many a corse
Plung'd from the rock into the wave beneath,
That murmurs on the shore. And means he thus
To end a monarch's life? Oh! grant my pray'r;
My timely succour may protect his days;
The guard is yours----

_Phil._ Forbear; thou plead'st in vain;
And though I feel soft pity throbbing here;
Though each emotion prompts the gen'rous deed,
I must not yield; it were assur'd destruction!
Farewell, despatch a message to the Greeks;
I'll to my station; now thou know'st the worst.

[_Exit._

_Mel._ Oh, lost Evander! Lost Euphrasia too!
How will her gentle nature bear the shock
Of a dear father, thus in ling'ring pangs
A prey to famine, like the veriest wretch
Whom the hard hand of misery hath grip'd!
In vain she'll rave, with impotence of sorrow;
Perhaps, provoke her fate: Greece arms in vain,
All's lost; Evander dies!

_Enter CALIPPUS._

_Cal._ Where is the King?
Our troops, that sallied to attack the foe,
Retire disordered; to the eastern gate
The Greeks pursue: Timoleon rides in blood!
Arm, arm, and meet their fury!

_Mel._ To the citadel
Direct thy footsteps; Dionysius there
Marshals a chosen band.

_Cal._ Do thou call forth
Thy hardy veterans; haste, or all is lost! [_Exit._

[_Warlike Music._

_Mel._ Now, ye just gods, now look propitious down;
Now give the Grecian sabre tenfold edge,
And save a virtuous king! [_Warlike Music._

_Enter EUPHRASIA._

_Eup._ War on, ye heroes,
Ye great assertors of a monarch's cause!
Let the wild tempest rage. Melanthon, ha!
Did'st thou not hear the vast tremendous roar?
Down tumbling from its base the eastern tow'r,
Burst on the tyrant's ranks, and on the plain
Lies an extended ruin.

_Mel._ Still new horrors
Increase each hour, and gather round our heads.

_Eup._ The glorious tumult lifts my tow'ring soul.
Once more, Melanthon, once again, my father
Shall mount Sicilia's throne.

_Mel._ Alas! that hour
Would come with joy to ev'ry honest heart,
Would shed divinest blessings from its wing;
But no such hour in all the round of time,
I fear, the fates averse will e'er lead on.

_Eup._ And still, Melanthon, still does pale despair
Depress thy spirit? Lo! Timoleon comes
Arm'd with the pow'r of Greece; the brave, the just,
God-like Timoleon! ardent to redress,
He guides the war, and gains upon his prey.
A little interval shall set the victor
Within our gates triumphant.

_Mel._ Still my fears
Forbode for thee. 'Would thou hadst left this p