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Show 22 B U S I R I S, And a fhort Youth boils up within his Veins. Sypb. Behold, this way they pafs to meet the King Myron and Nicanor pafs the Stage with Attendants, Ram. What Pity 'tis that one fo loft in Guilt, Should thus engage the Sight with manly Charms And make Vice lovely ? [Looking on Myron Sypb. Pardon me, Ramefes : Tho' to thy Foe, I muft be ever juft. He's Gen'rous, Grateful, Affable, and Br^ve : Bet then he knows no Limit to his Paftion ; The Tempeft.beaten Bark is not fo tofs'd As is his Reafon, when thofe Winds arife ; A n d tho' he draws a fatal Sword in Battle, And kindles in the warm Purfuit of Fame', Pleafure fubdues him quite, the fparkling Eye, And gen'rous Bowl bear down his graver Mind While fiery Spirits dance along his Veins, And keep a conftant Revel in his Heart. Ram. But here the Tyrant comet i- -with what Excefs tfl Of idle Pride will he receive his Son ? H o w with big Wordswill he fwell outthis Conqueft And into Grandeur puff his little Talcs. Enter King, andafcends the Throne^ on the other fide, E nter Myron and Nicanor. King. Welcome, my Son, great Partner cf my Fame, ' I thank thee for th' Increafe of m y Dominions, That now more Mountains rife, more Rivers flow, And more Stars fhine in m y fliil growing Empire. I he Sun himfelf furveys it not at once, ? f oare ,if o r t h e V l e w , whilftfar disjoin'd, M y Soujecls live unheard of by each nther • Thefe wrapp'd ia Shades, while thUt errjoy the light i Their 23 this UQ< K I N G of Egypt. Their Day is various, but their King the fame. J . ifere, Sir, your" Thank* are due , to old Arm, • _, Whofe Nerves not threefcore Winter Camps bend, You owe your Viclory, and I m y Life. When my fierce Courfer, with a Javeling ftiing, Firft rear'd in Air, then tearing with a Bound The trembling Earth, plung'd deep amid ft the *oe; And now a thoufand Deaths from ev'ry Side. Had but one Mark, and on m y Buckler rung ; Through the throng'd Legions like a Tempeft rufh'd This Friend, o'er gafping Heroes, rolling Steeds, Andfnatch'd me from my Fute. Buf 1 thank thee, General, Thou haft a Heart that fwells with Loyalty, And throws off the Infe&ion of thefe Times ; But thy degenerate Boy 'Nic. N o more my Son, I cut him off, my Guilt, my Punifhment. Look not, dread Sir, on me through his Offence ; Oh let not that difcolour all m y Service, And ruin thofe who blame him for his Crime ! Buf. Old Man, I will not wear the Crown in vain, Subjecls fhall work my Will, or feel my Povv'r, Their Difobedience fhall not be m y Guilt, Who is their Welfare, Glory, and Defence 1 The Land that yields them Food, and ev'ry Stream That flakes their Thirft, the Air they breathe is mine And is Concurrence to their Enjoyment By due Submiifion, a too great Return ?' Death and Dtftru&ion are within m v Call. But thou fhalt flounm in thy M^er's Smi e Afaitafol Mirnfter adorn, L C.-own And throws a brighter Glory round™ D Nic. Take but one m o r ? * \ m ? 1 B r o w - Favour, ' ° n e fniaU o n c t° y And then my Soul's at Peace T L An c.ly D^hcer, n o / ^ C ^ ' ^ ^ our >mce |