I would not bear to be reproach'd by them, Sci. [Within] What, ho! my son! Cal. Is it the voice of thunder, or my father? Enter SCIOLTO. Sci. Ev'n now Rossano leap'd the garden Ha! death has been among you-Oh, my fears! Answer me quick — All. Oh! press me not to speak; [Offers to kill Calista; Altamont holds him. Shall never be indebted to thy pity. Ev'n thee, thou, venerable, good, old man, Sci. Thy pious care has giv'n me time to think, Ev'n to a Roman strictness; and thou, nature, To groan beneath your scorn and fierce up- Daily to be reproach'd, and have my misery Where ugly shame hides her opprobrious head, Sci. Who of my servants wait there? Exit. Enter two or three Servants. [Exeunt Servants, with Lothario's Body. Sci. Hast thou not read what brave Virgi- With his own hand he slew his only daughter, But thou hast ty'd my hand.—I wo'not kill her; Alt. You mean that she shall die then? While I, from busy life and care set free, Enter a Servant. Sci. By heav'n, their fury rises to my wish, To join with us, and sacrifice to justice. [Exit. By cares on earth, and by my pray'rs to heav'n, A poor, imperfect copy of my father; But of that joy, as of a gem long lost, sorrow. ACT V. SCENE I. A Room hung with black; on one Side LOTHARIO'S Body on Sci. Ha! answer me! Say, hast thou coolly a Bier; on the other a Table, with a Scull and other Tis not the stoic's lessons got by rote, thought? Bones, a Book and a Lamp on it. The pomp of words, and pedant dissertations, CALISTA is discovered on a Couch, in black; That can sustain thee in that hour of terror; her Hair hanging loose and disordered. Books have taught. cowards to talk nobly of it, After soft Music she rises and comes But when the trial comes they stand aghast; forward. Hast thou consider'd what may happen after it? Cal. 'Tis well! these solemn sounds, this How thy account may stand, and what to pomp of horror, answer? Cal. I've turn'd my eyes inward upon myself, Where foul offence and shame have laid all waste; Sci. "Tis justly thought, and worthy of that spirit Are fit to feed the frenzy in my soul. Ascend, ye ghosts, fantastic forms of night, Enter SCIOLTO. Sci. This dead of night, this silent hour of Nature for rest ordain'd, and soft repose; Cal. It is Sciolto! Be thyself, my soul, I thought the day too short to gaze upon thee, That dwelt in ancient Latian breasts, when Rome [Holding up a Dagger. Thrice justice urg'd-and thrice the slack'ning sinews Forgot their office, and confess'd the father. And know the rest untaught. It is but thus, and both are satisfied. [She offers to kill herself; Sciolto Sci. A moment, give me yet a moment's space. Cal. Ha! is it possible? and is there yet Sci. Oh! when I think what pleasure I took What joys thou gav'st me in thy prattling infancy, By my strong grief, my heart ev'n melts with in me; That all the blessings I could gather for thee, I could curse nature, and that tyrant, honour, For making me thy father and thy judge; Cal. For that kind word, Thus let me fall, thus humbly to the earth, Oh! 'tis too much for this offending wretch, Cal. That I must die, it is my only comfort; That, were I not abandon'd to destruction, With thee I might have liv'd for ages bless'd, And died in peace within thy faithful arms. Enter HORATIO. Hor. Now mourn indeed, ye miserable pair! For now the measure of your woes is full. The great, the good Sciolto dies this moment. Cal. My father! Alt. That's a deadly stroke indeed. Hor. Not long ago, he privately went forth, But found him compass'd by Lothario's faction, Ere that, his frantic valour had provok'd Thou meagre shade; here let me breathe my last, The desolation, horror, blood, and ruin, All. Hail to you, horrors! hail, thou house of death! And thou, the lovely mistress of these shades, Thou com'st to urge me with the wrongs I've done thee; But know I stand upon the brink of life, Dost thou accuse me! O, forbid me not To wish some better fate had rul'd our loves, Dost thou not labour with thy murd'rous weight? Hor. Oh, fatal rashness! Enter SCIOLTO, pale and bloody, supported by Servants. Cal. Oh, my heart! Lift up your hand and bless me, ere I go Sci. Alas, my daughter! But sure thou hast borne thy part in all the anguish, And smarted with the pain. Then rest in peace: As with thy father here.-Die, and be happy. Cal. Celestial sounds! Peace dawns upon my soul, And ev'ry pain grows less -Oh, gentle Altamont! Think not too hardly of me when I'm gone; But pity me-Had I but early known Thy wondrous worth, thou excellent young man, Sci. Oh, turn thee from that fatal object, Come near, and let me bless thee ere I die. Thou that hast endless blessings still in store And bends him, like a drooping flow'r, to earth. By such examples are we taught to prove Let grief, disgrace, and want be far away; The sorrows that attend unlawful love. But multiply thy mercies on his head. Death, or some worse misfortune, soon divide Let honour, greatness, goodness, still be with him, The injur'd bridegroom from his guilty bride. And peace in all his ways[Dies. If you would have the nuptial union last, Hor. The storm of grief bears hard upon Let virtue be the bond that ties it fast. his youth, [Exeunt. HUGHES. THIS amiable man, and elegant author, was the son of a citizen of London, and was born at Marlborough, in Wiltshire, on the 29th of Jan. 1677, but received the rudiments of his education in private schools at London. Even in the very carliest parts of life his genius seemed to show itself equally inclined to each of the three sister arts, music, poetry, and design, in all which he made a very considerable progress. To his excellence in these qualifications, his contemporary and friend, Sir Richard Steele, bears the following extraordinary testimonial: "He may (says that author) be the emulation of more persons of different talents than any one I have ever known. His head, hands, or heart, were always employed in something worthy imitation. His pencil, his bow, or his pen, each of which he used in a masterly manner, were always directed to raise and entertain his own mind, or that of others, to a more cheerful prosecution of what is noble and virtuous." Such is the evidence borne to his talents by a writer of the first rank; yet he seems, for the most part, to have pursued these and other polite studies little further than by the way of agreeable amusements, under frequent confinement, occasioned by indisposition and a valetudinarian state of health. Mr. Hughes had, for some time, an employment in the office of ordnance, and was secretary to two or three commissions under the great seal for the purchase of lands, in order to the better securing the docks and harbours at Portsmouth, Chatham, and Harwich. In the year 1717, the Lord Chancellor Cowper, to whom our anther had not long been known, thought proper, without any previous solicitation, to nominate him his secretary for the commissions of the peace, and to distinguish him with singular marks of his favour and affection; and, upon his Lordship's laying down the great seal, he was, at the particular recommendation of this his patron, and with the ready concurrence of his successor the Earl of Macclesfield, continued in the same employment, which he held till the time of his decease, the 17th, of Feb. 1719, being the very night on which his celebrated tragedy of The Siege of Damascus made its first appearance on the stage; when, after a life mostly spent in pain and sickness, he was carried off by a consumption having but barely completed his 42d year, and at a period in which he had just arrived at an agreeable competence, and was advancing, with rapid steps, towards the pinnacle of fame and fortune. He was privately buried in the vault under the chancel of St Andrew's church, in Holborn. THE SIEGE OF DAMASCUS. ACTED at Drury Lane 1719. It is generally allowed, that the characters in this tragedy are finely varied and dis-. tinguished; that the sentiments are just and well adapted to the characters; that it abounds with beautiful descriptions, apt allusions to the manners and opinions of the times wherein the scene is laid, and with noble morals; that the diction is pure, unaffected and sublime, without any meteors of style or ambitious ornaments and that the plot is conducted in a simple and clear manner, When it was offered to the managers of Drury Lane House, in the year 1718, they refused to act it, unless the author made an alteration in the character of Phocyas, who, in the original, had been prevailed upon to profess himself a Mahometan: pretending that he could not be a hero, if he changed his religion, and that the audience would not bear the sight of him after it, in how lively a manner soever his remorse and repentance might be described. The author (being then in a very languishing condition) finding, if he did not comply, his relations would probably loose the benefit of the play, consented, though with reluctance, to new-model the character of Phocyas The story on which this play is founded, is amply detailed in Mr. Gibbon's History, vol. V. p. 510, where we find the real name of Phocyas to have been Jonas. That author says, "Instead of a base renegado, Phocyas serves the Arabs as an honourable ally; instead of prompting their pursuit, he flies to the succour of his countrymen, and, after killing Caled and Daran, is himself mortally wounded, and expires in the presence of Eudocia, who professes her resolution to take the yeil at Constantinople. SCENE. Citizens, and At tendunts. SARACENS. RAPHAN. CALED, ABUDAH. DARAN. SERJABIL, Officers, Sol- -The City of DAMASCUS, in SYRIA, and the Saracen Camp before it; and, in the last Act, a Valley adjacent, ACT I. SCENE L-The City. As brave men should.-Pity your wives and children! Yes, I do pity them, heav'n knows I do, Enter EUMENES, followed by a Crowd of E'en more than you; nor will I yield them up, People. Eum. I'LL hear no more. Be gone! Or stop your clam'rous mouths, that still are open Though at your own request, a prey to ruffians.— Enter HERBIS. Her. News!-we're betray'd, deserted; And follow to the walls; there earn your safety, The works are but half mann'd; the Saracens Perceive it, and pour on such crowds, they blunt | To leave us desperate, Aids may soon arrive; Our weapons, and have drain'd our stores of Mean time, in spite of their late bold attack, death. What will you next? Eum. I've sent a fresh recruit, The valiant Phocyas leads them on- whose deeds, In early youth, assert his noble race; A more than common ardour seems to warm The city still is ours; their force repell'd, Eum. No-let us first Believe th' occasion fair, by this advantage, To purchase their retreat on easy terms: That failing, we the better stand acquitted And though I brav'd it to the trembling crowd, To our own citizens. However, brave Phocyas, I've caught th' infection, and I dread th'event. Cherish this ardour in the soldiery, Would I had treated!-but 'tis now too late. And in our absence form what force thou canst; [Aside. Then if these hungry bloodhounds of the war Come, Herbis. [Exeunt. Should still be deaf to peace, at our return Our widen'd gates shall pour a sudden flood Of vengeance on them, and chastise their scorn. [Exeunt. Re-enter HERBIS. A great Shout. Her. So-the tide turns; Phocyas has driv'n it back. The gate once more is ours, Flourish. Re-enter EUMENES, with PHOCYAS, Eum. Brave Phocyas, thanks! mine and the Yet, that we may not lose this breathing space, Pho. What means Eumenes? What peace can you expect from bands | SCENE II. - A Plain before the City. A Prospect of Tents at a distance. Enter CALED, ABUDAH, and DARAN. Daran. To treat, my chiefs!-What! are we merchants then, That only come to traffic with those Syrians, lives Of mussulmans, not Christians, I would treat. I hate these Christian dogs; and 'tis our task, As thou observ'st, to fight; our law enjoins it: Heaven, too, is promis'd only to the valiant. of Oft has our prophet said, the happy plains Above lie stretch'd beneath the blaze of swords. Abu. Yet Daran's loath to trust that heaven What terms from slaves but slavery?-You know eyes, Our fruitful vales, and all the verdant wealth For barren sands and native poverty, Eum. What can we do? Our people in despair; our soldiers harrass'd for payi This earth, it seems, has gifts that please him more. Caled. Check not his zeal, Abudah. Yet I could wish that zeal had better motives. For conquest, not destruction. That obtain'd, Enter EUMENES, HERBIS, and ARTAMON. That went to ask them; one brave army beaten; At your request, has still'd his angry voice, Th' Arabians num'rous, cruel, flush'd with To hear what you will purpose. conquest. Her. Besides, you know what frenzy fires their minds, Of their new faith, and drives them on to danger. Eum. We come to know, After so many troops you've lost in vain, Eum. True: they pretend the gates of Why on your heads you call our pointed Paradise Stand ever open to receive the souls |