pleafing to the fight. Is not the comparison equally juft and beautiful? Mr. de la Faye, I own, has confuted la Motte in a much better manner than myself; he followed the example of the philofopher, who anfwered the fophift, that denied there was any fuch thing as motion, only by walking before him. Mr. de la Motte denies the harmony of verses; Mr. de la Faye fends him fome verfes full of harmony: this alone should teach me alfo to put an end to my profe.

VOL. I.

C

DRAMATIS

OEDIPUS, King of Thebes.

JOCASTA, Queen of Thebes.

PHILOCTETES, Prince of Eubæa.

HIGH-PRIEST.

ARASPES, Confident of Oedipus.

EGINA, Confidente of Jocafta.

DIMAS, Friend of Phlioctetes.

PHORBAS, an old Man of Thebes.
ICARUS, an old Man of Corinth.

CHORUS of THEBANS.

SCENE THEBES.

OEDIPUS.

OEDIPUS.

A

TRAGEDY.

A C T I. SCENE I.

PHILOCTETES, DIMAS.

DIMAS.

S it my friend, my Philoctetes? Whence

And wherefore com'ft thou to diflemper'd Thebes

In fearch of death, to brave the wrath of heav'n? For, know, the gods on this devoted land Wreak their full vengeance: mortals dare not tread The guilty foil, to death and horror long Confign'd, and from the living world cut off: Away; be gone.

PHILOCTETES.

It fuits a wretch like me:

Leave me, my friend, to my unhappy fate;

And only tell me, if the wrath divine

Hath, in its rapid progrefs, fpar'd the queen.

DIMAS.

Jocafta lives; but round her throne ftill spreads
The dire contagion ; ev'ry fatal moment
Deprives her of some faithful subject: death
Steals clofer by degrees, and feems to threat
Her facred life. But heav'n, we truft, will foon
Withdraw its vengeful arm: fuch scenes of blood
Will fure appeafe its rage.

PHILOCTETES.

Ha! Laius dead! indeed!

What sweet seducing hope awakes my foul?

Jocafta! will the gods at length be kind?

May

May Philoctetes ftill be thine? But say,
Dimas, how fell the king?

DIMAS.

'Tis four years fince

For the last time towards Bæotia, led

By fate, you came; fcarce had you bent your way
To Afia, e'er th' unhappy Laius fell

By fome bafe hand.

PHILOCTETES.

Affaffinated, fay'st thou?

DIMAS.

This was the cause, the fource of all our ills,
The ruin of this wretched country: fhock'd
At the fad stroke, we wept the genʼral loss,
When lo! the minifter of wrath divine,
(Fatal to innocence, and fav'ring long
Unpunish'd guilt) a dreadful monster came,
(O Philoctetes, wou'd thou had'ft been here!).
And ravag'd all our borders, horrid form!
Made for deftruction by avenging heav'n,
With human voice, an eagle, woman, lion,
Unnat❜ral mixture! rage with cunning join'd
United to deftroy us: nought remain'd
To fave but this alone; in phrase obscure