_Dio._ This night, this very hour, you both must meet. Together you may serve the state and me. Thou seest the havoc of wide wasting war; And more, full well you know, are still to bleed. Thou may'st prevent their fate. _Eup._ Oh! give the means, And I will bless thee for it. _Dio._ From a Greek Torments have wrung the truth. Thy husband, Phocion-- _Eup._ Oh! say, speak of my Phocion. _Dio._ He; 'tis he Hath kindled up this war; with treacherous arts Inflam'd the states of Greece; and now the traitor Comes with a foreign aid to wrest my crown. _Eup._ And does my Phocion share Timoleon's glory? _Dio._ With him invests our walls, and bids rebellion Erect her standard here. _Eup._ Oh! bless him gods! Where'er my hero treads the paths of war, List on his side; against the hostile javelin Uprear his mighty buckler; to his sword Lend the fierce whirlwind's rage, that he may come With wreaths of triumph, and with conquest crown'd, And a whole nation's voice Applaud my hero with a love like mine! _Dio._ Ungrateful fair! Has not our sovereign will On thy descendants fix'd Sicilia's crown? Have I not vow'd protection to your boy? _Eup._ From thee the crown! from thee! Euphrasia's children Shall on a nobler basis found their rights; On their own virtue, and a people's choice. _Dio._ Misguided woman! _Eup._ Ask of thee protection! The father's valour shall protect his boy. _Dio._ Rush not on sure destruction; ere too late Accept our proffer'd grace. The terms are these; Instant send forth a message to your husband; Bid him draw off his Greeks! unmoor his fleet, And measure back his way. Full well he knows You and your father are my hostages; And for his treason both may answer. _Eup._ Think'st thou then So meanly of my Phocion?--Dost thou deem him Poorly wound up to a mere fit of valour, To melt away in a weak woman's tear? Oh! thou dost little know him; know'st but little Of his exalted soul. With gen'rous ardour Still will he urge the great, the glorious plan, And gain the ever honour'd bright reward, Which fame entwines around the patriot's brow, And bids for ever flourish on his tomb, For nations freed, and tyrants laid in dust. _Dio._ By Heav'n, this night Evander breathes his last. _Eup._ Better for him to sink at once to rest, Than linger thus beneath the gripe of famine, In a vile dungeon, scoop'd with barb'rous skill Deep in the flinty rock; a monument Of that fell malice, and that black suspicion, That mark'd your father's reign; a dungeon drear, Prepar'd for innocence!--Vice liv'd secure, It flourish'd, triumph'd, grateful to his heart; 'Twas virtue only could give umbrage; then, In that black period, to be great and good Was a state crime; the pow'rs of genius then Were a constructive treason. _Dio._ Now your father's doom Is fix'd; irrevocably fix'd.