that he Loves two at once: Whereas I only suppose here, that the Sentiments of other passions might in a Mind unsettled, be mistaken by Phaeton for those of Love; but to proceed.  
In the second Act, the Motions, and Turns of Anger betwixt the two Friends, and the resolving it into a seasonable Reconcilement, carry on my Imitation of the manner of the Ancients; and I hope that Phaeton's Youth and Ambition, will make his Change in the Conclusion of the Act, sufficiently Natural.  
In the third Act I'm more secure, for there, I have closely followed the Divine Euripides, in the grief, despair, rage, dissimultation, and resentment of Althaea; as I have in her several Passions in the fourth Act, and something more at a distance in the fifth.  
All just Critics have agreed in preferring Euripides to Sophocles himself, in his lively draught of the Passions. And therefore I cannot forgive Scaliger's ill Taste, in preferring Seneca's abominable Medea (I mean in comparison of that of Euripides) to his. Seneca has nothing but a stiff, unnatural Affectation of Sententiousness. Euripides is all free, easy, just, and natural; Seneca prepares nothing, Euripides has an admirable Preparation of every thing, and this brings me to the last difference I shall now take notice of betwixt the Ancients and us.  
We are fond of FINE THINGS, (as the Ladies call 'em) which common-Place-Books will supply to any moderately industrious dull Fellow, on all occasions. Nay, Seneca has store enough of them to set up half a score Modern Authors, as admired as these Sentences are, though generally unnatural; for no Man or Woman agitated by violent Passions, can naturally speak, what they call Fine things, and to bring in Persons without any concern in the business of the Play, would be equally Faulty.  
I had some thoughts when I begun this Preface to say something of the Style of the Play, and to have examined into what is the true sublime, and what is generally mistaken for it, many, both of the Ancients and Moderns, having affected a tumid, puffy Style for the sublime; but this I have industriously avoided. One is only sound, the other, as Longinus observes is in the sense as well as words. Wherefore that Poet that's fond of Gigantic words without a Soul proportioned to their vast Bulk, falls under the Censure of Horace. 
Professus grandia turget—  
and— dunvitat humum, nubes & inania captet.  Statius and Virgil are two Authors that may give us a just Idea of the true and false Sublime. Statius is fond of the sound, and chooses words that fill the Mouth, indeed, but when the confusion which that makes, is over, you seek in vain for the sublimity of Thought, but find nothing but a sonorus emptyness, numberless Catachreses, and monstrous Hyperboles. On the contrary, Virgil is great, and magnificent in Expression; but it is not noisy, and always animated with a Noble, and sublime sense; he is easy (like true Majesty) as well as great; he fires your mind, but does not confound it; he may be read for ever, some parts of Statius scarce once.  
But this Discourse is of too great an extent for me to pursue here, and my Preface is already swelled to such a bulk, that I have scarce room to add a word of my Numbers, therefore, I shall only say, that I have often industriously affected a roughness in them, to avoid that satiety I find in many of our best Modern Plays, which proceeds from a perpetual Identity of Cadence.  
What other Objections my Cavillers have made, I can easily lose the Sense of, in the satisfaction of the success of my Play, not only with the indifferent Spectators, but the best Judges of Poetry that I know in the Nation, as well as the most generously Candid, who, for the boldness of my imitation of the Ancients, forgave the faults I have committed in the performance. I'm sensible, and must own it to the World, that Mrs. Knights admirable Action was no small advantage to me; who is playing Althaea, has evidently showed herself one of the foremost Actresses of the Age. And we may say of her in playing, as Lassels says of Tasso in Potery, That he has hindered Virgil from being the only Poet; so has she proved that the English Stage has more than one Actrese. Nor indeed, do I complain of the Representation; Most of the Players doing me justice. But the Music was so admirable, that the best Judges tell me (for I dare not give it as my own bare Sentiment) that there is the true Purcellian Air through the whole: that tho' it be so very different in the several Acts, it is every where Excellent; and that Mr. Daniel Purcells Composition in this Play is a certain Proof, that as long as he lives Mr. Henry Purcel will never die; or our English harmony give place to any of our Neighbours.  
As I begun my Preface with my Acknowledgement to the Divine Euripides, so I shall close it with owning my extraordinary Obligation to my Friend. The Character of Mr. Cheek is too well known to the Witty, and Conversible Part of the Town to need any Encomium from me; I am proud of being reckoned among his Friends, and equally pleased with, and Vain of his particular Approbation of this Play, and the extraordinary Zeal he had showed for its success  
'Twas under his Protection, and the security of his Name, that it ascended the Stage, and got a Reputation before it was acted, and by that I am satisfied it met with a more favourable hearing on its first appearance. From his Judicious and friendly Correction, and Hints, it was secured from injuring his justly established Reputation of Wit and Poetry. The Obligation was uncommon, and Merits a greater Return than my Abilities are capable of Making. For a Man of Sense is, and aught always to be very Cautious of hazarding a Good, that is got with so much difficulty from so envious, and so ungenerous a People as generally have the disposal of a man's Fame in that particular. And indeed if I had not entirely confided in his Judgement, as much as Friendship, I should not have desired him to put his to the hazard for my own Advantage. It would be needless to repeat the particular Hints he gave me, or the Corrections he made in several parts of the Play upon its perusal. But I must own that the Castrophe, owes most of its Beauty to his advice. For tired with writing the rest of the Play, I had hurried the Madness of Althaea, with too much Precipitation, and without any apparent Cause. Which at first hearing he condemned and obliged me to write it over again, and alter it till it pleased him in the form you now find it.  
Since the Conclusion of the foregoing Preface, I have met with a Book, called a short View of the Immorality, and Profaneness of the English Stage, etc. by Jeremy Collier, A. M.  
NO Man would be more glad to see all Indecencies driven from the English Stage, than myself; but that desire ought not to influence me or any other Man to conjure up ten Thousand Devils of our own, and then lay 'em at the Expense of the Theatre. And yet this is the Conduct of this Younger Histriomastix, I have no Room in this Place to show all the Abuses, and Absurdities this Author is guilty of, but I reserve most of them for a work I have long designed, and which I resolve to conclude some time this summer in Vindication of the Stage, etc. Now I shall only give you a taste of this furious Gentleman, by which you may Judge of the Man and his Honesty as well as Understanding.  
The principal Heads of this Book are included in the Immodesty, Profaneness, and Immorality of the Stage, and the Clergies being there abused. A word to each. The first Point I can say little to, since he is not pleased to be any farther particular, than to make References to several Plays, which I have not by me at this Time; but I suppose they are Goblins of his own forming, as many of those are, which he has produced under the other heads. Under Profaneness he Places the Swearing on the Stage; but to prove this he Quotes no Oaths, but an Interjection, that has very little Affinity to an Oath, unless it be because it has two letters of one of the Words, which do in reality compose One.  
I grant this Gentleman is no Friend to Oaths, yet his Zeal should not transport him out of his Princely Wits, or make him run into such a Whimsy in Etymology as a certain fellow did in Pedigre, to derive himself from King Pepin. Dipper, diaper; Napkin, Nepkin; Pipkin, King Pepin, as foolishly Extravagant as this seems, Mr. Collier is more so through great part of his Charge against our Stage, which to impartial Judges must seem very Innocent, when its professed Enemy is driven to the wretched Necessity of fixing forged Crimes upon it. If he replies, that the harmless Interjection Gad is at least a vain Word, and therefore to be abandoned, I answer, that if the Poets must suffer for a few Vain Words, Mr. Collier has a much larger Account to make up, for a great part of his book will fall under that Condemnation. Another Branch of his Profaneness, is Abuse of Scripture. Nay he is full of Indignation to hear jeremy, in Love for Love, Call the Natural Inclinations to Eating and Drinking, Whoreson Appetites. This is strange Language, pursues he, the Manichaeems, who made the Creation the work of the Devil, could scarcely have been thus Course. Risum teneatis? They are our Authors own words I assure you, If this be not turning all the Theological Controversies into Redicule with a Vengeance I'm much mistaken.  
What this Gentleman understands by Whoreson I know not, but if our Natural Inclinations are not to be spoke against at all, I'm sure few Preachers are Innocent, the fathers of the Church very guilty, and Mr. Collier at last as criminal in this particular as Mr. Congreve, for he himself calls our Natural Inclinations to Generation brutal, and which are fully as Natural as that to Eating and Drinking; to say nothing of Divine Injunction in Genesis. Now I can't help thinking that brutal, is to the full as infamous, and impious an Epithet for our Inclination, as Whoreson. Again he will have Mr. Congreve guilty of no less than Blasphemy, for making Valentine in Love for Love say that he is Truth, because there is an Expression something like it in the holy Scriptures. At this way of arguing he may deny us the Use of the Whole Alphabet, because the Words of the Bible are composed out of it; or evidently cut out three parts of all the Languages, the Bible is translated into.  
Here he is angry at Mr. Congreve for hitting by chance on two words which stood together in the New Testament? anon he is more Angry with Mr. Vanbrook, for altering the words of the Text in the Provoked Wife. I find a man must be an admirable Pilot to Steer betwixt this Scylla and Charybdis. If he had been that Good Christian, or that Honest Man he would be thought, he should have shown more Candour and Charity, than to put the worst, and most Scandalous Construction on any Gentleman of Honour and Probity's Meaning; for I dare, in Mr. Congreves Name, assert that the impious design which this Author has coined out of his own head, was far from his thoughts and where there is any way to think well of a Man, that way ought certainly to be taken, both by a Christian, and an honest Man. I have not Room here to bring the most evident demonstrations of Mr. Colliers foul dealing, but I do not doubt in my Answer to his Book to prove, that he is guilty of greater Immorality, Profaneness and Blasphemy, than, from his Quotations, all or at least the greater part of the Authors, he has arraigned, can be convicted of. If the public Defamation of several Men of Reputation be Immorality, he is guilty of it. If to make half Quotations, put false, and forced as well as guilty Constructions on innocent Words, be dishonest, and Immoral, he is notoriously so. If (as shall be made evident) great part of the Blasphemy he has Charged on the Stage, be but the Child of his own Malicious Invention, it must unavoidably follow that a great share of the Blasphemy in his Book is his own, and not the Poets.  
I have neither Room nor Leisure now to examine his Charge on the Stage, for abusing the Clergy of the Church of England, so eminent for piety and Learning: if there be any such practice, I think it ought to be reform. Yet he of all Men living, is the most unfitting Man to appear their Champion, who has made it his endeavours to make much the greater part of that Venerable Body pass for a company of perjured, and Mercenary Times-servers. But of this more hereafter.  
To insinuate himself with the Ladies, he has taken, in my Opinion, a very awkerd Method, for with all the Persons of the highest Quality, Virtue, and Learning of the Other Sex, he has fixed an Infamy (I mean to his little Power) on all the Ladies of Honour, Piety, and Sense, who remarkably encouraged those very Plays he would render so monstrous. He must argue them guilty of want of Honesty or Understanding, for tho' they are not by Blushes, or any public Indication in the Theatre to show their dislike of these things, yet by their absence they ought to discourage Blasphemy, and such Obscenety, that our Modest Author dare not transcribe. But from the Encouragement of these Plays, 'tis evident that Mr. Collier has a Notion of Words, and Things peculiar to himself, and should therefore, to make himself understood, have given us the definitions of his Terms in the front of his book. Which I desire he may do before I publish mine in Vindication of the Stage against Mr. Pryn, and Mr. Collier; in which I question not, but I shall make evident that the Wit of Man can invent no way so efficacious, as Dramatic Poetry, to advance Virtue and Wisdom, and the Supreme duty of an English man, (next the Love of God which is always Supreme) the Love of our Country, a Lesson I shall particularly Recommend the Stage for to Mr. Collier.   

THE PROLOGUE Spoken by Mr. Powel, Mrs. Cross, etc.  
COULD we but hope Athenian judges here,  
We should have then but little Cause to fear.  
Euripides to Night adorns our Stage,  
For Tragic Passions famed in every Age.  
In every Age adored by men of Sense,  
Comes here on you, to prove his Influence.  
Fixed in his Glory now Two Thousand Years,  
No puny Critics weak Attaques he fears,  
O! that he could be tried here by his Peers.  
Him the Wise Socrates alone would see,  
(Socrates the Wisest by the God's Decree.)  
His Faults our Author hopes that you will please  
To pardon for the Beauties of Euripides.  
If you damn this (as who knows but you may,  
Considering What strange things ye encourage er'y day)  
This our New Poet boldly bid me say—  
Since pou with Trash more willingly are fed,  
He'll toil no more to give you wholesome Bread.  
But quit the Ancients, and avoid th' Expense  
Of Nature, Probability, and Sense:  
And furnish out with Speed another Play,  
Of Empty Bombast in your Modern Way.  
Forced Passions, undistinguished Manners Use,  
Surprising Impossibilities he'll Choose,  
With all th' unnatural Charms of your own darling Muse.  Mrs. Cross and six of the Youngest Actresses come forward. Mrs. Cross. 
Lord, Mr. Powel! What d'ye talk of those  
Hard Words, to Courtiers, Soldiers, Cits, and Beaux?  
Fray let us speak— We shall be understood,  
We speak the Language of All Flesh and Blood.  Mr. Powel. 
Oh! Mrs. Cross pray do as you think good. Exit.  Mrs. Cross. 
On our Advice our Poet thinks not fit  
To trust his Fortune wholly to your Wit,  
For that's the Rock, on which he fears to Split.  
As much a surer way his Hopes t' Advance,  
He wisely borrows Ornaments from France.  
Here's what you Use to to take so much Delight in,  
Music, and Dance, and every thing but Fight.  
And tho' he knew that always here would please,  
He left it out to Compliment the Peace.  
But yet for fear this should not make you easy,  
He sent all us here, in hopes to please ye.  
For when a wanting Friend has often failed,  
With the rich Churl our Sex has soon prevailed,  
Moulded th' ingenerous Cully to their Mind,  
And made him prove most Prodigally kind,  
If then this Charming Tribe should fail to win ye,  
I needs must say some strange dull Devil's in ye.  
Cannot our Eyes, our Youth, our Form appease ye?  
And have we Nothing?— Nothing that can please ye?  
Has Malice such Confounded Power o'er ye,  
That you will damn, tho' Youth, and Charms implore ye?  
— Well if your darling Envy damn this Play  
(At least before we've had a full third day)  
All your Efforts I hear I will defy.  The first. 
And I. 2d. And I. 3d. and I. 4th. And I. 5th. And I.  Miss Chock. 
Not one of us— I'm sure I'll ne'er comply.  Mrs. Cross. 
You hear what Doom is past, therefore beware,  
And for our Sakes the unknown Poets Spare,  
All you that have Loves Fear before your Sight,  
For Women may be honest out of Spite.   

Dramatis Personae.  MEN. Mr. Mills: 
Merops, King of Egypt, and the Indies, Father to Lybia, and Husband to Clymene.  Mr. Powel: 
Phaeton, Son of the SUN, by Clymene, in Love with Lybia, and Married to Althaea.  Mr. Williams: 
Epaphus, the Son of jupiter, by IO, now the Goddess Isis, Friend to Phaeton.  WOMEN. Mrs. Powel: 
Clymene, second Wife to Merops, and Mother to Phaeton.  Mrs. Knight: 
Althaea, Niece to Argus, and Daughter to the King of Samos, Wife to Phaeton.  Mrs. Temple: 
Cassiope, Maids to Althaea.  Mrs. Kent: 
Merope, Maids to Althaea.  
Lybia, Daughter to Merops by a former Wife, and Heiress to Egypt, and the Indies, in Love with, Phaeton a mute Person.  
Priests, Shepherd's, Messenger's, etc.  
SCENE a Grove, and adjoining Temple in the Court Egypt.  

ACT I. SCENE I  
The Curtain rises, and discover a pleasant Grove, etc. the Prospect ending in a River running thro' a Valley. Phaeton, Althaea, and her Maids in the front of the Stage, and on each side Shepherds and Shepherdesses in Green.  Phaeton and Althaea come forward before the rest. Alth. ' 
I Was on this day, that first I saw my Phaeton,  
IT was on this day, that first I loved my Phaeton:  
For when I first beheld you, I first loved you.  Phaet. 
I loved Althaea too, when first I saw her;  
Lov d did I say? no, I adored her rather:  
For as the Gods to Man, so she to me  
Revealed herself in generous Benefits  
Of Life, of Liberty!  Alth. 
O! my dear Lord!  
Permit me here in safety to review  
The wondrous Rise of my unchanging Love:  
Or I lose half the Triumphs of this day.  Phaet. 
Oh! lose no joy that Phaeton can give.  Alth. 
It was the solemn Festival of juno,  
The great Protectress of our Samian State,  
When at the sacred Rites this wondrous Sight  
Surprised us all, but most affected me.  
The Priest o'th' sudden started from the Victim,  
And threw aloft his trembling hands to Heaven:  
His hair erected, stood upripht like bristles;  
His glaring eves about confus dly rolled,  
And his stretched nostrils breathed a cloud of smoke:  
When from his widened mouth an awful voice,  
A Voice much more than mortal shook the Temple;  
As thunder dreadful, and almost as loud,  
And in a storm pronounced these fatal words;  
Samos is lost, and Hierax is no more,  
Unless we drive these Strangers from our shore.  
He said, and full of sacred Fury led  
The willing people to the neighbouring Sea.  Phaet. 
IT was there he found us, just escaped the Wreck;  
The shattered Relics of th' inclement Tempest;  
Our Swords, and Virtue, all the Waves had left us.  
With joy we spied the Ensigns of the Gods,  
Secure of help, and hospitable rights,  
Both from his age and office. But alas!  
Our hopes all vanished ere they well were formed;  
For on the verge of the descending Strand,  
With hostile threaten he forbade our passage.  
Th' ignoble Vulgar, with confirming shouts,  
All seconded their Leader.  
What cou d we do? on e ry hand beset:  
The Sea on this side, and on that the People,  
All sworn to our Ruin? Resolved on Death,  
My small, but chosen Band, unsheathed their Swords,  
Appealing to the Gods, we rushed upon 'em,  
And drove th' inhuman herd into their street.  Alth. 
Ay, there I first beheld my Godlike Lord,  
Like Mars undaunted, but like Cupid Fair;  
A charming terror fill d his lovely face,  
That did more execution than his Arm;  
Tho that did Wonders scarce to be believed.  
As from the Palace we surveyed the Fight  
(For the first Tumult drove us from the Temple)  
We all took Interest in your doubtful Fate;  
And those that feared you, prayed you might o'ercome;  
At least that swift Agreement might secure you.  Phaet. 
The people now amazed at what we did,  
Had soon agreed, had not Sesostris Sword  
Cleft down their Mitred Chief. For though he fell  
Himself to expiate his Crime, their rage  
Increased still with their numbers; till unable  
To wield our glutted Swords, we all were taken.  Alth. 
Then, like the Sun obscured in noisome Fogs,  
I lost my Phaeton in th' earthy Vulgar.—  
A powerful Pity for thy youth and beauty  
(I thought it Pity but I found it Love)  
Compelled my steps down to thy frightful Dungeon,  
To set thee free from Chains, and hastening Death.  
But oh! the Joy! the Transports of my Soul,  
When you refused your liberty and life,  
If those must rob you of your Benefactress:  
Refused a flight, that bore you from Althaea!  
O! the soft melody that thro' my ears  
Dissolved my heart at your dear vows and oaths  
Of boundless love, and of eternal truth!  Phae. 
O! my false heart! thou hast too soon forgot 'em! Aside.  Alth. 
By the bright God, the Author of thy Being,  
I could not help the Fondness I betrayed.  
The struggling Ecstacy too mighty grew  
For my weak breast to hold! it bore down all  
The artful coyness of our modest Sex:  
The Ties of Blood; the Fears of Womanhood;  
Father, Mother, Country, and toilsome Dangers.  
I fled with joy from all that men hold dear,  
Alone o re Seas to Asia in a Boat,  
My Pilot thou, and my protecting God.  Phae. 
Aside Oh! why was glory, and this charming woman  
Such mortal foes, as not to be united?  
Why must I own so much, and be so poor,  
That I can pay so little! O Lybia!  
Thy tyrant Beauties have usurped my heart,  
And ravished me from all my vows and oaths.  Alth. 
My Lord, you're thoughtful; nay you seem disturbed,  
●s oft you do oflate: does ought aggrieve you?  Phae. 
Nothing, Althaea, but the mournful Thought,  
How much ill-fated love, alas! has cost thee,  Alth. 
Tho Father, Mother, Country, all be lost,  
Tho for my Uncle's truth to Juno's trust,  
For the Fidelity of Argus—  
Egypt's protecting Goddess hates even me:  
Yet in her Egypt, I have nothing lost,  
While Phaeton is mine, and only mine.  Phae. 
Gods! why die throw such Tenderness away,  
On one so little meriting her Goodness! Aside.  Alth. 
Come, come, this day banish all anxious thoughts;  
We'll drown in Music, and the sports prepared  
To celebrate this Feast, all sad reflections.  
Come sit with me, and please my wishing eyes,  
While these delight our ears.  They seat themselves, and the Music comes forward, etc. First Shepherd. 
Come, come all ye Shepherds, come come all away,  
Forget all your Cares,  
Your Fears, and Despairs,  
For 'tis the Lover's Holiday. Repeat this in a Chorus.  Second Shepherd. 
Let every Shepherd bring his Lass,  
in mirthful sports the hours we'll pass;  
And while we sing, to raise our pleasures,  
Tread you the earth with grateful measures. Here repeat the Chorus, while the Shepherds and Shepherdesses dance.  Third Shepherd. 
Ye smiling Graces, come inspire  
In every Breast a tender fire,  
While wanton laughter adds to our desire.  Chorus and Dance again. Boy and Girl come forward. Boy. 
Life is but a little span,  
Let us pass it all in pleasure;  
Id not lose this dawn of Man,  
Since my day's so short a measure.  Girl. 
Why so hasty? forward Boy:  
Sure 'tis not so long you've fasted?  
ere In ripe, to crop the joy,  
Is to eat me ere In tasted.  Boy. 
Why this coyness? why this coursing  
To the joys you long to prove?  
Nature made you all for sporting,  
Nature made you all for love.  She. 
O fie! O fie!  Herald 
You must comply.  She. 
I must deny.  Herald 
You will comply.  She. 
No, no, not I  Herald 
Good faith I'll try.  She. 
No, no, not ●  Herald 
Indeed you lie.  First Shepherd and first Shepherdess. Herald 
Come, gentle Phyllis, we'll softly retire,  
And once more attempt to allay the dear fire,  
My Wishes, thy Eyes and thy Arms inspire.  She. 
No more— for I fear we ne'er shall attain  
The end of our wishes, but burn still invain.  Herald 
As oft as we burn, we'll repeat the soft joy.  She. 
To repeat it too often the bliss will destroy.  Herald 
When the fire's abated, and the passions is done,  
We shall both be as easy as e'er it begun. The two last lines repeat together, and then repeat 'em in a Chorus.  Second Shepherd pursuing a Shepherdess that flies him. 
Cruel Daphne do not fly me,  
Hear me though you still deny me.  
Hear each piteous groan and sigh,  
See, oh! see! your Strephon die.  Third Shepherd coming to him and pulling him back by the sleeve. 
Fond Shepherd prithee cease to woo her,  
She flies the more, that you pursue her.  
All your whining, and your pining  
Will but make her proud, and vain.  
Do but slight her, that will spite her,  
And revenge on her your pain.  
There's Lydia, there's Chloris, and Phyllis to please you;  
They're fairer than Daphne, yet humble and easy,  
When to sighing, and groans you pervert the brisk joy,  
You sin against youth, and offend the soft Boy,  
For the pleasures he offers, you fond destroy.  The last three lines repeated in a Chorus. Fourth Shepherd. 
To passive years resign your pining,  
Active youth no time can spare:  
To unperforming Age leave whining,  
Youth can better please the fair.  
That sweetly should gain,  
By the languishing pain,  
And sigh more with joy, than despair.  While the last Chorus is here repeated he seems to leave her and she looks back kindly on him, and then sings, 

Can you, can you, will you leave me?  
Mind 'em not, for they deceive you.  
Quick possessing,  
Palls the blessing,  
While resistance makes it lasting.  
Easy love destroys desire,  
Sighs, and wishes fan your fire.  
You lose your Appetite by tasting,  
Which you sharpen still by fasting:  
'Tis resistance makes it lasting.   The three last lines repeated in a Chorus of Shepherdesses. Herald 
Enough of delays, my passion to raise,  
And now to Feast let's repair;  
ne'er fear I shall prove a glutton in love,  
My stomach's so keen by despair.  Chorus. 
Resistance and yielding well tempered, still prove  
The best Sauce to the surfeiting Banquet of love.  They all go off Singing. Phaeton and Althaea come forward. Phae. 
aside. O Lybia! still thou sittest too near my heart!  
For Sports and Music to remove thee thence.  
Music blows up the shame I should extinguish.  Alth. 
My Lord, why still thus sad amidst this Mirth▪  
You dash the pleasures, that you should advance,  
And with forbidding frowns, you check my rising Joy.  
What secret sorrow thus o're-clouds your face?  
On such a day as this too? Speak my Lord—  
I will ease your mind to let me share its burden.  Phae. 
Nothing— But that I'm weary of this floath;  
These weak enervate softnesses; this rest.  
My active soul disdains this woman's life.  
I would in youth hoard up for feeble ' age,  
An awful Treasure of immortal Glory.  Alth. 
Mistaken men invert the use of nature;  
Age is most fit for Mischief, Youth for Love.  
When years come on and Impotence of pleasure,  
Provoked by envy of the joys they want,  
We may allow them to disturb the world.  Phaet. 
You speak, but like a woman, as I live  
How should I here exert the God within me?  
In thrilling notes? in languishments? and kisses?  Alth. 
How would my Lord, my Love, exert the God,  
But living like the Gods in peaceful joys?  
Come, you're unkind to let an empty name,  
Rival a love so generous as mine.  Phae. 
I struggle to thee, spite of my ambition;  
But yet my soul starts back to ambition;  
For 'tis ambition is my natural bent:  
And though I give you all of me I can,  
You are unsatisfied you have no more.  Turns away and walks from her Alth. 
Turn not away— I'm pleased with what you'll give.  
Let me but have you all while you are here.  
For toilsome thoughts, you will have too much. time  
Give me unrivalled this auspicious day.  
Be sort, be tender now, look kindly on me,  
For my soul languishes, and I am sick with love.  Looking wistfully on him. Phae. 
Aside. I dare not let my guilty eyes meet hers,  
She views me with such pointed searching looks,  
As if she'd spy into my very heart,  
And there discover all the fatal secret.  Alth. 
You eat my Eyes as if they were disgustful  
What have I done? or how have I offended  
My Lord! my Life?  Phae. 
Offended! thou offended?  Alth. 
I swear I love with my first Virgin fondness:  
I live all in you, and I die without you.  
At your approach my heart beats fast within me,  
A pleasing, trembling thrills thro' all my blood,  
When e'er you touch me with your melting hand.  
But when you kiss! O 'tis not to be spoke!  Phae. 
No, no, you have not— nay, you can't offend me  
You're innocent—  Alth. 
In act, in Word, in Thought,  
I call the Gods to attest by innocence.  
If e'er I wished, or hoped, or thought of joy  
But what you gave, but what was all in you,  
May you be angry, may you be unkind;  
Or in one curse to sum up all that's hateful,  
May you soon love some other!  Phae. 
Gods! Gods! can I hear this and yet be false. Aside:  Alth. 
So may the Lord of my desires be true,  
As they all move, and centre all in you.  Plae. 
Alas! Althaea I can't doubt thy truth,  
And know thy love. But yet—  Alth. 
But yet? but what?  He walks up and down discomposedly and thoughtfully. 
Unfold that fatal Yet— O tell me that!  Phae. 
Aside. Gods! why am I by double love made wretched?  
Too much abundance 'tis that makes me poor.  
Oh! had I ne'er seen One, or seen but One,  
I had been happy then: but seeing both,  
I burn for both, and with an equal fire,  
I love them both, and both I most desire!  Alth. 
Oh why thus thoughtful! why that look cast down?  
Those folded Arms! Oh why those sudden starts?  
Some fatal Sorrow you conceal from me  
That shakes your soul thus. Give, O! give my part.  
O! do not rob me of my share of woe.  
Not on these terms I gave my plighted faith,  
To taste your joys, and not partake your grief.  
Indeed, I cannot hear such cruel kindness,  
Such partial woe, where I must have no share! Weeps  Phae. 
Aside. O wavering heart! do I deserve such love?  
Treacherous, false, perfidious, as I am?  
Yet she is excellent, divinely excellent! Looks earenestly at her.  
Young as the Spring, and as the Grace's fair;  
Constant as Truth, as melting Pity tender;  
As Want ingenious, and as Goodness kind!  Alth. 
Speak, my dear Lord, these looks are kind indeed:  
Come let your Tongue convey my bitter potion,  
Which yet, to share with you, will be most sweet.  Pha. 
Aside. Lybia is fair as her—  
She must be proud too of the Crowns she brings,  
If she would bring 'em me: for though I loved her,  
Yet she perhaps would never have loved me!  
Or not so well, so fiercely, as Althaea!  Alth. 
Quite lost in Thought, he hears not what I say!  Pha. 
Aside. ' Love and Ambition bear such equal sway,  
And have such blended power o'er my soul,  
That 'tis with difficulty they're distinguished.—  
It must be so, Ambition pleads for Lybia,  
But for Althaea Love.— And Love prevails, Aloud & turning to her.  
She must, she shall, she does possess me all,  
Be gone Ambition with thy noisy charms,  
Thy tinsel glare— Haste, take me to thy arms,  
O fold me here most charming of thy kind! Run into her ' rms.  
Here, form me, mould me, shape me to thy mind,  
Glory, Ambition, all you've driven away,  
You ne'er possessed me all till this triumphant day!  Alth. 
O racking joy! O most transporting Rapture!  
O gift bevond return! what shall I say?  
What shall I do to she how I am ravished?  
What can I give, I've given you all before,  
I've given myself, and I can give no more.  
But take that gift, I'll give it o'er and o'er.  Flies into his Arms and embraces him. Phae. 
O! gift like Heaven, the same, yet always new!  
Full of young pleasures, and unfading joys!  
Unwasting fuel of Love's growing Fires!  
Exhaustle●s source of ravishing desires!  
I will forego the chase of false renown,  
And my pursuit shall be thy Charms alone;  
Of all things else unknowing and unknown.  
Happy in thee I will sublimely move  
Within the perfect circle of my love.  
There blooming pleasures, will be always found.  
And ever springing Raptures fill the glorious Round.   

ACT II. SCENE I.  The same Scene of the Grove continues. Enter Epaphus and Clymene. Clym. 
WIthin this Grove, or th' adjacent Valley  
You'll find your friend, my hapless Phaeton.  
I have used all persuasions of a Mother  
To make him quit this cunning Samian Songstress;  
But all in vain.— I hope from friendship more,  
And what I could not, you, perhaps, may gain.  Epa. 
Clymene be sure I'll do my utmost.  
Epaphus is not us'd to be denied  
When in so just a cause he makes demand.  Clym. 
I will be near to come to your Assistance,  
Friendship, and filial duty joined can't fail.  Epa. 
You need not stay, but leave it all to me.  
I'll free you from this Samian.  Clym. 
Be not too rough.  
He will not brook Command, though to entreaty  
Pliant.  Epa. 
Madam retire, I hear some coming—  
Leave this Affair entirely to my conduct.  Clym. 
I go— but not far off, for fear he fail, As she goes out.  
There mark the strengths where friendship can't prevail,  
Then against those my battering Engines move,  
Of Power, Ambition, and a Virgins Love. Exit  Epa. 
Gods! the proud Boy presumes too much, yet sure  
He builds upon my former friendship for him:  
He durst not else have brought this hated Greek  
This Niece of hostile Argus into Egypt,  
Nay even into the sacred Roofs of Isis,  
My great but injured mother. But he comes,  Enter Phaeton. 
And at his sight my blood with fury boils,  
And combats fiercely with expiring friendship.  Phae. 
What do I see? My friend, my Epaphus▪  
Come to my Arms, and let me press thee close.  Offers to embrace him but Epaphus puts him away with his Hand. Epa 
Forbear— for though 'tis certain you see Epaphus,  
Yet whether he ought to be your friend, yshad  
Best consider.— if not, I press no Foe  
To this true bosom.  Phae. 
What can this strangeness mean?  
I am not conscious to myself of aught,  
That does deserve this cold, this unkind meeting.  
After thy long thy most regretted Absence.  Epa. 
Perhaps you hoped I never should return  Phae. 
O! barbarous thought for one so well beloved,  
It was my Morning's Prayer, my daily Vow.  
That thou mights it loon be here.  Epa. 
You thought me tame then,  
Mean, Cowardly, base enough to bear it?  Pha. 
Bear it! bear what?  Epa. 
Come, come, you know you've wronged me,  
And this affected ignorance is unmanly.  Phae. 
Come, come, you know I cannot wrong you.  Epa. 
How! cannot wrong me?  Phae. 
The brave can do no wrong.  
I cannot wrong my Fee, much less my Friend.  Epa 
What oer the brave can do▪ I say you've wronged me,  
Treacherously, falsely wrong d me.  Phae. 
Wrongs Falshood—  
False to my Friends! as soon  
I would forego m▪ Love my Mistress— nay—  Epa. 
Mistress! what Mistress? for when I left thee,  
Thou stoodst an active Candidate for Glory:  
Fame was thy Mystress then, and War thy Courtship;  
Thy Sword the moving eloquence that won her.  
If thou art altered, if thou● rt fallen from her,  
If thou art sunk to puling Woman's Love,  
Thou'rt false— too changed to be a friend of mine,  Phae. 
That I do love a Woman is most true:  
But such a Woman; so unlike her Sex:  
Full of such noble Virtues—  Epa. 
Full of Follies,  
Fall of Vice, most worthless of her Sex—  Phae 
Hold friend, no more, I charge thee say no more,  
For should I bear to hear he wronged by thee,  
Thou well mightst think, I'd wrong an absent Friend.  Epa. 
Name not that sacred word? a Friend is what  
Thou dost not understand: for Friend to Friend  
Is holy sacred, preferred to all but Heaun  
While thou dese●●e't thy friend for a vile Woman,  
A Toy, a Butterfly: the worst of Women too—  Phae. 
No more— it is a mighty proof of Friendship,  
That I can bear all this, though even from thee.—  
I do prefer my friend to all but Honour,  
And Honour binds me to this worthless Woman.  Epa. 
Honour! what Honour canst thou challenge now  
That you foorsook when you affronted me,  
Affronted me in much my dearest part  
My Mother, Isis, the Goddess of thy Country;  
Aegypt's protectress, the beloved of jove.  
What honour binds you to a Vagabond,  
When your friend's honour, and your Mother's tears,  
The safety of your native soil, and Gods  
Forbidden her presence, this hateful Niece, this  
Limb of cursed Argus?  Pha. 
I own my life  
To her.  Epa. 
I'd sooner owe it to a Coward,  
He has the face of Man— but to this Woman!—  Phae. 
I drew her from her Father, and her Country.  Epa. 
That was your Crime, now send her back then.  Pha. 
'Twould be  
Unjust to leave her now.  Ep. 
'Tis impudence  
To keep her here. Come, come, young man, you must  
Forego this Samian.  Pha. 
Must?  Ep. 
You shall.  Pha. 
Shall?  Ep. 
Shall! yes shall; I come to force her from thee.  Pha. 
Force her from me! ha'! ha'! I laugh at thee;  
Thou knowst, proud Man, thou canst not force her from me.  Epa. 
Proud obstinate Boy, I will.  Pha. 
Ha!— By the  
Bright God, my illustrious Father—  Epa. 
Name him not,  
He must does own thee, a Woman's Property,  
A fond convenient tool for useful ends.  
Do Gods get such as thee? no 'tis a Boast,  
An empty groundless Boast.  
Some Trader got thee, and some Strumpet bore thee,  
And shuffled thee into the Royal Cradle.  Pha. 
If I bear this, may Girls, and Eunuches hoot me;  
Cowards buffet me; Infamy drive me  
From all Resorts, where manhood's to be shown. Draws.  
Draw, draw, thou noisy Talker; try whose Arm  
Will best assert its Heavenly Author. Epaphus draws too.  Ep. 
Come on. Clymene runs in betwixt them.  Cly. 
O! hold! O! stay your furious Swords, and Arms!  
Or else thro' me you cut your guilty passage.  Pha. 
Ha! my Mother!— Was this your cunning, Sir?  
To place your Safeguard, ere you durst provoke me?  
But I shall find a Time she shan't protect thee;  
Thou Wordy Hero; thou Tongue— thou Woman Fighter.  
Thy guilty Mother lurked within a Cow  
So long, she fixed the dastard Spirit in thee  
Of that tame Brute.  Ep. 
Madam, I pray withdraw,  
Or I before you shall chastise that Boy,  
By your approach made bold.  Cly. 
O! Epaphus!  
Was this well done? was this done like a Friend▪  
To heap more Sorrows on me by this Quarrel?  
Wast thus that I should leave it to your Conduct?  
Was this your Word to Merops, and to me?  
Did we entrust to you our Common Darling,  
To brave, insult, and quarrel with him?  
Under the Friend have you concealed the Foe?  
And made me lead you to destroy my Son?  
It is unjust, inhospitable, base,  
Unworthy the bright Goddess, whence you sprung!  
To her I must appeal against her Son.  Ep. 
I have been to blame, I ask your Pardon.  
But thoughts of Injuries from him in Absence;  
And offered to my Mother— from him I loved;  
My only bosom Friend, that should have made  
My Cause his own; so stung my Heart before,  
So wrought my fiery Temper up to Rage,  
That at his sight, I scarce knew what I did.  Pha. 
A poor Evasion of th' Affront you've given,  
To avoid its Punishment, I'll surely pay.  
The Time be sure I'll find— I will— till then—  
I will have naught to say to thee.  Ep. 
You know I do not fear you— but I'm calm.  Cly. 
O! my dear Phaeton! I do conjure thee  
(I would command, but you've forgot Obedience)  
By all the Pains, and Fears I've felt for thee,  
To give me up thy Vengeance, and thy Anger.  Ep. 
I ask the same, though not for Fear but Friendship.  Cly. 
O think that both a Friend, and Mother ask you!  Pha. 
He said, I was a Woman's Property,  
A Tool— And can a Tool have any Friend?  Ep. 
I said it in my Rage, but could not think it,  
The Injuries of such a one, could never move me.  Pha. 
The wrong I did you, if I've done you wrong,  
I had not thought enough, that it was so,  
I was so lost in Love, else I'd not done it.  
For if there be a Love, above the Love  
Of Woman, sure it is the Love of Friends,  
And that I had for thee in its Perfection.  
If then a Fault, though done without Design.  
Because a Friends, so touched the Friend in thee,  
How must thy bitter and reviling Words,  
Move such a Friend; wound such a Friend as me?  Ep. 
You were too Good, and I too rudely brutal?  
You gave too much to Friendship. I too little.  Phi. 
If thou think so, I gave not then enough;  
I should have born more, much more, if possible!  
Or else have left thee till thou d●'● been more calm—  
But that I thought your Friend should not be brav'd,  
Perhaps I head been more passive. O' my Brother!  
You us'd me Harshly,— but you are my Friend—  
And have a Right to chide me. O! Epaphus!  
Thy name has houses the Friend, which bears down all,  
And overruns my Soul! canst thou forgive me?  Epa. 
Oh! canst thou ask it? ask it too of me?  
Who have offended most? Shame and Confusion  
Sink me— Oh! let me kneel, and crawl into thy Arms.  
I dare not cheer my guilty Eyes with thine,  
Till they with Tears have washed away my Stain.  Knelt and moves forward to him on his Knees embracing his. Pha. 
Taking him up. Oh! rise my Friend, or I shall die with shame.  
Cleave to my Bosom with an unfeigned Ardour!  
Thou shalt to o'ercome, this Samian shall be gone,  
And bear this guilty Wretch away from Egypt.  
Yes, I'll atone my Mother, Friend, and Country,  
The Angry Gods too, with my just Exile.  Spa. 
Now Heaven forbid!  
No rather let ten thousand Samians stay,  
Let rather the whole Race of Argus stay,  
Than Egypt should lose thee, the pride of Youth,  
The Soldiers Courage, and the Virgins wish!  
No by the Gods! I will myself step in  
'Twixt thee and Far; appease my Mother's Rage,  
Or in her Temple sacrifice her Son.  Pha. 
But his Samian!—  Epa. 
Now, by my Soul, do with her what thou wilt,  
Give me but Friendship; firm me but thy Friend.  Pha. 
embracing. O! with more Joy than I would grasp at Victory.  Epa. 
Ha! in that Word your Native Virtue spoke.—  
I would not, could I help it, have my Friend,  
Unlike the Son of the Allseeing Sun,  
Lie thus obscur'd in Shades, in Groves, and Grottoes,  
Averse to Glory, and inviting Greatness!  
But mount himself to th' topmost spoke of Fortune,  
And meet the waiting Homages of Kings.  
For as thy Father lights the world above,  
So should his Son rule all the World below.  Phae. 
And dost thou think that Phoebus was my Father?  Epa. 
Forget the barbarous Trespass of my Anger,  
Or you will break my Heart. I know he is,  
Your Deeds, your Virtues, and your Form confess him.  
My conscious Soul is Witness that he is.  Phae. 
By all his awful Beams, I swear my Friend,  
A vast, and unexperienc'd Joy strikes through me,  
Fires all my Blood, and bounds thro' every Vein,  
Rolls in my Breast, and so exalts my Soul,  
That I'm unable to contain th' Ecstasy.  
To hear thee own me Son of the great Sun,  
Extends my Limbs, and make me shoot aloft  
To a more Godlike Stature. And now methinks  
I tread in Air, and mount yond dazzling, Orb,  
Exert my Father, and confess the God.  
O! Mother! Friend! O! lead me out to Glory,  
I'll shake this downy lethargy of Love  
From off my Eyes, that thus forbids my Flight.  Epa. 
Ay now you do indeed exert your Father!  
You look, you speak, you move, you are a God  
To fire you more▪ I bring you joyful News,  
The Crowns of India, and of Egypt wait you;  
Stretch out your hand, and set 'em on your Head,  Pha. 
You speak mysterious Wonders, be more plain.  Cly. 
Thus long I've stood, by joyful Wonder fixed,  
To see the powerful Motions of your Friendship  
Working on to this blessed Union. Now  
I tell yond, that your Friend, and Mother bring you  
Love, untasted Beauties, and a Crown!  
Lybia, my Son, the Charming Lybia!  Pha. 
What?  
Says my Mother? how knew you that I loved her?  
Althaea's self ne'er yet found out that secret.  Cly. 
I knew not you loved her, but she loves you;  
And I'm o'erjoyed to find the Passion mutual.  Pha. 
Oh! you attack me with such subtle Arts,  
You must, you will o'ercome. A Crown! and Lybia!  
The Force is too resistless! But Althaea!  Ep. 
Let not that worthless Woman cross thy Thoughts.  Pha. 
O! do not call her Worthless! She has Worth,  
Eternal Love and an immortal Truth!  
She saved me from her Father's barbarous Rage,  
And loved me so, she fled from him with me.  Ep. 
It was a wanton Girls thoughtless Trick,  
And 'twas her Folly what you call her Love,  
To leave her Friends, to fly with a young stranger.  Clym. 
It was her Crime— for she betrayed her Father,  
ere she delivered you.  Ep. 
Then add to that,  
It was her Father slew your guiltless Friends,  
Against all Rights, both humane and divine.  Pha. 
Again, she saved me in Alphenor's Court,  
By treacherous means, when he had bound me fast,  
She snatched the Dagger from his lifted Hand,  
And struck it to his Heart.  Ep. 
She was not free. So very plain the Choice  
'Twixt Age, and Youth; my Friend, and old Alphenor;  
A petty Tyrant of an Asian Village,  
And the young blooming Pride, and Hopes of Egypt.  Cly. 
whate'er she did, she did compelled by Love,  
You own to Venus, what you pay to her.  Ep. 
He has indeed o'er paid her for a Trifle.  
Thus long she has enjoyed the Court of Egypt;  
And filled her Bosom with a future God.  Pha. 
But oh! my Children!  Ep. 
Send her back with Gold  
Enough to purchase a more noble Kingdom  
Than was her Fathers, for herself, and Children.  Pha. 
But it will break her Heart!  Ep. 
O! think not so—  
A Wife, and break her Heart to lose her Husband!  Cly. 
You have no other way to save 'em all:  
The life of Merops is bound up in Lybia,  
And hers in thee.  Pha. 
Ha! does she love me so?  Cly. 
More, more than I can tell thee. She's impatient,  
Not having seen thee now so many hours.  Pha. 
O Friend! O Mother! haste, and bring me to her!  
For I'm impatient too! I long, I sigh, I burn!  
I am unpardonable by the least Delay,  
And lose an Age of Pleasure, in one moments stay.  
With furious Love I'll rush into her Arms,  
And rise a God from her immortal Charms.  The End of the Second Act.  

ACT III.  
SCENE the same Grove, at the end of it an Arbour, in it Althaea, in a very melancholy posture; her Maids attending without. Music is heard, and Juno, and Hymen, with their Trains descend.  Juno. 
O Hymen! must we always see  
Perjured Man thus faithless be,  
And still securely slight our Deity?  
Must Vows, and Oaths by man be swore,  
And then be never thought on more?  
In vain our Votaries seek our Aid,  
If thus they still must be betrayed.  Hymen. 
These crimes unpunished must not go:  
No longer delay,  
But call just Nemesis away,  
From her dismal shades below.  
To her Almighty Fate allows  
To punish broken Vows.  Chorus. 
Come come, just Nemesis away,  
Too long your justice you delay.  Nemesis and her train of Furies ascend. Nemesis. 
Grieve, grieve no more, nor sigh in vain.  
Revenge alone can ease your pain.  
Revenge affords a sure Relief,  
While Love alas promotes your Grief.  Chorus. 
At the hiss of their Snakes let that passion retire,  
That more noble revenge that Bosom may fire.  In this Chorus they dance and shake their Snakes over or towards Althaea, then descend— juno and Hymen with their Train ascend, and then Merope and Cassiope come forward. Cass. 
Methinks Strange sounds fill all the Ambient Air.  Mer. 
Of late too frequent have the Portents been,  
Boding, I fear, some fatal Evil to us,  
Which now alas! appears too imminent  
In Phaeton's forsaking our poor Lady.  Cass. 
Ah! Merope! that this inhuman Man  
Had never landed on our Samian Coast.  
That prosperous Winds, and Seas had born him safe  
To Delos, Claros, or to any place  
Far from unhappy Samos.—  Mer. 
O! my Cassiope! that he head been sunk!  
For ever sunk in the devouring Tempest!  
Or that he had perished too in the Samian Dungeons!  
Then had our Princess never been thus wretched,  
By a too fatal, and too tender Love  
For an ingrateful, and a false deceiver.  
Then had Althaea never left her Country,  
For the proud Piles of these Egyptian Palaces;  
Nor on precarious Favours here depended;  
Nor on the sickle Passion of a faithless Youth.  Cass. 
Surcharged with the too pondrous Weight of Evil,  
Thus fixed she fits, her downcast streaming Eyes  
Dissolving in a constant Flood of Tears.  
Sometimes, with sighs, she wrings her tender Hands,  
Then casting up to Heaven her watery Eyes,  
In soft Laments, and most pathetic Murmurs,  
Condemns herself for having left her Country,  
Her Father, Friend's, and household Gods, for one,  
For one, who thus inhumanely deserts her.  
Deaf as the Rocks, or Winds, or raging Seas,  
She'll hear no Counsel, and admit no Comfort.  Mer. 
Alas! how will she be●● the approaching Evil.  Cass. 
Ha! What is't you say? more Evils yet?  Mer. 
The Tyrant Merops, Father ●● her Rival,  
Unsatisfied with all the brutal 〈◊〉  
Sent by his Messengers— new 〈◊〉 himself,  
To drive her, and her Children out of Egypt.  Cass. 
Will Phaeton, though weary o●●is Wife,  
Suffer his Children to be sent to Exile.  Mer. 
This new Alliance, makes up all his Thoughts,  
He has no Memory of his past Love,  
Althaea's Tenderness, or his broken Vows.  Cass. 
O! hard condition of poor Womankind!  
Made Slaves to Man's imperious changeful Will!  Mer. 
O! cruel Custom! O! too partial Laws,  
That give to Man an Arbitrary Power,  
To throw us from him, when his Fancy veers,  
And points him to another!  Cass. 
Hold— See she rises and comes forward.  Althea rises and comes forward. Alth. 
Ah! me!— Alas!— Undone, undone! forsaken!—  
Weep, weep fond Eyes! dissolve, dissolve in Tears!  
You let the fatal Mischiefs in!— Oh! woe!  
Oh! Misery! Oh! Ruin!  Cass. 
Have Patience, Madam, my Lord still loves you.  Alth. 
No, no, he's false!— he's chang'd!— he loves no more!  
For when he lov'd he scarce would ere be from me;  
Or if he left me, swift was his return,  
And still preventing the appointed Minute.  
But now how many tedious Hours are gone!  
And yet he comes not— comes not, though I've sent  
To beg his Presence— Nay he does not send  
To ease my Pain or contradict my Fears—  
My Fears!— alas! my Ruin is too certain!  
The common talk of every busy Courtier!  
Am I not pointed at, and shunned by all?  
Already twice commanded to be gone  
Erom Egypt, and from him! Despair and Horror!—  
Relentless Powers, hurl, hurl your Thunder down  
On my devoted Head! propitious fates  
Cut off, cut off my thread of wretched Life▪ Walks up and down in a discomposed and mournful manner.  Cass. 
O! wondrous Power of Woe to make us with  
For Death, which is by Nature most abhorred!  Alt. 
O! mighty Themis! O! holy Artemis. knelt.  
Ye awful Pow'rs that Guardians are of Vows,  
Do not my Husband's impious Deeds provoke you?  
He breaks thro' all your sacred. Twyes of Oaths,  
To the cursed Joys of a new ridal Bed. Rises  
Sink, sink, destro, tumble down the Tyrant's Palace  
On him, on her, on every guilty Cause  
Of my unmerited, my dismal Ruin— pauses.  
Oh! my Father! oh my poor widowed Mother!  
Oh! my dear lost Country all abandoned!  
All forsaken! for the false perjured Phaeton!  Mer. 
Indulge not thus a passion, whose Violence,  
If you give way, must b●●● down Life before it.  Alth. 
What use of Life have I, that I should spare it?  
Robbed of my peace by this enormous Evil?  
That dear false Man, within whose faithless Bosom  
Was all my Hoard of Joy, alas has left me!  
Lef● me alone, forlorn, of Friends bereavest,  
Beset all round with Foes!— in a strange Land,  
Na●ed of needful Helps, no Refuge near me!  
No Country, Brother, Father, or Mother here;  
To who●● from th' impetuous Storm of Sorrows,  
As to a welcome Harbour I might steer.  
I'm lost! I perish! taste the Sowers of Death,  
Even while I live! Oh! let me taste its Sweets  
In Death itself, and so forget my Woe!  Cass. 
I beg you for your children's sake be calm.  Alth. 
My Children! ha'! my Children did you say?  
The joyful product of our mutual Love?  
They are part of him, and of his barbarous Sex—  Pauses and walks thoughtfully up and down, starting now and then 
— Avert— avert the thought ye Pow'rs Divine▪  
Alas they're innocent! and wronged like me,  
Like me forsaken, and undone like me!  
No let th' Offending only feel my Anger!  Mer. 
Ay, give it Vent, on those discharge your pain.  
It is our Sex's Quarrel, Womankind  
However fearful else, will here be bold,  
And with confederate Mischief back your Vengeance.  Alth. 
Vengeance! Vengeance! alas! I love too much!—  
My wrongs are great, but oh! my Love is greater!  
When his dear Image comes before my Mind,  
False as he is, my Rage ebbs out apace,  
And Love in a full Tide of Tenderness flows in.  Mirop. 
For Lybia's Lover? and for your Betrayer?  Alth. 
For Lybia's Lover? Oh! the very Thought  
Strikes Daggers thro' me, and alarms my Soul:  
Rouze● my injured Heart to hateful Mischief!  
I cannot, will not bear it.— Ha! Her Father's Ghost arises, and she starts back, and gazes as affrighted.  Ghost. 
Bear it not.  Alth. 
O! all ye Gods! and heavenly Powers protect me!  
O! juno guard me from this dreadful Vision!  Mer. 
O! gracious Heaven restore her wand'ring Senses!  Cass. 
Tho I see nothing, yet a trembling Horror  
Shakes me all o'er  Alth. 
O! Gods! see yet he stays and glares upon me!  Ghost. 
Let not the Image of thy Father fright thee!  
I come not now to punish, but assist thee!  
At least as far as cruel Fate allows.  
Fear not, but hear me!  Alth. 
O! thou paternal Shades! O! Hierax! Father!  
Father (for yet that kind indulgent Form  
Speaks Tenderness, that merits that dear Name)  
Can you? O! can you, yet forgive my Flight?  
My guilty Flight? that bore me from my Father,  
My Hopes, my Happiness! my Innocence!  
But oh! severely have I suffered for it,  
Pierced through and through with most ingrateful wrongs!  Ghost. 
Too strong, Althaea, were the just Impressions  
Thy Virtue made upon a Father's Soul  
For Death to raze.—  
Our Passions are immortal, as our beings,  
A part Essential of them, for without them  
There is no Pain, nor Pleasure; Bliss, nor Woe●  
I blame not then thy Flight, compell'd by Love,  
That o'er the young maintains a Tyranny.  
I blame thee not for Love, but for thy Tameness;  
For bearing Wrongs from this Egyptian Race.  
The injured Genius of thy native Country  
Calls loudly on thee for Revenge, Revenge.  
How long? how long must our unhappy House  
Call for Revenge in vain, in vain from thee.  
Aegypt's the Source of all our Houses Woe.  
For Isis, Argus falls; I for Phaeton:  
For Lybia thou. juno and Hymen both  
Demand Revenge for violated Vows.  
juno herself assists thy just Revenge  
Revenge! Revenge! Revenge!— Sinks down.  Alth. 
Oh! stay— Oh! do not fly so swiftly from me!  
Take not away so soon that pious form,  
That pleasing Image of paternal Love,  
That touched with Care of his unhappy Daughter,  
Burst from the peaceful Mansions of the Dead,  
To rouse my Justice and accuse my Tameness;  
This poor Insensibility of Wrongs!  
I feel my Father roll through all my Veins,  
Rage in my Blood, and fire my doubting heart!  
Revenge! Revenge, Revenge it was he cried  
Justice, and Pity demand revenge.  
My Country, Father, and the Gods demand it.  Cass. 
O! Gods appease this Fury of her Mind!  Mer. 
Revenge is the best ease the Gods can give her.  Alth. 
Revenge! Revenge! it gives some taste to Life  
Nor am I wholly wretched while I can  
Revenge my Wrongs, and punish my Undoer.—  
Inform, advise, instruct, direct my Fury,  
While yet my mind is capable of acting.  
Yes I will live.— but live for speedy Vengeance,  
Great as my Causeless Wrongs, on him, on her;  
On her the cursed Usurper of my Bed:  
On Merops, Clymene, and all the Guilty House.  Cass. 
Might I advise; I'd leave him to the Gods,  
Nor think more of him.  Alth. 
How! not think of him while yet he wrongs me?  
While yet he flights and leaves me for another?  
No I'm all Rage, whole Nemesis is in me!  
And I'll pursue him with immortal Hate,  
Revenge my Injuries, though I fall myself.  Mer. 
But hold.— Compose yourself— hid your concern;  
For see th' Egyptian Tyrant Merops comes.  
Please not his Eyes with Griefs you should not own  
To their vile cause— till your Revenge is sure.  Enter Merops, Guards and Attendance. Merops. 
How long must I command you hence in vain?  
Weak Monarches thus are Browbeat by their Slaves,  
When they forget to see themselves obeyed  
Therefore departed— immediately away,  
For hence I'll not remove till you are gone.  Alth. 
Protect me Heaven! this blow completes my Ruin.  
Ah! me! to whom! Ah! whither shall I turn?  
When thus I fall on every side most wretched.  Merops. 
I have no leisure now to hear you rave  
Impatient of your hated sight— be gone—  
Ease me and mine of this most odious Burden.  Alth. 
Thus low, oppressed with such a Weight of Woe,  
Permit me ask the Reason of my Exile.  
What new! what sudden motive could I give,  
A helpless Woman, and of All forsaken?  Merops. 
Let it suffice I fear thee;  
(For mean disguises are below a King)  
I fear you'll plot some Mischief against my Daughter,  
And for these Fears you are a fertile Cause.  
Asia and Europe yield too fatal Proofs,  
With what impetuous Fury 'tis you love;  
And how my Lybia ought to dread your Rage,  
Since you're divorced for her, from Phaeton.  Alth. 
I grant, that forced by Love's Almighty Power  
I dared above my Sexes Noster Temper  
For him that said, nay swore too that he loved me  
Above his Life, his Life! above his Glory.  
Yet think not Merops, think me not so mean,  
So very fond to love when I am slighted.  
What e'r I did for him when yet he loved,  
I nothing shall attempt for him that hates  
Nor boots it me who loves, or who's beloved,  
Since he loves me no more, since he hates me.  
Go on, proceed, consummate their Espousals;  
Live long; live happily; I envied not.  
Allow this Wretch alas a sad Retreat.  
A shelter against worse Fortune's all I ask.  
In secret only I'll on him complain;  
Murmur the pangs of my expiring Love.  
Where soon I'll learn to yield him up to her,  
That more deserves him, than myself.  Merops. 
Your Words a specious Mildness only bear,  
I fear the deadly Rancour hid within.  
For with more Ease w' oppose the Lust of Vengeance,  
When it appears in its own native fury,  
Than when disguised in smooth submissive Words.  
Therefore be gone— nor think with subtle Speeches  
To change my Will; thy Exile is decreed;  
Nor shall thy cunning Arts reverse thy Doom.  Alth. 
Oh! I will clasp your Knees: O Sir! by these, She knelt, and clasps his knees.  
By the new Pair I beg, I do conjure you—  Mer. 
You beg in vain, all you can say is lost.  Alth. 
It is unkingly to reject a Suppliant.  Mer. 
It is unjust to prise you 'bove my Family.  Alth. 
O! my Country! 'tis now, 'tis now, 'tis now, alas▪  
That I remember thee!  Mer. 
That you should ne'er  
Have suffered to escape your Memory.  Alth. 
O Love! destructive plague to womankind!  Mer. 
Yes, when pursued against a Parents will.  Alth. 
O! jupiter!  
Remember who was the Author of all this!  Mer. 
Trifler be gone, and free me from my Cares.  Alth. 
'Tis me, 'tis me alone hat Cares oppress;  
No need I more to make me wholly wretched.  Mer. 
Be gone I say, or Slaves shall drive you hence.  Alth. 
O! Merops hear me! yield to my Request!  Mer. 
In vain you strive to break my fixed Resolve.  Alth. 
No, I will go— I aim not by my Tears  
To bend your Stubborn Mind to let me stay? Rises  Mer. 
What would you then? Why leave you not my Kingdom?  Alth. 
Give but a day to fit me for my Journey.  
And since their Father has forgot his Children,  
Permit me give 'em the best Help I can.  
Ah! pity them, for you●ve had Children too!  
As your a Parent let a Parent's sorrows  
Touch you— Young, tender, and unused to Hardships,  
As you well know I am; yet, O▪ Merops!  
I am not grieved for my own Banishment,  
But the Misfortunes that attend my Infants,  
My little helpless Babes! my early Orphans,  
Orphans, while yet their Father is alive.  
'Tis these torment me, these that rack my Soul.  Mer. 
That I'm not ruled by an obdurate Mind,  
Let this convince you; your Desire is granted.  
Yet hear me, Woman, hear, and mark me well,  
If then to morrows Sun do find thee here  
Thou diest, thou and thy Children surely die. Exit Merops cum suis.  Mer. 
Alas! unhappy Mistress!  
What will you do? or whither will you fly?  
To unexperienced miseries exposed?  Cass. 
Whose Friendship? or what Nation will you seek?  
What Hospitable coast against your sufferings?  Alth. 
'Tis true, my Friend's Ill-Fortune does surround me,  
Yet think not that I ll lose this last success.  
Think you I could have couched so to the Tyrant?  
Have been His Suppliant? held to Him these Hands?  
Had not my hopes of Vengeance bend my Knees,  
Softened my Language, and thrust out my Arms?  
Besotted Merops should have driven me hence,  
Not given a Day! a Day's a mighty Space,  
Enough to Sacrifice all, all my Foes,  
The Daughter, Father, Mother, Son  
My perjured Husband! Where shall I begin!  
Amid this Crop, this Glut of my Revenge?  
Shall I set fire to their cursed Nuptial Bed?  
Or with this Dagger pierce their guilty Hearts?  
No, by more subtle Arts I must prevail,  
Deceit with the Deceivers should not fail;  
Yet if this do not, as it ought, succeed,  
I with this Hand will do the dreadful Deed:  
Amid their Guards, in the full face of Day,  
Nor Heaven nor Hell shall stop my furious way;  
I'll wound, I'll stab, transfix their conscious Hearts; causes.  
From me they shall be sure of their Deserts.  
With joy I'd die, and as in Triumph fall;  
If with my ponderous Fate, I crushed them all,  Exeunt Omnes. The End of the Third Act.  

ACT iv SCENE I.  Enter Phaeton on one side, and Althaea on the other, attended by her Maids. Phae. 
Moved by my Love, I come, unkind Althaea,  
To mourn, and to provide for your sad Journey;  
For I can't wish you Evil, though you hate me.  Alth. 
Then you are come? you dare approach me then?  
O! worst of Men! most guilty of thy kind!  
(For want of Power allows me but Reproaches)  
'Tis not assurance, but vile Impudence,  
That brings you to a Friend, you so have wronged.  
And yet 'tis well, 'tis just, that you are come,  
That I may vent my imprisoned Griefs on thee,  
And with contageous Sorrows blast thy Joys.  Phae. 
Madam, I have no joys, while you're in Pain.  Alth. 
First (for I ll begin with my first Benefits)  
I sav'd your Life (nor can you yet deny it)  
When in one Night your Guiltless Friends were slain,  
Then you Ingrate, than you too should have died.  
In pity of your untimely Fate.  
I Snatched you from my angry Father's Rage,  
And set you free— O! that I head done no more!  
But pressed by my ill stars, o'er pow'red by Love!  
By artful sighs, and your unmeaning Vows,  
At once his Hopes, and Vengeance I betrayed;  
Not only gave you life, but fled too with you.  
— Again— in Asia where I might have reigned,  
Neglecting still all interests of my own,  
To save your Life I slew the King Alphenor.  
And fled again by Night thro' Foes and Dangers,  
And though I fled from, what you seek, a Crown,  
I fled well pleased because I fled with you.  Phae. 
Yet hear me; and be patiented while I speak—  Alth. 
I took all Fears from you, and in Return  
Of such, so many Benefits have you?  
Have you betray'd me? O! Prodigy of Falsehood!  
Made by my fruitful Love now twice a Father,  
In all my youth, in all my Spring of Beauty  
To leave me for another!  
O! my false Joys! O! disappointed Hopes!  
How have I been deceived; O how abused!  
Thinkest thou there are no Gods, that heard thy Oaths?  
Or thinkest thou, they want Power to punish Crimes  
Like thine? O! Hands! O! Knees! so often pressed  
In vain in vain by his protesting Hands  Phae. 
Would you but hear I should not seem thus Guilty.  Alth. 
I'll calmly reason with you like a Friend,  
As if I hoped some Benefit from you.  
Whither shall I go? to whom shall I return  
Cast off by you? What to my native Country?  
That I forsook for you! what to my Father?  
Alas! he's dead! killed by my guilty Flight!  
I was the only Pleasure of his Age,  
His prop, his stay, and when I fled, he fell,  
And left this Throne to my inveterate Foes.  Phae. 
Yet hear me speak, and then condemn or quit ●e!  Alth. 
Or shall I fly to slain ●lphenors Court?  
Where for his Death, I shall be kindly treated.  
You bid me go, but cut off all Retreat.  
My native Friends that merited no evil,  
For thee I've lost, for thee I've made all Foes!  
And now for all these fatal proofs of Love,  
I'm thrust a Vagabond to the wide World.  
Defenceless, Widowed, Friendless, and alone!  
Or what is worse, with my two helpless Orphans.  
If this must be, O! think but how 'twill sound,  
At your new Nuptials, that you've driven to exile  
Your Children Beggars, with that tender Wife,  
To whom you own the life you use against her.  
O! jupiter! why hast thou given to Gold,  
A certain Test to know the true from false,  
And yet in Man hath fixed no certain Mark,  
To know the Good from Evil?  Pha. 
I find you've drawn a dreadful Charge against me,  
And such as Gild could never hope to Answer,  
Yet, fortified with Innocence, I dare  
Appeal to your own self to judge my Cause.  
Lay but your Passion for a while aside  
And tell me who? who caused this mournful parting?  Alth. 
Ask thyself that Question? ask thy own Heart.  Pha. 
It was not I, I sought not this Divorce,  
The Gods, the angry Gods would have us parted,  
Witness ye Powers! how long I did oppose you!  
Struggling with Fate, my Mother, and my Country,  
Before I yielded up a Prize like this.  
The hoary Priests of Isis threatened Egypt,  
With Evils imminent, with Plagues, with Famine,  
Unless that you were banished— And the Nil●  
Withdrew its fertile Streams within its Bed,  
And shrunk its noble Flood into a Brook.  
In vain the holy Priests mourned drowned Osiris,  
With shorn Locks, and dismal Cries in vain  
A Successor they sought to the white God  
All was denied till you was driven from Egypt.  
What could I do? or how could I deny  
My Friend, my Mother, and my falling Country?  Alth. 
If this were so, why left we not this Egypt?  
Why should my Banishment from Egypt part us?  
We had been wanderers together before this!  
Nor Gods, nor Priests, required that you should stay,  
And Love, and Benefits, and Vows, and Oaths  
Obliged you to go with me—  
But these are Feints, weak Blinds to hid their Gild,  
'Tis Lybia is the God compels your stay!  
'Tis Lybia drives Althaea out of Egypt!  
'Tis Lybia is the dreadful Fate that parts us!  Pha. 
Be calm a while, and give me leave to speak.  
I will not urge the Love that Lybia bears me,  
(Tho that, I swear, would move another strangely)  
The Crowns she brings (though I was born for Crowns)  
I will not urge, for these are foreign Motives:  
It was for you I yielded to these Nuptials.—  Alth. 
For me! for me you left me for another!  
O wretched Trifler!  Pha. 
Pray hear me out—  
You ask what God what Priests require my stay?  
Why you, Althaea, are the God compels it.  
Knowing the Hardships of a Friendless Exile,  
How could I bear to see Althaea perish,  
And have it in my Power to ward her Fate?  
My Children too, sprung from that beauteous root,  
Attacked my Heart, and with resistless force,  
Tore me from what my Soul desires most!  
For Me, you've made too many Foes already,  
And should I then add to their fatal Number?  
If Asia and Samos are provoked for me,  
Should I dare Egypt too, to fix your Ruin?  
Alas! if I go with you I destroy you,  
If I stay here, I'm but myself unhappy,  
And by my pain provide for you and yours,  
'Tis Death to my Desires to lose Althaea,  
But 'tis Damnation to undo her more.  
Yet would I go, the Power of Egypt stops me,  
The Power drives you hence, that confines me here.  
Come calm that Rage (which yet I cannot blame  
Because it shows you Love me) and consider  
That by this match the Wealth of Egypt s yours,  
For what is mine is so. By which ill-Fortune  
Will follow you in vain, but never reach you:  
Contending Nations will with Pride invite you  
That know your Interest in the Prince of Egypt.  Alth. 
How easy 'tis to give us Words for Deeds!  
No more with specious Arts disguise the truth;  
The fulsome Dawbney too visibly is seen.  
It 'twas for me you did these wondrous things.  
Why was the secret kept thus long from me?  
Who first should have been won to yield you to her.  Phae. 
How● could I plead a hateful Cause with you?  
I could not wish to gain even from myself?  Alth. 
These are invented Causes, not the real;  
Your proud aspiring Soul disdained my Bed,  
Because I brought no Kingdoms for my Dower.  Phae. 
Believe the brave Ambition of my Soul.  
Would not permit me to forgo my Love,  
For any Cause, but what I have assigned,  
Your children's, and your Happiness—  Alth. 
Give me no Happiness that●'s mixed with Woe,  
Nor Wealth and Power that rack my Soul with Grief.  Phae. 
Opinion only makes you here unhappy,  
Who in the midst of Plenty think you're Poor.  Alth. 
Delude me on with Words, you●ve got a Refuge,  
And you grow eloquent upon it: But your Deeds  
Your Deeds are more emphatic: am I not  
Forsaken? with my Children forced to Exile?  Phae. 
To ease that Care take largely of my store,  
Rich presents to our Friends to recommend you.  Alth. 
I'll use no Friends of thine, nor touch thy Gifts;  
The Gifts ill men bestow advantage none.  Phae. 
By the refulgent God, that gave me being!  
My Father Phoebus!—  Alth. 
Thy Father! thine! th' illustrious God disdains thee.  
Thy Father! 'twas a boast of thy false Mother.  
By which she would conceal her guilty shame.  Phae. 
No more— for yet I call the Gods to witness  
I'd pour into your Arms what e'er you want,  
Both for your journey, and your after Ease;  
Tho you to your own detriment refuse it.  
And with injurious Language drive me from you: Exit.  Alth. 
Go, go make haste, to your new Bride make haste!  
Too long I've kept you from her wished-for sight.  
Go on, go on, Consummate your new Nuptials,  
Yet if the Gods but lend a pitying Ear,  
You soon shall wish you never had prepar'd 'em.  Walks up and down in a Passion. Cassi. 
If once, O! Venus! I must feel thy Power.  
Far be this racking Violence of Passion!  
A Love more gentle in my Soul inspire!  
Calm be my Joys, temperate my Desire!  
Easie the soft Emotions of my Heart!  
Or if they must be fierce, Oh! make 'em short.  
My inclinations veering, as the Wind,  
In change preventing that false roving kind!  Alth. 
O! juno! early Guardian of my youth,  
And sacred Pledge of our Connubial Vows,  
If e'er my Offerings have been grateful to you,  
I do adjure you suffer not my Foes  
To gather Joys from my opprobrious Grief!  Mer. 
Madam, transported by untimely Rage,  
You've lost th' occasion that before you wished for. Ex. Mer.  Alth. 
Ha!— thou sayest true— haste after Phaeton  
And call him back, say what thou wilt to bring him.  
Ungoverned Fury at his sight burst out,  
And almost robbed me of my dear Revenge.  
Althaea summon all the Woman in thee,  
The large Hypocrisy of all thy Sex,  
And add to that the subtle Arts of Priests,  
And Courtiers, when they'd make their vengeance sure.  
Thou want'st them all, nay more if possible,  
To smooth thy Brow, to calm thy Face and Eyes,  
That not one glimpse of Rage to him appear.—  
Away fond Love: ye tender Thoughts away!  
I feel my Wrongs, Beware my Soul, beware!  
Of leaving me the sport and jest of Egypt,  
Th' Byword, and scorn of this Barbarian Race.  
But hold— these Thoughts too much disturb me.  
Let me have Music to compose my Mind.  
Here in this mournful posture he shall find me.  Sits down and reclines her Head on her Hand. 

Symphony and Song.  
How happy would poor Woman be,  
From the Cares of Love still free,  
Did not false Man's deluding Arts  
Rob us of our Peace and Hearts.  
With Tears and Oaths the Cheat maintain  
Till we poor helpless women love again,  
And wound ourselves, alas! to cure their pain.  
But then, ah! then! how soon they change!  
How soon the fickle wanderers range!  
How soon forget each Oath and Vow,  
And to some other beauty bow!  
Again they beg, again they pray,  
On purpose only to betray.  
Ah! seal my Heart! ye chaster Powers,  
Against their cunning Art,  
And of my Life's succeeding Hours,  
Ah! give to Love no Part.   At the end of the Song, Enter Phaeton and Merops. Phae. 
Madam, I'm told you sent for me again,  
Tho you are angry with me I obey,  
And come with Joy to hear what you'll command me.  Alph. 
Rising and coming forward Forgive, my Lord, the outrage of my Tongue  
Nay I beg you, by our mutual benefits,  
By our past Love (alas! that it is past!)  
To pardon my Violence of Passion.  
If I said aught too harsh, or to severe,  
Think me a Woman, impotent of Reason,  
That could not see thro' Pain my future Good,  
And such a Pain, as to be rend from you;  
My Soul, my All (for you were All to me)  
Just in the fierce abundance of my Love.  
Then add to this my little helpless Infants  
Banished, and in the tender Bud exposed  
To nipping Blasts of an inclement Fortune. weeps.  
Pardon these Tears, that spite of me will fall  
When e'er this dreadful Image comes in view.  Phae. 
Excuse them not, they speak a noble Nature.  Alth. 
These Ills thro' them transfixed the Mother in me,  
And worked the raging Terror into Madness—  
But now I'm calm, and Reason rules again,  
I am convinced, that you have done most wisely,  
Perhaps most kindly too! Sighs.  
I own your Care of me, and of my Children;  
I own I ve nothing to accuse but Fate,  
And since our Stars will have it so, I'll bear it.  Phae. 
O● my Althaea! I approve thy Grief,  
Nor can I blame thy Rage; for both are just.  
I swear thy Tenderness, and Love so charm me  
But that the Gods, have doom'd me to be Great  
For thy Protection, I should leap down with thee  
Into ignoble Ruin—  
Nor think of my immortal Glory more.  Alth. 
Dissembling Villain! Oh! my Heart be calm!  
Or I shall lose this only Hour of Vengeance! Aside.  
Fool that I was, who could not see my good.  
Had I been wise, I had myself advised it,  
And stood a glad assistant at your Nuptials.  
But alas! I am a Woman! and 'tis  
Below you to emulate me in Evil;  
Or rail because I railed, I then was Mad,  
But now I have considered, I consent,  Pha. 
You do, Althaea! like a tender Mother,  
To share that Pain for them, I feel for you.  
In this we both prefer the Good and Fortune  
Of what we Love to our own fond desires.  Alth 
Bring forth, bring forth my pretty Babes, bring me  
To their Father to take their last Farewell.  Enter two Maids with two Children, Althaea goes to them, and as she speaks takes hold of them and him alternately. 
Let him behold in these his double likeness.  
Extend, extend your little Arms; embrace him,  
Cling you about his Neck, and you about his Knees,  The Maids apply each as directed, and Althaea Knelt, and takes hold of his Hands 
Speak to him tenderly; and move his Soul!  
Methinks even now their Eyes, and Motions speak,  
And with me beg your most peculiar Care.  
Look on them well— do they not deserve it?  
Are these young tender Images of you,  
Fit for the Hazards of a tedious Voyage?  
O! my ' dear Children! O! my little Babes!  
Must you so soon partake your Mother's Woe?  
Oh! press him closer yet, and yet more close,  
And with your melting cries excite the Father.  Children. 
O! my Father! oh! good Father pity us!  1 Child. 
Father, what have we done to make you leave us?  
Have I done any thing to anger you?  
If I have been a naughty Boy, indeed  
I'm sorry for't, indeed I am. Pomp of Sadnessed  Pha. 
speaking tenderly and moved. Rise, oh! rise! What means this  
What wou d these Tears? What would these dear Embraces?  Embraces them all, takes up Althaea, and the Maid and Child. 
You cannot think that I can ever slight 'em?  
They shall, as my first Hopes, be my first Care.  
And if the Gods but favour my Designs,  
I once shall see them Princes here in Egypt.  
Grow up my Boys, and be your Mother's Comfort,  
And my Glory. She turns and aside her head, seems to weep.  
Why dost thou turn thy Beauteous Face away?  
And with stolen Tears bedew thy tendder Cheeks?  
Why hear these wishes, with unwilling Ears?  Alth. 
Nothing— 'Tis a fond Mother's sudden pang  
For her unhappy Children.  Pha. 
Let them not.  
Give you farther Grief: I'll take care of them.  Alth. 
I would obey you— but I am a Woman—  
A Sex, that's born for Tears— Oh! my Children!  Pha. 
But why so often call you on your Children?  Alth. 
Indeed I cannot help it, for I bore 'em,  
And brought them forth into this World of Woe.  
And now must see them, ere they know what life is.  
Exposed, and driven upon a thousand hazards  
Perhaps there may be cause why I should go,  
But what alarms can these afford the Court?  Pha. 
What would you have me do?  Alth. 
Implore their stay:  
Beg it of Merups with your utmost zeal.  
While they're secure, within their Father's sight,  
The dearer half of me is free from Danger.  Pha. 
Well I will try, but can't assure success.  Alth. 
What cannot only Daughters do with Fathers?  
Employ but Lybia, and the Boon is granted.  Pha. 
I will— nor will she I believe deny me.  Alth. 
O! I will help you in this grateful labour;  
I have a Robe, that's wove by hands Divine,  
Materials rich, as the famed story's artful:  
Minerva's Trial 'tis with bold Arachne.  
This with a Crown of Gold by Vulcan wrought,  
And given by juno to our favourite House;  
I will, with my two Children send to win her.  
No Mortal can resist such a powerful Bribes.  Pha. 
Rob not they self of such unequallyed Treasures,  
The Egyptian Court has wealth enough for her,  
With whom my Will outweighs a Mine of Gold.  Alth. 
You must permit me, Sir, to send them, for  
Were my life demanded for their stay,  
I'd freely part with it, much more with these,  
And Gold with Man's more prevalent, than duty,  
The Gods make Fortune still attend on Gold,  
As if their Blessings too were bought and sold.  Pha. 
Well then, Althaea, you shall have your will.  Alth. 
I fly on all the Wings of swift desire,  
To send this noble Ransom with my Children.  Pha. 
I will before to make their way more easy. Ex.  Alth. 
Now Gods befriend me, and one fatal Hour,  
Shall venge my wrongs, and your affronted Power. Ex. Omnes.  The End of the Fourth Act.  

ACT V.  The Temple of the Sun. Enter Alth. disguised, with Cassiope and M●r Alth. 
GIve me a full account of all, that past.  Cass. 
Soon as your Gifts and Children reached the Presence,  
Your Friends, that felt your Sorrows, were o'erjoyed,  
That Phaeton, and you were reconciled.  Alth. 
On to Lybia.— of her I'd only hear.  Cass. 
Unmark'd by her (for she was fond toying  
With her new Lord, her Eyes fast fixed on his,  
And darting wanton Wishes to his Soul)  
We came up to her.— Seeing us she started.  
Sprung from his Arms, and turned away her Face,  
As i● the Gorgon ●ight would make her Stone,  Alth. 
Gods! Gods! how I despise her petty Malice.  
That reached my tender in offensive Children,  
Yet she might fear them well; they brought her Death.  Mer. 
Averse she held her angry Eyes a while.  
Till Phaeton thus mildly checked her scorn.  
Receive my Friends with a more gentle Brow,  
Think these a valued Portion of your Husband.  
Receive their precious Gifts, and beg your Father  
For my sake to remit my Children Exile.  
Soon as her greedy Eyes had spied the Presents;  
The dazzling Crown and Robe of heavenly Make.  
She could deny him nothing, All was granted.  
Upon her downy Hair he set the Crown,  
And on her Shoulders fixed the flowing Mantle.  Alth. 
O! height! O! Masterpiece of dear Revenge!  
To make my perjured Husband put 'em on,  
And with officious Hands ensure her Ruin!  Cass. 
Proud of the glitt ring Load, with haughty steps  
She traverses the Room; and in the Glass,  
With self-pleased Eyes, surveys her shining Form.  Alth. 
So the fond Victim to the Altar doomed,  
Bounds o'er the Earth exalted with its Trappings,  
It's sacred Wreaths, and holy Pomp of Death,  
Unknowing that these usher its Fate,  
So Lybia too.— For all those glittering Presents  
Great juno gave me, and she bid me send 'em  
To my most hated Foe for sure Revenge.  
Here in the Temple of the Sun I'll wait  
To see my guilty Sacrifices fall.  
Thus veiled secure, within this hostile Roof.  Enter Priests of the Sun, etc. and move gravely down, one each side the Stage. Cass. 
The holy Priests already are advanced,  
And see the Court, and Bride and Bridegroom come. They all Enter.  Alth. 
With guilty Joy they come, but shall return,  
With an avenging Grief. I know the poison  
Must have effect before the Rites are done.  The Bridegroom places himself on one side the Altar, the Bride on the other, and the rest in their order, than the Music gins; during which, Althaea often looks on Phaeton. 1st Priest. 
O! sacred Isis! and Apollo hear!  
O! bright Divinities give ear,  
And shower your blessings on this Royal Pair.  Repeat in a Chorus. 2d Priest. 
Look down bright God of day, look down,  
On this fair Virgin, and thy Son.  
Ease their Pain:  
Increase their pleasure,  
In soft chains ensure their Treasure.  
Give 'em joys, ah! give 'em blisses,  
Melting as their warmest wishes!  Chorus. 
O! sacred Phoebus hear,  
And shower your blessings on this on this happy pair.  1st Priest. 
Isis, by the pains Love cost you,  
By the storms in which it tossed you,  
By the awful charms of Jove,  
By the Transports of his Love.  Chorus. 
O! sacred Isis and Apollo hear,  
O! bright Divinities, give ear,  
And shower your Blessings on this Royal pair.  After the Music, two Priests lead Lybia up to the Altar, where she knelt down on a Cushion, and offers Incense, as she is leading up, Althaea speaks. Alth. 
Why beats my Heart thus! what does love return?  
Why should such tender thoughts besiege my Breast  
Even in the Act, in which he wrongs me most?  
Oh! could he yet repent, I could forgive him:  
For he has got a Friend within my Bosom,  
Pleads for him with prevailing Eloquence.  
Methinks too midst this outward formal Joy,  
There sits a sort of sorrow on his Brow.  
That flatters me, that I am yet within.  
I'll try him—  
And if he yet persists— then let him die.  Goes up to him and pulls him aside. 
My Lord!  
While your fair Bride her Sacrifice performs  
Permit me speak with you.  Phae. 
Some other Time.  Alth. 
It does concern your Happiness, and Life.  Phae. 
Come to me then, soon as the Rites are over.  Alth. 
IT will be too late.  Phae. 
No matter— then I'll die.  
No Fears shall interrupt my present Joy.  Alth. 
Gods! how he's transported!— one moment, Sir,  
Or midst your Joys you perish.  Phae. 
Prithee leave me.  Alth. 
I wish I could! but— you must hear me speak.  Pha. 
If I must hear you, I pray you be most brief.  
For I've no time to trifle.  Alth. 
This way a little. Seems to discourse him.  The Princess sinks down on her cushion before the Altar. Priest. 
The Princess, help, the Princess faints away!  The Company gets about her, but Phaeton is stopped by Althaea. Alth. 
You must not thither, for your Fate lies there.  
Or if a Woman's Death you long to see,  
Turn! oh! turn your barbarous Eyes on me! Vnveils herself.  
See your Althaea perish at your feet!  
Does no Remorse? no pity touch you yet?  Pha. 
Althea Pha! what means this fond relapse?  Alth. 
Is then Althaea quite forgot? forsaken,  
Cast off for ever? here at least remember,  
Before the Gods within their Roofs, your Vows.  Merops' in the crowd. 
Ha! she grows paler, see a sudden shivering  
Has seized on all her Limbs. Oh! bear her quickly  
Back to her Apartment. O! fatal Nuptials!  All go off with the Princess. Phae. 
Let go my Arm— my Princess is not well.  Alth. 
Your Wife is worse, your Benefactress worse.  Phae. 
Her sudden Ill has discomposed me so,  
I am unfit to reason with you now.  Alth. 
So grieved for her! so unconcerned for me!  
Gods! sure you own me more, than foolish Lybia!  Phae. 
Some other time will better suit your Madness;  
Now Love and Honour call me to my Princess.  Alth. 
Ha! Love and Honour! thou, alas! hast neither.  
What, Love and Honour call you from your Wife?  
From your Preserver? from the Wretch you've made so?  Phae. 
Grief fills my Soul so, there's no Room for Anger,  
Or I should chide th' impertinence away.  Alth. 
False Wretch! beware, beware how you provoke me;  
A Qualm of Pity stopped thee from thy Ruin—  
But have a Care—  Phae. 
Then let your Cruelty straight send me to it,  
If with my sickening Princess I shall find it.  Alth. 
Fond Man, here's Life, there certain Death attends thee.  Phae. 
Let me but go, I'll face that certain Death.  Alth. 
Hell! and Furies! how he slights my Love!  
Is Death with her better than Life with me?  Phae. 
Since you will force the Secret from me— ' 'tis.  Alth. 
Enough! enough! thou Ill without a Name!  
Yes, false betrayer, yes, ingrateful Wretch,  
You shall go to her— but you first shall hear  
The Noble Vengeance, that you have assisted.  Phae. Starting. 
Ha! Vengeance sayest thou? and by me assisted  Alth. 
I did not wrong thee in thy darling Office,  
For Death, and Ruin are the just Returns  
You're used to make for Tenderness and Love.  Phae. 
Ha! Death, and Ruin! O! my boding Heart!  Alth. 
When with the Crown and Robe you decked your Bride,  
You dressed the Victim of my injured Love.  
You fixed ten thousand Poisons on her Head,  
And clothed her in inevitable Fate.  
Even now she breathes her last; now gasps for Breath,  
Go reap the Fruit of Perjury in Death,  
Clasp to thy fickle Breast her dying Charms,  
And hug th' Infection in thy faithless Arms.  Pha. 
O! dire Revenge for what was kindly meant thee!  
O! barbarous Woman, or fell Tygress rather,  
More cruel far, than Scylla, or the Sirens,  
Like the Hyaena, and the Crocodile,  
With false Laments, and artful Tears you kill—  
But may th' avenging Furies soon o'ertake thee.  
The Gods destroy thee, or the earth devour thee:  
Heaven pierce thee with its Bolts: Hell rack thee with its Tortures  Alth. 
In vain you rave; in vain you vent your Curses;  
What God, or Daemon can regard your Prayers,  
Perjured, as you are, by all their Deities?  Pha. 
They need not, for thy Gild will always haunt thee.  Alth. 
My Gild? Why I am wholly innocent!  
Thy Crimes provoked it, and thy Hands performed it.  Pha. 
My Hands? my Hands too should revenge it.  Alth. 
If it be kind, or just thou canst not do it.  Pha. 
Thou'rt troublesome to me, and thy Speech is hateful.  Alth. 
W' agree in this, for thine is so to me:  
Go, go, and bury your expiring Bride,  Pha. 
Oh! Honour! Piety! Manhood now assist me!  
Assist, thou bright paternal Fire, assist!  
Or Rage unmans me: drives me to a Deed,  
Will fully all my past, and future Glories. Pauses.  
Woman away— lest all should be too weak  
To guard thee from my Rage, my growing Madness.  Alth. 
This slighted Outcast, this abandoned Wife,  
Alone, deserted, had the Power, you find,  
To sink the Pride of your injurious Egypt;  
And punish thee, 'midst thy fond security.  Pha. 
Woman, I say be gone— be gone! or yet—  Laying his hand upon his Sword. Enter a Messenger in haste. Mess. 
My Lord,  
If you would see the Princess e'er she die,  
You must outstrip the Minute's swiftest haste.  Phae. 
Thanks to thy call, I head lost myself in Rage;  
Almost forgot my Lybia too.— I fly. Is going.  Alth. 
Fly, fly swiftly, to complete my Vengeance.  Enter Epaphus hastily, meets Phaeton and stops him. Phae. 
Whence is this frightful haste?  Epaph. 
I come to you,  
But whence, alas! I come, I scarce dare tell you.  Phae. 
Speak boldly, for I am prepared to hear you.  Epa. 
But oh! I bring so sad a Tale, so near  
Concerning you, you'll never bear it.  
A tale so dreadful, and so full of Horror,  
'Twill i'll your Blood, and freeze you into Age.  Phae. 
Speak on— say Lybia's dead, and yet thou'lt see  
I have a Godlike Virtue to support it.  Epa. 
You'll need it All, for 'tis from her I come.  
Scarce had she reached the door of her Apartment,  
When from her Mouth a white, but horrid Foam,  
Spread o'er her lovely Face, her Eyeballs rolled,  
And wildly whirled about with dire Convulsions.  
Silent she lay, or breathed but piteous Sighs,  
And piercing groans, till the first sit was over  Phae. 
Gods! how this staggers all my boasted Courage!  
Was not her Death enough? but Tortures too?  Alth. 
Go on, for all my injured Blood it warms.  Epa. 
No sooner to herself she came, but saw  
The blazing Crown belch out a fiery Deluge,  
That preyed upon her Hair, her Head, her Face;  
From whence her Flesh like melting Wax ran down,  
Mingled with Fire and Blood. Mean while the Robe  
With fatal Rage devoured her fainting Limbs.  Phae. 
How did she? nay, how could she bear all this?  Epa. 
First starting up, she shook her flaming Hair:  
From side to side she tossed her burning Temples,  
To dash the cleaving Gold from off her Head.  
In vain, the more she shook, the more it fixed, and burnt.  Pha. 
O! strange! O! miserable Fate!  Epa. 
But then o'er come by the prevailing Mischief,  
Alas! she fell— but too unlike herself!  
Gone were the rosy Honours of her Face,  
And fled the awful Lustre of her Eye.  Phae. 
O hapless Maid! O! wretched Phaeton!  Epa. 
All struck till now with the amazing Evil  
Forbore to touch her; till th' unhappy Father,  
Now starting from his Trance of sudden Woe,  
Threw down his aged Body by her, clasped,  
And kissed her— Then burst-into these Moans.  
O! my unhappy Daughter! what angry God  
Denied thy pious hands to close my Eyes,  
Even on this shut of Life! O! my poor Girl!  
Gods that I might but perish with thee now!  
He said no more, secure of being heard.  Phae. 
Oh! parent God support me or I fall.  Epa. 
But oh! the dreadful Contest that ensued  
Striving at length to raise his tired Body,  
He stuck too fast to the envenomed Robe  
Ever to part from his consuming Child.  
He rends her Flesh and Bowels if he rises,  
And if he stays immediately he dies.  
Few were the weak Efforts the Father made,  
But soon his fainting Body by her Corpse he laid,  
He saw his Daughter in the Flame expire,  
Then sunk himself in the same fatal Fire.  
And then alas! sad Cl mean.—  Phae. 
No more.  
I charge thee, by thy Friendship, say no more.  
But cast a Veil of silence o'er the rest.  
I've heard too much, too much already— lend your hand.  
The Ghastly Image sinks my floating Senses  
I bore what man could bear, but Ills like these  
O'ercome the God within me! Faints away.  Enter a Messenger. Mess. 
Where, where's the Prince? the Multitude,  
Enraged at what the Royal House has suffered,  
Forcing the Palace, with one common Voice.  
Devote Althaea to immediately Vengeance.  Alth. 
No, dull Egyptian, no, I am not born  
To fall by their vile Hands, by base Egyptians.  
This Dagger is my Safeguard, and this Hand.  
Protects from that Infamy.  Cassi. 
O! Madam do not pierce your own dear Bosom!  
This awful Temple will repel their Fury,  
And gain you Time for a more gentle Fate.  Atlh. 
Impossible! the People Rage spares nothing.  
Has no respect to Altars, or to Gods!—  
Besides— Happiness has for ever left me,  
And to live wretched, is much worse, than Death.  
It is enough I've lived to see my Wrongs  
Amply revenged: I'll leave no turn to Fortune  
To rob me of that Joy, but thus—  Cassi. 
O! stop your fatal Hand! As she stabs herself they seize her hand, and wrest the Dagger from her, but could not prevent a slight wound.  Merops. 
What have you done?  Alth. 
Do you conspire too against my Peace?  
'Tis well the Dagger's armed with double Fate,  
I head missed my Aim else, now this scratch will do it;  
What the Blow can't, the Poison will perform.  Epa. 
He breathes, go bear him gently to his Bed,  
I'll but appease the people, and attend him. They bear off Phaeton,  Enter another Messenger. Mess. 
My Lord, the tumult now is grown too fierce  
To be repelled, or even to be withstood.  
Like Fire in Stubble driven before the Wind,  
They bear down all.  
Althaea's Lodgings they've destroyed already,  
And tore her Children in ten thousand pieces.  
Nor satisfied with this they rave for her.  
And much I fear, unless she's found, their Fury  
Will reach the Prince himself as her Concealer.  Epa. 
The Prince; alas! he feels too much already  
Of this their common Woe.  Mess. 
You they declare,  
As Son to their bright Goddess, King of Egypt.  Epa. 
The Crown, I own, is an Illustrious offer,  
Yet not to be accepted by a Friend  
In a friends wrong, that is unworthy me. I will go to 'em  
Appease their fury with the Awe of Isis,  
Or fall myself to vindicate my Friend  
Fortune does every day dispose of Crowns,  
But Heav n too seldom gives a faithful Friend. Ex. cum suis  Alth. 
Ha! Merope! what did the fatal Raven Croak?  
My Children! my dear Infants torn to pieces?  
O! dreadful News! O! cruel Rage! O! cursed Egypt!  Mer. 
'Twas so, alas! he said!  Alth. 
Dead! are they dead! the pretty Orphans dead!  
Their Tongues that used to charm me with such Music,  
For ever silenced? And their sparkling Eyes  
Shut up, and closed for ever. Walks up and down discomposedly.  Cass. 
Grieve not too much for  
What you can't redress.  Alth. 
Yet the great Gods, that suffered all this Evil,  
Might have some mighty End, and Purpose in it.  
To prevent Ills hid in the Womb of Time.  
They took them innocent from this bad World,  
As yet incapable of Gild, or Grief.  
For had they lived, perhaps they might have proved  
False as their Father, or like me unhappy.  Mer. 
Then grieve no more, for what the Gods have doomed  Alth. 
But thus to ' die! thus to be torn to pieces!  
Their Limbs dissevered, their dear little Arms  
That have so often twisted round my Neck,  
Their balmy Lips, that have so often kissed me,  
Mangled and torn to pieces by vile Slaves!  
By barbarous, cursed Egyptians! O! pain!  
O! Torture! greater far than Lybia bore!  She faints away into their Arms. 
This cannot; must not be!— Oh!  Cass. 
Oh! Merope! our wretched Lady's dead!  Mer. 
No— Life still struggles with grim Death within her:  
Her Heart with furious, and thick beating Throbs  
Bounces against her Breast.  
bend her more forward— So she revives.  Alth. 
Stand off, and give me way, that I may fly  
Swifter than thought, to stop the murdering Hand  
Of Destiny.— Gods! Gods! I'm come too late!  
The Deed is done, their tender Threads are cut!  
Oh! for the power of strong Thessalian Charms!  
To mock her Envy, and reverse their Doom!  
All will not do— they are for ever lost!  Mer. 
Alas! she raves, her Look and▪ Motion's wild!  Cass. 
Alas! my Heart bleeds at the piteous sight!  Alth. 
Hist— in your Ear. I've found the secret out.  Drawing 'em to her. 
— Softly we'll creep to the black horrid Scene  
Of Infant's Blood, and steal the precious Pieces;  
Gather them all, and carry 'em to the Gods  
To solder them together— the Gods can do it,  Cass. 
What can we do to give her some Relief?  Merops. 
Oh! 'tis not to be done— Despair, and Poison  
Unite their Force to disappoint ous Wishes.  Alth. 
Ha! th' unequal Gods deny the Boon!  
Again disperse and scatter the dear Relics,  
I with such Pain, and Hazard have collected. Pauses, and looks upward.  
'Tis Gild, not Innocence is now their Care▪  
For perjured Phaeton is born a loft,  
And grows familiar with the partial Gods.  Mer. 
O! ye jut Gods! remit her ranging Grief!  Cass. 
Oh! that I could, by sharing it, abate it.  Alth. 
Ha! now he's leapt into his Father's Seat!  
He h's seized the fiery Chariot of the Sun.  
But see the Steeds despise his feeble Rein,  
And swiftly whirl him o re the Azure Plain. pauses, looking fix'dty upward.  
The Chariot burns! th' heavens blaze, th' Earth's on Fire!  
See Athos, Ida, Taurus, Oeta Flame!  
Hills and Valleys burn! Fountains and Streams dry up  
Stars, Earth, and Air are swallowed up in Fire—  
Ambition falls, see now he tumbles down!  
The Precipice of Heaven!— Oh! shield us jove!  
For now he comes directly on our Heads. Breaks from them that endeavour to hold her, tears off her Head-Cloaths, etc. and her hair tumbles about her Shoulders.  
Tear, tear, tear off these Flaming Tresses,  
These burning Garments, this catching Fuel!  
Haste, haste into the Flood, or we consume! Throws herself down.  
So so, hark! hark! that Thunderclap has saved us!  
See hes fallen, he's motionless, he's dead!  
Ha! how freezing cold he's grown already!  
I've caught the shudd'ring Fit, it chills my Heart!  
Oh! Dyes.. Re-enter Epaphus.  Epa. 
Here let the People wait till we return, Speaks entering.  
Too far already has their Fury bore 'em  
Egyptians! Countrymen! see where she lies!  
And let your Anger terminate with Death  
But learn ye All from this too fatal Day  
That jove o'er Kings maintains an awful Sway.  
All things are ordered by the Powers above.  
Against whose Will our Counsels fruitless prove.  
In sad Events our wisest hopes we lose;  
And what we can't expect the Gods produce. Exeunt Omnes    

ERRATA.  
IN the Preface, p. 1. l. 22. r specious p. 2. l. 19, add of: p. 4. l. 40 r. yours: l. 41 r. Benefits: p. 7. l. 30. r. Reasonable. p. 8. l. 21. r. dumb. l. 35.1. Identity. In the Play p. 3. l. 22. r. graceful: p. 10. l. 10. add and: p. 11. r. Goddess: p. 13.4.30. r. her: p. 16. l. 15. r. Shade: p. 19 l. 8. r. crouched: l. 15. add and her: 1.26. deal pauses: p. 20. l. ●. add too: p. 22.1.4. aster Power add that, and after hence deal that: p. 24. l. 48. for Me r. them.   

THE EPILOGUE Made by a Friend, and Spoken by Mr. Mills.  
OUR Poet wanting some kind Friend in Vogue,  
To give you the Desest of Epilogue;  
His Stock being Spent, has sent me here to borrow  
Of you Some Wit to write one for tomorrow.  
Stay 〈◊〉 me see— Where shall I find this Wit?  
Gad I'm afraid to venture on the Pit.  
What if I hunted in the Side Box Rows?  
But who would seek for wit among the Reaux?  
O! there's a twisted Stinkirk— but his Wits placed  
Preposterously from his Chin down to his Waste.  
Below his head, if any where, I'm sure  
His Brain can nothing but Pulvils endure.  
There's one well powdered, gad and be looks big—  
And yet his Head is empty in a full Wigg.  
I know him— he's an old Halt-Act Peeper,  
A true Friend— I mean to our Doorkeeper,  
To plunder there's a sin of that degree  
'Twould come within the Act of Immortality  
But there's a Cit.— I'm sure that he has None—  
At least to spare— Unless upon a Loan,  
And to beg there is a too vile. Disgrace—  
For City Security's wrist upon his Face.  
His Wit besides, another Way is Bend,  
As how t'evade some Act of Parliament.  
O! now I've found it— And be can't withstand it—  
Death! 'tis a Soldier! and his Wit's disbanded.  
No Beaux? no Wit! no sharper left to spark it,  
What a Plague are they all gone to New Market?  
Since he in vain here to the Men would Sue,  
Our Poet, Ladies', throws himself on You;  
His Inspiration seeks from your bright Eyes,  
Those Charms would make the dullest Spirits Rise.  
FINIS