nder dies; and thou, detested fair!
Thou shalt behold him, while inventive cruelty
Pursues his wearied life through every nerve.
I scorn all dull delay. This very night
Shall sate my great revenge. [_Exit._

_Eup._ This night, perhaps,
Shall whelm thee down, no more to blast creation.
My father, who inhabit'st with the dead,
Now let me seek thee in the lonely tomb,
And tremble there with anxious hope and fear. [_Exit._

SCENE II.

_The Inside of the Temple._

_Enter PHOCION and MELANTHON._

_Phoc._ Each step I move, a grateful terror shakes
My frame to dissolution.

_Mel._ Summon all
Thy wonted firmness; in that dreary vault
A living king is number'd with the dead.
I'll take my post, near where the pillar'd aisle
Supports the central dome, that no alarm
Surprise you in the pious act. [_Exit._

_Phoc._ If here
They both are found; if in Evander's arms
Euphrasia meets my search, the fates atone
For all my suff'rings, all afflictions past.
Yes, I will seek them--ha!--the gaping tomb
Invites my steps--now, be propitious Heaven!

[_He enters the Tomb._

_Enter EUPHRASIA._

_Eup._ All hail, ye caves of horror!--In this gloom
Divine content can dwell, the heartfelt tear,
Which, as it falls, a father's trembling hand
Will catch, and wipe the sorrows from my eye,
Thou Pow'r supreme! whose all-pervading mind
Guides this great frame of things; who now behold'st me,
Who, in that cave of death, art full as perfect
As in the gorgeous palace, now, while night
Broods o'er the world, I'll to thy sacred shrine,
And supplicate thy mercies to my father.
Who's there?--Evander?----Answer----tell me----speak----

_Enter PHOCION, from the Tomb._

_Phoc._ What voice is that?--Melanthon!

_Eup._ Ha! those sounds!--
Speak of Evander; tell me that he lives,
Or lost Euphrasia dies.

_Phoc._ Heart-swelling transport!
Art thou Euphrasia? 'tis thy Phocion, love;
Thy husband comes.

_Eup._ Support me;--reach thy hand.

_Phoc._ Once more I clasp her in this fond embrace!

_Eup._ What miracle has brought thee to me?

_Phoc._ Love
Inspir'd my heart, and guided all my ways.

_Eup._ Oh, thou dear wanderer! But wherefore here?
Why in this place of woe? My tender little one,--
Say, is he safe? Oh! satisfy a mother;
Speak of my child, or I go wild at once!
Tell me his fate, and tell me all thy own.

_Phoc._ Your boy is safe, Euphrasia; lives to reign
In Sicily: Timoleon's gen'rous care
Protects him