Am. What sight? but 'tis no matter; There's nothing left for me to hope or fear.

Vis. A mourning troop of Christians from their camp In solemn pomp's arriv'd; who, bath'd in tears, (What en'my could refrain?) attend a chariot, That bears Hellena bleeding, pale and dead. Am. False Mahomet!

Off. Our royal master's dead!

[Swoons.

Vis. No! he revives; Alas! he's not so happy! Am. I saw Amasie.

Vis. Here the traitor stands,

By Scanderbeg committed to your mercy.
Ama, Hellena did prevent me.—

Am. Damn'd apostate,

I've heard enough and have no time to lose.-
See him impal'd alive; we'll let him know
As much of hell as can be known on earth,
And go from pain to pain.

Where is my son?

Vis. Fled towards Adrianople.

Am. He doth well:

[Exit Amasie.

Death has o'ertook me here. Lord of so many
Fair, spacious kingdoms, in a hostile land,
Oppress'd with age, misfortunes, grief and shame,
Amurath breathes his last; and leaves his bones
To beg from foes an ignominious grave.
False or ungrateful prophet! have I spread
Fell devastation over half the globe,
To raise thy crescent's pale, uncertain light,
Above the Christian's glowing, crimson cross,
In hoary age to be rewarded thus !-

When the Hungarian king had broke his faith;
Distress'd to his own prophet I appeal'd,
A stranger, and au enemy; he did me right;
Restor❜d lost vict'ry to my flying troops,
And gave the perjur'd monarch to my sword.

But I have done Could'st thou repent, there's nothing

In thy power worth my acceptance now,
Glory, to thee I've liv'd, but pining grief
Robs thee of half the honour of my death.
Osmyn, and you my other faithful chiefs,
The poor remains of all the mighty host

I brought to this curs'd siege, this grave of my renown,
If you return, and live to see my son,

Bid him remember how his father fell;

Bid him ne'er sheath the sword,

Till

my diminish'd fame shine forth and blaze anew In his revenge. Revenge me! Oh! Revenge. [Dies. Vis. Eclips'd and in a storm our sun is set: And now methinks, as when our prophet fled, Terror should seize on each believing heart. Let some inform the king-This was his fate; 'Tis ours to be left without a guide.

Disperse, wander, away; our shepherd's lost. [Exeunt.

Enter SCANDERBEG, ARANTHES, ALTHEA, PauLINUS and Guards.

Scan. That you are free and happy I rejoice.
If I have faithfully discharg'd my trust
I'm well rewarded here.

Pau. O royal Sir !

Your happiness is ours; this virtuous princess
An equal blessing to yourself and people.

2d Off. To say each subject loves you as himself, Is less than truth: we love you as we ought; As a free people should a patriot king.

Scan. This is to reign; this is to be a king. Who can controul his power, who rules the will Of those o'er whom he reigns; or count his wealth, Who has the hearts of subjects that abound. Was ever prince so absolute as I?

Pau. Or ever subjects so entirely free? Whose duty 's interest, and obedience choice. Scan. For this alone was government ordain'd; And kings are gods on earth but while, like gods, They do no ill, but reign to bless mankind. May proud, relentless Amurath's misfortunes Teach future monarchs to avoid his crimes. Th' impious prince, who does all laws disown, Yet claims from Heav'n a right to hold his throne, Blasphemes that pow'r, which righteous kings obey; For justice and mercy bound ev'n th' Almighty's sway. [Exeunt Omnes.

FINIS.

ン

320

EPILOGUE.

Spoken by Mrs. Clive.

THE serious bus'ness of the night being over,
Pray, Ladies, vour opinion of our lover?
Will you allow the man deserves the name,
Who quits his mistress to preserve his fame?
And what was fame in that romantic age?—
But sure such whims ne'er were but on the stage.
A statesman rack his brains, a soldier fight—
Merely to do an injur'd people right.

What! serve his country, and get nothing by't! Why, ay, says Bays, George Castriot was the man; "Tis a known truth- -Believe him those who can.

Not but we've patriots too, tho' I am told

There's a vast diff'rence 'twixt the new and old:
Say, theirs could fight, I'm sure that ours can scold.
But to the glory of the present race,

No stubborn principles their worth debase;
Patriots when out, are courtiers when in place.
So, vice versa, turn a courtier out,

No weather-cock more swiftly veers about.
His country now, good man! claims all his care,
Who'd see it plunder'd? that's denied his share.

Since courtiers and anticourtiers both have shown
That by the public good they mean their own;
What if each Briton, in his private station,
Should try to bilk those, who embroil the nation ;
Quit either faction, and, like men, unite
To do their king and injur'd country right:
Both have been wrong'd: prevent their guilty joy,
Who would your mutual amity destroy.

Would you preserve your freedom? guard his throne,
Who makes your peace and happiness his own.
Would you be grateful? let your monarch know
Which way you would be blest, and make him so.

But soft, methinks, I hear some fops complain
Who came prepar'd to give the ladies pain,
That they have dress'd and spent-Gad's curse-
three hours in vain.

No hints obscene, improv'd by their broad stare,
Have given confusion to the tortur'd fair.
We own the charge. Let Monsieur Harlequin
And his trim troop your loose applauses win:
Too much already has each modest ear
Been there insulted; we'll protect them here.

END OF VOL. I.

T. C. Hansard, Printer, Peterboro' Court, Fleet Street, London.