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She'll fay, She's falfe, fhe's bafe, fhe's foul as | With beftial paffion woo'd your loathing fon.

Phædra.

Thef. Hadit thou been foul, had horrid violation Caft any ftains on purity like thine, They're wath'd already in the villain's blood : The very fword, his inftrument of horror, Ere this time drench'd in his incestuous heart, Hath done thee juftice, and aveng'd the crimes He us'd it to perform.

Enter Meffenger.

MT. Alas! my lord,

Ere this the prince is dead. I faw Cratander
Give him a fword; I faw him boldly take it,
Rear it on high, and point it to his breast.
With fteady hands, and with difdainful looks,
As one that fear'd not death, but fcorn'd to die,
And not in battle.-- A loud clamour follow'd;
And the furrounding foldiers hid from fight,
But all pronounc'd him dead.

Phad. Is he then dead?

Thef. Yes, yes, he's dead; and dead by my command.

And in this dreadful act of mournful justice

And when denied, with impious accufation
Sullied the luftre of his fhining honour;
Of my own crimes accus'd the faultless youth,
And with enfnaring wiles deftroyed that virtue
I tried in vain to shake.

Thef. Is he then guiltless?

Guiltlefs? then what art thou? and,O juft Heaven! What a detefted parricide is Thefeus!

Phæd. What am I? what indeed, but one more

black

Than earth or hell e'er bore! O horrid mixture
Of crimes and wocs, of parricide and incek,
Perjury, murder, to arm the erring father
Against the guiltlefs fon! O impious Lycon,
In what a hell of woes thy arts liave plung'd me!
Thef. Lycon-Here, guards.-O`moit aban
don'd villain!

Secure him, feize him, drag him piecemeal hither.
Enter Guards,

Gua. Who has, my lord, incurr'd your high difpleasure?

Thef. Who can it be, ye gods, but perjur'd Ly

con ?

I'm more renown'd than in my dear-bought lau-Who can infpire fuch ftorms of rage, but Lycon

rels.

Phad. Then thou'rt renown'd indeed.-O happy Thefeus!

O only worthy of the love of Phedra !
Hafte then, let's join our well-met hands together,
Unite for ever, and defy the gods

To fhew a pair fo eminently wretched.
Thef. Wretched! for what? for what the
world muft praise me,

For what the nations fhall adore my justice,
A villain's death?

Phad. Hippolitus a villain!

O, he was all his godlike fire could wish,
The pride of Theleus, and the hope of Crete.
Nor did the braveft of his godlike race
Tread with fuch early hopes the paths of honour.
Thef. What can this mean? declare, ambigu-
ous Phædra,

>

Say whence thefe fhifting gufts of clafhing rage
Why are thy doubted fpeeches dark and troubled,
As Cretan feas when vex'd by warring winds?
Why is a villain, with alternate paílion,
Accus'd and prais'd, detefted and deplor'd!
Phæd. Cart thou not guess?

Canft thou not read it in my furious paffions,
In all the wild diforders of my foul?
Couldst thou not fee it in the noble warmth
That urg'd the darling youth to acts of honour?
Couldst thou not find it in the gen'rous truth
Which sparkled in his eyes, and open'd in his
face?

Couldft not perceive it in the chafte reserve,
In every word and look, each godlike act,
Couldst thou not fee Hippolitus was guiltless?
Thef. Guiltlefs! O all ye gods! what can this

mean?

Phad. Mean that the guilt is mine, that virtuous Phædra,

The maid's example, and the mation's theme,

Where has my fword left one fo black, but Ly

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Incestuous fury! execrable murd'refs!
Is there revenge on earth, or pain in hell?
Can art invent, or boiling rage fuggeft,
Ev'n endlefs torture, which thou shalt not fuffer?
Phad. And is there aught on earth I would
not fuffer?

O, were there vengeance equal to my crimes,
From any hands but mine; t' avenge try fate
Thou needft not claim it, mott unhappy youth,
I'd court the fierceft pains, and fue for tortures,
And Phædra's fuff'rings fhould atone for thine;
Ev'n now I fall a victim to thy wrongs;
Ev'n now a fatal draught works out my foul;
Ev'n now it curdles in my fhrinking veins
The lazy blood, and freezes at my heart.

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Of fordid rabbles, and infulting crowds;
Give me but life, and make that life moft wretched.
Phæd. Art thou fo base, so spiritlefs a flave?
Not fo the lovely youth thy arts have ruin'd,
Not fo he bore the fate to which y u doom'd him.
Thef. O abject villain !-Yet it gives me joy
To fee the fears that shake thy guilty foul,
Enhance thy crimes, and antedate thy woes.
O, how thou'lt howl thy fearful foul away!
While laughing crowds fhall echo to thy cries,
And make thy pains their fport. Hafte, hence,
away with him.

Drag him to all the torments earth can furnish;
Let him be rack'd and gafh'd, impal'd alive;
Then let the mangled monster, fix'd on high,
Grin o'er the fhouting crowds, and glut their

vengeance.

Hence! away!

[Lycon borne off. And is this all? and art thou not appeas'd? Will this atone for poor Hippolitus? O ungorg'd appetite! O rav'nous thirst Of a fon's blood! what, not a day, a moment? Phed. A day, a moment! O, thou shouldft

have ftaid

Years, ages, all the round of circling time,
Ere touch the life of that confummate youth.
Thef. And yet with joy I flew to his deftruction,
Boafted his fate, and triumph'd in his ruin.
Not this I promis'd to his dying mother,
When in her mortal pangs the fighing gave me
The laft cold kiffes from her trembling lips,
Her laft words now falt'ring from her tongue,
And reach'd her feeble wand'ring hands to mine;
When her last breath now quiv'ring at her mouth
Implor'd my goodnefs to her lovely fon,
To her Hippolitus. He, alas! defcends
An early victim to the lazy fhades,
(O Heaven and earth!) by Thefeus doom'd

defcends.

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I too must once more fee the burning fhore Of livid Acheron and black Cocytus, Whence no Alcides will releafe me now.

See, thro' the fable gates the black Cocytus
In fmoky circles rolls its fiery waves;
Hear, hear the ftunning harmonies of woe,
The din of rattling chains, of clafhing whips,
Of groans, or loud complaints, of piercing
fhrieks,

That wide thro' all its gloomy world refound.
How huge Mægara ftalks! what streaming fires
Blaze from her glaring eyes! what ferpents curl
In horrid wreaths, and hifs around her head!
Now, now the drags me to the bar of Minos:
See how the awful judges of the dead
Look ftead faft hate, and horrible difmay!
See, Minos turns away his loathing cyes;
Rage chokes his ftruggling words; the fatal urn
Drops from his trembling hand. O all ye gods!
What, Lycon here? O execrable villain!
Then am I still on earth? By Hell I am,
A fury now, a fcourge preferv'd for Lycon.
See, the juft beings offer to my vengeance
That impious flave. Now, Lycon, for revenge:
Thanks, Heaven, 'tis here. I'll ftrike it to his
heart.

[Miftaking Thefeus for Lycon, offers to flab bim. Gua. Heavens! 'tis your lord.

Phad. My lord! O equal Heaven! Muft each portentous moment rife in crimes, And fallying life go off in parricide? This glimple of reafon fome indulgent God Hath granted me to close the fcene of guilt. Then truft not thy flow drugs. Thus fure of Complete thy horrors.. And if this fuffice not, Thou Minos do the reft. [Stabs berfelf. Thef. Defp'rate to the laft-in ev'ry pallion furious.

death

Phæd. I afk not,

Nor do I hope from thee forgiveness, Thefeus;
But yet amidst my crimes remember ftill,
That my offence was not my nature's fault.
The wrath of Venus, which purfues our race,
First kindled in my breaft thofe guilty fires.
Refiftlefs goddefs, I confefs thy pow'r,
To thee I make libation of my blood.
Venus, avert thy hate-may wretched Phædra
Prove the laft victim of her fated line. [Dies.

Thef. At length fhe's quiet, fhe's dead :
And now earth bears not fuch a wretch as

Thefeus.

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The cries of infant Jove, I'll ftifle confcience,
And Nature's murmurs, in the din of arms.
But what are arms to me? is he not dead
For whom I fought for whom my hoary age
Glow'd with the boiling heat of youth in battle ?
How then to drag a wretched life beneath
An endless round of fill-returning woes,
And all the gnawing pangs of vain remorse?

Phad. Then why this ftay? Come on, let's What torment's this?-Therefore, O greatly

plunge together.

See, Hell fets wide its admantine gates.

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Live above all moft infinitely wretched.
Ifmena too!-Nay then, avenging Heaven
[Ifmena enters.
Hes vented all its rage.- -O wretched maid!
Why doft thou come to fwell my raging grief?
Why add to forrows, and embitter woes?
Why do thy mournful eyes upbraid my guilt?
Why thus recal to my afflicted foul
The fad remembrance of my godlike fon,
Of that deer youth my cruelty has murder'd ?
O gods, your reddeft bolts of fire
Had dealt lefs torment to my fuff'ring frame
Than that deftructive word hath given my heart.
Life yields beneath the found.

Ifm. Ruin'd! O all ye pow'rs! O awful
Thefeus!

Say, where's my lord? fay, where has fate difpos'd him?

O fpeak! the fear distracts me.
Thef. Gods! can I speak?

Can I declare his fate to his Ifmena!

O lovely maid! couldft thou admit of comfort,
Thou fhouldft for ever be my only care,
Work of my life, and labour of my foul.
For thee alone my forrows, lull'd, shall cease,
Ceafe for a while to mourn my murder'd fon;
For thee alone my fword once more fhall rage,
Rettore the crown of which it robbb'd your race.
Then let your grief give way to thoughts of
empire;

At thy own Athens reign. The happy crowd
Beneath the eafy yoke with pleasure bow,
And think in thee their own Minerva reigns.
I. Muft I then reign, nay, muft I live
without him?

Not fo, O godlike youth! you lev'd Iímena :
You, for her fake, refus'd the Cretan empite,
And yet a nobler gift, the royal Phædra.
Shall I then take a crown, a guilty crown,
From the relentlefs hand that doom'd thy

death?

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Thef. Be this thy doom,

To live for ever in Ifmena's arms.

Go, heavenly pair, and with your dazzling virtues,
Your courage, truth, your innocence and love,
Amaze and charm mankind; and rule that
empire,

For which in vain your rival fathers fought,
Ifm. O killing joy!

Hip. O ecftafy of blifs!

Am I poffefs'd at laft of my Ifmena?
Of that celestial maid, O pitying gods!
How fhall I thank your bounties for my
fuff rings,

For all my pains, and all the pangs I've borne ?
Since 'twas to them I owe divine Iimena,
To them I owe the dear confent of Thefeus.
Yet there's a pain lics heavy on my heart,
For the difaftrous fate of haplefs Phædra!
Thef. Deep was her anguifh for the wrongs
the did you.

She chofe to die; and in her death deplor'd
Your fate, and not her own.

Hip. I've heard it all. Unhappy Phædra!
O had not paffion fullied her renown,
None e'er on earth had thone with equal luftre!
So glorious liv'd, or fo lamented died.
Her faults were only faults of raging love,
Her virtues all her own.

Im. Unhappy Phædra!

Was there no other way, ye pitying pow'rs, No other way to crown Ifiena's love? Then must I ever mourn her cruel fate, And in the midst of my triumphant joy, [Offers to flab berfelf. Ev'n in my hero's arms, confels fome forrow. Enter Hippolitus. Thef. O tender maid! forbear with ill-tim'd

O! 'tis in death alone I can have cafe, And thus I find it.

Hip. O forbear, Ifmena!
Forbear, chafte maid, to wound thy tender bofom.
O Heaven and earth! fhould the refolve to die,
And fnatch all beauty from the widow'd earth?
Was it for me, ye gods! fhe'd fall a victim ?
Was it for me the'd die? O heavenly virgin!
Revive, Ifinena,

Return to light, to happiness, and love,
See fee thy own Hippolitus, who lives,
And hoses to live for thee.

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$50. The Killing of a Boar. OTWAY. FORTH from the thicket rufh'd another boar,

So large, he feem'd the tyrant of the woods,
With all his dreadful bristles rais'd up high;
They feem'd a grove of fpears upon his back:
Foaming he came at me, where I was pofted,
Whetting his huge long tufks, and gaping wide,
As he already had me for his prey;
Tiil, brandishing my well-pois'd javelin high,
With this bold executing arm I ftruck
The ugly brindled monster to the heart.

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§ 54. The firft Feats of a young Eagle. Row E. the eagle,

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That bears the thunder of our grandfire Jove,
With joy beholds his hardy youthful offspring
Forfake the neft, to try his tender pinions
In the wide untrack'd air; till, bolder grown,
Now like a whirlwind on a fhepherd's fold
He darts precipitate, and gripes the prey;
Or fixing on fome dragon's fcaly hide,
Eager of combat, and his future feast,

$51. Defeription of a populous City. YOUNG. Bears him aloft, reluctant, and in vain

THIS ancient city,

How wanton fits the,amidftnature's fimiles!
Nor from her higheft turret has to view
But golden landscapes and luxuriant fcenes,
A wafte of wealth, the ftore-loufe of the world;
Here fruitful vales far ftretching fly the fight,
There fails unnumber'd whiten all the ftream,
While from the banks full twenty thoufand cities
Survey their pride, and fee their gilded towers
Float on the waves, and break against the fhore.
-Various nations meet

As in a fea, yet not confin'd in space,
But ftreaming freely thro' the fpacious ftreets,
Which fend forth millions at each brazen gate;
Whene'er the trumpet calls, high over head
On the broad walls the chariots bound along.

§ 52. Rural Courtship. DRYDEN. HE preferr'd me

Above the maidens of my age and rank;
Still fhunn'd their company, and ftill fought mine.
I was not won by gifts, yet ftill he gave;
And all his gifts, tho' fmall, yet fpoke his love:
He pick'd the earlieft ftrawberries in the woods,
The cluster'd filberts, and the purple grapes:
He taught a prating ftare to speak my name;
And when he found a neft of nightingales,
Or callow linnets, he would fhew 'em me,
And let me take 'em out.

Wreathing his fpiry tail.

$55. The true End of Education. RowE. AND therefore wert thou bred to virtuous knowledge,

And wifdom carly planted in thy foul,
That thou might't know to rule thy fiery paffions;
To bind their rage, and stay their headlong course;
To bear with accidents, and every change
Of various life; to ftruggle with adverfity;
To wait the leifure of the righteous Gods,
Till they, in their own good appointed hour,
Shall bid thy better days come forth at once;
A long and thining train; till thou, well pleas'd,
Shalt bow, and blefs thy fate, and fay the Gods
are just.

MALLET.

$56. Filial Piety.
E'ER fince reflection beam'd her light upon me,
You, fir, have been my ftudy. I have plac'd
Before mine eyes, in every light of life,
The father and the king. What weight of duty
Lay on a fon from fuch a parent fprung;

What virtuous toil to fhine with his renown;
Has been my thought by day, my dream by night,

But firft and ever nearest to my heart
Was this prime duty, fo to frame my conduct
Tow'rd fuch a father, as, were I a father,

My foul would wish to meet with from a fon. And may reproach tranfmit my name abhorr'd To latest time-if ever thought was mine Unjuft to filial reverence, filial love.

THOMSON.

§ 57. The fame. HAVE I then no tears for thee, my father?

Can I forget thy cares, from helplefs years Thy tendernets for me? An eye ftill beam'd With love A brow that never knew a frown? Nor a harsh word thy tongue Shall I for these Repay thy ftcoping venerable age,

With fhame, difquiet, anguish, and dishonour?
It must not be !-thou firft of angels! come,
Sweet filial piety! and firm my breast:
Yes, let one daughter to her fate fubmit,
Be nobly wretched-but her father happy.

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IN
a clofe lanc, as I purfucd my journey,
I fpied a wither'd hag, with age grown double,
Picking dry flicks, and mumbling to herself;
Her eyes with fcalding rheum were gall'd and red,
Cold palfy thook her head, her hands feem'd
wither'd,

And on her crooked shoulders had the wrapp'd
The tatter'd remnants of an old strip'd hanging,
Which ferv'd to keep her carcafe from the cold:
So there was nothing of a piece about her.
Her lower weeds were all o'er coarfely patch'd
With different-colour'd rags, black, red, white,
yellow,

And feem'd to fpeak variety of wretchedness.

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catch

At every flender twig of nice diftinctions.
Thefe for the unfeeling vulgar may do well:
But those whose fouls are by the nicer rule
Of virtuous delicacy only fway'd,
Stand at another bar than that of laws.

§ 64. In what Manner Princes ought to be taught. MALLET.

LET truth and virtue be their earliest teachers.

Keep from their car the firen-voice of flattery, Keep from their eye the harlot-form of vice, Who fpread, in every court, their filken fnares And charm but to betray. Betimes inftruct them, Superior rank demands fuperior worth; Pre-eminence of valour, juftice, mercy: But chief, that, tho' exalted o'er mankind, They are themselves but men-frail fuffering duft, From no one injury of human lot Exempt; but fever'd by the fame heat, chill'd By the fame cold, torn by the fame disease, That fcorches, freezes, racks, and kills the beggar.

$65. True End of Royalty. MALLET. WITNESS, Heaven!

Whofe eye the heart's profoundef

depth explores,

That if not to perform my regal task;
To be the common father of my people,
Patron of honour, virtue, and religion;
If not to fhelter ufeful worth, to guard
His well-earn'd portion from the fons of rapine,
And deal out juftice with impartial hand;
If not to fpread on all good men thy bounty,
The treasures trufted to me, not my own;
If not to raife anew our English name,
By peaceful arts, that grace the land they blefs,
And generous war to humble proud oppreffors:
Yet more, if not to build the public weal
On that firm base, which can alone refift
Both time and chance, fair liberty and law;
If I for thefe great ends am not ordain'd-
May I ne'er poorly fill the throne of England.

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