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THE FATE OF SPARTA; OR, THE RIVAL KINGS. A TRAGEDY. AS IT IS ACTED AT THE THEATRE-ROYAL, IN DRURY-LANE. BY MRS. COWLEY.

LONDON: PRINTED FOR G. G. J. AND J. ROBINSON, PATER-NOSTER-ROW. MDCCLXXXVIII. [Price One Shilling and Six-pence.]

TO JOHN COWLEY, ESQ.

[]

WHEN letters were in their inſancy, and when knowledge and the arts were groping their way through ſeemingly impervious miſts, ſome ſplendid name was neceſſary to give an author celebrity—hence the cuſtom of DEDICATIONS; hence thoſe f [...]oods of adula⯑tion, which poured from the preſs, and outraged the feel⯑ings of the addreſſer and the addreſſed.

But now, when poets and writers of every denomina⯑tion, accept patronage only from the public, and when fame is to be obtained only by deſerving it, the cuſtom of dedicating can be continued, only, as a medium through which to convey perſonal reſpect. It is delightful to make an offering to thoſe we love, when that offering has had a value ſtampt on it, by the voice of the world. Thus THE FATE OF SPARTA wreathed with laurel [...], ſeeks you in the receſſes of a counting-houſe; and whilſt you are engaged in ſupporting our [...]tional manufactures, and invoking commerce from her di [...]ant abodes, ſolicits your attention to the MUSES.

When I hinted an intention to addreſs this Tragedy to you, you ſhrunk from the idea, and deſired me to chooſe a worthier name. My deareſt Brother, where ſhall I [iv] turn to find it? THIS ſhall not be an addreſs of adula⯑tion, therefore I ſhall only obſerve, that thoſe to whom you are known, will acknowledge that I am juſtified in the choice I have made of a patron; and thoſe who know you not, will do my pride the credit to believe I ſhould not have ſelected for that patron, a man whoſe name and whoſe ſituation did not reflect honour on me.

There is yet another motive for uſing my poetic wand to call your ſhade before poſterity. As your regard has been one of the chief bleſſings of my life, I wiſh thoſe who ſucceed us to know how much I hold myſelf indebted to it: I wiſh my own children and yours to feel the ſweet inf [...]uence of our mutual friendſhip; and as they will carry in their veins the ſame blood, to cheriſh in their hearts the ſame attachment. DEAR Children! who will wan⯑der again and again over this page, after the hand which traces it moves no more, after the heart to which it is addreſſed, hath ceaſed to beat!

I was going to conclude with this penſive idea, but I recollect that I have not yet mentioned in d [...]dicatory form, the work dedicated. The following Tragedy then, Sir, is in its fable and events, all invention—except in the conduct of Chelonice, and the ſcene in the Temple;—and with the circumſtance on which that is founded, I have taken ſome liberties. Other deviations from hiſtory will ſtrike you, but if I have altered circumſtances, I have [...] by CHARACTER. Leonidas at Drury-Lane, as in Sparta, is artful, tyrannic [...], and doats on his [...]aughter. The impetuous and crafty Amphares, who [v] had deſtroyed Agis, continues his ſyſtem. Cleombrotus, ambitious and tolerably obſtinate, is yet ſenſible to the merits of his wife. He, though my hero, is not "a faultleſs monſter;"—if the lady ſhould be too perfect, I appeal to the grave authority of Plutarch, who I believe is not ſuſpected of writing fictions to compliment women.

Struck with admiration at the ſlight yet powerful touches, with which that biographiſt had ſketched the cha⯑racter of CHELONIS ^*, I wondered ſuch a character had never been brought on the Stage, to do honour to her ſex;—yet I had joy in reflecting, that this was preciſely the age in which it ought to be done, for this age boaſted a Mrs. SIDDONS.

How much the FATE OF SPARTA has been indebted to that lady, and to ſome of the other performers, the public prints bear teſtimony—and I gratefully record it: becauſe it is a circumſtance highly flattering to myſelf, and be⯑cauſe I wiſh the preſent I thus offer you, to be ſurrounded with every appendage that can make you feel it ineſti⯑mable.

With the beſt wiſhes and affection, I have the honour to be, Your devoted humble ſervant, H. COWLEY.

PROLOGUE;

[]

WRITTEN BY MRS. COWLEY.

SPOKEN BY MR. WROUGHTON.

TO aſk your favour, we're by cuſtom bound—
Thus Prologue bows before you to the ground.
But interchange of favours, we are told,
Is a choice method to make friendſhip hold.
My gift is this;—thoſe chilly wintry nights,
Whilſt the froſt glitters, and the north wind bites,
I'll waft you to the gentleſt ſummer ſkies,
Where roſe-buds ſwell, and the ſoft zephyr flies;
Where the bright ſun, with ſcarce diminiſh'd ray,
November's month bids charm like florid May;
Where, beneath myrtle ſhades the lover dies,
Whilſt gales, with fragrance fraught, perfume his ſighs—
To GREECE I welcome ye from Drury-lane,
Where taſte, and arts firſt rear'd th' immortal fane.

You've heard of Spartan boys, who let young foxes
Feed on their blood, placid as beaus in boxes
Sans ſhriek, or groan. You've heard of ſable broth
More priz'd than rich ieed creams, and luſcious froth;
With many other monſtious—noble things,
At which more naughty times have had their  [...]ings.
But long poſterior to that virtuous day,
Th' events were born on which we found our play.

[]Sparta conceiv'd a whim to be polite,
Black broth, and boſom'd foxes took their flight;
Then luxury her flood-gates open'd wide,
And faſhion onward roll'd its heady tide;
Plain dreſs and frugal meals ſoon dropt their yokes,
And GODLIKE SPARTANS—liv'd like other folks;
Turn'd fidlers, brokers, merchants, gamed and betted,
This boaſting what he won—this what he netted.
Ladies their Op'ra—Boxers had their ſtage,
And Spartan Humphries' ſoon became the rage;
Their placemen ſinecures could ne'er refuſe,
And zeal-infected Lords, at times turn'd Jews.

Their Doctors ſage then hit upon a plan,
To mend the weak degen'rate creature Man.
They bad two monarchs wear the ſplendid crown,
Caſtor and Pollux like—this up—that down? [In another voice
Oh no, they both at once muſt mount the throne,
And ſubject ſlaves, in double ſlav'ry groan.

'Twas wiſe, no doubt—yet this too paſs'd away,
But firſt burſt forth the deeds which fill our play.
The ground-work true—a little fancy grant,
Where FACT had in its bounties been but ſcant.
Poets will fib, all nations have allow'd it;
And ours with bluſhing terror has avow'd it.
Oh pardon where you can, and if YOU pleaſe,
This anxious hour precedes a night of eaſe.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

[]

Leonidas (King of Sparta): Mr. BENSLEY.
Cleombrotus (the depoſed King): Mr. KEMBLE.
Amphares,: Mr. BARRYMORE.
Nicrates,: Mr. WHITFIELD.
Mezentius,: Mr. WILLIAMS.
Corex,: Mr. STAUNTON.
Sarpedon,: Mr. PHILLIMORE.
Attalus,: Mr. BENSON.
High Prieſt,: Mr. CHAPLIN.
Prieſt,: Mr. WILSON.
Officer,: Mr. BATES.
Chelonice, ^*: Mrs. SIDDONS.

[]THE FATE OF SPARTA; OR, THE RIVAL KINGS. A TRAGEDY.

ACT I. SCENE I.

A Foreſt.

In the back ground a Camp, before the Walls of Sparta, Enter MEZENTIUS and COREX.

COREX.

THE conflict of the elements is paſt,

The tempeſt which ſo lately ſeem'd to ſhake

The chryſtal walls of heaven, is appeas'd,

And agitated nature ſinks to reſt.

MEZENTIUS.

Rather ſhe bids the elements be ſtill

That other conflicts may unfold their rage.

Her war is paſt;—and now the war of men,

[2] The ruſh of armies, and the ſhouts of death,

Will ſhake this azure vault; where rolling thunders

Hurrying but now, the crooked lightnings on,

Hail'd with grand horrors the devoted night.

COREX.

No wonder that Olympus ſhould take part,

When EMPIRES vibrate in the ſcales of fate.

Not more illuſtrious was the hour, in which

Enthroned Gods hung o'er the fate of Troy,

And granted to celeſtial Juno's hate,

A people's ruin.

MEZENTIUS.

The avengeful Gods

Look ſo on Sparta, and its hoary tyrant!

But where's Cleombrotus? The trumpets ſound,

Yet ſound to arms in vain! Is this the leader

Who from the fields of Thrace and proud Iberia,

Brought us to reap the richer ſpoils of Sparta?

Where is the courage which ſhould lead us on,

And rouſe the tardy valour of his ſoldiers?

COREX.

Suſpect his courage! Oh his daring mind

Spurns at all dangers, and his well-earn'd fame

Repels each hov'ring doubt.—Pierce thou the wood

Where yonder cypreſs hides the dazzling moon;—

I'll this way bend my ſteps to ſeek the prince,

For 'tis within theſe glades he ſhuns the camp,

And to reflection gives his hours of glory.

(going).

[Trumpets ſound.

[3] He hears Bellona's voice; its powerful charm

Will break the ſpells of gloomy ſolitude,

And give us back the warrior and the hero!

[Exeunt oppoſite ſides.

Enter CLEOMBROTUS.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Reſiſtleſs ſounds! ye chace my lethargy,

And rouſe the ſoldier in my languid heart—

I'll yield—I'll yield it to the glorious impulſe!

O moon! whoſe ſilver beams ſhed their pale ſplendor

On thoſe proud ſpires, adorning them for ſacrifice—

Shine on! Ride cloudleſs thro' th' etherial plains,

That when gigantic war ſtrides o'er yon battlements,

And prints in ev'ry ſtreet its ſanguine ſteps,

Guided by thee, his iron arm may ſpare

All, who invoke its mercy! Thy chaſte light

Shall lead the matron, and the trembling maid

Inviolate to ſafety.—Me it guides

To Chelonice; the fell tyrant's daughter,

Yet my lov'd wife.—Dian! avert from her,

And from my beauteous boy, each hov'ring ill,

That to this melting heart I yet may preſs them,

And charm their terrors with the voice of love!

Enter MEZENTIUS.

MEZENTIUS.

At length then, prince! I've traced thy wand'ring ſteps.

Th' impatient ſoldiers ſeek thee thro' the camp;

E'en the hired mercenaries, now, boaſt ardors;

And thou, whoſe all depends on this grand moment,

Retir'ſt to ſhades, wrapt cooly in reflection.

CLEOMBROTUS.

[4]

Not cool, Mezentius, tho' alone, and thoughtful—

For oh! my throbbing breaſt is torn with feeling.

The mercenary's heart expands with joy

For the rude hour of plunder; mine, my ſoldier

Contracts with fear, leſt that wiſh'd hour ſhould graſp

In undiſtinguiſh'd ruin, her I love,

With him, who though her father, I muſt hate.

MEZENTIUS.

Theſe are a lover's fears.

[Contemptuouſly.

CLEOMBROTUS.

They are a huſband's!

When I conſider—in the rage of battle

What various ruins ſtalk beneath its banners,

Not to be agoniz'd, is not to feel.

The engines which muſt level yonder towers

May, as they play, form Chelonice's grave!

MEZENTIUS.

She hath forſaken thee.—This wife ſo lov'd,

Hath left thy boſom for a tyrant father's,

Who ſeeks thy life, and robs thee of thy crown—

And if I woman know—

CLEOMBROTUS.

Thou know'ſt not her!

Her's is no common heart.—Melting with love,

Alive to nature's ſofteſt impulſes,

Tend'reſt of all the tender faithful ſex,

Yet where her duty bids, ſhe has a mind

Firm and unbending, as the laws of truth.

MEZENTIUS.

[5]

Erring report, hath ſpoke of her with honour.

CLEOMBROTUS.

With higheſt honour it ſhall ſpeak yet err not.

When th' Ephori beſtowed on me the crown,

Making me colleague with her faithleſs ſire,

Thou'ſt heard how ſoon his luſt of power impell'd him

To ſeek my ruin, and to reign alone.

MEZENTIUS.

His faction ſunk, and you became triumphant!

CLEOMBROTUS.

'Twas then Leonidas, wrapt in deſpair,

Fled to Minerva's altar.—Chelonice

Followed him there, leaving a ſplendid throne

And all the joys that wait on royalty,

To weep, and watch upon the dewy pavement,

Where ſtretch'd, ſhe found an abdicated father.

MEZENTIUS.

Let Sparta's daughters then be nam'd with rev'rence,

And proudly boaſt amongſt the Grecian maids,

They breathe the air which nouriſh'd Chelonice!

Have you not ſince oft woo'd her to your arms?

CLEOMBROTUS.

Oh yes, and there to fold her, would be tranſport!

But in her heart the filial principle

So ſtrongly burns, that eaſier 'twere to woo

The murm'ring ring-dove from her unfledg'd brood

[6] Than her, from him, who gave the charmer life.

She thinks his ſafety, too, hangs on her preſence—

Oh, can I blame the cruel, lovely duty,

Which thus, unwilling, holds her from my arms?

MEZENTIUS.

Fortune! benignant look upon this night,

And a few hours ſhall ſee thee king, and huſband!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Dear! glorious titles! how my ſoul will graſp ye!

MEZENTIUS.

The ſoldiers all in arms, await the ſignal.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Firſt, let the altar's blaze propitiate heaven.

Mars and Bellona, guide me in the battle!

Precede my chariot, nerve afreſh my arm,

And give me ardors to command my fate!

The gen'rous tranſport labours in my breaſt,

And conqueſt beams already on my helmet.

See!—Vict'ry bends from yonder ſtarry ſeat,

And waves her flag triumphant to the town—

Goddeſs! I come!

[Exit drawing his ſword.

Scene changes to the Palace of Leonidas.

Enter AMPHARES and NICRATES, meeting.

NICRATES.

Oh my Amphares! what an hour for Sparta!

AMPHARES.

[7]

The hour indeed is buſy, and important.

See how the ſtreets are throng'd! Each houſe pours forth

Its fearful inmates; whilſt the eager hum

Of the enquiring multitude, that breaks

Like diſtant ſurges on the invaded ear,

Tears the repoſe, of balmy night's ſtill ſabbath.

NICRATES.

How wide th' event from the unbleſt deſign!

When Agis, the firſt colleague of our prince,

Loſt by ambitious arts his crown and life,

The Ephori adjudg'd his vacant throne

To Chelonice's Lord;—uniting thus

The father and the ſon, they hop'd to bind

The fate of Sparta, in the wreathes of peace.

AMPHARES.

Weak ſhort-liv'd hope! for mutual jealouſies

Soon ſprung in either breaſt, which nurs'd by faction,

Grew ſtrong, and ſhook th' unwieldy fabric down.

Whence are the king and princeſs?

NICRATES.

From the temple;

Where vows and tears, and immolated victims,

Yet ſtrive to ſmooth the ſullen brow of fate.

AMPHARES.

Stern Fate demands far other immolations.

Cleombrotus leads armies fleſh'd and keen,

As morning hounds, when thro' the dew they courſe

The lightning footed ſtag! who can preſerve ye?

NICRATES.

[8]

The king himſelf! let him inveſt Cleombrotus

With the diſputed ſceptre; with the crown

Sparta adjudg'd him, and his fathers wore.

Surely your eye, Amphares, ſpeaks a language

Too gayly placed for ſo ſad a moment.

AMPHARES.

Brother! my ſpirit was not made for peace.

The burniſh'd raven loves not more the tempeſt

In which he ſails up-borne by warring winds,

Than I, the tempeſt of contending ſtates:

'Tis in ſuch ſtorms ſuperior natures riſe,

And find a ſtation, niggard Fate denied them.

NICRATES.

Kindred, yet uncongenial, are our ſouls!

Hadſt thou poſſeſs'd a mind leſs turbulent,

Cleombrotus upon a ſteady throne

Had now been fix'd; and Lacedemon's hopes

Nouriſh'd, and blooming, in the lap of peace.

AMPHARES.

Never; for ſpite of old Lycurgus' law,

Which doom'd us to be rul'd by double tyranny,

A biarchy beyond each mode of ſlav'ry,

Mad power e'er fram'd to gall a nation's neck,

Is that which leaſt admits of peace, or rule.

'Twas therefore I dethron'd Cleombrotus;

But with ſuch ſecret and coercive ſkill,

That he believes me yet his friend.

NICRATES.

[9]

Leonidas

And he together reign'd, together ſway'd

The Spartan ſceptre; nor did hell-born diſcord

Diſturb, thro' ſix autumnal ſuns, their peace.

Ten months Leonidas hath reign'd alone,

And all is anarchy, diſtreſs and war.

AMPHARES.

And all ſhall ſo remain, 'till I have work'd

Thro' all theſe tempeſts, for myſelf, a day

Glowing with brightneſs, and unceaſing luſtre.—

I would unfold my heart yet more, but ſee!

The king and beauteous Chelonice come.

Enter LEONIDAS and CHELONICE, with Guards and Attendants.

LEONIDAS.

Let all the troops be gather'd on the ramparts—

The troops!

Let ev'ry man whoſe arm can wield a ſabre,

Let beardleſs boys and indolent old age,

Rouſe at the call!—Thoſe leave their darling ſports,

And theſe forget their aches;—let all unite

To cruſh the hopes and arms, of proud Cleombrotus.

CHELONICE.

Oh!—

LEONIDAS.

[10]

Why ſigh'ſt thou, Chelonice?—Can thy heart,

Say, dares it feel one evaneſcent pang,

That a rebellious foe ſhall be oppoſed,

And periſh?

CHELONICE.

That foe is Chelonice's huſband.

LEONIDAS.

Grant that he is; is not his foe, thy father?

Oh ſpeak! would'ſt have me be his ſlave or conqueror?

(pauſing)

Unduteous ſilence! which too ſtrongly ſpeaks.

Thou would'ſt behold me dragg'd beneath this dome;

My aged limbs embrac'd by iron ſhackles,

My time-blanch'd head daſh'd on the marble floor,

Becauſe the perpetrator of thoſe ills,

Is the lov'd huſband, of my only child!

[ſneeringly.

CHELONICE.

That he's the huſband of thy only child,

Heaven, and thyſelf doth know.—But when that child

Forgets amidſt her griefs that thou'rt her father;

When ſhe forſakes thee in the hour of ſorrow,

Or owns a duty to thy conqueror—

Then may the Gods be deaf to all her pray'rs,

And ſhame and infamy weigh down her name!

LEONIDAS.

Then, daughter, baniſh from your brow theſe clouds

Which boldly cenſure, whom thy ſpeech yet ſpares.

Enter ATTALUS.

Haſty thy ſteps!—thy news?

ATTALUS.

[11]

One from the camp,

Seiz'd and impell'd by tortures, hath confeſt,

Cleombrotus, this night triumphant means

To fix his ſtandards on thy palace gates.

His mercenary army mad for plunder,

And all the various rapines claim'd by victors,

Urge on our fate.—The miners now beneath us,

Form, for the quick, a wide capacious grave;

The batt'ring rams already rear their heads,

Threat'ning our walls, with ſudden diſſolution.

LEONIDAS.

Why then let ruin come!—'tis my election.

Near twenty years I've borne the Spartan ſceptre;

And ſhall I, at his bidding, fling it from me

Like a light toy, of which poſſeſſion cloys me?

No, I'll reign ſtill—and ſtill alone will reign,

Or give up life, and ſovereignty together.

ATTALUS.

Unhappy Sparta! then thy fate is fix'd.

T' oppoſe is vain; let's ſtand aloof, and watch

The gath'ring cloud, which burſting will deſtroy us.

LEONIDAS.

How ſlave! what, murmur at my will! Diſpute

His word, whoſe breath annihilates thy race!

What are ye all, but creatures of my breath?

I doom ye life—rejoice! I bid ye die—

Sink ſilent to your graves!

Now Chelonice,

Prepare thy mind for this night's great event!

[12] For ere its circling minutes have been number'd,

Thou'lt in thy father's blood walk to his throne,

Or ſee thy huſband welt'ring at my feet.

Thy heart muſt make a choice.—For one of us

Thy prayers muſt mount to heaven.—Tell me not which,

Leſt this old heart's laſt pangs be render'd ſtronger;

Leſt thy fierce huſband's ſword within my breaſt

Should bite more keen—knowing that there 'twas ſped,

By a lov'd daughter's wiſhes!

[Exit, followed by all but Nicrates.

NICRATES.

(obſerving Chelonice.)

Fix'd and mute,

She gives to grief, a force, beyond the ſtorm

Of common female woes.—Pardon me, Princeſs!

Oh break a ſilence, which too ſtrongly ſpeaks.

Flow, precious tears, and give her ſorrows vent!

CHELONICE.

Tears, Nicrates! doſt think ſuch woes as mine,

Can melt in tears?—Bid lighter ſorrows weep!

Mine ſhall be cloiſter'd in my ſick'ning heart.

NICRATES.

All-judging Heaven! What then are power and beauty?

What, all the virtues which adorn the mind,

Since all united, can't enſure repoſe?

CHELONICE.

My ſoul hath fortitude, but oh, its griefs are keen!

How ſhall I ſhape its wiſhes? how my heart

Compel to prayer? when ev'ry hope it ſcrms—

Such is my horrid fate! muſt be a crime

Either againſt my father, or my lord.

NICRATES.

[13]

Oh! that I'd words—

CHELONICE.

This is a night of deeds.

Such deeds!—And cannot I—oh cannot I,

Whom moſt thoſe deeds concern, by one bold act

Turn from my fated race, the ills which threaten?

Hear me, Olympus!—Regal Juno, hear!

Inſpire your ſuppliant—ſend a ray of light,

To guide me, in the darkneſs which ſurrounds me!

NICRATES.

The laſt ſad ray, thy father hath extinguiſh'd.

Since you can't move his purpoſe, all is loſt.

E'en whilſt we ſpeak, deſtruction haſtens on;

This very hour, your huſband leaves the camp.—

CHELONICE.

(eagerly.)

Enough! thou'ſt ſaid it—Heaven ſpeaks through thee.

My huſband, and the camp!—yes, to the camp

I'll bend my lonely and advent'rous ſteps;

There, to his heart I'll plead my father's cauſe,

Wreſt from his ſtrong reſentments all I aſk,

And bring back ſtrength to Sparta's tott'ring walls.

NICRATES.

Oh Princeſs! 'tis the ſudden thought of frenzy.

The camp!—think on the dangers—

CHELONICE.

Oh! what are dangers, when ſuch duties call?

The ſpirit of my anceſtors is on me;

A ſacred fervor ſeizes on my ſoul,

A fire unknown, glows in my trembling veins,

And chaſes from my heart, each female weakneſs.

NICRATES.

[14]

Heroiſm!

How falſe to ſay, thou'rt only made for man!

CHELONICE.

My father, and my country! Oh for theſe,

Fearleſs, I'd lead an army to a breach,

Scale hoſtile walls, and leap like him of Macedon

Amidſt the foe; and whilſt the whizzing deaths

Sigh'd round my head,

Scorn their mock terrors, and their painleſs wounds.

NICRATES.

Prudence avaunt!—Strong ardors in a cauſe

Righteous as this, ſeem the ſtill voice of fate,

That thus in ſecret whiſpers, urges on

To perfect its decrees.

CHELONICE.

—Yet I'll not ſlight

The ſage precautions prudence would ſuggeſt.

Theſe royal weeds ill ſuit a wanderer's ſpeed;—

The habit of a prieſteſs thall conceal me.

Hallowed, beneath that ſacred robe I paſs,

Nor friend, nor foe, preſume to know my errand;—

That errand ſanctify, all ye, who rule

The actions of mankind! Howe'er deſign'd,

Howe'er begun our deeds, yours is the end.

We mark the goal, and blind begin our race,

In paths diverging from the happy place;

'Tis ye who guide us in the way unknown,

The motive ours, th' events are all your own!

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

ACT II. SCENE I.

[15]

The Tent of Cleombrotus. Cleombrotus ſurrounded by Generals, &c.

CLEOMBROTUS.

(riſing.)

To the north baſtion, Perdicas, lead you

Th' Iberian troops; and Menecrates, you,

Support the Thracians at the eaſtern gate.

I will myſelf lead on my loyal Spartans;

Then if I fall, I fall 'midſt thoſe, whoſe rights

I ſhould too cheaply purchaſe with my life;—

If I am conqueror, with them to conquer,

Will add to victory a ſweeter ſenſe,

And make my laurels dearer than my crown.

COREX.

Live, prince!—live ever on the throne of Sparta!

CLEOMBROTUS.

He only lives a prince, who lives a patriot;

And he who loves not thoſe, he's rais'd to govern,

Is not their monarch, but their ſcourge.

MEZENTIUS.

The night wears on, and thy devoted army

Demand to place thee, ere its noon be paſt,

Upon that ſeat, thou know'ſt ſo well to fill.

CLEOMBROTUS.

[16]

Inſtant I'll join, and lead them to the battle.

Their force ſuperior, and their honeſt cauſe

Muſt doubly act upon our fear-ſtruck foes,

And bid them ſpare the horrors of a carnage.

Enter Officer.

Thy face hath tidings!

Officer.

From the town a prieſteſs,

With haſty ſteps, and accents that breathe muſic

Sweet, and reſiſtleſs as the golden lyre

Of beamy-hair'd Apollo, ſeeks thy tent

Royal Cleombrotus!

CLEOMBROTUS.

A prieſteſs! ſay'ſt thou?

Surely of magnitude muſt be the errand

Which aſks a meſſenger ſo pure, and holy.

Retire, my friends; 'tis due to rank like her's.

In a few moments he who bids you go,

Shall bid ye follow!

Nor will he ſtop, 'till his glad voice ſhall hail you

Victors, in Sparta.

(they go).

Now attend the virgin.

(The officer goes out and re-enters with CHELONICE.)

Thus, holy maid! lowly and wondering,

I greet your preſence.—Oh what great beheſt,

Can have impell'd thee from thy hallow'd couch,

To ſeek amidſt the hurry of a camp

A care-worn ſoldier?

CHELONICE.

[17]

Couch, Cleombrotus?

Doſt thou then think within the mournful walls

Theſe feet have left, that one unfeeling wretch

Can ſeek a couch, or meditate repoſe?

Thou haſt our ſleep.—Our balmly reſt lies tenter'd,

On the ſharp points thou'ſt levell'd at our hearts.

Reſtore our reſt! bid the ſoft God of ſleep

Again reviſit our long watchful lids!

It is for this I ſeek thee in thy camp;

For this that humbly in the duſt I bend,

Aſking thy pity, for our wretched Sparta.

CLEOMBROTUS.

But that I dare not touch thy ſacred form,

Thou ſhould'ſt not humbly bend.—Oh, Prieſteſs, riſe!

[She riſes.

If this thy errand to our martial plain,

'T were well the fire that burns within your temple,

Yet felt your feeding hand.—Your altars, virgin!

They are the places for your prayers to riſe from;

There, mix'd with incenſe, they might reach Olympus,

But here, alas! they fall on ſterile earth—

Or muſt return, unanſwer'd, to your boſom.

CHELONICE.

Oh, is it poſſible! Canſt thou who own'ſt

A ſoldier's gen'rous feelings, think a moment

On the dread horrors of this waning night,

And yet reſolve to pull thoſe horrors on us?

CLEOMBROTUS.

[18]

Bid your own ſov'reign ſave ye! Oh, Leonidas,

How wretched is this art! Yield me my crown!

And not deſcend to ſeek the aid of women

To deprecate the vengeance thou provok'ſt!

CHELONICE.

Oh, by the flame that burns to chaſte Minerva,

Leonidas ſtoops not to ſupplicate;

Knows not the ſtep that I unprompted take!

Well doſt thou know his haughty, princely ſoul,

That lighter holds the heavy ills thou'rt charg'd with,

Than to ſubmit and invocate thy pity.

CLEOMBROTUS.

'Tis well; his firmneſs ſhall be firmly met.

Return then, prieſteſs! let your king prepare

His rougheſt welcome for unbidden gueſts.

His rougheſt welcome we have ſworn to merit;

And not a heart within this banner'd field,

But will ſuſtain the arm his oath hath bound.

CHELONICE.

Oh! for a voice to perjure them—

'Twere a celeſtial crime! Cleombrotus,

Is there not one voice—Stubborn! aſk thy heart,

Is there not one could move thee? Chelonice!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Oh, name her not; her image ruins me!

Her form, her ſupplicating look—reſiſt her!

Oh, ſhe could drag me from the arms of glory,

And bid me ſtop, with vict'ry on my ſword.

CHELONICE.

[19]

Bleſt be that form!—it is henceforth immortal—

It ſaves my country!—Now—now then, Cleombrotus

[Unveiling.

See her before thee! See her at thy feet!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Oh, Gods! Why's this? Shall I upbraid, or bleſs ye?

[gazing on her.

Oh bleſs ye ever—'tis my Chelonice!

[Raiſing her.

Now rage—rage on ye furies of the War!

Bear your bold thunders to the tyrant's gates—

My treaſure's ſafe! I hold her to my heart!

Fearleſs begin the attack; for Chelonice

Breathes not within his walls;—it is my arms

Which preſs and guard her.

[Voices without.

General! Cleombrotus!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Hear the impatient ſoldiery! Lead on!

I'll follow with an arrow's ſwiftneſs.—Spare!

Spare me one moment.—Mars! 'tis thus thou hang'ſt

(claſping her)

Upon the breath of Venus; thus anticipat'ſt

The dear reward of Victory; then dart'ſt

Amidſt thy foes, and, by her touch inſpir'd,

Hurl'ſt thy bright vengeance o'er th' inſanguin'd field!

CHELONICE.

Doſt thou deceive me? this the power of Chelonice?

[Goes to the wing.

[20] Stay your raſh ſpeed! your prince commands ye—Stop!

Stir not 'till he ſhall lead ye to your ſpoil!

Yes; lead them to their ſpoil, thou mighty General!

Guide your keen hunters where the tim'rous deer

In their incloſures herded, wait their fate;—

The conqueſt will be worthy them and thee!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Oh, my beloved, be worthy of thyſelf,

And of the fate with which the moment teems!

I wreſt this night my crown from uſurpation,

To place it on thy brow—

CHELONICE.

To decorate my bier!

Ne'er ſhall the crown, torn from Leonidas,

Circle his child.—But go! lead on your army.

Here will I patient wait your cries of victory—

The ſignal of my death!

CLEOMBROTUS

(as to himſelf).

Oh, woman!

CHELONICE.

'Tis not a woman's, but a SPARTAN's threat.

The hour in which thou vanquiſheſt Leonidas,

Prepare the pile, to flame around his daughter!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Princeſs! thou doſt miſtake thy duty.—Spartan,

And daughter of Leonidas, are titles

Deareſt to thee—

CHELONICE.

[21]

Miſtake my duty, ſaid'ſt thou?

When at a huſband's feet I aſk a father's life,

Do I miſtake my duty?—If I do,

I'll ever ſo miſtake, and boaſt my error!

Yes, 'till Leonidas ſits thron'd in ſafety,

His daughter ſhall forget ſhe is a wife;—

Tear from her heart each trace of long paſt fondneſs,

And own no ties, but thoſe firſt awful ones

Stampt there by nature.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Wife of Cleombrotus!

Thy honour and thy fame's deriv'd from him;

Thy happineſs from the ſame ſource ſhould flow.

How dear thoſe hours—for ſure ſuch hours have been,

When thou diſclaim'ſt all joys, but in my love.

CHELONICE.

Hadſt thou found bliſs in love—

CLEOMBROTUS

(ſmiling).

I'd not ſought bliſs on thrones.

Thus, as a lady would you chide, and this

Let all the ſubject world receive as law.

Let them be taught that in the humble ſhade,

Far from the reach of proud ambition's eye,

Felicity has rais'd her graſſy ſeat,

And wantons there with love.

But, madam, I was born to reign!

And he ſo born, feels fires that vulgar ſouls

[22] Could not endure.—Felicity to us,

Is not a nymph in humble ruſſet clad,

Sipping the dew-drops from the ſilver thorn,

Or weaving flow'rs upon a ſtreamlet's brink—

Oh, no! ſhe's SCEPTER'D, and her gifts are CROWNS!

CHELONICE.

I have a ſoul, to taſte her gifts, like thine.

I have a mind that graſps ſublimer cares

Than cottage nymphs can know; I would be great

And bear the cares of thouſands.—But ambition,

And ev'ry lofty ſentiment it gives,

Sinks to the earth, when weigh'd againſt his life

From whom I drew my own.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Were I diſpos'd

To grant thee all, and ſink again to nothing,

Yet am I bound to lead my forces on.

It is not glory, nor the hope of ſame

The mercenary feels—his God is plunder.

Should I protract their promis'd hour of harveſt,

Diſguſt and mutiny would fill their ranks—

I cannot, dare not, yield to thee.

CHELONICE.

Farewell!

I'll be the herald of thy near approach.

The child ſhall bid the father bare his boſom

To her lord's ſword;—ſhall bid the citizens

Throw wide their portals to admit the conqueror.

[23] Then, whilſt my Spartans bow their necks beneath thee,

And from a parricide receive their chains,

Then ſhall the laſt ſad ſighs of Chelonice,

Mix'd with the ſhouts of victory, proclaim

Her murd'rous huſband, Lacedemon's king!

[going.

CLEOMBROTUS.

The laſt ſad ſighs of Chelonice—Oh!

[following, and leading her back.

Sweet, cruel tyrant, who is victor now?

Nature! in mockery thou ſtil'ſt us LORDS,

And bidſt us govern, in this turbid world.

Th' hiſtoric page, recording all the acts

That ſtand the loftieſt in an empire's annals,

Reports but WOMAN's will!

CHELONICE.

Then thou doſt yield!

How my ſoul thanks thee, peaceful hours ſhall tell.

Now, on joy's ſwifteſt pinions let me bear

The grateful tidings to the gates of Sparta.

Oh filial duties, be ye ever crown'd

With joy as pure, as bleſſeth Chelonice!

[Exit, led by Cleombrotus.

Enter MEZENTIUS and COREX.

MEZENTIUS.

The conf'rence thou haſt heard.—Where now the hopes,

The high rais'd hopes, we brought with us from Thrace?

COREX.

[24]

They muſt exiſt no more.—She who could win him,

To ſpare her Lacedemon but an hour,

Now when th' impatient ſoldiery pant for conqueſt,

And ev'ry breaſt glows with portentous ardor,

Next, may like Omphale transform her Hercules

To ſtory in the loom his bloodleſs ſiege.

MEZENTIUS.

But Thrace boaſts warriors of more ſtubborn nerves;

They neither know to yield to woman's threats,

Or man's defiance. The laconic prince

Entic'd us from our native fields, to curb

Thoſe rebel citizens, who yet diſown

His rights in Lacedemon; our reward

Their herds, their jewels, and their treaſur'd wealth;

Muſt we forego the riches he affianc'd,

Becauſe his Chelonice begs forbearance?

COREX.

No—

The wages of our labour are at hand;

Our troops obedient; why then not aſſault

The city we came hither to reduce,

And gather for ourſelves the promis'd bleſſings?

MEZENTIUS.

Our country's genius, Corex, ſpeaks in thee!

Aſtrea, throw thy uſeleſs balance by,

Thy ſword is all we aſk;—he who bears that,

Can right himſelf, and puniſh his deceivers.

COREX.

[25]

Let caution guard her ſword! Cleombrotus,

Supported by th' Iberians, may prevent

The glorious perfidy we meditate.

Revolt ſeems ripe.—See how reſentment burns

[Looking thro' the wing.

Amongſt the troops, whilſt he unfolds his will

To ſpare Leonidas for this one night,

The pain to be unking'd.

[Contemptuouſly.

MEZENTIUS.

Let us aſſiſt,

Fanning with ſecret breath the ſtruggling flame;

And then this woman's ſoldier ſhall be taught,

Thoſe grand events which mark the fate of empires,

And ſtand, protruded, to inſtruct the world,

Are not the coin of female artifice,

But ſtruck by genius, from a bolder dye!

[Exeunt.

Scene changes to the Palace.

Enter LEONIDAS and AMPHARES.

LEONIDAS.

Forſaken by my child! It ſhould be ſo.

This is an hour of congregated woes,

And the barb'd point of that ſhould not be wanting.

Doth the enemy advance?—Left by my daughter!

Left for a rebel huſband!—They are too tardy.

Deſtruction! ſlow of foot, to thoſe who'd meet thee,

Quicken thy pace!

AMPHARES.

[26]

Deſtruction haſtens on.

The princeſs fled, and longing for thy crown,

Urges her huſband to th' unnatural conqueſt.

LEONIDAS.

I do not curſe—mark me! I do not curſe them.

Leonidas and cruelty are ſounds

That in the mind of Greece combine, and live,

Like peſtilence, and its funereal urns.

Am I now cruel? Thoſe late turbid veins,

In which ſuch raging fires have cours'd each other,

Have now no pulſe for cruelty. Yet ſhould I—

Oh, the thought rouſes all my latent fury—

Should I, amidſt the battle, meet thoſe pelicans!

Gods! grant me ſuch a moment, that my life

In that laſt cloſing act, may end more bleſt,

Than crowns, and vengeance ever made its progreſs!

NICRATES.

(without.)

Where is the king?

(enters.)

LEONIDAS.

Here's he, who in an hour

Shall be the king no more.

NICRATES.

Not ſo, Leonidas!

The enemy, whoſe late deſerted camp

Pour'd all its eager troops upon the plain,

Are hous'd again beneath their tented roofs;

Their banners clos'd; their ſpears' bright gleams ex⯑tinguiſh'd.

LEONIDAS.

[27]

How is this known?

NICRATES.

Cloudleſs, the full orb'd car

Of the nocturnal goddeſs, glides along,

Giving each object perfect and diſtinct;

The crouded ramparts bleſs'd the fav'ring light,

Which ſhew'd their foes, retiring, and unarm'd.

AMPHARES.

This is ſome ſubterfuge. The ſubtle princeſs

And her ambitious lord, have fram'd the artifice,

To lull thee, valiant prince, in falſe ſecurity.

LEONIDAS.

Well haſt thou ſpoken what thy King conceiv'd;

But who ſhall ſpeak the father's mad deſpair?

Oh, Iſis! when thou threw'ſt th' unfeeling flints,

And bade them riſe to animated man,

They diſobey'd thee;—woman's was the form

In which they ſprung to life; in which they yet

Cumber the earth—our cheriſh'd boſom'd plagues!

NICRATES.

Oh, ſir, forbear! the virtues of the princeſs—

LEONIDAS.

Mention her not! henceforth to name the rebel

But with the curſe of parricide, is fatal

To him who ſpeaks.—Fly to your ſeveral ſtations,

[28] The cred'lous citizens have loſt their fears,

But I'll reſtore and fix them in their hearts.

To live a ſov'reign but one added day,

Is worth the labour of an untir'd Hercules.

[Exit.

NICRATES.

Stay my prompt brother! you may ſnatch a moment

From duty ſo impos'd.—Your's is the ſtorm,

Which rages in his heart, againſt his daughter.

AMPHARES.

I know I rais'd the ſtorm, and there will feed it.

NICRATES.

Hah! to what end—what purpoſe?

AMPHARES.

I'll reveal it;

Not to that air of menace, which I ſcorn,

But to thy love fraternal, which inſures me

Ready attention, and if needful, help.

NICRATES.

One boſom fed us with it's lucid ſtream,

One father gave to us a dear exiſtence,

And in my heart I prize each ſacred bond.

Yet not thoſe bonds; the father whom we lov'd,

Not the chaſte mother at whoſe breaſt we clung,

Shall bribe me to forget ſuperior duties,

Or aid thee in a cauſe diſclaim'd by virtue.

AMPHARES

[29]

(ſneeringly).

Warm from the ſchools, and prompt in declamation!

NICRATES.

Not ſo.

The plain ſimplicity of Spartan ſchools

Diſclaims, and abrogates miſleading eloquence.

You, bred in Athens,—where the poliſh'd virtues

Luxuriantly repoſe; giving their documents

In marble palaces, and robes imbued

With ev'ry gaudy ſtain that paints their fields—

'Tis you, who boaſt th' unthrifty charms of rhetoric,

Which makes a ſhadow ſeem ſubſtantial good,

And cloaths with glowing periods crippled morals.

—Yet let me know why thou inflam'ſt the king,

Againſt the paragon of female excellence?

AMPHARES.

A Paragon I thought her; and her birth

Which call'd her dower, a kingdom, fixed me her's.

Our line, a ſcion from that root, whence ſprung

Leonidas;—which juſtified my hopes.

In Athens 'twas I learn'd Cleombrotus

Was made her huſband, and co-equal king.

Had I been here, the Hymen of that day,

Had dipp'd his ſaffron robe, in ſanguine dies.

NICRATES.

But now—

AMPHARES.

[30]

But now my hatred is in youthful vigour,

And I have ſworn their ruin.

NICRATES.

Sworn their ruin?

AMPHARES.

Interrogative brother! yes—their deaths!

Were they no more, then Lacedemon's free;

And who could ſtand 'twixt me and royalty,

But a weak boy? whoſe tender bud of life,

Fatality, or accident may nip.

What! doſt thou mutter ſpells, with eyes thus fix'd?

NICRATES,

(ſteadily).

Nor ſpells, nor pray'rs, for ſurely they were loſt!

Nor ſhall I reaſon on thy wicked hopes,

Nor bid thee dread the vengeance of the Gods;

For to a mind that ſuch deſigns can cheriſh,

Reaſon, religion, urge their truths in vain!

Then fear not theſe, but fear my vigilance;

Go on! ſpread all thy toils, prepare thy ſnares,

And I will watch, obſerve, and counteract thee!

[Exit.

AMPHARES.

Oh inſolent, and vain! oppoſe me not!

Counteract him, who ſtruggles for a crown?

Him, who dares raiſe his hopes to Sparta's princeſs?

[31] Thy gentle breath might hope as well, good brother,

To puff a mountain from its ſolid baſe,

As to move me from purpoſes ſo grand.

Thou talk'ſt of virtue—I behold a THRONE!

Thou bidſt me fear—I think on CHELONICE!

END OF THE SECOND ACT.

ACT III. SCENE I.

[32]

The Tribunal.

Enter LEONIDAS, AMPHARES, SARPEDON, ATTALUS, and others.

LEONIDAS.

YES, the bright ſun beholds me yet a king—

Cleombrotus is yet without our walls!

For this let ev'ry altar blaze with ſacrifice,

And hallow'd victims pour the ſanguine ſtream.

AMPHARES.

In vain ſhall hallow'd victims pour their life,

And blood of hecatombs bedew our altars,

Whilſt treaſon, deep veil'd, ſpreads out her ſilent ſnares.

LEONIDAS.

Her veil ſhall be remov'd, her ſnares develop'd.

Here, in this awful ſeat, where great Lycurgus

Woo'd juſtice from her high Olympian court

And bade her rule, unſway'd by human ties—

Here ſhall Leonidas his glory emulate

And riſe above the pleaded bonds of nature.

Say! didſt thou find the princeſs bath'd in ſorrows?

SARPEDON.

[33]

Not loſt in tears, but in more ſtately griefs

Her virgins tell, ſhe paſs'd the ſleepleſs night,

Denied to vindicate her ſecret viſit.

AMPHARES.

Whether in tears, or ſorrows more reſerv'd,

Women expreſs their paſſions, or their will,

They're each reſiſtleſs arms, whoſe edge is bluntleſs.

But ſir! you're guarded.

LEONIDAS.

To a teſt I'll bring

Her vaunted duty; if it ſhrinks from that,

Hence tears, and feign'd ſubmiſſion! Not a child,

But a falſe traitor, will ſhe ſtand before me;

And loſe a ſire in the offended prince.

[He ſeats himſelf.

AMPHARES.

See, ſhe advances, with her wonted grandeur!

Yet ſo compos'd and calm, as if prepar'd

Not to receive, but grant a gracious pardon.

(Enter the Princeſs, attended by Nicrates, guards, &c.)

LEONIDAS.

Ill daughter ſuits it with ſuch acts as yours,

To come with looks, thus unimpreſs'd, before us;

Repentant tears, and cheeks ting'd deep with ſhame,

Would beſt become your guilty diſobedience.

CHELONICE.

[34]

Oh may my cheeks indeed be ting'd with ſhame,

And tears repentant, yet unheeded flow

When guilt or diſobedience mark the life

Of wretched Chelonice!—Oh, my father!

Whence are thoſe charges?

LEONIDAS.

From the mouth of Sparta,

Who ſtiles thoſe traitors, that ſupport her foes.

Princeſs of Sparta! know, this charge is thine.

CHELONICE.

If I've incurr'd it, may the death ſhe dooms

To traitors fall on me!—Not daughter now,

But ſubject, and arraign'd, I bend before thee;—

Not to a father pleading, but a judge.

LEONIDAS.

'Tis Lacedemon calls thee to the trial.

CHELONICE.

Nay, but all Greece will turn their eyes towards thee,

And as thou act'ſt at this important hour,

Will load thy name with honour or diſpraiſe.

Beware of weakneſs then—with rigour try me!

And if the crime imputed, ſhould be mine,

Then, Agamemnon like, devote thy child

A ſacrifice, to your immortal fame!

The world demands ſuch leſſons.—Oh, ſuppoſe not,

I ſhould diſgrace the glorious part aſſign'd me—

The daughter of Leonidas can't fear to die.

LEONIDAS.

[35]

Such firmneſs ſhould by innocence be ſanction'd.

Laſt night, diſguis'd, you paſs'd our centinels,

Bending your ſteps, where your rebellious huſband

Plots Lacedemon's ruin.—'Tis your motive,

To this myſterious viſit, we demand.

CHELONICE.

Behold it in your undemoliſh'd walls!

Behold it, Sparta, in thy lofty ſpires,

Which yet, triumphant, catch the ſailing clouds!

See it, ye mothers, in the tender babes

Repoſing ſafely on your matron boſoms!

And you, ye huſbands, in whoſe ſhelt'ring arms

Your wives yet live, inviolate, and pure!

Thoſe were the motives of my ſecret viſit.

LEONIDAS.

Do Sparta's welfare, and her matrons' honour,

Hang on a thread ſo ſlender? Do her battlements,

Her long enduring walls, and brazen gates,

Reſiſt deſtruction at a woman's bidding?

CHELONICE.

Forgive the ſeeming boaſt! Yet had not Chelonice,

Laſt night, ſtole ſecret to her huſband's camp,

And there with every art love makes reſiſtleſs,

Won him to change the purpoſe of the hour,

This roof, beneath whoſe dome ſhe ſtands accus'd,

Had now reſounded with the ſhrieks of death;

Whilſt thro' our gates, Thrace and Iberia pour'd,

With mercenary hand, their ſlaught'ring troops.

LEONIDAS.

[36]

If ſuch thy purpoſe, and if ſuch th' event,

Then, daughter, Lacedemon owes to thee

That ſhe enjoys one added day in ſafety.

Short reſpite, from impending woes!

Were 't in thy power to prolong her ſafety,

And baniſh from her ſkies thoſe hov'ring locuſts—

Oh! could'ſt thou, for an end ſo ſanctified,

Boldly reſolve to be a Spartan daughter,

And tear unworthy weakneſs from thy heart?

CHELONICE.

My heart itſelf! What is there can exiſt,

That I'd not ſacrifice to ſave my country,

And bid my father live?

LEONIDAS.

(riſing.)

Glorious the moment! 'twould be fame immortal!

The name of Chelonice ſhall be heard

Wherever female acts of worth, and daring

Reſcue the ſex, and make them ſhine o'er man.

—Thy worthleſs huſband! ceas'd he to exiſt,

Thrace and Iberia would withdraw their troops,

And Sparta reſt from curs'd inteſtine wars.

Invite him from his camp—propoſe this night

To meet him in the grove—he ſhall be met

By arms leſs tender than my Chelonice's.

CHELONICE.

Horror!

LEONIDAS.

Doſt ſhrink?—are thoſe thy boaſted fervors?

CHELONICE.

[37]

It was my father! 'twas my father ſpoke it—

I have no anſwer.

LEONIDAS.

Rebel! thy anſwer's made;

For now I know 'twas but a falſe pretence

With which thou'ſt gloſs'd thy viſit to the traitor—

Traitor thyſelf! and leagued with Sparta's foes.

CHELONICE.

O! filial goddeſs, teach me to ſubmit!

LEONIDAS.

Submiſſion, now, is all the duty left thee,

And thou ſhalt learn to practiſe it in chains.

Bear her to priſon, as a rebel guard her,

And let her ſon be captive with his mother.

CHELONICE.

That's mercy yet! amidſt the judge's firmneſs

The parent's love ſteps in, to chaſe deſpair.

Bring here my chains.

[They bring and put them on.

AMPHARES.

(to Leonidas.)

Th' oppoſing principles

Of filial duty, and connubial love,

Summon their forces in her heart, and one muſt yield.

Forgive! if in the conflict filial duty fails,

And gives the dear-bought triumph to a huſband.

CHELONICE.

Who told thee that thoſe principles oppoſe,

Or that one yields? Has nature then, improvident,

[38] So narrow form'd the heart, that only one

Of all the various duties ſhe commands,

Can live there? Know, misjudging reaſoner,

The duties of the wife and child, may each,

Without oppoſing, warm the heart.—In mine

They both exiſt—both flaming!

Spartan.

Spare the princeſs!

Second Spartan.

Leonidas! oh hear us.

Third Spartan.

Spare thy child!

NICRATES.

O ſpare the princeſs! ſee th' aſtoniſh'd citizens,

With ſupplicating looks, bending before thee!

Shall they implore in vain? They aſk a ſire

To breathe forth mercy on a ſorrowing child;

O! hear their prayers—Mine is the voice of Sparta!

CHELONICE.

Plead for a rebel! Pity how miſplaced!

[addreſſing the citizens.

Should I be ſpared, the door for treaſon's open'd,

Nor could your prince dare puniſh in another,

The crime his child, unforfeited, commits.

He wiſely acts, and thus I claſp my chains,

Calling the gods to witneſs they are dear to me;

For they're a father's gift—perhaps his laſt.

Lead to my priſon! murmur not; be proud

[39] That in your ſov'reign you have found a hero!

Who'll puniſh thoſe moſt precious to his heart,

When crimes againſt your rights call down his vengeance.

Lead on!

[Exit with guards, &c.

AMPHARES.

See! ſelf-arraign'd the princeſs goes,

Acknowledging the juſtice which condemns her.

[To the citizens.

LEONIDAS.

She may be innocent; yet to refuſe

A ſacrifice which patriotic love

And filial duty, equally demand,

Is in itſelf a crime to merit chains.

Amphares, ſpeak! is there no way? Cleombrotus

Would come as Gen'ral, with a train too coſtly

For the charge of Sparta.—Is there no way,

To gain a private, ſolitary viſit?

By Heaven the man who ſhould perform ſuch ſervice,

I'd rank for ever next my crown and life.

AMPHARES.

Swift execution ever ſhould attend

The will of princes, when that will's reveal'd.

Methinks there might be found a man in Sparta,

Who, brided thus highly, would deſpiſe the danger;

And call it glory, ſo, to ſave his country.

LEONIDAS.

If ſuch a man there be—thou know'ſt the reſt!

Time preſſes hard, my friend, and fate allows

[40] But a few hours, for acts, whoſe fame ſhall live

Through ages yet unborn.—I'll leave thee now.

Genius of Sparta! aid th' unripe deſign!

[Exit.

AMPHARES.

(contemptuouſly.)

"Genius of Sparta!" Doſt think me to cozen

With patriotic flames; or that I ſee not

'Tis thy ambition, which aſſumes its port?

No matter; know they're my deſigns thou nouriſheſt,

And whilſt I ſeem but to obey, I rule.

[Exit.

Scene changes to the Tent of Cleombrotus.

Enter CLEOMBROTUS followed by MEZENTIUS.

CLEOMBROTUS.

By Heaven, the man who ſtirs towards the town,

With hoſtile views, ſhall find his death, not there,

But from my arm. Nor will I bear theſe murmurs.

Lead back your madd'ning Thracians, who appear

Like midnight wolves, ſnuffing the air for prey,

Rather than ſoldiers, bravely met, to right

An injured king.

MEZENTIUS.

So think them! Midnight wolves

Will not retire without their ſcented prey;

Reſolve then to diſmiſs, or lead them on.

CLEOMBROTUS.

I can do neither. I am bound by oath—

An oath revered by him who ſhakes Olympus,

[41] Not to begin the attack 'till this day's ſun

Reſigns the race to him, who gilds to-morrow.

MEZENTIUS.

What forc'd thee to the binding oath?

CLEOMBROTUS.

To tell thee,

Obdurate Thracian! were to give thee words,

Whoſe foreign ſounds would vibrate on thy ear,

But could not raiſe ideas in thy mind.

What doſt thou know of all the ſacred charms

Which hang on love connubial? Why tell thee

Of the ſweet philtres, on the roſy lips

Of chaſte, yet tender beauty? Ears like thine

Would find no muſic in the tale; nor own

'Twas a ſweet madneſs, ſo, to be undone!

MEZENTIUS.

Undone, indeed!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Yet not undone.—My promiſe

Binds me but a few hours.—Ere the blue heavens

Shall in its preſent ſtation ſee again

You radiant orb—by arms, or peaceful terms,

I ſhall be king in Sparta.

MEZENTIUS.

Hopes of coward peace

Were not the proſpects thou held'ſt forth, to draw us

From our dear homes.

CLEOMBROTUS.

[42]

True; war and victory

Seem'd then the road to lead me to my throne.

But ſhould Leonidas propoſe thoſe terms

On which I muſt conſent to raiſe the ſiege,

Then rich rewards ſhall gratify your troops,

Without the crimſon labour which they pant for.

[Going to one of the upper wings.

MEZENTIUS.

Our troops will not accept a largeſs, prince!

Where they can claim a right; and on thyſelf

Reſt all the miſchief of thy broken faith!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Behold the meſſenger of peace approaches!—

What humbler cauſe could make Amphares meſſenger?

His rank exalted, and his ſkill in arms,

Render him precious to the town beſieged.

MEZENTIUS.

You wiſh the conference private.—May th' event

Be happier, prince! than that of yeſter even;

When a falſe prieſteſs could entice a vict'ry

From you—Oh ſhame! whilſt graſping at its laurels.

[Exit.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Unfurl your banners! why breathe not the trumpets?

Receive that Spartan Lord with the ſalute

[43] You give your generals, and conduct him hither.

(Enter Amphares.)

When laſt we met, 'twas not a camp, Amphares!

That witneſs'd our embrace.

AMPHARES.

Oh, no, Cleombrotus.

We met, thou know'ſt, beneath a feſtive dome,

Whoſe echoes fed on muſic's ſweeteſt ſounds;

Whilſt ſparkling beauty lent its powerful ſpells

To gild the hour, and make its joys ſublime.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Such hours yet wait us, in the lap of peace.

Leonidas, I truſt, hath now reſolv'd

To ſpare the boſom of his native city,

Nor drain her veins, to juſtify his crimes.

AMPHARES.

Secret his counſels, prince! nor do I know

Whether the gloomy tyrant waits your ſword,

Or means to yield your crown without compulſion.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Art thou not come th' ambaſſador of peace?

AMPHARES.

Oh, no!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Ill founded hope!

[with anger.

AMPHARES.

Hadſt thou ſuch hopes?

CLEOMBROTUS.

[44]

Or know this hour, Amphares, were not his

To waſte in inſolent deliberation.

But if not peace, what cauſe—

AMPHARES.

I know thy queſtion.

Tho' on no public errand I approach you,

Yet will you think the cauſe not leſs important,

Than if an empire's fate hung on my breath;—

An empire did I ſay? What then are empires?

What, all the mighty nothings which embroil,

From age to age, the ſons of mad ambition—

Compar'd to thoſe ſoft int'reſts of the heart,

Which tho' in name leſs ſplendid, have a power,

That all the grander impulſes muſt ſtoop to?

CLEOMBROTUS.

Then thou'rt ambaſſador from Chelonice!

What ſays my moſt belov'd? What fragrant meſſage

Breath'd her ſweet lips, to him, whoſe fate ſhe rules?

AMPHARES.

No meſſage bear I, prince! for unſolicited

Amphares comes, and perhaps returns unthank'd.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Forbid it courteſy! what urged this viſit?

AMPHARES.

Say rather what urg'd thee, to ſleep laſt night

Within thy camp, whilſt ev'ry Spartan citizen

Kept wakeful, to ſalute thee once more king?

CLEOMBROTUS.

[45]

What but the powerful influence thou haſt nam'd,

My Chelonice!

AMPHARES.

Hah! was ſhe the deſtiny

Who ſnatch'd thy ſceptre from thee?

CLEOMBROTUS.

Why, Amphares,

This ſudden flaſhing of thy eye? this ſcorn?

Her filial heart was agoniz'd; it aſk'd—

Could I refuſe? She kneeling, aſk'd one day

For Sparta, and her ſire.

AMPHARES,

(with contempt.)

For Sparta, and—

But I'll not add the name; your eyes ſhall witneſs

For whom ſhe knelt, and aſk'd you to withhold

Th' impending ſword.

CLEOMBROTUS.

For whom! for whom ſay'ſt thou?

AMPHARES.

Why ſhou'd I ſpeak? Such tales are met ungraciouſly.

Hard to excite belief, of what to yield to,

Is to embrace the keeneſt agonies

Fate hath prepar'd for man.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Heed me, Amphares!

The charge thou'dſt lead to, cannot be miſtaken.

[46] I ſee thou'rt come to raiſe ſuſpicion here,

Where yet ſuſpicion never knew to live;

But leaſt to live, when pointed at my wife!

AMPHARES.

Thus ſhould it be.—This is the magic philtre

Beſtow'd by Hymen in the brieal cup;

Which when once ſwallow'd, makes a man—a huſband.

[ſneeringly.

CLEOMBROTUS.

What is a huſband?

[angrily.

AMPHARES.

What his wiſe ſhall pleaſe;

Credulous, doating, diſbelieving, blind!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Were I of that quick temperament, which flames

And blazes at a touch, thou'ſt ſaid enough

To raiſe a fire unquenchable, in which

Thou, its firſt victim, ſhould'ſt be ſacrificed.

Yet tho' my paſſions do but ſlowly mount,

They're overbearing as the ſelf-will'd ocean,

Which, in its anger, daſhes at the ſky;—

Beware!

AMPHARES.

I'm caution'd;—from regard, not fear.

CLEOMBROTUS.

I know thou fear'ſt not, nor can I ſuſpect.

Six yearly ſuns have belted round the world,

[47] Since Chelonice at the altar vow'd,

The duties of connubial love to me.

Her heart I've ſtudied; watch'd each turn of temper;

Nor ever ſaw caprice inhabit there.

Her virtues, tho' chaſtis'd by female ſoftneſs,

Are of the grand and ſtubborn ſort,

Which ſelf-collected, ſmile upon temptation.

O! ſhall the rooted confidence of ages

Break from its ſtem, and be the ſport of whiſpers?

No, Amphares; the huſband of Chelonice

Can have no fears, but for his own demerits.

AMPHARES.

All then is well.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Not ſo; for tho' no doubts

Can reach my heart, that would diſhonour her,

To juſtify her fame, I muſt know all

That malice dares ſuggeſt.

AMPHARES.

If to the grove,

Which bounds the palace gardens, and extends

Its love-inviting ſhades towards your camp,

You'll bend your evening ſteps, you'll there behold

Whom I forbear to name.—Theſe ears imbib'd

The whiſper'd aſſignation, as unſeen

I loiter'd near.—The impulſe of the moment,

Bade me convey to thee th' ingrateful ſecret.

If I did wrong, forgive me for the motive!

CLEOMBROTUS,

[48]

(eagerly.)

Amphares!—I'll be calm.—Yet I'm not touch'd.

Who is the villain? tell me that.—His name!

[impetuouſly.

AMPHARES.

You'll know—

CLEOMBROTUS.

Trifle not! By heaven it were more ſafe to tread

Upon the burniſh'd adder, than to halt

An inſtant on my rous'd ſuſpicion.—Tell me!

AMPHARES.

Thou know'ſt Cephiſus; on whoſe downy cheek

The half-blown bloſſom ſpreads its doubtful red;

His tuneful voice ſeems the firſt notes of love,

And his light form beſpeaks a Sylvan god.

Him wilt thou find—

CLEOMBROTUS.

Enough! adieu Amphares!

Think not I harbour doubts; but I will prove—

For Chelonice's ſake, I'll prove this night—

Farewel! eſcort this ſtranger to the walls.

AMPHARES.

Evening's firſt ſhades is the appointed period.

This, and the watch word, Ceres, let's you paſs.

[giving a jewel.

CLEOMBROTUS.

I will be there before it's ſhades.

AMPHARES.

[49]

Farewel!

[Exit.

CLEOMBROTUS.

The air's too cloſe.—Now I can breathe again.

His preſence ſeem'd to oppreſs me, and prevent

The act of reſpiration.—Yet I'm not well.

Can this be jealouſy—ſuſpicion? What?

Of Chelonice? Oh my beloved! ſooner

Could I ſuſpect that—but he heard the whiſper.

Whiſper—who whiſper'd? not my Chelonice.

No ear but mine ere drank the 'witching murmurs

Of her chaſte lips; or if there has—Oh Gods!

The tortures of whole ages are compriſed

In that one thought.—If there has!—

My brain ſeems ſplitting.—Oh thou ſooty night!

Haſten thy ebon ſhades; enwrap the world

In tenfold darkneſs! not a glimm'ring ſtar

Suffer to throw it's beams from thy thick mantle,

That quick on my diſhonour, my revenge

May dart with light'ning's certainty, and blaſt them!

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

[50]

The Palace.

Enter Amphares haſtily, followed by Nicrates.

AMPHARES.

Suſpicious brother!

[petulantly.

NICRATES.

True; I am ſuſpicious.

Your haſty viſit to Cleombrotus,

Whom you profeſs to envy, and to hate;

Th' impatient ſteps with which you ſeek the king;

That fiery thoughtfulneſs within your eye,

Which ever indicates ſome foſter'd evil—

Give my ſuſpicions life.—Thus your eye roll'd

Whilſt planning death for the immortal Agis;

And ſuch the brow you wore, this early day,

When by your arts poſſeſs'd, the wretched king,

Inſtead of bleſſings, gave his daughter chains.

AMPHARES.

If thou believ'ſt, that I have power, and will,

To cruſh to earth the beings who offend me,

Why ſo licentious in reproof? If Agis

Thron'd as he was within his people's hearts,

[51] Was from their boſoms dragg'd; if Chelonice,

Belov'd to dotage by her tyrant father,

Seeks at my bidding, patience in a priſon—

What fate waits thee? Why urge the venom'd ſting,

Fatal to Agis, and to Chelonice?

NICRATES.

Thy threat appals me not; thy venom'd ſting

May reach my heart, but ſhall not ſhake my virtue.

I've not been taught to fear to give reproof

For evil deeds, though acted by a brother;

And ſhould'ſt thou dare to ſkreen thy guilty brows

Within the awful circle of a crown,

Then my reproofs ſhall glow with new found bitterneſs,

And what the brother ſcorns, ſhall pierce the king.

AMPHARES.

Accept my caution, and beware! Thou ſpeak'ſt

In words, good brother! Monarchs ſpeak in deeds.

Leonidas approaches.

[He enters.

LEONIDAS.

Oh Amphares!

Thy rapid ſteps were wing'd by my deſires—

So ſhort the time they've aſk'd! Leave us, Nicrates;

Secrets of ſtate demand this hour in privacy.

[Exit Nicrates.

When expectation pants, the form of queſtions

Appears too cold to ſuit its ardors. Speak.

Amphares, ſpeak to my impatient thoughts!

AMPHARES.

[52]

Should all your hopes be met with the ſucceſs

Which crown'd my embaſſy, 'twould rank Leonidas

Moſt fortunate of kings.

LEONIDAS.

Is the wolf ſnared?

AMPHARES.

Not ſnared, but ruſhing eager to the toils.

LEONIDAS.

Come to my heart! Shall he eſcape the toils?

AMPHARES.

Yes, as the dove eſcapes the eagle's pounce,

When borne aloft, ſhe trembles in the clouds.

LEONIDAS.

What can reward thee? But explain, Amphares;

Unfold the arts, which triumph'd o'er his caution.

AMPHARES.

'Tis known, Cleombrotus, tho' bold as ſoldier,

Bears all the lover's weakneſs in his heart—

Doating t' exceſs on charming Chelonice.

Exceſs of love—how eaſy to make jealous!

I talk'd of rivals, nam'd the fated grove,

As the dear ſpot where lawleſs cupids reign,

And ſing their wanton paeans to diſhonour.

LEONIDAS.

(eagerly.)

He will be there?

AMPHARES.

[53]

Yes, with night's earlieſt ſhades.

LEONIDAS.

And thou wilt meet him there?

AMPHARES.

Is't your command?

LEONIDAS.

It is my earneſt wiſh, my ardent hope.

Are theſe not ſrong enough, to urge thy arm?

Then think of thy reward—'tis Chelonice.

Her widow'd bed ſhall know no lord but thee,

Son of my choice, and partner of my throne!

AMPHARES.

Hear, Jupiter! bear witneſs to the vow!

And now by Sparta's guardian god I ſwear

Not to behold thee, 'till this loyal arm

Hath rooted from the earth the thorn which wounds thee.

LEONIDAS.

Oh time! compreſs each intermediate hour

Into a point, that I may leap at once

O'er the wide chaſm of anxious expectation,

Into the hour of triumph, or deſpair!

AMPHARES.

Not hours, but minutes, form the dreaded chaſm.

The ſun already hath his axle quench'd

Beneath the turb'lent flood; and when he next

[54] Shall ſpread his gorgeous mantle o'er the ſkies,

Thy foes, Leonidas, he ſhall behold

Melt like the ſilver drops his ardent beam

Draws from the earth, then diſſipates in air.

LEONIDAS.

I reſt me there! farewell! remember Chelonice!

[Exeunt.

Scene changes to the Priſon.

CHELONICE enters from the Flat. The child aſleep on a Pallet. She goes to him.

CHELONICE.

Still preſs thy poppies on his humid brow,

Sweet ſleep! Bleſt in thy arms, nor priſon walls,

Nor chains, nor parent's cruelty, have power

To give one pang. 'Tis to reflective minds,

To ſenſe awaken'd in the madd'ning ſoul,

That miſery appears, in all its fulneſs.

Celeſtial powers! Ye know why we were call'd

From ſenſeleſs nothing, into conſcious life;

Ye know, why ye beſtow'd the nerve to agonize,

The heart to rend; and thoſe contending paſſions

Which reſtleſsly oppoſe, and vex each other!

What are thoſe chains that bind my paſſive arms,

Compared to thoſe which hold my mind enſlav'd?

They ſay the mind is free—miſtaking caſuiſts!

Muſt it not mourn, rejoice, regret, deſpair,

E'en as our PASSIONS pleaſe? thoſe lordly paſſions,

[55] Who, ſpite of vaunted reaſon, hold the ſceptre,

And keep the obedient ſoul in cloſe ſubjection.—

My ſweet one wakes! How now, my lovely boy?

Art thou refreſh'd? thy ſlumber has been long.

CHILD.

Would it were longer! for I've had ſuch dreams,

Such pretty dreams! that I am griev'd to wake.

I thought, dear mother! that this gloomy place

Became a palace; and thoſe wicked chains

That make me cry to look at them, dropt off.

Oh, let me tear them off!—Were I a man,

I ſhould be ſtrong enough, but now they mock me.

CHELONICE.

Regard them not, my love!—The chains of gold

Upon the neck of power, or thoſe of ſteel

Upon the captive's arm, are yet but chains;

And neither, mark the happineſs within.

NICRATES.

(without.)

Oppoſe me not; admittance I muſt have—

I'll anſwer't to the king.

CHELONICE.

Who then is this,

That ſpite of oppoſition makes his viſits

To the ſad inmates of a dreary dungeon?

NICRATES.

(entering.)

Oh Princeſs!

CHELONICE.

[56]

'Tis Nicrates! generous youth;

Why will you riſk offence, to ſpeak your pity,

Where pity's tend'reſt drops muſt fall in vain?

NICRATES.

Alas! 'tis not to pity that I come;

Though thus to ſee you, royal, virtuous lady!

Would force a ſigh from boſoms ſtrange to pity.

I come to aſk your counſel; to inform you

Of things ſo dreadful, that they will demand

All the tried firmneſs of your noble mind,

To bear with calmneſs.

CHELONICE.

Hold! forbear a moment!

What may this evil be?—breathe not a ſound!

Yet—yes, now I am firm.—Speak then, my friend,

Whilſt I lift up my heart to heaven, for fortitude!

NICRATES.

Oh that in gentle terms, and ſoft gradations,

I might unfold the torturing tale! But time

Too cloſely preſſes; for this very hour,

Unleſs the guardian genius of thy huſband

Should grant to thee ſome ſudden inſpiration

By which to ſave him—Oh, look not thus wildly!

Your apprehenſive mind perceives the ill—

Command me how to act.

CHELONICE.

Where is my huſband?

[Breathleſs.

NICRATES.

[57]

Advancing to the ſnare, my brother's hand

Hath ſpread to catch him.—Deceiv'd into belief

That thou'rt unchaſte; and that the grove—

CHELONICE

(ſhrieks).

The grove!

I ſee it all—oh murd'rous perſeverance!

Theſe chains—I'll inſtant fly—tear off thoſe chains!

Have I—oh proud of heart! contemn'd them? Now,

Yes, now I feel their weight—they hold me here;

They're fate—they're fate to my Cleombrotus!

NICRATES.

Oh, princeſs! recollect—

CHELONICE.

I'll paſs the guards;

They cannot, dare not—

NICRATES.

The attempt is fruitleſs.

Their lives muſt anſwer ſhould they let you paſs;

Judge then if this heart-piercing agony,

Or all the eloquence inſpired by grief,

Can tempt their diſobedience to the king?

CHELONICE.

Inſenſate ſtones! burſt from your cement ribs.

Ye bars, ye flints, have ye no ears for grief?

Oh, for one little breach, thro' which to force

This wretched frame.—Vain—'tis in vain! here fix'd

[58] Here tortured, I muſt ſtay! But where's my father?

[Eagerly.

My father, did I ſay—oh, filiacide!

NICRATES.

He and Amphares—brother, he's no more!

Parted but now.—I'd orders to avoid them;

Yet ſtay'd within the ear of all that paſs'd,

Then haſten'd to your preſence.

CHELONICE.

To the grove!

Hence! fly from me, and bend your eag'reſt ſteps,

To where the murd'rer lingers for his prey.

Save my Cleombrotus! ſhew him his danger;

But oh, be tender to a father's name!

NICRATES.

I will obey you.

CHELONICE.

He hath been deceiv'd.

Amphares is ambitious, and his arts

Leonidas's noble mind hath bow'd to;

Remember this! nor let my huſband's heart

Too deeply feel the errors of my father!

Oh come, my ſon! within our diſmal cell,

Prone on the earth we'll ſupplicate the Gods.

The ſacrifice muſt be heart-rending groans;

And for libations—ſurely from our eyes

Such ſorrowing ſtreams will flow, that tho' unhallow'd

The pitying heavens ſhall accept the waſte,

And ſcant our meaſure of encreaſing woes!

[Exeunt.

[59]

Scene changes to the Grove.

Enter CLEOMBROTUS.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Oh ye mild Zephyrs, why ſo ſweetly breathe?

Why gently undulates the ſcented air?

To ſuch a tortured wretch ye ſhould be hurricanes!

Theſe glades, with agonizing fear, I tread;

Purſue their mazes with ſuch pow'rful horror

As the mad prieſteſs feels, when to her ſoul

The Demon whiſpers forth unknown events.

The day yet lingers; but within theſe woods

Where eager night imprints her earlieſt ſteps,

Adult'rous love, ſhould fearleſs ſeek it's mate

It may be ſlander.—Oh! to be aſſured,

The gew-gaw crown of Sparta, the dominion

Of the wide Univerſe—what ſound is that?—

Again! be faithful then my ear, and guide me!

[Exit.

Enter AMPHARES.

AMPHARES.

Theſe gloomy ſhades foreſtall the night, and jealouſy

E'er this, hath brought my prey within my graſp.

Now then, Cleombrotus, I do forgive thee;

Forgive thy glorious fate that puſh'd thee on

To regal power, and chain'd me down, thy ſubject.

This hour, thy crown, thy wife, thy life, are mine!

Why linger then, to ſeize my bright rewards?

[60] In which embower'd receſs, doth fate ordain

The earth ſhall drink his blood? This way, I'm drawn.

By heaven I'd miſs'd him! if my eyes are true,

The baſe of yonder ſtatue is his reſt—

A ſtatue, now, himſelf!

[Exit, following Cleombrotus.

(After a pauſe AMPHARES re-enters.)

Fate, thou art juſt!

And from my reeking point, accept the drops

Which flow'd a moment ſince, in kingly veins!

(A groan)

A groan! then 'tis his laſt, for ſure I am,

This crimſon'd ſteel was in his vitals buried.

Why dread then to provoke the arm, Leonidas,

Thou'ſt taught to murder!

[Exit.

Enter NICRATES, wounded, and leaning on bis ſword.

NICRATES.

Stay! oh ſtay thou fratricide!

He's gone, and thinks his villainy complete.

I cannot further.

(ſinks down)

'Twas a ſure aim'd blow,

Tho' not within that heart he purpos'd.—Oh!

Enter CLEOMBROTUS.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Thoſe are the moans of death, and not of love.

What wretch art thou?

NICRATES.

[61]

Art thou Cleombrotus?

CLEOMBROTUS.

I am.

NICRATES.

I then have ſav'd thee—ſent by Chelonice

To warn thee of approaching death, which now

Hath ſeiz'd on me; and I rejoice my prince,

That—oh—

CLEOMBROTUS.

Stop not dear youth, whoe'er thou art;

And who thou art, this failing light denies me.

NICRATES.

I am his brother by whoſe arm I dye;

He loves the princeſs and would reach thy crown.

Here he appointed thee to meet his ſword—

But plunged it haply, in a meaner boſom.

Oh fly this ſpot—it is Nicrates bids thee.

CLEOMBROTUS.

The brother of Amphares!—mighty Gods!

His arm that pierc'd thee thus?

NICRATES.

It was Amphares!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Stiff'ning with horror, ſcarcely can I queſtion thee—

—Yet breathe one word—O! where is Chelonice!

NICRATES.

[62]

Chain'd and impriſon'd by—oh—

CLEOMBROTUS.

Chain'd and impriſon'd! oh diſtraction! ſpeak!

Yet let thy fleeting ſpirit ſtay! oh tell me—

Alas his ſpirit is already fled,

[Taking his hand.

And I can know no more.—What would I know?

Do I not know Amphares for a villain?

Do I not know my Chelonice's ſpotleſs?—

My heart muſt drink that charming tranſport in,

Tho' it's ſoft object ſighs within a priſon.

Oh hapleſs youth!—but I've no time to mourn—

Where ſeek Amphares? Where ſhall vengeance find

It's proper object? Shall I ſeek her dungeon,

Or her traducer's heart?—Oh my rous'd ſpirits!

Blindly I'll follow to fulfil my fate,

Where e'er your impulſe leads.—Guide me to vengeance,

Or to Chelonice!

END OF THE FOURTH ACT.

ACT V. SCENE I.

[63]

The Priſon.

Enter Leonidas and Amphares, followed by an an Officer.

LEONIDAS.

(to the Officer.)

Inform the princeſs, that her father comes

To break her chains, and claſp her to his boſom.

[Exit officer through the flat.

I dread the mighty tumults of her grief,

When on her widow'd heart, the woe ſhall burſt.

AMPHARES.

Surely not ſudden, ſhould the tale of woe

Be truſted to her heart.—Let her firſt, taſte

The bleſſings of your love.—By ſoft degrees

Prepare her for her loſs, and for the vows,

My raptur'd pulſe beat eagerly to pay.

LEONIDAS.

My tend'reſt cares ſhall ſoothe her to repoſe;

For well, Amphares, doſt thou know my ſoul

Delights in Chelonice.—Now farewel

To thoſe keen jealouſies, which have ſo long

Poiſon'd the tender flow of love parental!

Cleombrotus is now no more my rival;

[64] And Chelonice now no more ſhall know

The ſoul-felt anguiſh of her father's frowns.

(Chelonice enters, looking wildly.)

Oh my lov'd child! the bonds the king commanded,

Thy father, thus impatient, burſts aſunder!

CHELONICE.

(to Amphares.)

Where is my huſband? Murderer! ſay where?

Why ſtart'ſt thou thus?

AMPHARES.

Why queſtion me, fair princeſs?

Is not Cleombrotus before our walls,

Leading the army which will level them?

CHELONICE.

Is he? is he not in the grove? ſay pale one!

Oh that hue! guilt ſpeaks loudly in thy cheek—

I go to ſeek him!

[Exit.

LEONIDAS.

Amazement! the grove—

Cleombrotus!—

AMPHARES.

Betrayed! but 'tis impoſſible!

Some deity's againſt us, or the dreams

Philoſophy has blown about the world

Are true.—The ſoul ſurvives its humbler part,

And his muſt have reveal'd our ſacred ſecret.

[65] Enter SARPEDON.

SARPEDON,

(to Leonidas.)

Pardon, that thus unbid, I ruſh before thee!

Amphares, thee I ſought;—murder's diſcover'd.

AMPHARES.

What murded? Why to me are all the tales

Of murder pointed? Can't Spartan bleed,

But ſtrait the public eye is bent on me?

SARPEDON.

Forgive me!

[going.

LEONIDAS.

Stay! whoſe death would'ſt thou diſcover?

SARPEDON.

That of Nicrates.

AMPHARES.

Nicrates!—what—my brother?

SARPEDON.

It is too true; for Lacedemon boaſts not

A nobler gifted youth.

LEONIDAS.

Well haſt thou ſaid,

Whoſe is the guilt?

SARPEDON.

Th' aſſaſſin's fled unknown.

AMPHARES.

[66]

Unknown, and fled.—Then follow him, ye gods,

Whatever land his guilty feet ſhall preſs!

Where fell my brother?

SARPEDON.

As I ſearch'd the grove,

My evening duty—I obſerv'd the baſe

Of Phocion's ſtatue, reeking with warm blood.

I trac'd the ſanguine ſteps, and found too ſoon,

The lifeleſs body whence the blood had flown.

AMPHARES,

(wildly.)

The body was not his—ſay, art—impoſſible!

Nicrates bled not there!

SARPEDON.

Alas! full well

Thoſe eyes each feature knew, whilſt from his neck

This honour'd badge I took, given him by Agis.

AMPHARES.

Go! thou'ſt done well.

[Exit Sarpedon.

LEONIDAS.

Why breathleſs now, Amphares?

AMPHARES.

Why breathing now, thou rather ſhould'ſt enquire:

I've ſlain my brother.

[groans.

LEONIDAS.

Slain him!

AMPHARES.

[67]

I'm his murd'rer.

Start not at that.—Leonidas! our enemy

Yet lives.—Curſe the deluding night! The baſe

Of Phocion's ſtatue, was the ſpot, where I

Diſcern'd him as I judged; and where this arm

Plung'd in his heart the inſtrument of death.

LEONIDAS.

Thou pray'dſt the Gods to curfe thy brother's murd'rer;

The prayer was juſt—ſpeed it, ye winds, to heaven.

Fool! this the end of all thy perfidies?

Thou, he to wear a crown, and wed my daughter!

Avoid my ſight, ill-fated man, and bid

Ambition quit a mind whoſe faculties

Are ſuited to the humbleſt ſtate; nor dare

To looſe thy thoughts, again, towards a throne!

[Exit.

AMPHARES.

Revenge! come thou; abſorb thoſe humble faculties!

Ambition, and my hatred both are croſs'd;

Revenge be now the paſſion of my heart!

Oh! I will cheriſh it, as the mad lover

Nurſes the paſſion which undoes his peace.

It ſhall be miſtreſs, and my ſoul's dear tyrant;

I'll own no thought, that's not inſpir'd by her,

And to her bidding, dedicate my life—

A ſhort one perhaps; yet ſhall its aim be glorious!

[Exit.

[68]

Scene, a Colonade in the Palace.

Enter SARPEDON, followed by others.

SARPEDON.

(ſpeaking as he enters.)

Purſue not me! haſte thro' each avenue

And ev'ry ſtreet; where wrapt in falſe ſecurity

Our citizens repoſe.—I'll to the priſon,

Where but a moment ſince I left the king—

Alas! that priſon may be ſoon his home!

[Exit.

Enter CLEOMBROTUS.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Oh well known haunts, vainly I trace your bounds!

The curs'd Amphares doth not meet my eyes;

Nor can I know what gloomy tower withholds

From their fond gaze, the object of his ſlanders.

Hah! ſure 'tis ſhe, who moves at diſtance hither.

It cannot be—how hath ſhe gain'd her freedom?

It is—'tis ſhe! that graceful form, that ſtep,

That intereſting air, diſtinguiſh her

Alone! Shall I await her here? oh no;

As eager zephyrs fly to kiſs the roſe,

I, to the ſweeter boſom of my love!

[Exit, and after a pauſe re-enters with Chelonice.

Thy father broke thy chains, thy huſband gives thee

New ones! gives thee a living priſon! Oh

My Chelonice! thus enchain'd, impriſon'd,

Thou ſhalt for ever dwell, nor wiſh for liberty!

CHELONICE.

[69]

O! my Cleombrotus, I ſcarce believe

That 'tis thy arm enfolds me.—My dear lord!

Thy Chelonice's ſteps e'en now were bent

Towards a ſpot where my ſad heart foreboded—

I cannot bear the image!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Oh my ſoft love!

How much thy tenderneſs o'erpays my wrongs!

Here's one approaches.

CHELONICE.

Then retire, my lord!

It were not ſafe, he ſhould behold thee here.

[Exit Cleombrotus.

Enter SARPEDON.

SARPEDON.

Where, Madam, is the king?

CHELONICE.

Whence is thy haſte?

SARPEDON.

Part of the army of Cleombrotus

Beſet our walls;—they have begun th' attack,

And with a fury, which beſpeaks ſtrong confidence

That our reſiſtance will be ſhort.—The reſt

Advance not yet.—Princeſs, forgive my haſte!

I ſeek Leonidas.

[Exit.

CHELONICE.

[70]

Can I forgive thy tidings?

Approach, thou falſe one! Is it thus, the man

[Enter Cleombrotus.

Aſpiring to be king, obſerves his oaths?

Is't thus thou haſt preſerv'd thy vow'd ſuſpenſion?

Stealing, like midnight ruffians, to the hoard,

From whence the conſcious day had kept ye, trembling!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Well doſt thou chide, were thy dear chiding juſt.

By Heaven the wretch who hath infring'd the oaths,

Which bound the promiſe thou extorted'ſt from me,

Shall by my ſword be taught, how I deteſt

So black a perfidy.—It had ne'er been,

Had not Amphares' arts ſeduced me hither.

This moment in my camp, I had, impatient,

Waited thoſe terms of peace thou bid'ſt me hope.

Mezentius is the man.—I'll inſtant ſeek him.

(going.)

CHELONICE.

Go then—yet ſtay!—

CLEOMBROTUS.

Boundleſs as is thy power,

In ſuch a cauſe I can reſiſt thy prayers,

Thy tears, thy love!—Thou haſt a rival here;

The only rival thou canſt ever dread—

'Tis HONOUR; and what ſhe ſuggeſts, my ſoul

Hath never dared debate on. Her beheſts

Are not confined to rules—they're ſacred impulſes,

[71] The ſpirit of morality, ſublimed;

Which, if we ſtay to analize, is loſt.

[Exit.

CHELONICE.

Go then, obey her impulſe, and chaſtiſe—

My father here?

[Enter Leonidas, ſpeaking.

LEONIDAS.

Fly then, and bid Demophilus

Lead his battalion quickly to the breach;

I'll follow with my own.—Who was it, daughter,

Abruptly parted hence, as I appear'd?

CHELONICE.

My father!

LEONIDAS.

Nay, why doſt thou heſitate?

Why not confeſs it was my mortal foe?

'Twas he, whoſe troops, e'en at this living inſtant,

Beſet thy aged father—'twas Cleombrotus.

He whoſe keen ſword is levell'd at my boſom,

This inſtant left my daughter's.

CHELONICE.

Harſh reproach!

He knew not of th' attack his troops have made,

And left me, but to puniſh their raſh leader.

LEONIDAS.

Doſt thou believe him? Oh, thou eaſy one!

His troops beſet our walls, without command!

(contemptuouſly.)

CHELONICE.

[72]

So he, in truth, hath ſworn.

LEONIDAS.

And what men ſwear,

The fate of women binds them to believe.

What wilt believe, when thou ſhalt ſee him here,

Staining thoſe pillars with my blood?

CHELONICE.

Oh Heaven!

LEONIDAS.

How wilt thou greet my murd'rer?

CHELONICE.

As my foe;

As him I'm bound to curſe; and then I'll join thee,

Bleeding, and breathleſs, on thy funeral pile.

LEONIDAS.

Oh my dear child! come once more to my arms!

And hear me, whilſt I ſwear in this ſad moment,

—Perhaps the laſt we e'er ſhall taſte together—

That the vaſt ruin which this hour marks out,

The loſs of empire, liberty, and life,

Do not afflict my ſoul with half the anguiſh

Thy diſobedience would beſtow. Thy love,

Thy filial tenderneſs, is the ſole cordial

Of my declining days. Cruel I've ſeem'd,

Yet oh, parental love hath ne'er one inſtant

Loſt its ſweet influence in this beating heart.

CHELONICE.

[73]

Oh, how do I ſurvive this moment?

Is this our parting moment? If it be,

Bear witneſs to my oft repeated vow,

Thy conqueror ſhall never be my huſband;

This boſom never ſhelter him, whoſe ſword

Shall pierce my father's! Bleſs me now—oh bleſs me!

A power unknown, ſeems to bear down my mind—

Heaven grant, it be not madneſs!

LEONIDAS.

I do bleſs thee;

My ſoul, my child, doth bleſs thee.—Now retire.

[She goes, he gazes after her.

I'd fain indulge my eyes a little longer,

Leſt they ſhould ſhortly ſhut her out for ever.

What can this be, which cruel! thus unnerves me?

Why loiter here? all energies are loſt.

Where are the feelings of the king and ſoldier?

[A violent craſhing and noiſe.

That noiſe, which ſpeaks our wall's demoliſhing,

And Sparta's ruin, cannot rouſe my blood.

Oh age, thou curſe of nature! in ill hour

Thou doſt evince thy power.

Enter SARPEDON, and Citizens.

SARPEDON.

Joy, great Leonidas!

LEONIDAS.

Joy! and to me?

Citizen.

[74]

The enemy's repuls'd;

They fly before thy arms.

LEONIDAS.

How!

SARPEDON.

Oh! liſten yet—

Cleombrotus himſelf oppoſed his ſoldiers,

And forc'd his conqu'ring troops back from the breach.

LEONIDAS.

Thou deal'ſt in wonders! he force back his troops!

SARPEDON.

They were his Thracian band, led by Mezentius,

Who fell beneath Cleombrotus's arm.

Soon as they ſaw their leader prone, they fled.

LEONIDAS.

They fled! Oh, had Cleombrotus but ſtaid,

The fortune of the hour had been complete.

SARPEDON.

Still are thy wiſhes proſperous! Cleombrotus

Beheld Amphares, and ſtrait ruſh'd towards him,

But inſtant was cloſed in;—when like the fork

The lightning darts, which cleaves the ſtubborn rock

And nought reſiſts, ſo pierc'd his way, Cleombrotus,

And fled for ſhelter to Minerva's temple.

LEONIDAS.

[75]

Gods, ye are juſt! Aſtrea hath not fled

Back to her native heaven! Mark'ſt thou, Sarpedon?

Scarcely ten full-orb'd moons have o'er our fields

Thrown their nocturnal brightneſs, ſince myſelf,

Driven by his faction, fled for ſanctuary

To that ſame temple, which now ſhelters him.

SARPEDON.

I do remember't well.

LEONIDAS.

It makes my blood

Flow warm again within my veins.—I thought

A moment ſince, the curſe of age, chill cowardice

Had ſeized upon my heart; but now I find

It was deſpair, pouring her torpid urn

Thro' every pulſe.—Bright hope hath chas'd her hence,

I feel again the animating fires

That have ſo oft conſum'd the foes of Sparta.

Let us away—one foe doth yet remain,

When he's no more, Leonidas will be immortal!

[Exeunt.

Scene the Temple.

Preſent, the High Prieſt and others.

HIGH PRIEST.

Who knocks ſo loud; claiming the ſanctuary

Of our bright goddeſs?

A PRIEST,

(entering.)

'Tis Cleombrotus;

He who was late our prince, now ſeeks a refuge

Beneath this hallow'd dome.

HIGH PRIEST.

[76]

Oh the viciſſitudes

Of human fate! they lift men now aloft,

Then daſh them down, o'erwhelm'd with bitter ruin.

Hither advance, Cleombrotus, nor fear thy foes,

The altar of Minerva will protect thee.

CLEOMBROTUS,

(enters.)

I bend to thee, great Pallas! and to thee,

Her ſov'reign Pontiff.—Father! late thou ſaw'ſt

My feat a throne; now thou beholdeſt me

Flying unarm'd, before the ſlaves I govern'd,

And ſeeking refuge in your temple.

HIGH PRIEST.

Son!

'Tis not to vulgar minds, the gods decree

Such ſtrong reverſes.—When they form a ſoul

To taſte and bear th' extremes of human fortune,

'Tis form'd of fortitude! of wiſdom! virtue!

Adore thoſe then, who thus have form'd thy ſoul,

Nor grudge tne taſteleſs eaſe beſtow'd on men

Of lower faculties, and meaner virtues.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Father! I'm taught.

ATTALUS.

(without.)

Make way—way for the king!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Hah! my foe.

HIGH PRIEST.

[77]

Prince! beneath this ſacred roof

Foes loſe their ſtings, and enmity its ſcourge;—

Even to menace, in this place, is ſacrilege.

Enter LEONIDAS.

LEONIDAS.

Have I then found thee?

CLEOMEROTUS.

Have I met thee here?

Would 'twere another place!

LEONIDAS.

The place is fortunate.

The rights of kings are ſacred, and unbounded;

Vicegerents from the gods, their power is delegated,

And their temples ours.—Yet I'll not imbue

The ſacred pavement with thy rebel blood;—

Bear him away! and inſtant on the block

Sever his head.

HIGH PRIEST.

He claims the ſanctuary.

LEONIDAS.

Bold prieſt, retire; and with thee all thy hirelings!

[Exit prieſts.

Soldiers! your duty;—why advance ye not?

ATTALUS.

[78]

The altar grants him its protection.

LEONIDAS.

Fools!

Shall I throw back the fortune of this day

Becauſe ye're ſcruple bound.—Now by my fate

Cleombrotus I ſwear, I'll be the prieſt

To offer thee a ſacrifice to Pallas!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Nay then!—forgive me goddeſs! from thy altar

[flying to the altar.

I ſeize the ſacred knife; and with it guard the life

Thy temple hath protected.

Enter Chelonice, followed by Attendants with the Child.

CHELONICE.

Arm'd!

Againſt my father!

[Snatches the knife.

LEONIDAS.

Bleſs my Chelonice!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Oh, was this well?

[Sternly.

LEONIDAS.

Now bear him to his death.

CHELONICE.

His death, my father! Oh, remember now,

If I'd e'er power within thy ſoul, remember!

[79] How, on this ſacred ſpot, where now we ſtand,

Succeſſive days and nights, beneath thy feet,

I wept, and watch'd and pour'd my ſoul in prayer;

When hither thou wert driven by th' Ephori,

Who made my huſband king.—I left his throne,

I ſcorn'd his ſplendid diadem, and here

For ever I had ſtaid, had not thy Fate

Again reſtor'd thee to thy royal feat.

LEONIDAS.

Oh my Chelonice, know I not thy worth,

Thy piety, thy unexampled love!

CHELONICE.

If they are dear to thee, grant this one boon!

Spare me my huſband's life!

LEONIDAS.

Impoſſible!

CHELONICE.

Receive me Goddeſs! at thy ſhrine!

For here forever I'll remain, nor quit,

So bleſs me Pallas! as—

[Goes towards the altar.

LEONIDAS.

Ceaſe thy raſh vow!

Without thee, what is royalty? thus then

I will reward thy long-tried filial goodneſs—

Accept thy huſband's life, but be he baniſh'd;—

Baniſh'd to th' utmoſt iſland in our realm,

There guarded, and immured—

CLEOMBROTUS.

[80]

I ſcorn thy mercy—give me inſtant death!

CHELONICE.

Oh thou, ingrateful! Thus I bend, to bleſs thee.

LEONIDAS.

But that's not all—bring here the diadem!

(They bring it, he places it on CHELONICE's head.)

Bow to your Queen! Henceforward, ſovereign

She reigns with me.—Ye who would bounties aſk,

Or mercies taſte, 'tis thro' your Queen alone

You can know either.—Hail, Queen of Sparta!

A flouriſh of trumpets; attendants repeat,

Hail, Queen of Sparta!

CHELONICE.

Oh my dread father! lend me to expreſs

The joy and gratitude my heart diſtends with!

I ſee thee ſafe; thy enemies are fled,

And thou ſecure upon thy throne!—Oh Gods!

And I—I too am Queen; crown'd, and hail'd ſovereign!

And what's he yonder?

(With ſomething of ſcorn)

A poor exiled man!

Homeleſs, friendleſs, without a comforter,

Baniſh'd from Sparta.—Off thou vile toy!

[throwing away the crown.

My homeleſs, friendleſs, baniſh'd love, I'm thine!

I'll follow thee to deſert lands, or ſun-dried meads;

My arm ſhall pillow thee, my boſom reſt

Thy aching head, and lull thee to repoſe.

Child.

[81]

What, will you not be Queen?

CHELONICE.

No, I'm an exile;

And ſo art thou.—Come, lead us to the port,

From whence we bid adieu to Lacedemon.

[Leading the child and holding by her huſband.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Thou matchleſs woman!

LEONIDAS.

Moſt ungrateful daughter

Wilt leave me then to ſolitary age?

Abandon him who liv'd to cheriſh thee!

CHELONICE.

Not for whole worlds, wert thou not king again.

But how could I give joy to thee, myſelf

A wretch? My heart would ſtill be cold and joyleſs—

A wanderer, within my father's palace.

This is my home—my reſting place, and here

Will I forever dwell.

[Leaning on her huſband's boſom.

LEONIDAS.

Go then, thou ingrate!

And with thee take thy father's curſe.—May he

For whom thou ſacrific'ſt ſo much, reward thee

With ſcorn, neglect, and hatred! may he wring

Thy heart, and thus revenge my bitter pangs,

On thee who giv'ſt them!

[Exit.

CHELONICE.

[82]

Oh! Cleombrotus,

Canſt thou be this? Oh no! I read thy ſoul;

Through the ſoft dazzling-circle of thy eye

It ſpeaks immortal love!

CLEOMBROTUS.

Well haſt thou read!

And in that volume thou ſhalt read forever

Thy ſparkling virtues;—yes, they will illume

Theſe fading orbs, though time ſhould dim their beams,

Or quench the brighter flames that live in thine.

And when in ſome ambitious hour, my ſoul

Sickens for ſceptres, and revolves on crowns,

Th' alluring phantoms I will bid avaunt;

And ſeek the dearer empire of thy heart!—

There I will reign in arbitrary pomp,

And rule with all the tender tyranny of love.

CHELONICE.

Oh father, heareſt thou? what a bleſt baniſhment

Thou haſt decreed us! Inſtant we'll begin

To taſte thoſe joys, the marble colonades

Of regal domes, were never known to houſe.

Come my ſweet boy! thou wilt not learn in exile

The graceful arts of courts, but thou ſhalt learn

The higheſt art—the art to emulate

The deeds of dignity; the art to ſcorn

A vulgar act, though cloath'd in ermin'd robes,

Or ſweeping the proud train of diſtant ſtate!

[83]CHELONICE, ſupported by CLEOMBROTUS, leads her child.

—They go to the wing, follow'd by guards, &c. A noiſe without—they turn.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Whence thoſe deep groans?—ſurely the cry was death.

CHELONICE

(ſhrieks).

Oh Nature ſhield me in this horrid moment!

My father bleeding flies before Amphares—

Now, now Cleombrotus be true to Virtue

And ſave a parent!

LEONIDAS enters reeling, then ſinks and drops his ſword.

CHELONICE ſupports her father—CLEOMBROTUS ſnatches the ſword and meets AMPHARES.

CLEOMBROTUS.

Stay! behold a boſom

More meet than his, t' arreſt thy murd'rous ſword;

An arm more fit to give due chaſtiſement

To vices black as thine!

AMPHARES.

Within his boſom

My ſword already hath engrav'd revenge;

And when from thine its quivering point hath drawn

The ruddy ſtream, the crown of Lacedemon

Will glitter on the brow of ſcorn'd Amphares.

(They fight—AMPHARES falls.)

CLEOMBROTUS.

Thy brow muſt find its diadem in duſt.

Leonidas's ſword, urg'd by my arm

[84] Hath work'd a double vengeance.—This alone,

Could expiate thy crimes againſt the princeſs;

The blood now ruſhing from thy heart

Obliterates the ſtains, thy tongue imbued.

AMPHARES.

Oh, had my erring ſword—but 'tis too late—

Thy fortune triumphs—if my breath would hold

To utter all the curſes that I—oh—

[Dies.

CHELONICE.

Look up my father! ſtretched beneath thy feet

Amphares lies.—Cleombrotus—my huſband.—

With grateful pride I will repeat the ſound—

My huſband hath reveng'd thee on thy foe!

On then be cheer'd, and thro' long years to come.—

LEONIDAS.

Alas! nor years, nor inſtants, now remain.

The villain hath—oh Chelonice—

Yet, yet ſupport me! with my dying breath

I came to bleſs thee; to my cloſing eye

Be thou the laſt dear—oh thoſe bitter pangs!

Aſcend my throne.—Thy huſband hath reveng'd me—

The crown of Lacedemon and thy heart,

His rich rewards!—oh may ye—

[Dies.

CHELONICE.

Th' unfiniſh'd bleſſing ſinks upon his lips,

But wafts his ſoul to heaven.—O! awful hour,

I have no more a father!

[Groans.

(Continues knceling behind the body and bending over it.)

CLEOMBROTUS.

[85]

Cheriſh thy tears, and be thy ſorrows ſacred!

The voice of conſolation, now were groſs—

But SPARTANS bear ye witneſs to my life!

Your glory, and my Chelonice's bliſs

Are the ſole objects which ſhall hence engroſs it.

Bear ye the bleeding body to the palace,

And ſcreen it from the inſults of the croud,

Who now will triumph with indecent joy

O'er him whoſe nod a moment ſince, they worſhipp'd.

Ere I depart I'll ſacrifice to heaven;

And proſtrate will adore th' invelop'd will,

Which thus thro' darkneſs works our brighteſt days,

And darts his glory, o'er our thorny ways.

THE END.

Appendix A EPILOGUE

[]

WRITTEN BY MRS. COWLEY.

SPOKEN BY MRS. SIDDONS.

THINK you our Author copied from the life
In drawing ſuch a daughter—ſuch a wife?
Judging from what we know —(archly)—I'm half afraid
The Piece is fancy—yet I aſk your aid
To fix my judgment. Fairly try the cauſe,
Try it, by that ſublimeſt of all laws
An Engliſh Jury!—I recall the word—
Ha, ha, was ever mortal ſo abſurd?
'Twou'd half annihilate e'en me, with fears,
What!—try a Poet by his ſcribbling Peers?
Oh let the Court "take any other form,
"And my firm ſoul ſhall 'bide th' pitileſs ſtorm!"
Reſolve yourſelves to a Committee of the Houſe
And proſecute—yet ah! no palpitating mouſe
Would tremble more at ſtern Grimalkin's fury
Than I—ſhould brother bards compoſe our Jury,
No Wit cou'd ſave us, and no hope wou'd cheer,
Our Crimes wou'd be SO PLAIN, the caſe SO CLEAR *;
Mercy thrice bleſt! her power wou'd vainly try,
And GUILTY!—GUILTY!—DEATH! wou'd be the cry.

[]Well then, I'll make you all my Jury as you lit,
Ye dear Celeſtials! Gallery! Boxes! Pit!
I'm now a Pleader—Mark me pray—the ſame. Hum.
COUNSELLOR SIDDONS—do you know the name!
I have no Brief (ſighing and looking at her hands) 'tis true, but there my Caſe
By many a LEARNED Brother's, kept in face.
How many a white clear band, and powder'd tye,
That with the bloſſoms of the hawthorn vie,
Parade the Hall, and nod, and ſmile in vain; (nodding, ſmiling, &c.)
Attornies ſmile again—but don't retain.
Whilſt the Leviathans of laws rough ocean,
Diſtend their jaws, and gobble every motion.

But all this while I have forgot to plead;—
If your ſweet eyes ſpeak truth, I've now no need.
Our trembling hopes in their bright beams ſhall baſk,
You ſeem prepar'd to grant, all they can aſk;—
Your hands they aſk—ſuch thunders do not fright;
Repeat the peal once more, and then good night.

Appendix B The following NEW PIECES, writte by Mrs. COWLEY, may be had of Meſſrs. ROBINSON, Pater-noſter-Row.

[]

1. The RUNAWAY, a Comedy, Price 1s. 6d,
2. ALBINA, a Tragedy, 1s. 6d.
3. WHO'S THE DUPE? a Farce, 1s.
4. BELLE'S STRATAGEM, a Comedy, 1s. 6d.
5. WHICH IS THE MAN? a Comedy, 1s. 6d.
6. BOLD STROKE FOR A HUSBAND, a Comedy, 1s. 6d.
7. MORE WAYS THAN ONE, a Comedy, 1s. 6d.
8. A SCHOOL FOR GREYBEARDS, a Comedy, 1s. 6d.
9. Firſt Part of THE MAID OF ARRAGON, a Poem, 4to. 2s. 6d.
10. The SCOTTISH VILLAGE, a Poem, 4to. 2s.

Notes

In his Life of Agis.

This name, on the ſtage, is pronounced as four ſyllables. It was thought neceſſary to obſerve this, as the meaſure hardly any where fixes it.

The words printed in capitals are ſpoken in a grave ſonorous tone.

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Citation Suggestion for this Object: TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 3979 The fate of Sparta or the rival kings A tragedy As it is acted at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane By Mrs Cowley. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-5F86-3