To think on Death in gloomy solitude,In dungeons and in chains, when expectationJoin'd with serious thought describe him to us,His height'n'd terrors strike upon the soulWith awful dread; imagination rais'dTo frenzy, plunges in a sea of horror,And tastes the pains, the agonies of dying—Ha! who is this, perhaps he bears my fate?It must be so, but, why this privacy?
To think on Death in gloomy solitude,In dungeons and in chains, when expectationJoin'd with serious thought describe him to us,His height'n'd terrors strike upon the soulWith awful dread; imagination rais'dTo frenzy, plunges in a sea of horror,And tastes the pains, the agonies of dying—Ha! who is this, perhaps he bears my fate?It must be so, but, why this privacy?
Scene VI.
ArsacesandBethas.
Arsaces.
Health to the noble Bethas, health and joy!
Health to the noble Bethas, health and joy!
Bethas.
A steady harden'd villain, one experienc'dIn his employment; ha! where's thy dagger?It cannot give me fear; I'm ready, see,My op'ning bosom tempts the friendly steel.Fain would I cast this tiresome being off,Like an old garment worn to wretchedness.Here, strike for I'm prepar'd.
A steady harden'd villain, one experienc'dIn his employment; ha! where's thy dagger?It cannot give me fear; I'm ready, see,My op'ning bosom tempts the friendly steel.Fain would I cast this tiresome being off,Like an old garment worn to wretchedness.Here, strike for I'm prepar'd.
Arsaces.
Oh! view me better,Say, do I wear the gloomy ruffian's frown?
Oh! view me better,Say, do I wear the gloomy ruffian's frown?
Bethas.
Ha! 'tis the gallant Prince, the brave Arsaces,And Bethas' Conqueror.
Ha! 'tis the gallant Prince, the brave Arsaces,And Bethas' Conqueror.
Arsaces.
And Bethas' friend,A name I'm proud to wear.
And Bethas' friend,A name I'm proud to wear.
Bethas.
Away—away—Mock with your jester to divert the court,Fit Scene for sportive joys and frolic mirth;Think'st thou I lack that manly constancyWhich braves misfortune, and remains unshaken?Are these, are these the emblems of thy friendship,These rankling chains, say, does it gall like these?No, let me taste the bitterness of sorrow,For I am reconcil'd to wretchedness.The Gods have empty'd all their mighty store,Of hoarded Ills, upon my whiten'd age;Now death—but, oh! I court coy death in vain,Like a cold maid, he scorns my fond complaining.'Tis thou, insulting Prince, 'tis thou hast dragg'dMy soul, just rising, down again to earth,And clogg'd her wings with dull mortality,A hateful bondage! Why—
Away—away—Mock with your jester to divert the court,Fit Scene for sportive joys and frolic mirth;Think'st thou I lack that manly constancyWhich braves misfortune, and remains unshaken?Are these, are these the emblems of thy friendship,These rankling chains, say, does it gall like these?No, let me taste the bitterness of sorrow,For I am reconcil'd to wretchedness.The Gods have empty'd all their mighty store,Of hoarded Ills, upon my whiten'd age;Now death—but, oh! I court coy death in vain,Like a cold maid, he scorns my fond complaining.'Tis thou, insulting Prince, 'tis thou hast dragg'dMy soul, just rising, down again to earth,And clogg'd her wings with dull mortality,A hateful bondage! Why—
Arsaces.
A moment hear me—
A moment hear me—
Bethas.
Why dost thou, like an angry vengeful ghost,Glide hither to disturb this peaceful gloom?What, dost thou envy me my miseries,My chains and flinty pavement, where I oftIn sleep behold the image of the death I wish,Forget my sorrows and heart-breaking anguish?These horrors I would undisturb'd enjoy,Attended only by my silent thoughts;Is it to see the wretch that you have made;To view the ruins of unhappy Bethas,And triumph in my grief? Is it for thisYou penetrate my dark joyless prison?
Why dost thou, like an angry vengeful ghost,Glide hither to disturb this peaceful gloom?What, dost thou envy me my miseries,My chains and flinty pavement, where I oftIn sleep behold the image of the death I wish,Forget my sorrows and heart-breaking anguish?These horrors I would undisturb'd enjoy,Attended only by my silent thoughts;Is it to see the wretch that you have made;To view the ruins of unhappy Bethas,And triumph in my grief? Is it for thisYou penetrate my dark joyless prison?
Arsaces.
Oh! do not injure me by such suspicions.Unknown to me are cruel scoffs and jests;My breast can feel compassion's tenderness,The warrior's warmth, the soothing joys of friendship.When adverse bold battalions shook the earth,And horror triumph'd on the hostile field,I sought you with a glorious enmity,And arm'd my brow with the stern frown of war.But now the angry trumpet wakes no moreThe youthful champion to the lust for blood.Retiring rage gives place to softer passions,And gen'rous warriors know no longer hate,The name of foe is lost, and thus I askYour friendship.
Oh! do not injure me by such suspicions.Unknown to me are cruel scoffs and jests;My breast can feel compassion's tenderness,The warrior's warmth, the soothing joys of friendship.When adverse bold battalions shook the earth,And horror triumph'd on the hostile field,I sought you with a glorious enmity,And arm'd my brow with the stern frown of war.But now the angry trumpet wakes no moreThe youthful champion to the lust for blood.Retiring rage gives place to softer passions,And gen'rous warriors know no longer hate,The name of foe is lost, and thus I askYour friendship.
Bethas.
Ah! why dost thou mock me thus?
Ah! why dost thou mock me thus?
Arsaces.
Let the base coward, he who ever shrinks,And trembles, at the slight name of danger,Taunt, and revile, with bitter gibes, the wretched;The brave are ever to distress a friend.Tho' my dear country (spoil'd by wasteful war,Her harvests blazing, desolate her towns,And baleful ruin shew'd her haggard face)Call'd out on me to save her from her foes,And I obey'd, yet to your gallant prowess,And unmatch'd deeds, I admiration gave.But now my country knows the sweets of safety,Freed from her fears; sure now I may indulgeMy just esteem for your superior virtue.
Let the base coward, he who ever shrinks,And trembles, at the slight name of danger,Taunt, and revile, with bitter gibes, the wretched;The brave are ever to distress a friend.Tho' my dear country (spoil'd by wasteful war,Her harvests blazing, desolate her towns,And baleful ruin shew'd her haggard face)Call'd out on me to save her from her foes,And I obey'd, yet to your gallant prowess,And unmatch'd deeds, I admiration gave.But now my country knows the sweets of safety,Freed from her fears; sure now I may indulgeMy just esteem for your superior virtue.
Bethas.
Yes, I must think you what you would be thought,For honest minds are easy of belief,And always judge of others by themselves,But often are deceiv'd; yet Parthia breeds notVirtue much like thine, the barb'rous clime teemsWith nought else but villains vers'd in ill.
Yes, I must think you what you would be thought,For honest minds are easy of belief,And always judge of others by themselves,But often are deceiv'd; yet Parthia breeds notVirtue much like thine, the barb'rous clime teemsWith nought else but villains vers'd in ill.
Arsaces.
Dissimulation never mark'd my looks,Nor flatt'ring deceit e'er taught my tongue,The tale of falsehood, to disguise my thoughts:To Virtue, and her fair companion, Truth,I've ever bow'd, their holy precepts kept,And scann'd by them the actions of my life.Suspicion surely ne'er disturbs the brave,They never know the fears of doubting thoughts;But free, as are the altars of the Gods,From ev'ry hand receive the sacrifice.
Dissimulation never mark'd my looks,Nor flatt'ring deceit e'er taught my tongue,The tale of falsehood, to disguise my thoughts:To Virtue, and her fair companion, Truth,I've ever bow'd, their holy precepts kept,And scann'd by them the actions of my life.Suspicion surely ne'er disturbs the brave,They never know the fears of doubting thoughts;But free, as are the altars of the Gods,From ev'ry hand receive the sacrifice.
Scene VII.
Arsaces,Bethas,EvantheandCleone.
Evanthe.
Heav'ns! what a gloom hangs round this dreadful place,Fit habitation for the guilty mind!Oh! if such terrors wait the innocent,Which tread these vaults, what must the impious feel,Who've all their crimes to stare them in the face?
Heav'ns! what a gloom hangs round this dreadful place,Fit habitation for the guilty mind!Oh! if such terrors wait the innocent,Which tread these vaults, what must the impious feel,Who've all their crimes to stare them in the face?
Bethas.
Immortal Gods! is this reality?Or mere illusion? am I blest at last,Or is it to torment me that you've rais'dThis semblance of Evanthe to my eyes?It is! it is! 'tis she!—
Immortal Gods! is this reality?Or mere illusion? am I blest at last,Or is it to torment me that you've rais'dThis semblance of Evanthe to my eyes?It is! it is! 'tis she!—
Arsaces.
Ha!—what means this?—She faints! she faints! life has forsook its seat,Pale Death usurps its place—Evanthe, Oh!Awake to life!—Love and Arsaces call!—
Ha!—what means this?—She faints! she faints! life has forsook its seat,Pale Death usurps its place—Evanthe, Oh!Awake to life!—Love and Arsaces call!—
Bethas.
Off—give her to my arms, my warm embraceShall melt Death's icy chains.
Off—give her to my arms, my warm embraceShall melt Death's icy chains.
Cleone.
She lives! she lives!—See, on her cheeks the rosy glow returns.
She lives! she lives!—See, on her cheeks the rosy glow returns.
Arsaces.
O joy! O joy! her op'ning eyes, again,Break, like the morning sun, a better day.
O joy! O joy! her op'ning eyes, again,Break, like the morning sun, a better day.
Bethas.
Evanthe!—
Evanthe!—
Evanthe.
Oh! my Father!—
Oh! my Father!—
Arsaces.
Ha!—her Father!
Ha!—her Father!
Bethas.
Heav'n thou art kind at last, and this indeedIs recompense for all the ills I've past;For all the sorrows which my heart has known,Each wakeful night, and ev'ry day of anguish.This, this has sweet'n'd all my bitter cup,And gave me once again to taste of joy,Joy which has long been stranger to this bosom.Hence—hence disgrace—off, ignominy off—But one embrace—I ask but one embrace,And 'tis deny'd.
Heav'n thou art kind at last, and this indeedIs recompense for all the ills I've past;For all the sorrows which my heart has known,Each wakeful night, and ev'ry day of anguish.This, this has sweet'n'd all my bitter cup,And gave me once again to taste of joy,Joy which has long been stranger to this bosom.Hence—hence disgrace—off, ignominy off—But one embrace—I ask but one embrace,And 'tis deny'd.
Evanthe.
Oh, yes, around thy neckI'll fold my longing arms, thy softer fetters,Thus press thee to my happy breast, and kissAway those tears that stain thy aged cheeks.
Oh, yes, around thy neckI'll fold my longing arms, thy softer fetters,Thus press thee to my happy breast, and kissAway those tears that stain thy aged cheeks.
Bethas.
Oh! 'tis too much! it is too much! ye Gods!Life's at her utmost stretch, and bursting nearWith heart-swoln ecstasy; now let me die.
Oh! 'tis too much! it is too much! ye Gods!Life's at her utmost stretch, and bursting nearWith heart-swoln ecstasy; now let me die.
Arsaces.
What marble heartCould see this scene unmov'd, nor give a tear?My eyes grow dim, and sympathetic passionFalls like a gushing torrent on my bosom.
What marble heartCould see this scene unmov'd, nor give a tear?My eyes grow dim, and sympathetic passionFalls like a gushing torrent on my bosom.
Evanthe.
O! happy me, this place, which lately seem'dSo fill'd with horror, now is pleasure's circle.Here will I fix my seat; my pleasing taskShall be to cherish thy remaining life.All night I'll keep a vigil o'er thy slumbers,And on my breast repose thee, mark thy dreams,And when thou wak'st invent some pleasing tale,Or with my songs the tedious hours beguile.
O! happy me, this place, which lately seem'dSo fill'd with horror, now is pleasure's circle.Here will I fix my seat; my pleasing taskShall be to cherish thy remaining life.All night I'll keep a vigil o'er thy slumbers,And on my breast repose thee, mark thy dreams,And when thou wak'st invent some pleasing tale,Or with my songs the tedious hours beguile.
Bethas.
Still let me gaze, still let me gaze upon thee,Let me strain ev'ry nerve with ravishment,And all my life be center'd in my vision.To see thee thus, to hear thy angel voice,It is, indeed, a luxury of pleasure!—Speak, speak again, for oh! 'tis heav'n to hear thee!Celestial sweetness dwells on ev'ry accent;—Lull me to rest, and sooth my raging joy.Joy which distracts me with unruly transports.Now, by thy dear departed Mother's shade,Thou brightest pattern of all excellence,Thou who in prattling infancy hast blest me,I wou'd not give this one transporting moment,This fullness of delight, for all—but, ah!'Tis vile, Ambition, Glory, all is vile,To the soft sweets of love and tenderness.
Still let me gaze, still let me gaze upon thee,Let me strain ev'ry nerve with ravishment,And all my life be center'd in my vision.To see thee thus, to hear thy angel voice,It is, indeed, a luxury of pleasure!—Speak, speak again, for oh! 'tis heav'n to hear thee!Celestial sweetness dwells on ev'ry accent;—Lull me to rest, and sooth my raging joy.Joy which distracts me with unruly transports.Now, by thy dear departed Mother's shade,Thou brightest pattern of all excellence,Thou who in prattling infancy hast blest me,I wou'd not give this one transporting moment,This fullness of delight, for all—but, ah!'Tis vile, Ambition, Glory, all is vile,To the soft sweets of love and tenderness.
Evanthe.
Now let me speak, my throbbing heart is full,I'll tell thee all—alas! I have forgot—'T 'as slipt me in the tumult of my joy.And yet I thought that I had much to say.
Now let me speak, my throbbing heart is full,I'll tell thee all—alas! I have forgot—'T 'as slipt me in the tumult of my joy.And yet I thought that I had much to say.
Bethas.
Oh! I have curs'd my birth, indeed, I haveBlasphem'd the Gods, with unbecoming passion,Arraign'd their Justice, and defy'd their pow'r,In bitterness, because they had deny'dThee to support the weakness of my age.But now no more I'll rail and rave at fate,All its decrees are just, complaints are impious,Whate'er short-sighted mortals feel, springs fromTheir blindness in the ways of Providence;Sufficient wisdom 'tis for man to knowThat the great Ruler is e'er wise and good.
Oh! I have curs'd my birth, indeed, I haveBlasphem'd the Gods, with unbecoming passion,Arraign'd their Justice, and defy'd their pow'r,In bitterness, because they had deny'dThee to support the weakness of my age.But now no more I'll rail and rave at fate,All its decrees are just, complaints are impious,Whate'er short-sighted mortals feel, springs fromTheir blindness in the ways of Providence;Sufficient wisdom 'tis for man to knowThat the great Ruler is e'er wise and good.
Arsaces.
Ye figur'd stones!Ye senseless, lifeless images of men,Who never gave a tear to others' woe,Whose bosoms never glow'd for others' good,O weary heav'n with your repeated pray'rs,And strive to melt the angry pow'rs to pity,That ye may truly live.
Ye figur'd stones!Ye senseless, lifeless images of men,Who never gave a tear to others' woe,Whose bosoms never glow'd for others' good,O weary heav'n with your repeated pray'rs,And strive to melt the angry pow'rs to pity,That ye may truly live.
Evanthe.
Oh! how my heartBeats in my breast, and shakes my trembling frame!I sink beneath this sudden flood of joy,Too mighty for my spirits.
Oh! how my heartBeats in my breast, and shakes my trembling frame!I sink beneath this sudden flood of joy,Too mighty for my spirits.
Arsaces.
My Evanthe,Thus in my arms I catch thy falling beauties,Chear thee; and kiss thee back to life again:Thus to my bosom I could ever hold thee,And find new pleasure.
My Evanthe,Thus in my arms I catch thy falling beauties,Chear thee; and kiss thee back to life again:Thus to my bosom I could ever hold thee,And find new pleasure.
Evanthe.
O! my lov'd Arsaces,Forgive me that I saw thee not before,Indeed my soul was busily employ'd,Nor left a single thought at liberty.But thou, I know, art gentleness and love.Now I am doubly paid for all my sorrows,For all my fears for thee.
O! my lov'd Arsaces,Forgive me that I saw thee not before,Indeed my soul was busily employ'd,Nor left a single thought at liberty.But thou, I know, art gentleness and love.Now I am doubly paid for all my sorrows,For all my fears for thee.
Arsaces.
Then, fear no more:Give to guilty wretches painful terrors:Whose keen remembrance raises horrid forms,Shapes that in spite of nature shock their soulsWith dreadful anguish: but thy gentle bosom,Where innocence beams light and gayety,Can never know a fear, now shining joyShall gild the pleasing scene.
Then, fear no more:Give to guilty wretches painful terrors:Whose keen remembrance raises horrid forms,Shapes that in spite of nature shock their soulsWith dreadful anguish: but thy gentle bosom,Where innocence beams light and gayety,Can never know a fear, now shining joyShall gild the pleasing scene.
Evanthe.
Alas! this joyI fear is like a sudden flame shot fromTh' expiring taper, darkness will ensue,And double night I dread enclose us round.Anxiety does yet disturb my breast,And frightful apprehension shakes my soul.
Alas! this joyI fear is like a sudden flame shot fromTh' expiring taper, darkness will ensue,And double night I dread enclose us round.Anxiety does yet disturb my breast,And frightful apprehension shakes my soul.
Bethas.
How shall I thank you, ye bright glorious beings!Shall I in humble adoration bow,Or fill the earth with your resounding praise?No, this I leave to noisy hypocrites,A Mortal's tongue disgraces such a theme;But heav'n delights where silent gratitudeMounts each aspiring thought to its bright throne,Nor leaves to language aught; words may indeedFrom man to man their sev'ral wants express,Heav'n asks the purer incense of the heart.
How shall I thank you, ye bright glorious beings!Shall I in humble adoration bow,Or fill the earth with your resounding praise?No, this I leave to noisy hypocrites,A Mortal's tongue disgraces such a theme;But heav'n delights where silent gratitudeMounts each aspiring thought to its bright throne,Nor leaves to language aught; words may indeedFrom man to man their sev'ral wants express,Heav'n asks the purer incense of the heart.
Arsaces.
I'll to the King, ere he retires to rest,Nor will I leave him 'til I've gain'd your freedom;His love will surely not deny me this.
I'll to the King, ere he retires to rest,Nor will I leave him 'til I've gain'd your freedom;His love will surely not deny me this.
Scene VIII.
VardanesandLysiascome forward.
Lysias.
'Twas a moving scene, e'en my rough natureWas nighly melted.
'Twas a moving scene, e'en my rough natureWas nighly melted.
Vardanes.
Hence coward pity—What is joy to them, to me is torture.Now am I rack'd with pains that far exceedThose agonies, which fabling Priests relate,The damn'd endure: The shock of hopeless Love,Unblest with any views to sooth ambition,Rob me of all my reas'ning faculties.Arsaces gains Evanthe, fills the throne,While I am doom'd to foul obscurity,To pine and grieve neglected.
Hence coward pity—What is joy to them, to me is torture.Now am I rack'd with pains that far exceedThose agonies, which fabling Priests relate,The damn'd endure: The shock of hopeless Love,Unblest with any views to sooth ambition,Rob me of all my reas'ning faculties.Arsaces gains Evanthe, fills the throne,While I am doom'd to foul obscurity,To pine and grieve neglected.
Lysias.
My noble Prince,Would it not be a master-piece, indeed,To make this very bliss their greatest ill,And damn them in the very folds of joy?
My noble Prince,Would it not be a master-piece, indeed,To make this very bliss their greatest ill,And damn them in the very folds of joy?
Vardanes.
This I will try, and stretch my utmost art,Unknown is yet the means—We'll think on that—Success may follow if you'll lend your aid.
This I will try, and stretch my utmost art,Unknown is yet the means—We'll think on that—Success may follow if you'll lend your aid.
Lysias.
The storm still rages—I must to the King,And know what further orders ere he sleeps:Soon I'll return, and speak my mind more fully.
The storm still rages—I must to the King,And know what further orders ere he sleeps:Soon I'll return, and speak my mind more fully.
Vardanes.
Haste, Lysias, haste, to aid me with thy council;For without thee, all my designs will proveLike night and chaos, darkness and confusion;But to thy word shall light and order spring.—Let coward Schoolmen talk of Virtue's rules,And preach the vain Philosophy of fools;Court eager their obscurity, afraidTo taste a joy, and in some gloomy shadeDream o'er their lives, while in a mournful strainThey sing of happiness they never gain.But form'd for nobler purposes I come,To gain a crown, or else a glorious tomb.
Haste, Lysias, haste, to aid me with thy council;For without thee, all my designs will proveLike night and chaos, darkness and confusion;But to thy word shall light and order spring.—Let coward Schoolmen talk of Virtue's rules,And preach the vain Philosophy of fools;Court eager their obscurity, afraidTo taste a joy, and in some gloomy shadeDream o'er their lives, while in a mournful strainThey sing of happiness they never gain.But form'd for nobler purposes I come,To gain a crown, or else a glorious tomb.
End of the Second Act.
Scene I.The Palace.
QueenandEdessa.
Queen.
Talk not of sleep to me, the God of RestDisdains to visit where disorder reigns;Not beds of down, nor music's softest strains,Can charm him when 'tis anarchy within.He flies with eager haste the mind disturb'd,And sheds his blessings where the soul's in peace.
Talk not of sleep to me, the God of RestDisdains to visit where disorder reigns;Not beds of down, nor music's softest strains,Can charm him when 'tis anarchy within.He flies with eager haste the mind disturb'd,And sheds his blessings where the soul's in peace.
Edessa.
Yet, hear me, Madam!
Yet, hear me, Madam!
Queen.
Hence, away, Edessa,For thou know'st not the pangs of jealousy.Say, has he not forsook my bed, and left meLike a lone widow mourning to the night?This, with the injury his son has done me,If I forgive, may heav'n in anger show'rIts torments on me—Ha! isn't that the King!
Hence, away, Edessa,For thou know'st not the pangs of jealousy.Say, has he not forsook my bed, and left meLike a lone widow mourning to the night?This, with the injury his son has done me,If I forgive, may heav'n in anger show'rIts torments on me—Ha! isn't that the King!
Edessa.
It is your Royal Lord, great Artabanus.
It is your Royal Lord, great Artabanus.
Queen.
Leave me, for I would meet him here alone,Something is lab'ring in my breast—
Leave me, for I would meet him here alone,Something is lab'ring in my breast—
Scene II.
KingandQueen.
King.
This leadsTo fair Evanthe's chamber—Ha! the Queen.
This leadsTo fair Evanthe's chamber—Ha! the Queen.
Queen.
Why dost thou start? so starts the guilty wretch,When, by some watchful eye, prevented fromHis dark designs.
Why dost thou start? so starts the guilty wretch,When, by some watchful eye, prevented fromHis dark designs.
King.
Prevented! how, what mean'st thou?
Prevented! how, what mean'st thou?
Queen.
Art thou then so dull? cannot thy heart,Thy changeling heart, explain my meaning to thee,Or must upbraiding 'wake thy apprehension?Ah! faithless, tell me, have I lost those charmsWhich thou so oft hast sworn could warm old age,And tempt the frozen hermit from his cell,To visit once again our gayer world?This, thou hast sworn, perfidious as thou art,A thousand times; as often hast thou swornEternal constancy, and endless love,Yet ev'ry time was perjur'd.
Art thou then so dull? cannot thy heart,Thy changeling heart, explain my meaning to thee,Or must upbraiding 'wake thy apprehension?Ah! faithless, tell me, have I lost those charmsWhich thou so oft hast sworn could warm old age,And tempt the frozen hermit from his cell,To visit once again our gayer world?This, thou hast sworn, perfidious as thou art,A thousand times; as often hast thou swornEternal constancy, and endless love,Yet ev'ry time was perjur'd.
King.
Sure, 'tis frenzy.
Sure, 'tis frenzy.
Queen.
Indeed, 'tis frenzy, 'tis the height of madness,For I have wander'd long in sweet delusion.At length the pleasing Phantom chang'd its form,And left me in a wilderness of woe.
Indeed, 'tis frenzy, 'tis the height of madness,For I have wander'd long in sweet delusion.At length the pleasing Phantom chang'd its form,And left me in a wilderness of woe.
King.
Prithee, no more, dismiss those jealous heats;Love must decay, and soon disgust arise,Where endless jarrings and upbraidings dampThe gentle flame, which warms the lover's breast.
Prithee, no more, dismiss those jealous heats;Love must decay, and soon disgust arise,Where endless jarrings and upbraidings dampThe gentle flame, which warms the lover's breast.
Queen.
Oh! grant me patience heav'n! and dost thou thinkBy these reproaches to disguise thy guilt?No, 'tis in vain, thy art's too thin to hide it.
Oh! grant me patience heav'n! and dost thou thinkBy these reproaches to disguise thy guilt?No, 'tis in vain, thy art's too thin to hide it.
King.
Curse on the marriage chain!—the clog, a wife,Who still will force and pall us with the joy,Tho' pow'r is wanting, and the will is cloy'd,Still urge the debt when Nothing's left to pay.
Curse on the marriage chain!—the clog, a wife,Who still will force and pall us with the joy,Tho' pow'r is wanting, and the will is cloy'd,Still urge the debt when Nothing's left to pay.
Queen.
Ha! dost thou own thy crime, nor feel the glowOf conscious shame?
Ha! dost thou own thy crime, nor feel the glowOf conscious shame?
King.
Why should I blush, if heav'nHas made me as I am, and gave me passions?Blest only in variety, then blameThe Gods, who form'd my nature thus, not me.
Why should I blush, if heav'nHas made me as I am, and gave me passions?Blest only in variety, then blameThe Gods, who form'd my nature thus, not me.
Queen.
Oh! Traitor! Villain!
Oh! Traitor! Villain!
King.
Hence—away—No more I'll wage a woman's war with words.[Exit.
Hence—away—No more I'll wage a woman's war with words.[Exit.
[Exit.
Queen.
Down, down ye rising passions, give me ease,Or break my heart, for I must yet be calm—But, yet, revenge, our Sex's joy, is mine;By all the Gods! he lives not till the morn.Who slights my love, shall sink beneath my hate.
Down, down ye rising passions, give me ease,Or break my heart, for I must yet be calm—But, yet, revenge, our Sex's joy, is mine;By all the Gods! he lives not till the morn.Who slights my love, shall sink beneath my hate.
Scene III.
QueenandVardanes.
Vardanes.
What, raging to the tempest?
What, raging to the tempest?
Queen.
Away!—away!—Yes, I will rage—a tempest's here within,Above the trifling of the noisy elements.Blow ye loud winds, burst with your violence,For ye but barely imitate the stormThat wildly rages in my tortur'd breast—The King—the King—
Away!—away!—Yes, I will rage—a tempest's here within,Above the trifling of the noisy elements.Blow ye loud winds, burst with your violence,For ye but barely imitate the stormThat wildly rages in my tortur'd breast—The King—the King—
Vardanes.
Ha! what?—the King?
Ha! what?—the King?
Queen.
Evanthe!
Evanthe!
Vardanes.
You talk like riddles, still obscure and short,Give me some cue to guide me thro' this maze.
You talk like riddles, still obscure and short,Give me some cue to guide me thro' this maze.
Queen.
Ye pitying pow'rs!—oh! for a poison, someCurs'd deadly draught, that I might blast her beauties,And rob her eyes of all their fatal lustre.
Ye pitying pow'rs!—oh! for a poison, someCurs'd deadly draught, that I might blast her beauties,And rob her eyes of all their fatal lustre.
Vardanes.
What, blast her charms?—dare not to think of it—Shocking impiety;—the num'rous systemsWhich gay creation spreads, bright blazing suns,With all th' attendant planets circling round,Are not worth half the radiance of her eyes.She's heav'n's peculiar care, good spir'ts hoverRound, a shining band, to guard her beauties.
What, blast her charms?—dare not to think of it—Shocking impiety;—the num'rous systemsWhich gay creation spreads, bright blazing suns,With all th' attendant planets circling round,Are not worth half the radiance of her eyes.She's heav'n's peculiar care, good spir'ts hoverRound, a shining band, to guard her beauties.
Queen.
Be they watchful then: for should remissnessTaint the guard, I'll snatch the opportunity,And hurl her to destruction.
Be they watchful then: for should remissnessTaint the guard, I'll snatch the opportunity,And hurl her to destruction.
Vardanes.
Dread Thermusa,Say, what has rous'd this tumult in thy soul?What dost thou rage with unabating fury,Wild as the winds, loud as the troubl'd sea?
Dread Thermusa,Say, what has rous'd this tumult in thy soul?What dost thou rage with unabating fury,Wild as the winds, loud as the troubl'd sea?
Queen.
Yes, I will tell thee—Evanthe—curse her—With charms—Would that my curses had the pow'rTo kill, destroy, and blast where e'er I hate,Then would I curse, still curse, till death should seizeThe dying accents on my falt'ring tongue.So should this world, and the false changeling manBe buried in one universal ruin.
Yes, I will tell thee—Evanthe—curse her—With charms—Would that my curses had the pow'rTo kill, destroy, and blast where e'er I hate,Then would I curse, still curse, till death should seizeThe dying accents on my falt'ring tongue.So should this world, and the false changeling manBe buried in one universal ruin.
Vardanes.
Still err'st thou from the purpose.
Still err'st thou from the purpose.
Queen.
Ha! 'tis so—Yes I will tell thee—for I know fond fool,Deluded wretch, thou dotest on Evanthe—Be that thy greatest curse, be curs'd like me,With jealousy and rage, for know, the King,Thy father, is thy rival.
Ha! 'tis so—Yes I will tell thee—for I know fond fool,Deluded wretch, thou dotest on Evanthe—Be that thy greatest curse, be curs'd like me,With jealousy and rage, for know, the King,Thy father, is thy rival.
Scene IV.
Vardanes[alone].
Ha! my rival!How knew she that?—yet stay—she's gone—my rival,What then? he is Arsaces' rival too.Ha!—this may aid and ripen my designs—Could I but fire the King with jealousy,And then accuse my Brother of IntriguesAgainst the state—ha!—join'd with Bethas, andConfed'rate with th' Arabians—'tis most likelyThat jealousy would urge him to belief.I'll sink my claim until some fitter time,'Til opportunity smiles on my purpose.Lysias already has receiv'd the mandateFor Bethas' freedom: Let them still proceed,This harmony shall change to discord soon.Fortune methinks of late grows wond'rous kind,She scarcely leaves me to employ myself.
Ha! my rival!How knew she that?—yet stay—she's gone—my rival,What then? he is Arsaces' rival too.Ha!—this may aid and ripen my designs—Could I but fire the King with jealousy,And then accuse my Brother of IntriguesAgainst the state—ha!—join'd with Bethas, andConfed'rate with th' Arabians—'tis most likelyThat jealousy would urge him to belief.I'll sink my claim until some fitter time,'Til opportunity smiles on my purpose.Lysias already has receiv'd the mandateFor Bethas' freedom: Let them still proceed,This harmony shall change to discord soon.Fortune methinks of late grows wond'rous kind,She scarcely leaves me to employ myself.
Scene V.
King,Arsaces,Vardanes.
King.
But where's Evanthe? Where's the lovely Maid?
But where's Evanthe? Where's the lovely Maid?
Arsaces.
On the cold pavement, by her aged Sire,The dear companion of his solitude,She sits, nor can persuasion make her rise;But in the wild extravagance of joyShe weeps, then smiles, like April's sun, thro' show'rs.While with strain'd eyes he gazes on her face,And cries, in ecstacy, "Ye gracious pow'rs!It is too much, it is too much to bear!"Then clasps her to his breast, while down his cheeksLarge drops each other trace, and mix with hers.
On the cold pavement, by her aged Sire,The dear companion of his solitude,She sits, nor can persuasion make her rise;But in the wild extravagance of joyShe weeps, then smiles, like April's sun, thro' show'rs.While with strain'd eyes he gazes on her face,And cries, in ecstacy, "Ye gracious pow'rs!It is too much, it is too much to bear!"Then clasps her to his breast, while down his cheeksLarge drops each other trace, and mix with hers.
King.
Thy tale is moving, for my eyes o'erflow—How slow does Lysias with Evanthe creep!So moves old time when bringing us to bliss.Now war shall cease, no more of war I'll have,Death knows satiety, and pale destructionTurns loathing from his food, thus forc'd on him.The triffling dust, the cause of all this ruin,The trade of death shall urge no more.—
Thy tale is moving, for my eyes o'erflow—How slow does Lysias with Evanthe creep!So moves old time when bringing us to bliss.Now war shall cease, no more of war I'll have,Death knows satiety, and pale destructionTurns loathing from his food, thus forc'd on him.The triffling dust, the cause of all this ruin,The trade of death shall urge no more.—
Scene VI.
King,Arsaces,Vardanes,Evanthe,Lysias.
King.
Evanthe!—See pleasure's goddess deigns to dignifyThe happy scene, and make our bliss complete.So Venus, from her heav'nly seat, descendsTo bless the gay Cythera with her presence;A thousand smiling graces wait the goddess,A thousand little loves are flutt'ring round,And joy is mingl'd with the beauteous train.
Evanthe!—See pleasure's goddess deigns to dignifyThe happy scene, and make our bliss complete.So Venus, from her heav'nly seat, descendsTo bless the gay Cythera with her presence;A thousand smiling graces wait the goddess,A thousand little loves are flutt'ring round,And joy is mingl'd with the beauteous train.
Evanthe.
O! Royal Sir, thus lowly to the groundI bend, in humble gratitude, acceptMy thanks, for this thy goodness, words are vileT' express the image of my lively thought,And speak the grateful fulness of my heart.All I can say, is that I now am happy,And that thy giving hand has made me blest.
O! Royal Sir, thus lowly to the groundI bend, in humble gratitude, acceptMy thanks, for this thy goodness, words are vileT' express the image of my lively thought,And speak the grateful fulness of my heart.All I can say, is that I now am happy,And that thy giving hand has made me blest.
King.
O! rise, Evanthe rise, this lowly postureSuits not with charms like thine, they should command,And ev'ry heart exult in thy behests;—But, where's thy aged Sire?
O! rise, Evanthe rise, this lowly postureSuits not with charms like thine, they should command,And ev'ry heart exult in thy behests;—But, where's thy aged Sire?
Evanthe.
This sudden turnOf fortune has so wrought upon his frame,His limbs could not support him to thy presence.
This sudden turnOf fortune has so wrought upon his frame,His limbs could not support him to thy presence.
Arsaces.
This, this is truly great, this is the Hero,Like heav'n, to scatter blessings 'mong mankindAnd e'er delight in making others happy.Cold is the praise which waits the victor's triumph(Who thro' a sea of blood has rush'd to glory),To the o'erflowings of a grateful heart,By obligations conquer'd: Yet, extendThy bounty unto me.[Kneels.
This, this is truly great, this is the Hero,Like heav'n, to scatter blessings 'mong mankindAnd e'er delight in making others happy.Cold is the praise which waits the victor's triumph(Who thro' a sea of blood has rush'd to glory),To the o'erflowings of a grateful heart,By obligations conquer'd: Yet, extendThy bounty unto me.[Kneels.
[Kneels.
King.