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Cas. Thou art my brother still.

Pol. Thou liest!

Knows any thing which he's asham'd to tell me. Plac'd some coarse peasant's cub, and thou art he!
Cas. Ob, much too oft. Our destiny contriv'd
To plague us both with one unhappy love!
Thou, like a friend, a constant, gen'rous friend,
In its first pangs didst trust me with thy passion,
Whilst I still smooth'd my pain with smiles
before thee,

And made a contract I ne'er meant to keep. Pol How!

Cas. Still new ways I studied to abuse thee, And kept thee as a stranger to my passion, Till vesterday I wedded with Monimia.

Pol. Ah! Castalio, was that well done?
Cas. No; to conceal't from thee was much
a fault.

Pol. A fault! when thou hast heard
The tale I'll tell, what wilt thou call it then?
Cas. How my heart throbs!

Pol. First, for thy friendship, traitor, I cancel't thus: after this day I'll ne'er Hold trust or converse with the false Castalio! This witness, heaven.

Cas. What will my fate do with me? I've lost all happiness, and know not why! What means this, brother?

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Cas. Nay, then

Yet I am calm.

Pol. A coward's always so.

[Draws.

Cas. Ah!-ah!-that stings home! Coward!
Pol. Ay, base-born coward! villain!
Cas. This to thy heart, then, though my
mother bore thee!

[They fight; Polydore drops his Sword,
and runs on Castalio's.

Pol. Now my Castalio is again my friend. Cas. What have I done? my sword is in thy breast.

Pol. So would I have it be, thou best of men, Thou kindest brother, and thou truest friend! Cas. Ye gods! we're taught that all your works are justice:

Ye're painted merciful, and friends to innocence:
If so, then why these plagues upon my head?
Pol. Blame not the heav'ns, 'tis Polydore
has wrong'd thee;

I've stain'd thy bed; thy spotless marriage joys
Have been polluted by thy brother's lust.
Cas. By thee?

Pol. By me, last night, the horrid deed

Cas. I'll be thy slave, and thou shalt use me Was done, when all things slept but rage Just as thou wilt, do but forgive me.

Pol. Never.

Cas. Oh! think a little what thy heart is

doing:

How, from our infancy, we hand in hand
Have trod the path of life in love together.
One bed has held us, and the same desires,
The same aversions, still employ'd our thoughts.
Whene'er had I a friend that was not Polydore's
Or Polydore a foe that was not mine?
L'en in the womb we embrac'd; and wilt
thou now,

For the first fault, abandon and forsake me?
Leave me, amidst afflictions, to myself,
Hung'd in the gulf of grief, and none to help me?
Pol Go to Monimia; in her arms thou'lt find
Repose; she has the art of healing sorrows.
Cas. What arts?

Pol. Blind wretch! thou husband? there's a question!

la she not a

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and incest.

Cas. Now, where's Monimia? Oh!

Enter MONIMIA.

Mon. I'm here! who calls me? Methought I heard a voice Sweet as the shepherd's pipe upon the mountains, When all his little flock's at feed before him. But what means this? here's blood!

Cas. Ay, brother's blood!

Art thou prepar'd for everlasting pains?
Pol. Oh! let me charge thee, by th' eternal
justice,

Hurt not her tender life!
Cas. Not kill her?

Mon. That task myself have finish'd: I shall die Before we part: I've drunk a healing draught For all my cares, and never more shall wrong thee.

Pol. Oh, she's innocent.
Cas. Tell me that story,

And thou wilt make a wretch of me indeed.

Pol. Hadst thou, Castalio, us'd me like a friend, This ne'er had happen'd; hadst thou let me know Thy marriage, we had all now met in joy: But, ignorant of that,

Hearing th' appointment made, enrag'd to think
Thou hadst undone me in successful love,
I, in the dark, went and supply'd thy place;
Whilst all the night, midst our triumphant joys,
The trembling, tender, kind, deceiv'd Monimia,
Embrac'd, caress'd, and call'd me her Castalio.

[Dies.

Mon. Now, my Castalio, the most dear of men, Wilt thou receive pollution to thy bosom, And close the eyes of one that has betray'd thee? Cas. O, I'm the unhappy wretch, whose cursed fate

Has weigh'd thee down into destruction with him: Why then thus kind to me!

Mon. When I'm laid low i'th' grave, and quite forgotten,

May'st thou be happy in a fairer bride!
But none can ever love thee like Monimia.

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Enter CHAMONT and ACASTO.
Cham. Gape, earth, and swallow me to
quick destruction,

If I forgive your house!
Ye've overpower'd me now!
But, hear me, heav'n!-Ah! here's a scene of
death!

My sister, my Monimia, breathless!-Now,
Ye pow'rs above, if ye have justice, strike!
Strike bolts through me, and through the curs'd
Castalio!

Cas. Stand off! thou hot-brain'd, boisterous,
noisy ruffian!

And leave me to my sorrows.
Cham. By the love

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Cham. What?

Acas. Have patience.

Cas. Patience! preach it to the winds,
To roaring seas, or raging fires! for curs'd
As I am now, 'tis this must give me patience:
Thus I find rest, and shall complain no more.
[Stabs himself.

Chamont, to thee my birthright I bequeath:-
Comfort my mourning father-heal his griefs;

[Acasto faints into the Arms of a Servant.
For I perceive they fall with weight upon him—
And, for Monimia's sake, whom thou wilt find
I never wrong'd, be kind to poor Serina-
Now all I beg is, lay me in one grave
Thus with my love-Farewell! I now am-
nothing..
[Dies.
Cham. Take care of good Acasto, whilst Igo
To search the means by which the fates have
plagu'd us.

I bore her living, I will ne'er forsake her;
But here remain till my heart burst with sobbing.
Cas. Vanish, I charge thee! or-
[Draws a Dagger.
Cham. Thou canst not kill me!
That would be kindness, and against thy nature! 'Tis thus that heav'n its empire does maintain:
Acas. What means Castalio? Sure thou wilt It may afflict; but man must not complain.

not pull

[Exeunt.

PHILIP S.

AMBROSE PHILIPS was descended from a very ancient and considerable family of that name in Leicestershire, H. was born about the year 1671, and received his education at St. John's College, Cambridge. During his stay at the versity he wrote his Pastorals, which acquired him at this time a high reputation. He also, in 1700 published a life John Williams, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal, Bishop of Lincoln, and Archbishop of York in the reigns of King Jam and Charles 1. in which are related some remarkable occurrences in those times, both in church and state; with appendix, giving an account of his benefactions to St. John's College. When he quitted the university, and came London, he became a constant attendant at, and one of the wits of, Button's coffee-house, where he obtained the frie ship and intimacy of many of the celebrated geniuses of that age, more particularly of Sir Richard Steele, who, in first volume of his Tatler, has inserted a little poem of Mr. Philips's, which he calls a Winter Piece, dated from ( penhagen, and addressed to the Earl of Dorset, on which he bestows the highest encomiums; and, indeed, so m. justice is there in these his commendations that even Pope himself, who had a fixed aversion for the author, while affected to despise his other works, used always to except this from the number. Sir R. Steele intended to produce M Philips's Pastorals with a critical comparison of them, in favour of Philips, with Pope's; but Pope artfully took task upon himself, and, in a paper in The Guardian, by drawing the like comparison, and giving a like preference, on principles of criticism apparently fallacious tried to point out the absurdity of such a judgment. A quarrel ensur Pope was too much for Philips in wit; and Philips would have been too much for Pope in fisty-cuffs, if he had m his appearance at F'u'ton's, where a rod had been hung up for him by Philips. Pope wisely avoided the argumer i baculinum. Mr. Philips's circumstances were in general, through his life, not only easy, but rather affluent, in cor quence of his being connected, by his political principles with persons of great rank and consequence. He was, after the accession of King George 1, put into the commission of the peace; and, in 1717, appointed one of the c missioners of the lottery; and, on his friend Dr. Boulter's being made primate of Ireland, he accompanied that pro across St. George's Channel, where he had considerable preferments bestowed on him, and was elected a member of House of Commons there, as representative for the county of Armagh. In Sept 1754, he was appointed register of Prerogative Court in Dublin. At length, having purchased an annuity for life of four hundred pounds, he came over England some time in the year 1748, but did not long enjoy his fortune, being struck with a palsy, of which he June 18, 1749, in his 78th year, at his lodgings near Vauxhall.

THE DISTREST MOTHER.

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ACTED at Drury Lane, 1712, This play is little more than a translation from the Andromaque of Racine. however, very well translated, the poetry pleasing, and the incidents of the story so affecting that although it is, all the French tragedies, rather too heavy and declamatory, yet it never fails bringing tears into the eyes of a ser audience; and will, perhaps, ever continue to be a stock play on the lists of the theatres. The original author, hov has deviated from history and Philips likewise followed his example in making Hermione kill herself on the bo Pyrrhus, who had been slain by her instigation; whereas, on the contrary, she not only survived, but became w Orestes. How far the licentia poetica will authorize such oppositions to well-known facts of history, is, howe point concerning which we have not time at present to enter into a disquisition. Dr. Johnson observes, that s work requires no uncommon powers; but that the friends of Philips exerted every art to promote his interest. Befor appearance of the play, a whole Spectator, none indeed of the best, was devoted to its praise; while it yet continu

be acted, another Spectator was written, to tell what impression it made upon Sir Roger de Coverley; and on the first right a select audience, says Pope, was called together to applaud it.

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SCENE.-A great Hall in the Court of PYRRHUS, at BUTHROTOS, the capital City of Epirus.

ACT I
SCENE. I.

Enter ORESTES, PYLADES, and Attendants.
Ores. O PYLADES! what's life without a friend!
At sight of thee my gloomy soul cheers up,
My hopes revive, and gladness dawns within me.
After an absence of six tedious moons,
How could I hope to find my Pylades,
My joy, my comfort! on this fatal shore!
Even in the court of Pyrrhus? in these realms,
These hated realms, so cross to all my wishes.
O, my brave friend! may no blind stroke of fate
Divide us more, and tear me from myself.
Pyl. O prince! O my Orestes! O my friend!
Thus let me speak the welcome of my heart.
[Embraces.
Since I have gain'd this unexpected meeting,
Blest be the powers that barr'd my way to Greece,
And kept me here! e'er since the unhappy day
When warring winds (Epirus full in view)
Sunder'd our barks on the loud stormy main.
Ores. It was, indeed, a morning full of horror!
Pyl. A thousand boding cares have rack'd
my soul

His lovely daughter, to the happy Pyrrhus,
Th' avenger of his wrongs, thou saws't my grief,
My torture, my despair; and how I dragg'd,
From sea to sea, a heavy chain of woes.
O Pylades! my heart has bled within me,
To see thee, press'd with sorrows not thy own,
Still wand'ring with me like a banish'd man,
Watchful, and anxious for thy wretched friend,
To temper the wild transports of my mind,
And save me from myself.

Pyl. Why thus unkind?
Why will you envy me the pleasing task
Of generous love, and sympathising friendship?
Öres. Thou miracle of truth! But hear me on.
When in the midst of my disastrous fate,
I thought how the divine Hermione,
Deaf to the vows, regardless of my plaints,
Gave up herself, and all her charms, to Pyrrhus;
Thou may'st remember, I abborr'd her name,
Strove to forget her, and repay her scorn.
I made my friends, and even myself, believe
My soul was freed. Alas! I did not see,
That all the malice of my heart was love.
Triumphing thus, and yet a captive still,
In Greece I landed; and in Greece I found
In your behalf. Often, with tears, I mourn'd The assembled princes all alarm'd with fears,
The fatal ills, to which your life's involv'd; In which their common safety seem'd concern'd.
And grudg'd you dangers which I could not share. I join'd them: for I hop that war and glory
I fear'd to what extremities the black despair Might fill my mind, and take up all my thoughts;
That prey'd upon your mind, might have be-And that my shatter'd soul, impair'd with grief,
Once more would reassume its wonted vigour,
And every idle passion quit my breast.

tray'd you,

And lest the gods, in pity to your woes,
Should hear your pray'rs, and take the life you
loath'd.

But now with joy I see you!-The retinue,
And numerous followers that surround you here,
Speak better fortunes, and a mind dispos'd
To relish life.

Ores. Alas! my friend, who knows
The destiny to which I stand reserv'd!
I come in search of an inhuman fair;
And live or die, as she decrees my fate.
Pyl. You much surprise me, prince! I thought
you cur'd

Of your unpity'd, unsuccessful passion.
Why, in Epirus, should you hope to find
Hermione less cruel, than at Sparta?

I thought her pride, and the disdainful manner
In which she treated all your constant sufferings,
Had broke your fetters, and assur'd your

freedom:

Asham'd of your repulse, and slighted vows,
You hated her; you talk'd of her no more:
Prince, you deceiv'd me.

Ores. I deceiv'd myself.

Do not upbraid the unhappy man that loves thee.
Thou know'st I never hid my passion from thee;
Thou saw'st it, in its birth, and in its progress;
And when at last the hoary king, her father,
Great Menelaus, gave away his daughter,

Pyl. The thought was worthy Agamemnon's

son.

Ores. But see the strange perverseness of
my stars,

Which trows me on the rock I strove to shun!
The jealas chiefs, and all the states of Greece,
With or united voice complain of Pyrrhus;
That nev, forgetful of the promise giv'n,
And midless of his godlike father's late,
Astyan he nurses in his court;
Astyans, the young, surviving hope
Of ruin Troy; Astyanax, descended
From long race of kings-great Hector's son.
Pyl. name still dreadful in the ears of Greece!
But, pnce, you'll cease to wonder why the child
Lives us protected in the court of Pyrrhus,
Whe you shall hear the bright Andromache,
His lely captive, charms him from his purpose:
The other's beauty guards the helpless son.

Os. Your tale confirms what I have heard;
and hence

Sprg all my hopes. Since my proud rival wooes
Anher partner to his throne and bed,
Ilione may still be mine. Her father,
T injur'd Menelaus, thinks already

daughter slighted, and th' intended nuptials T long delay'd. I heard his loud complaints Vith secret pleasure; and was glad to find

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Full of Achilles, his redoubted sire,
Pyrrhus is proud, impetuous, headstrong, fierce;
Made up of passions: will he then be sway'd,
And give to death the son of her he loves?
Ores. Oh, would he render up Hermione,
And keep Astyanax, I should be blest!
He must; he shall: Hermione is my life,
My soul, my rapture!-I'll no longer curb
The strong desire that hurries me to madness:
I'll give a loose to love; I'll bear her hence;
I'll tear her from his arms; I'll-O, ye gods!
Give me Hermione, or let me die!

But tell me, Pylades, how stand my hopes?
Is Pyrrhus still enamour'd with her charms?
Or dost thou think he'll yield me up the prize,
The dear, dear prize, which he has ravish'd

from me?

Himself, in all his sorrows, at her feet.

[Exit Pylades.

Enter PYRRHUS, PHOENIX, and Attendants.
Before I speak the message of the Greeks,
Permit me, sir, to glory in the title
Of their ambassador; since I behold
Troy's vanquisher, and great Achilles' son,
Nor does the son rise short of such a father:
If Hector fell by him, Troy fell by you.
But what your father never would have done,
You do. You cherish the remains of Troy;
And, by an ill-tim'd pity, keep alive
The dying embers of a ten years' war,
Have you so soon forgot the mighty Hector?
The Greeks remember his high brandish'd sword,
That_fill'd their state with widows and with
orphans ;

For which they call for vengeance on his son.
Who knows what he may one day prove?
Who knows

But he may brave us in our ports, and fill'd
With Hector's fury, set our fleets on blaze?
You may, yourself, live to repent your mercy.
Comply then with the Grecians' just demands;
Satiate their vengeance, and preserve yourself.
Pyr. The Greeks are for my safety more con-

cern'd

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Than I desire. I thought your kings were met
On more important counsel. When I heard
The name of their ambassador, I hop'd
Some glorious enterprise was taking birth.
Is Agamemnon's son dispatch'd for this?
And do the Grecian chiefs, renown'd in war,
A race of heroes, join in close debate,
To plot an infant's death? What right has Greec
To ask his life? Must I, must alone,
Of all her scepter'd warriors, be deny'd
To treat my captive as I please? Know, prince
When Troy lay smoking on the ground, and each
Proud victor shar'd the harvest of the war,
Andromache, and this her son, were mine;
Were mine by lot. And who shall wres
them from me?

Pyl. I dare not flatter your fond hopes so far; The king indeed, cold to the Spartan princess, Turns all his passion to Andromache, Hector's afflicted widow. But in vain, With interwoven love and rage, he sues The charming captive, obstinately cruel. Oft he alarms her for her child, confin'd Apart; and when her tears begin to flow, As soon he stops them, and recals his threats, Hermione a thousand times has seen His ill-requited vows return to her; And takes his indignation all for love. What can be gather'd from a manso various? He may, in the disorder of his sol, Ulysses bore away old Priam's queen; Wed her he hates, and punish hr he loves. Cassandra was your own great father's prize Ores. But tell me how the wrong" Hermione Did I concern myself in what they won? Brooks her slow nuptials, and ishonour'd Did I send embassies to claim their captives Ores. But, sir, we fear for you, and for our

charms?

Pol. Hermione would fain be bought to

scorn

Her wavering lover, and disdain his alsehood;
But, spite of all her pride and conscios beauty,
She mourns in secret her neglected harms,
And oft has made me privy to her tars;
Still threatens to be gone, yet still se stays,
And sometimes sighs, and wishes foOrestes,
Ores. Ah, were those wishes from er heart,
my friend,

I'd fly in transport- [Flourishwithin.
Pyl. Hear! The king approaches
To give you audience. Speak your nbassy
Without reserve: urge the demands of reece;
And, in the name of all her kings, reire
That Hector's son be given into your inds.
Pyrrhus, instead of granting what they sk,
To speed his love, and win the Trojan ame,
Will make it morit to preserve her son
But, see: he comes!

Ores. Meanwhile, my Pylades,

Go, and dispose Hermione to see

selves.

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Why was he not in Priam's bosom slain
He should have fall'n among the slaughter'd hea
Whelm'd under Troy. His death had t
been just.

My fury then was without bounds; but n Her lover, who is come thus far, to throw My wrath appeas'd, must I be cruel still

I

And, deaf to all the tender calls of pity, go to weep a few sad moments with him.
Like a cool murderer, bathe my hands in blood? I have not yet to-day embrac'd my child;
I have not held him in my widow'd arms.
Pyr. Ah, madam, should the threats of
Greece prevail,

An infant's blood? No, prince; go bid the
Greeks

Mark out some other victim; my revenge
Hlas had its fill. What has escap'd from Troy
Shall not be sav'd to perish in Epirus.

Ores. I need not tell you, sir, Astyanax
Was doom'd to death in Troy; nor mention how
The crafty mother sav'd her darling son.
The Greeks do now but urge their former sen-

tence:

Nor is't the boy, but Hector, they pursue;
The father draws their vengeance on the son:
The father, who so oft in Grecian blood
Has drench'd his sword; the father, whom the
Greeks

May seek e'en here. Prevent them, sir, in time.
Pyr. No! let them come; since I was born
to wage

Eternal wars. Let them now turn their arms
On him who conquer'd for them. Let them come;
And in Epirus seek another Troy.
Twas thus they recompens'd my godlike sire;
Thus was Achilles thank'd. But, prince, re-
member,
Their black ingratitude then cost them dear.
Ores. Shall Greece then find a rebel son in
Pyrrhus?

Pyr. Have I then conquer'd to depend on
Greece?

Ores. Hermione will sway your soul to peace,
And mediale 'twixt her father and yourself.
Her beauty will enforce my embassy.

Pyr. Hemione may have her charms, and 1
May love her still, though not her father's slave.
I may, in time, give proofs that I'm a lover;
But never must forget that I'm a king.
Meanwhile, sir, you may see fair Helen's
daughter:

know how near in blood you stand ally'd. That done, you have my answer, prince. The Greeks,

No doubt, expect your quick return.

[Exit Orestes and Attendant. Phoe, Sir, do you send your rival to the princess ?

Pr. I am told that he has lov'd her long.

Phoe. If so,

love you not cause to fear the smother'd flame
My kindle at her sight, and blaze anew;
And she be wrought to listen to his passion?
Pyr. Ay, let them, Phoenix; let them love
their fill:

Let them go hence; let them depart together:
ther let them sail for Sparta; all my ports
open to them both. From what constraint,
Wat irksome thoughts, should I then be re-

liev'd!

Phoe. But, sir

Pyr. I shall another time, good Phoenix, bom to thee all my thoughts: for see, tamache appears. [Exit Phoenix.

Enter ANDROMACHE and CEPHISA.

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Andrn. This way, sir, leads

You'll have occasion for your tears indeed. Andro. Alas! what threats? What can alarm the Greeks?

There are no Trojans left.

Pyr. Their hate to Hector
Can never die: the terror of his name
Still shakes their souls, and makes them dread
his son.

Andro. A mighty honour for victorious
Greece,

To fear an infant, a poor friendless child!
Who smiles in bondage, nor yet knows himself
The son of Hector, and the slave of Pyrrhus.
Pyr. Weak as he is, theGreeks demand his life,
And send no less than Agamemnon's son
To fetch him hence.

Andro. And, sir, do you comply

With such demands? This blow is aim'd at me.
How should the child avenge his slaughter'd sire?
But, cruel men! they will not have him live
To cheer my heavy heart, and ease my bonds.
I promis'd to myself in him a son,
In him a friend, a husband, and a father.
But I must suffer sorrow heap'd on sorrow,
And still the fatal stroke must come from you.
,Pyr. Dry up those tears; I must not see
you weep;

And know, I have rejected their demands.
The Greeks already threaten me with war;
But, should they arm, as once they did for Helen
And hide the Adriatic with their fleets;
Should they prepare a second ten years' siege
And lay my towers and palaces in dust;
I am determined to defend your son,
And rather die myself than give him up.
But, madam, in the midst of all these dangers,
Will you refuse me a propitious smile?
Hated of Greece, and press'd on every side,
Let me not, madam, while I fight your cause,
Let me not combat, with your cruelties,
And count Andromache amongst my foes.

Andro, Consider, sir, how this will sound
in Greece!

How can so great a soul betray such weakness?
Let not men say, so generous a design
Was but the transpcrt of a heart in love.

Pyr. Your charms will justify me to the world.
Andro. How can Andromache, a captive

queen,

O'erwhelm'd with grief, a burden to herself,
Harbour a thought of love? Alas! what charms
Ilave these unhappy eyes, by you condemn'd
To weep for ever? Talk of it no more.
To reverence the misfortunes of a foe;
To succour the distress'd; to give the son
To an afflicted mother; to repel
Confederate nations, leagu'd against his li′
Unbrib'd by love, unterrify'd by threats,
To pity, to protect him: these are cares,
These are exploits worthy Achilles' son
Pyr. Will your resentments, then,
for ever?

Must Pyrrhus never be forgiven ? Ti
My sword has often reek'd in Phryg

Lose apartments where you guard my son. And carry'd havoc through your roy?

Are you permit me, once a day, to visit

I have left of Hector and of Troy,

But you, fair princess, amply have
Old Priam's vanquish'd house! and

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