_Arcas._ Take your last farewell. His vigour seems not yet exhausted quite. You must be brief, or ruin will ensue. [_Exit._ _Eva._ [_Raising himself._] Oh! when shall I get free? --These ling'ring pangs-- _Eup._ Behold, ye pow'rs, that spectacle of woe! _Eva._ Despatch me, pitying gods, and save my child! I burn, I burn; alas! no place of rest: [_Rises and comes out._ A little air; once more a breath of air; Alas! I faint; I die. _Eup._ Heart-piercing sight! Let me support you, sir. _Eva._ Oh! lend your arm. Whoe'er thou art, I thank thee: that kind breeze Comes gently o'er my senses--lead me forward: And is there left one charitable hand To reach its succour to a wretch like me? _Eup._ Well may'st thou ask it. O! my breaking heart! The hand of death is on him. _Eva._ Still a little, A little onward to the air conduct me; 'Tis well;--I thank thee; thou art kind and good, And much I wonder at this gen'rous pity. _Eup._ Dost thou not know me, sir? _Eva._ Methinks I know That voice: art thou--alas! my eyes are dim! Each object swims before me--No, in truth I do not know thee. _Eup._ Not your own Euphrasia? _Eva._ Art thou my daughter? _Eup._ Oh! my honour'd sire! _Eva._ My daughter, my Euphrasia? come to close A father's eyes! Giv'n to my last embrace! Gods! do I hold her once again? Your mercies Are without number. [_Falls on the Couch._ This excess of bliss O'erpow'rs; it kills; Euphrasia--could I hope it? I die content--Art thou indeed my daughter? Thou art; my hand is moisten'd with thy tears: I pray you do not weep--thou art my child: I thank you, gods! in my last dying moments You have not left me--I would pour my praise; But oh! your goodness overcomes me quite! You read my heart; you see what passes there. _Eup._ Alas, he faints! the gushing tide of transport Bears down each feeble sense: restore him, Heaven! _Eva._ All, my Euphrasia, all will soon be well. Pass but a moment, and this busy globe, Its thrones, its empires, and its bustling millions, Will seem a speck in the great void of space. Yet, while I stay, thou darling of my age!-- Nay, dry those tears. _Eup._ I will, my father. _Eva._ Where,-- I fear to ask it, where is virtuous Phocion? _Eup._ Fled from the tyrant's pow'r. _Eva._ And left thee here Expos'd and helpless? _Eup._ He is all truth and honour: He fled to save my child. _Eva._ My young Evander! Your boy is safe, Euphrasia?--Oh! my heart! Alas! quite gone; worn out with misery; Oh! weak, decay'd old man! _Eup._ Inhuman wretches! Will none relieve his want? A drop of water Might save his life; and even that's deny'd him. _Eva._ These strong emotions--Oh! that eager air-- It is too much--assist me; bear me hence; And lay me down in peace. _Eup._ His eyes are fix'd! And those pale, quiv'ring lips! He clasps my hand: What, no assistance! Monsters, will you thus Let him expire in these weak, feeble arms? _Enter PHILOTAS._ _Phil._ Those wild, those piercing shrieks will give th'alarm.