TECMESSA . Think on thy father in the vale of years,
Think on thy aged mother, who with vows
Incessant prays the Gods to send thee back
Safe to thy native land: pity thy son,
Without a father in his tender youth
To form his mind, left to th' unfriendly hands
Of those who love him not: Alas! what woes
Wilt thou bequeath to me and to thy child!
I have no hope, no stay but thee alone.
Thy hand destroy'd my country, and my mother;
Death snatch'd my father to the realms below;
Depriv'd of thee what country will receive me,
Or where shall I subsist? Thou art my all,
My only safe-guard: do not, do not leave me!
Nought so becomes a man as gratitude
For good receiv'd, and noble deeds are still
The offspring of benevolence, whilst he
With whom remembrance dies of blessings past
Is vile and worthless.