ing fever.

_Arcas._ That device
Has she then form'd, eluding all our care,
To minister relief?

_Phil._ On the bare earth
Evander lies; and as his languid pow'rs
Imbibe with eager thirst the kind refreshment,
And his looks speak unutterable thanks,
Euphrasia views him with the tend'rest glance,
Ev'n as a mother doating on her child;
And, ever and anon, amidst the smiles
Of pure delight, of exquisite sensation,
A silent tear steals down; the tear of virtue,
That sweetens grief to rapture. All her laws
Inverted quite, great nature triumphs still.

_Arcas._ The tale unmans my soul.

_Phil._ Ye tyrants, hear it,
And learn, that, while your cruelty prepares
Unheard-of torture, virtue can keep pace
With your worst efforts, and can try new modes
To bid men grow enamour'd of her charms.

_Arcas._ Philotas, for Euphrasia, in her cause,
I now can hazard all. Let us preserve
Her father for her.

_Phil._ Oh! her lovely daring
Transcends all praise. By Heav'n, he shall not die.

_Arcas._ And yet we must be wary; I'll go forth,
And first explore each avenue around,
Lest the fix'd sentinel obstruct your purpose.

[_Exit ARCAS._

_Phil._ I thank thee, Arcas; we will act like men
Who feel for other's woes--She leads him forth,
And tremblingly supports his drooping age.

[_Goes to assist him._

_Enter EUPHRASIA and EVANDER._

_Eva._ Euphrasia, oh! my child! returning life
Glows here about my heart. Conduct me forward;
At the last gasp preserved! Ha! dawning light!
Let me behold; in faith I see thee now;
I do indeed: the father sees his child.

_Eup._ I have reliev'd him--Oh! the joy's too great;
'Tis speechless rapture!

_Eva._ Blessings, blessings on thee!

_Eup._ My father still shall live. Alas! Philotas,
Could I abandon that white hoary head,
That venerable form? Abandon him
To perish here in misery and famine?

_Phil._ Thy tears, thou miracle of goodness.
Have triumph'd o'er me.
Take him, take your father;
Convey him hence; I do release him to you.

_Eva._ What said Philotas! Do I fondly dream?
Indeed my senses are imperfect; yet
Methought I heard him! did he say release me?

_Phil._ Thou art my king, and now no more my pris'ner;
Go with your daughter, with that wond'rous pattern
Of filial piety to after times.
Yes, princess, lead him forth; I'll point the path,
Whose soft declivity will guide your steps
To the deep vale, which these o'erhanging rocks
Encompass round. You may convey him then