British theatre . genrous man,His justice shall reward. Thee too, Philotas,Whose sympathizing heart could fell the touchOf soft humanity, the heros bounty,His brightest honours, shall be lavishd on too will place thee near his throne;And shew mankind, evn on this shore oJ being,That virtue still shall meet its sure reward. Phil. I am rewarded : feelings such as mineAre worth all dignities ; my heart repays me. Evan. Come, let us seek Timoleon; to his careI will commend ye both: for now, alas 1 86 THE GRECIAN DAUGHTER. Aft V, Thrones and dominions now no more for thee I give
British theatre . genrous man,His justice shall reward. Thee too, Philotas,Whose sympathizing heart could fell the touchOf soft humanity, the heros bounty,His brightest honours, shall be lavishd on too will place thee near his throne;And shew mankind, evn on this shore oJ being,That virtue still shall meet its sure reward. Phil. I am rewarded : feelings such as mineAre worth all dignities ; my heart repays me. Evan. Come, let us seek Timoleon; to his careI will commend ye both: for now, alas 1 86 THE GRECIAN DAUGHTER. Aft V, Thrones and dominions now no more for thee I give my crown : yes, thou, Euphrasia,Shalt reign in Sicily. And, oh ! ye Powrs,In that bright eminence of care and peril,Watch over all her ways; conduct and guideThe goodness you inspird ; that she may prove,If eer distress like mine invade the land,A parent to her people ; stretch the rayOf filial piety to times unborn,That men may hear her unexampled virtue,And learn to emulate the Grecian Daughter I [Exeunt EPILOGUE. WRITTEN BY DAVID GARRICK, ESQ^Spoken by Miss Younge. 1 HE Grecian Daughters compliments to all\Begs that for Epilogue you will not leering, giggling, would be out ojseason,And hopes by me you 11 hear a little reason. A father raised from death! a nation savd!A tyranCs crimes by female spirit bravd!That tyrant stabbed, and by her nerveless arm,While Virtues spell surrounding guards could charm!Can she, this sacred tumult in her breast,Turn Father, Freedom, Virtue, all to jest?Wake you, ye fair ones, from your sweet repose,As wanton zephyrs wake the sleeping rose ?Dispel those clouds, tohich o^er your eye-lids crept,Which our wise bard mistook, and swore you wept?Shall she to MaCCARONIES life restore,Who yawnd, half dead, and cursd the tragic BORE ?Dismiss em smirking to their nightly haunt,Where dice and cards their moon-struck minds enchant ?Some muffld like the witches in Macbeth,Brood oer the magic circle, pale as death!Others the caldron go about
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