But oh farewell

Alcib.

My dear Timandra, stay!

[Dies.

Áh precious soul, fly not so soon away!

But one look more; will death have no remorse?
See, 'tis thy Alcibiades implores.

But oh she's gone; seize there that murd❜ress.

Queen. No. Seize me! 'tis more than all your camp can do; Whoe'er comes, here's my guard; alas! mean fool, [Presents her dagger. My fate's a thing too great for thee to rule;

There lies your constancy. [Pointing to Timandra. [Alcibiades flies to the Queen, and snatches the dagger from her.

Alcib.

Infernal hag!

Whose ev'ry breath infects, each look's a plague!
Could not thy fury on my bosom rest,

But thou must wreak thy vengeance on this breast?

To murder her!

-curse on me, that I stand

Thus idle; now thy heart:

[Presents the dagger to her breast.

-But oh 'twould brand

My trophies with eternal infamy,

If by my hand so base a thing should die:

Her ills so many, and so odious are,

They would disgrace an executioner.

Yet I'd do something; oh I have't; I'll tear [Ravingly.

Her piecemeal:-But Timandra's gone too far:

Yonder she mounts! triumphant spirit stay;
See where the angels bear her soul away!
Now all the gods will grow in love with her:
And I shall meet fresh troops of rivals there.
But thus I'll haste and follow-

-Devil, there,

[Mildly.

[Stabs himself.

[Throws the dagger to the Queen. Die, if thou hast courage enough to dare. But oh! A heavy faintness does each sense surprize : Yet ere I close up these unhappy eyes,

pay,

Here the last duteous sorrows they shall
And at this object melt in tears away.
Blest centre of my hopes! in whom I plac'd
Too choice, too pure a happiness to last;
I any loss less than thy death had griev'd;
How well could I have died, so thou hadst liv'd!
Damn'd fiend!-
[To the Queen.

But oh, why do I rave at her,
That have so little time to tarry here?
One parting kiss, and then in peace I'll die ;

[Kisses Timandra.

Now, farewel world; welcome eternity.

Enter PATROCLUS, Lords and Guards.

Pat. Horror of horrors! this was a dismal chance;

Alas, my friend!

Alcib. Thy useless grief refrain ;

Farewel! we shall hereafter meet again.
Pat. Guards, seize the queen-

Queen.

-Seize me, rude slaves! forbear.
Pat. You shall in short your accusation hear.
To kill the king, my father first you made
Your property; then basely him betray'd.
Your woman all confess'd, and by the guard
Is now secur'd to a more just reward.
And (tho' too late) this black design I knew:
Yet all your stratagems are useless now.
Hence with the murderess to justice.

Think you that I will die by formal law?
No, when I'm dead, be thus my fame supply'd;
She liv'd a murd'ress, and a murd'ress dy'd.

[Dies.

[Stabs herself.

Justice would but my happiness retard;
Thus I descend below to a reward.
I shall be queen of fate: the furies there
For me a glorious crown of snakes prepare.
I long to be in state; my lords, farewell:
Now, noble Charon! hoist up sail for hell.

[Dies,

Lord. Her soul is fled

Pat.

With her for ever die

Her treasons, and her odious memory.
But whither is the fair Draxilla gone?

Lord. Distracted at the mischiefs that are done,
She's fled; but whither, is to all unknown.

Pat. Quickly let after her be made pursuit; I'll ransack all the world to find her out. Propitious heav'n to her will sure be kind.

Enter Lord.

2 Lord. My lord, we in our votes have all combin'd To make you king; the camp, with shouts and cries Of joy, send their loud wishes to the skies.

[Shout within, long live Patroclus King of Sparta. Pat. Go bid them their unwelcome noise forbear. Turn all their shouts to sighs of sorrow here.

[Turns to the bodies. They're gone; and with them all I wish'd to keep. Now I could almost turn a boy, and weep. My friend! my mistress! and my father lost! Never were growing hopes more sadly crost. Now fortune has her utmost malice shown, She'd court me with the flatt'ry of a crown. A thing so far beneath those joys I miss, "Tis but the shadow of a happiness. For how uneasily on thrones they sit, That must, like me, be wretched to be great!

[Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

Now who says poets don't in blood delight?
'Tis true, the varlets care not much to fight;
But faith, they claw it off, whene'er they write;
Are bully-rocks not of the common size;
Kill ye men faster than Domitian flies.
Our's made such havock, that the silly rogue
Was forc'd to make me rise for th' Epilogue.
The fop damn'd me, but ere to hell I go,
I'd very fain be satisfied, if you
Think it not just that he were serv'd so too.
As he hath your's, do you his hopes beguile:
You've been in purgatory all this while.
Then damn him down to hell, and never spare;
Perhaps he'll find more favour there than here:
Nay, of the two may choose the much less evil;
If you're but good when pleas'd, ev'n so's the devil.

FINIS.

}

DON CARLOS,

PRINCE OF SPAIN.

A TRAGEDY.

Principibus placuisse viris, non ultima laus est.

HOR. EР. 17. LIB. 1