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Show 3$z The SPARTAN DAME, Toiling for Fame, had pil'd up, Legacies T o their fucceeding Sons. Celo. High let "em ftand, Admir'd Examples to lefs generous Man, 'Till I by any A6t difclaim their Blood. Leon. W h e n Guilt is in its Blufh of Infancy, It trembles in a Tendernefs of Shame, And the firft Eye that pierces thro' the Veil, That hides the Secret, brings it to the Face: But thine amazes me, and feems confirm'd, Beyond Confufion bold, and dares the Light, And the reproaching Horror of thy Father. Celo. " Can it be fuch a Crime to love you then? «* T o flight a Throne, that bends beneath m y Feet, «• Without m y Care, and wooes m e to afcend ? " Were you the Lord of all m y Love, and Duty, •* And could you give that Duty all away, •' W h e n you refign'd m e to Cleombrotus? •• O ! you were then m y Father and m y King, «« Nor are you lefs m y King, and Father now. Leo. " H o w with fuch fondnefs can you call your felf " M y Child, yet ftrive to ftain the Blood you boaft? M T h e boiling Spirits in m y injur'd Veins «* Cool at the tender N a m e : See, 1 a m calm, " And can reflect, I fhould reprove thy Love, •• Before I fhould chaftife: Y o u were to blame: " But too much erring Kindnefs was thy fault} " And that 1 fhould forgive: come, all is well: " Repent thy heat, we'll think of it no more. Celo. " Repent! I never can repent that heat. Shou'd all M The Gods of Greece o w n the Ufurper's Caufe, " And chide m e with their Thunder in their Hands, * 1 could not tremble with repenting Fear. Leo. " So well refolv'd! So rooted in Perdition! ** The Spirit that inflam'd the Belides, " Has been too boafting late in Hell, too vain, ** And rouz'd the Honour of fome bolder Fiend, " T o fhow tranfeendent damning to their Shades. Celo. Cleombrotus would fpeak more tenderly, And treat m y Virtue, tho* his Enemy, In The SPARTAN DAME. 392 In a more gentle Way. Leon. O ! all you Ghofb f You injur'd Spirits of m y Anccftors! Forbear a while to «re your tortur'd Son. By all your A 6 b which form'd m y Youth to Honour, You truft your Glory fafely in m y Hands; Nor fhall m y Loyns defile your facred Blood: Give m e but fo much refpite in m y Fury, To juftify the Rage of m y Revenge, To the remains of Father in m y Heart Firft fhe fliall triumph in her Crime, and m o w A bardned Soul, beyond forgiving damn'd: And take her then, fhe falls your Sacrifice. Celo What difmal Refolution lhakes you thus ? When I believe I underftand your Words, Some fudden Start, that contradifts m y Thoughts, Throws m e in wild Amazement. Leon. Ay, my Child, I will amaze thee, when I let thee k n ow The tendreft Inftance of a Father's Love: For I have fav'd thy generous Hand the Blow, A dangerous Task, and done the Work alone. Celo. Alas! What Work! What Blow! Leon. The giddy World, Unequal Judges of exalted Honour, Perhaps had blam'd thy Zeal: But n o w 'tis paft: Nor fhall thy Fame be trufted to thc Crowd: Yet thou fhalt triumph too: Thine was the A d ; My A r m infpir'd by thee. Celo. What can you mean ? Leon. Canft thou not guefs ? Celo. Yon more amaze me, Sir. Leon. I tell thee then, m y Heroine: This Night, Pretending Secrets, and Intelligence, I gain'd Admiffion to Cleombrotus; Alone I found him, you may think the N C T T: Celo. Wou'd I were paft all Thought. [Afide Leon. I fent this Steel with Tidings to his Heart. Nor parted thence, till with repeated Wounds, I left the unpanting Villain on the Earth. R f Celo. |