O live, nor leave him by misfortune prest: 'Tis fhameful to defert a friend distrest.
Alas! a wretch like me no lofs would prove,
Would kind Parthenia liften to his love.
Why hides thy bofom this myfterious grief?
Ease thy o'erburthen'd heart, and hope relief.
What profits it to touch thy tender breast,
With wrongs, like mine, which ne'er can be redrest?
Let in my heart the fatal fecret die,
Nor call up forrow in another's eye!
DIONE, PARTHENIA, LYCIDAS.
If Laura right direct the darksome ways,
Along these paths the penfive fhepherd ftrays. [Afide.
Let not a tear for me roll down thy cheek.
O would my throbbing fighs my heart-strings break! ·
Why was my breast the lifted ftroke deny'd?
Muft then again the deathful deed be try’d?
Yes. 'Tis refolv'd.
[Snatches the dagger from Parthenia.
-Ah, hold; forbear, forbear!
Methought Diftrefs with fhrieks alarm'd my ear.
Strike not. Ye Gods, defend him from the wound!
Yes. 'Tis Parthenia's voice, I know the found.
Some fylvan ravifher would force the maid,
And Laura fent me to her virtue's aid.
Die, villain, die; and feek the fhades below.
[Lycidas fnatches the dagger from Dione, and
Stabs her.
Whoe'er thou art, I blefs thee for the blow.
Since Heaven ordain'd this arm thy life should guard, O hear my vows! be love the just reward.
Rather let vengeance, with her fwifteft speed,
O'ertake thy flight, and recompence the deed!
Why stays the thunder in the upper fky?
Gather, ye clouds; ye forky lightnings, fly:
On thee may all the wrath of Heaven descend,
Whofe barbarous hand hath flain a faithful friend.
Behold Alexis!
-Would that treacherous boy
Have forc'd thy virtue to his brutal joy?
What rouz'd his paffion to this bold advance ?
Did e'er thy eyes confefs one willing glance?
I know, the faithless youth his truft betray'd;
And well the dagger hath my wrongs repaid.
DIONE. [Raifing herself on her arm.
Breaks not Evander's voice along the glade?
Ha! is it he who holds the reeking blade!
There needed not or poifon, fword, or dart;
Thy faithless vows, alas! had broke my heart. [Afide.
O tremble, fhepherd, for thy rash offence,
'The sword is dy'd with murder'd innocence!
His gentle foul no brutal passion seiz'd,
Nor at my bofom was the dagger rais'd;
Self-murder was his aim; the youth I found
Whelm'd in despair, and stay'd the falling wound.
Into what mischiefs is the lover led,
Who calls down vengeance on his perjur'd head!
O may he ne'er bewail this defperate deed,
And may, unknown, unwept, Dione bleed! [Afide
What horrors on the guilty mind attend!
His confcience had reveng'd an injur'd friend,
Hadft thou not held the ftroke. In death he fought
To lofe the heart-confuming pain of thought.
Did not the fmooth-tongu'd boy perfidious prove,
Plead his own paffion, and betray my love?
O let him ne'er this bleeding victim know;
Left his rafh tranfport, to revenge the blow,
Should in his dearer heart the dagger ftain!
That wound would pierce my foul with double pain.
How did his faithful lips (now pale and cold)
With moving eloquence thy griefs unfold!
Was he thus faithful? thus, to friendship true?
Then I'm a wretch. All peace of mind, adieu!
If ebbing life yet beat within thy vein,
Alexis, fpeak; unclofe thofe lids again.
[Flings himself on the ground near Dione.
See at thy feet the barbarous villain kneel!
'Tis Lycidas who grafps the bloody fteel,
Thy once-lov'd friend.-Yet, ere I cease to live,
Canft thou a wretched penitent forgive?
When low beneath the fable mould I reft,
May a fincerer friendship fhare thy breaft!
Why are those heaving groans? (ah! ceafe to weep!)
May my loft name in dark oblivion sleep;
Let this fad tale no speaking ftone declare,
From future eyes to draw a pitying tear.
Let o'er my grave the leveling plough-fhare país,
Mark not the fpot; forget that e'er I was.
Then may'st thou with Parthenia's love be bleft,
And not one thought on me thy joys moleft!
My fwimming eyes are overpower'd with light,
And darkening fhadows fleet before my fight:
May'st thou be happy! ah! my foul is free. [Dies.
O cruel fhepherdefs, for love of thee [To Parthenia. This fatal deed was done.
LYCIDAS, PARTHENIA, LAURA.
Yes. 'Twas I did it. See this crimson ftain!
My hands with blood of innocence are dy'd.
O may the moon her filver beauty hide
In rolling clouds! my foul abhors the light;
Shade, fhade the murderer in eternal night!
No rival fhepherd is before thee laid;
There bled the chafteft, the fincereft maid
That ever figh'd for love. On her pale face,
Cannot thy weeping eyes the feature trace
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