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Show 70 B U S I R I S, f Memnon walks thoughtfully, then returns Mufti furvive, and change thy Tendernefs For a ft ern Mafter, and perpetual Chairs ? Long I m a y groan on Earth to fate their Malice, T h e n through flow Torments linger into Death, N o Steel to ftab, no Wall to dafh m y Brain ! [Mond. H a ! Mem. W h y thus fix'd in Thought r what mighty Birth Is lab'ring in your Soul ? your Eyes fpeak Won. d e r s . - - - Mand. Will not the Blood-hounds be content with Life ? Mem. Alas, Mandane! N o ; they Study Nature T o find out all her fecret Seats ©f Pain, And carry killing to a dreadful Art : A fimple Death in Egypt is for Friends' Mand. O h then it muft be fo ! > and yet it cannot. Mem. What means this fadden Palencfi ? Mand. Heav'n ahlft m e / (Feeling in her Bofom Shefwocns. Mem. M y Love! Mandane! hear me, my £f. pous'd / sVy deareft Heart, the Infant of m y Bofom ! W h o m I could foftcr with m y Vital Blood. Mand. 'Tis well, and in return I give thee This. [Shews a Dagger. Mem. Millions of Thanks, thou Refuge in Dc ipair Mand. Terrible Kindnefs! Horrid Mercy 8 Oh ! I cannot give it thee, Mem. Full well I know Thv tender Soul, and I muft force it from thee. (As be is ftrugglingwith berfcir the Dagger fiefpe M Mand. M y Lord! my Soul! my Self! * on tear my Heart. rW, Art thou not dearer to my Eyes than Lignt • Doit thou not circulate through all m y Veins r Mingle with Life, and form m y very woul. K I N G of Egypt. 7* Mem I fear fo too; what *re have yet to do Muft be foon done j this Meeting is our laft. How fhall we ufe it ? Mand. H o w r* Confult thy Chains, And my Calamities. Mem. Sad Counfellors, And cruel their Advice Are there no other? Mand. I look a r o u n d - - A n d find no Glimpfe of Hope, A perfect Night of Horror and Defpair ! Mem. Of Horror and Defpair, indeed Mandane \ Canft thou believe m e ? Nay, can I believe M y Self? the laft thing that I wifh'd for w a s - 'tit falfe. The Weight of my Misfortune hurts m y Mind. Mand. Was what? Mem. I dare not think, to think is to look down A Precipice ten thoufand Fathom deep, That turns my Braini Oh ! Oh I Mand. Memnon, no more: That Silence and thofe Tears need no explaining; And it is kind, with fuch fevere Reluctance T o think upon my Death though neceffary. Mem. Ah hold! You plant a thoufand Daggers here. Talk not cf Dying. - I difown the Thought: Right is not Right, and Reafon is not Reafon, All is diffraction when I look on Thee. Oh all pe pitying Gods/ dafh out from Nature lour Stars, your Sun, but let Mandane live. Mand No: Death long fince was m y confirmed Keiolve. Mem. Myron is dead Mand What J0y a Heart like mine ^an teel, it fp*i*- , . u . Ob Xo, sftKt 0h' m Mandane ! oparioos M u d ! the n thcn wj t £ u Peace Mem. |