ACT II.

Yes, I'll now be calm,Calm as the sea when the rude waves are laid,And nothing but a gentle swell remains;My curse is heard, and I shall have revenge;There's something here which tells me 'twill be so,And peace resumes her empire o'er my breast.Vardanes is the Minister of Vengeance;Fir'd by ambition, he aspiring seeksT'adorn his brows with Parthia's diadem;I've fann'd the fire, and wrought him up to fury,Envy shall urge him forward still to dare,And discord be the prelude to destruction,Then this detested race shall feel my hate.

Edessa.

And doth thy hatred then extend so far,That innocent and guilty all alikeMust feel thy dreadful vengeance?

Queen.

Ah! Edessa,Thou dost not know e'en half my mighty wrongs,But in thy bosom I will pour my sorrows.

Edessa.

With secrecy I ever have repaidYour confidence.

Queen.

I know thou hast; then hear:The changeling King who oft has kneel'd before me,And own'd no other pow'r, now treats meWith ill dissembl'd love mix'd with disdain.A newer beauty rules his faithless heart,Which only in variety is blest;Oft have I heard him, when wrapt up in sleep,And wanton fancy rais'd the mimic scene,Call with unusual fondness on Evanthe,While I have lain neglected by his side,Except sometimes in a mistaken raptureHe'd clasp me to his bosom.

Edessa.

Oh! Madam,Let not corroding jealousy usurpYour Royal breast, unnumber'd ills attendThe wretch who entertains that fatal guest.

Queen.

Think not that I'll pursue its wand'ring fires,No more I'll know perplexing doubts and fears,And erring trace suspicion's endless maze,For, ah! I doubt no more.

Edessa.

Their shouts approach.

Queen.

Lead me, Edessa, to some peaceful gloom,Some silent shade far from the walks of men,There shall the hop'd revenge my thoughts employ,And sooth my sorrows with the coming joy.

SceneIV.EvantheandCleone.

Evanthe.

No, I'll not meet him now, for love delightsIn the soft pleasures of the secret shade,And shuns the noise and tumult of the croud.How tedious are the hours which bring himTo my fond, panting heart! for oh! to thoseWho live in expectation of the bliss,Time slowly creeps, and ev'ry tardy minuteSeems mocking of their wishes. Say, Cleone,For you beheld the triumph, 'midst his pomp,Did he not seem to curse the empty show,The pageant greatness, enemy to love,Which held him from Evanthe? haste, to tell me,And feed my gready ear with the fond tale—Yet, hold—for I shall weary you with questions,And ne'er be satisfied—Beware, Cleone,And guard your heart from Love's delusive sweets.

Cleone.

Is Love an ill, that thus you caution meTo shun his pow'r?

Evanthe.

The Tyrant, my Cleone,Despotic rules, and fetters all our thoughts.Oh! wouldst thou love, then bid adieu to peace,Then fears will come, and jealousies intrude,Ravage your bosom, and disturb your quiet,E'en pleasure to excess will be a pain.Once I was free, then my exulting heartWas like a bird that hops from spray to spray,And all was innocence and mirth; but, lo!The Fowler came, and by his arts decoy'd,And soon the Wanton cag'd. Twice fifteen timesHas Cynthia dipt her horns in beams of light,Twice fifteen times has wasted all her brightness,Since first I knew to love; 'twas on that dayWhen curs'd Vonones fell upon the plain,The lovely Victor doubly conquer'd me.

Cleone.

Forgive my boldness, Madam, if I askWhat chance first gave you to Vonones' pow'r?Curiosity thou know'st is of our sex.

Evanthe.

That is a task will wake me to new sorrows,Yet thou attend, and I will tell thee all.Arabia gave me birth, my father heldGreat Offices at Court, and was reputedBrave, wise and loyal, by his Prince belov'd.Oft has he led his conqu'ring troops, and forc'dFrom frowning victory her awful honours.In infancy I was his only treasure,On me he wasted all his store of fondness.Oh! I could tell thee of his wond'rous goodness,His more than father's love and tenderness.But thou wouldst jeer, and say the tale was trifling;So did he dote upon me, for in childhoodMy infant charms, and artless innocenceBlest his fond age, and won on ev'ry heart.But, oh! from this sprung ev'ry future ill,This fatal beauty was the source of all.

Cleone.

'Tis often so, for beauty is a flow'rThat tempts the hand to pluck it.

Evanthe.

Full three timesHas scorching summer fled from cold winter'sRuthless blasts, as oft again has springIn sprightly youth drest nature in her beauties,Since bathing in Niphates'[5]silver stream,Attended only by one fav'rite maid;As we were sporting on the wanton waves,Swift from the wood a troop of horsemen rush'd,Rudely they seiz'd, and bore me trembling off,In vain Edessa with her shrieks assail'dThe heav'ns, for heav'n was deaf to both our pray'rs.The wretch whose insolent embrace confin'd me(Like thunder bursting on the guilty soul),With curs'd Vonones' voice pour'd in my earsA hateful tale of love; for he it seemsHad seen me at Arabia's royal court,And took those means to force me to his arms.

Cleone.

Perhaps you may gain something from the CaptivesOf your lost Parents.

Evanthe.

This I meant to try,Soon as the night hides Nature in her darkness,Veil'd in the gloom we'll steal into their prison.But, oh! perhaps e'en now my aged SireMay 'mongst the slain lie welt'ring on the field,Pierc'd like a riddle through with num'rous wounds,While parting life is quiv'ring on his lips,He may perhaps be calling on his Evanthe.Yes, ye great Pow'rs who boast the name of mercy,Ye have deny'd me to his latest moments,To all the offices of filial duty,To bind his wounds, and wash them with my tears,Is this, is this your mercy?

Cleone.

Blame not heav'n,For heav'n is just and kind; dear Lady, driveThese black ideas from your gentle breast;Fancy delights to torture the distress'd,And fill the gloomy scene with shadowy ills,Summon your reason, and you'll soon have comfort.

Evanthe.

Dost thou name comfort to me, my Cleone,Thou who know'st all my sorrows? plead no more,'Tis reason tells me I am doubly wretched.

Cleone.

But hark, the music strikes, the rites begin,And, see, the doors are op'ning.

Evanthe.

Let's retire;My heart is now too full to meet him here,Fly swift ye hours, till in his arms I'm prest,And each intruding care is hush'd to rest.

SceneV.

The Scene draws and discovers, in the inner part of the Temple, a large image of the Sun, with an altar before it. Around Priests and Attendants.

King, Arsaces, Vardanes, Gotarzes, Phraates, Lysias,withBethasin chains.

Hymn.

Parent of Light, to thee belongOur grateful tributary songs;Each thankful voice to thee shall rise,And chearful pierce the azure skies;While in thy praise all earth combines,And Echo in the Chorus joins.All the gay pride of blooming May,The Lily fair and blushing Rose,To thee their early honours pay,And all their heav'nly sweets disclose.The feather'd Choir on ev'ry treeTo hail thy glorious dawn repair,While the sweet sons of harmonyWith Hallelujahs fill the air.'Tis thou hast brac'd the Hero's arm,And giv'n the Love of praise to warmHis bosom, as he onward flies,And for his Country bravely dies.Thine's victory, and from thee springsAmbition's fire, which glows in Kings.

All the gay pride of blooming May,The Lily fair and blushing Rose,To thee their early honours pay,And all their heav'nly sweets disclose.The feather'd Choir on ev'ry treeTo hail thy glorious dawn repair,While the sweet sons of harmonyWith Hallelujahs fill the air.

'Tis thou hast brac'd the Hero's arm,And giv'n the Love of praise to warmHis bosom, as he onward flies,And for his Country bravely dies.Thine's victory, and from thee springsAmbition's fire, which glows in Kings.

King[coming forward].

Thus, to the Gods our tributary songs,And now, oh! let me welcome once againMy blooming victor to his Father's arms;And let me thank thee for our safety: ParthiaShall thank thee too, and give her grateful praiseTo her Deliverer.

Omnes.

All hail! Arsaces!

King.

Thanks to my loyal friends.

Vardanes[aside].

Curse, curse the sound,E'en Echo gives it back with int'rest,The joyful gales swell with the pleasing theme,And waft it far away to distant hills.O that my breath was poison, then indeedI'd hail him like the rest, but blast him too.

Arsaces.

My Royal Sire, these honours are unmerited,Beneath your prosp'rous auspices I fought,Bright vict'ry to your banners joyful flew,And favour'd for the Sire the happy son.But lenity should grace the victor's laurels,Then, here, my gracious Father—

King.

Ha! 'tis Bethas!Know'st thou, vain wretch, what fate attends on thoseWho dare oppose the pow'r of mighty Kings,Whom heav'n delights to favour? sure some GodWho sought to punish you for impious deeds,'Twas urg'd you forward to insult our arms,And brave us at our Royal City's gates.

Bethas.

At honour's call, and at my King's command,Tho' it were even with my single arm, againI'd brave the multitude, which, like a deluge,O'erwhelm'd my gallant handful; yea, wou'd meetUndaunted, all the fury of the torrent.'Tis honour is the guide of all my actions,The ruling star by which I steer thro' life,And shun the shelves of infamy and vice.

King.

It was the thirst of gain which drew you on;'Tis thus that Av'rice always cloaks its views,Th' ambition of your Prince you gladly snatch'dAs opportunity to fill your coffers.It was the plunder of our palaces,And of our wealthy cities, fill'd your dreams,And urg'd you on your way; but you have metThe due reward of your audacity.Now shake your chains, shake and delight your earsWith the soft music of your golden fetters.

Bethas.

True, I am fall'n, but glorious was my fall,The day was brav'ly fought, we did our best,But victory's of heav'n. Look o'er yon field,See if thou findest one Arabian backDisfigur'd with dishonourable wounds.No, here, deep on their bosoms, are engrav'dThe marks of honour! 'twas thro' here their soulsFlew to their blissful seats. Oh! why did ISurvive the fatal day? To be this slave,To be the gaze and sport of vulgar crouds,Thus, like a shackl'd tyger, stalk my round,And grimly low'r upon the shouting herd.Ye Gods!—

King.

Away with him to instant death.

Arsaces.

Hear me, my Lord, O, not on this bright day,Let not this day of joy blush with his blood.Nor count his steady loyalty a crime,But give him life, Arsaces humbly asks it,And may you e'er be serv'd with honest hearts.

King.

Well, be it so; hence, bear him to his dungeon;Lysias, we here commit him to thy charge.

Bethas.

Welcome my dungeon, but more welcome death.Trust not too much, vain Monarch, to your pow'r,Know fortune places all her choicest giftsOn ticklish heights, they shake with ev'ry breeze,And oft some rude wind hurls them to the ground.Jove's thunder strikes the lofty palaces,While the low cottage, in humility,Securely stands, and sees the mighty ruin.What King can boast, to-morrow as to-day,Thus, happy will I reign? The rising sunMay view him seated on a splendid throne,And, setting, see him shake the servile chain.[Exit guarded.

[Exit guarded.

Scene VI.

King, Arsaces, Vardanes, Gotarzes, Phraates.

Gotarzes.

Thus let me hail thee from the croud distinct,For in the exulting voice of gen'ral joyMy fainter sounds were lost, believe me, Brother,My soul dilates with joy to see thee thus.

Arsaces.

Thus let me thank thee in this fond embrace.

Vardanes.

The next will be my turn, Gods, I had ratherBe circl'd in a venom'd serpent's fold.

Gotarzes.

O, my lov'd Brother, 'tis my humble boon,That, when the war next calls you to the field,I may attend you in the rage of battle.By imitating thy heroic deeds,Perhaps, I may rise to some little worth,Beneath thy care I'll try my feeble wings,Till taught by thee to soar to nobler heights.

King.

Why, that's my boy, thy spirit speaks thy birth,No more I'll turn thee from the road to glory,To rust in slothfulness, with lazy Gownsmen.

Gotarzes.

Thanks, to my Sire, I'm now completely blest.

Arsaces.

But, I've another Brother, where's Vardanes?

King.

Ha! what, methinks, he lurks behind the croud,And wears a gloom which suits not with the time.

Vardanes.

Doubt not my Love, tho' I lack eloquence,To dress my sentiments and catch the ear,Tho' plain my manners, and my language rude,My honest heart disdains to wear disguise.Then think not I am slothful in the race,Or, that my Brother springs before my Love.

Arsaces.

Far be suspicion from me.

Vardanes.

So, 'tis done,Thanks to dissembling, all is well again.

King.

Now let us forward, to the Temple go,And let, with chearful wine, the goblets flow;Let blink-ey'd Jollity his aid afford,To crown our triumph, round the festive board:But, let the wretch, whose soul can know a care,Far from our joys, to some lone shade repair,In secrecy, there let him e'er remain,Brood o'er his gloom, and still increase his pain.

End of the First Act.

SceneI.A Prison.

Lysias[alone].

The Sun set frowning, and refreshing EveLost all its sweets, obscur'd in double gloom.This night shall sleep be stranger to these eyes,Peace dwells not here, and slumber flies the shock;My spirits, like the elements, are warring,And mock the tempest with a kindred rage—I, who can joy in nothing, but revenge,Know not those boasted ties of Love and Friendship;Vardanes I regard, but as he give meSome hopes of vengeance on the Prince Arsaces—But, ha! he comes, wak'd by the angry storm,'Tis to my wish, thus would I form designs,Horror should breed beneath the veil of horror,And darkness aid conspiracies—He's here—

SceneII.VardanesandLysias.

Lysias.

Welcome, my noble Prince.

Vardanes.

Thanks, gentle friend;Heav'ns! what a night is this!

Lysias.

'Tis fill'd with terror;Some dread event beneath this horror lurks,Ordain'd by fate's irrevocable doom;Perhaps Arsaces' fall—and angry heav'nSpeaks it, in thunder, to the trembling world.

Vardanes.

Terror indeed! it seems as sick'ning NatureHad giv'n her order up to gen'ral ruin;The Heav'ns appear as one continu'd flame,Earth with her terror shakes, dim night retires,And the red lightning gives a dreadful day,While in the thunder's voice each sound is lost;Fear sinks the panting heart in ev'ry bosom,E'en the pale dead, affrighted at the horror,As tho' unsafe, start from their marble goals,And howling thro' the streets are seeking shelter.

Lysias.

I saw a flash stream thro' the angry clouds,And bend its course to where a stately pineBehind the garden stood, quickly it seiz'd,And wrapt it in a fiery fold, the trunkWas shiver'd into atoms, and the branchesOff were lopt, and wildly scatter'd round.

Vardanes.

Why rage the elements, they are not curs'dLike me? Evanthe frowns not angry on them,The wind may play upon her beauteous bosomNor fear her chiding, light can bless her sense,And in the floating mirror she beholdsThose beauties which can fetter all mankind.Earth gives her joy, she plucks the fragrant rose,Pleas'd takes its sweets, and gazes on its bloom.

Lysias.

My Lord, forget her, tear her from your breast.Who, like the Phœnix gazes on the sun,And strives to soar up to the glorious blaze,Should never leave Ambition's brightest object,To turn, and view the beauties of a flow'r.

Vardanes.

O, Lysias, chide no more, for I have done.Yes, I'll forget this proud disdainful beauty;Hence, with vain love—Ambition, now, alone,Shall guide my actions, since mankind delightsTo give me pain, I'll study mischief too,And shake the earth, e'en like this raging tempest.

Lysias.

A night like this, so dreadful to behold,Since my remembrance's birth, I never saw.

Vardanes.

E'en such a night, dreadful as this, they say,My teeming Mother gave me to the world.Whence by those sages who, in knowledge rich,Can pry into futurity, and tellWhat distant ages will produce of wonder,My days were deem'd to be a hurricane;My early life prov'd their prediction false;Beneath a sky serene my voyage began,But, to this long uninterrupted calm,Storms shall succeed.

Lysias.

Then haste, to raise the tempest;My soul disdains this one eternal round,Where each succeeding day is like the former.Trust me, my noble Prince, here is a heartSteady and firm to all your purposes,And here's a hand that knows to executeWhate'er designs thy daring breast can form,Nor ever shake with fear.

Vardanes.

And I will use it,Come to my bosom, let me place thee here,How happy am I clasping so much virtue!Now, by the light, it is my firm belief,One mighty soul in common swells our bosoms,Such sameness can't be match'd in diff'rent beings.

Lysias.

Your confidence, my Lord, much honours me,And when I act unworthy of your loveMay I be hooted from Society,As tho' disgraceful to the human kind,And driv'n to herd among the savage race.

Vardanes.

Believe me, Lysias, I do not knowA single thought which tends toward suspicion,For well I know thy worth, when I affront it,By the least doubt, may I be ever curs'dWith faithless friends, and by his dagger fallWhom my deluded wishes most would favour.

Lysias.

Then let's no longer trifle time away,I'm all impatience till I see thy browsBright in the glories of a diadem;My soul is fill'd with anguish when I thinkThat by weak Princes worn, 'tis thus disgrac'd.Haste, mount the throne, and, like the morning Sun,Chace with your piercing beams those mists away,Which dim the glory of the Parthian state:Each honest heart desires it, numbers there areReady to join you, and support your cause,Against th' opposing faction.

Vardanes.

Sure some God,Bid you thus call me to my dawning honours,And joyful I obey the pleasing summons.Now by the pow'rs of heav'n, of earth and hell,Most solemnly I swear, I will not knowThat quietude which I was wont to know,'Til I have climb'd the height of all my wishes,Or fell, from glory, to the silent grave.

Lysias.

Nobly resolv'd, and spoken like Vardanes,There shone my Prince in his superior lustre.

Vardanes.

But, then, Arsaces, he's a fatal bar—O! could I brush this busy insect from me,Which envious strives to rob me of my bloom,Then might I, like some fragrant op'ning flow'r,Spread all my beauties in the face of day.Ye Gods! why did ye give me such a soul(A soul, which ev'ry way is form'd for Empire),And damn me with a younger Brother's right?The diadem would set as well on mine,As on the brows of any lordly He;Nor is this hand weak to enforce command.And shall I steal into my grave, and giveMy name up to oblivion, to be thrownAmong the common rubbish of the times?No: Perish first, this happy hated Brother.

Lysias.

I always wear a dagger, for your service,I need not speak the rest—When humbly I intreated of your BrotherT' attend him as Lieutenant in this war,Frowning contempt, he haughtily reply'd,He entertain'd not Traitors in his service.True, I betray'd Orodes, but with cause,He struck me, like a sorry abject slave,And still withheld from giving what he'd promis'd.Fear not Arsaces, believe me, he shallSoon his Quietus have—But, see, he comes,—What can this mean? Why at this lonely hour,And unattended?—Ha! 'tis opportune—I'll in, and stab him now. I heed not whatThe danger is, so I but have revenge,Then heap perdition on me.

Vardanes.

Hold, awhile—'Twould be better could we undermine him,And make him fall by Artabanus' doom.

Lysias.

Well, be it so—

Vardanes.

But let us now retire,We must not be observ'd together here.

Scene III.

Arsaces[alone].

'Tis here that hapless Bethas is confin'd;He who, but yesterday, like angry Jove,When punishing the crimes of guilty men,Spread death and desolation all around,While Parthia trembl'd at his name; is nowUnfriended and forlorn, and counts the hours,Wrapt in the gloomy horrors of a goal.—How dark, and hidden, are the turns of fate!His rigid fortune moves me to compassion.O! 'tis a heav'nly virtue when the heartCan feel the sorrows of another's bosom,It dignifies the man: The stupid wretchWho knows not this sensation, is an image,And wants the feeling to make up a life—I'll in, and give my aid to sooth his sorrows.

Scene IV.

VardanesandLysias.

Lysias.

Let us observe with care, something we, yet,May gather, to give to us the vantage;No matter what's the intent.

Vardanes.

How easy 'tisTo cheat this busy, tattling, censuring world!For fame still names our actions, good or bad,As introduc'd by chance, which ofttimes throwsWrong lights on objects; vice she dresses up—In the bright form, and goodliness, of virtue,While virtue languishes, and pines neglected,Rob'd of her lustre—But, let's forward, Lysias—Thou know'st each turn in this thy dreary rule,Then lead me to some secret stand, from whence,Unnotic'd, all their actions we may view.

Lysias.

Here, take your stand behind—See, Bethas comes.[They retire.

[They retire.

Scene V.

Bethas[alone].

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