ACT IV.

Ha! rise Arsaces.

Arsaces.

Not till you grant my boon.

King.

Speak, and 'tis thine—Wide thro' our kingdom let thy eager wishesSearch for some jewel worthy of thy seeing;Something that's fit to show the donor's bounty,And by the glorious sun, our worship'd God,Thou shalt not have denial; e'en my crownShall gild thy brows with shining beams of Empire.With pleasure I'll resign to thee my honours,I long for calm retirement's softer joys.

Arsaces.

Long may you wear it, grant it bounteous heav'n,And happiness attend it; 'tis my pray'rThat daily rises with the early sweetsOf nature's incense, and the lark's loud strain.'Tis not the unruly transport of ambitionThat urges my desires to ask your crown;Let the vain wretch, who prides in gay dominion,Who thinks not of the great ones' weighty cares,Enjoy his lofty wish, wide spreading rule.The treasure which I ask, put in the scale,Would over-balance all that Kings can boast,Empire and diadems.

King.

Away, that thought—Name it, haste—speak.

Arsaces.

For all the dang'rous toil,Thirst, hunger, marches long that I've endur'd,For all the blood I've in thy service spent,Reward me with Evanthe.

King.

Ha! what said'st thou?—

Vardanes.

The King is mov'd, and angry bites his lip.—Thro' my benighted soul all-cheering hope[Aside.Beams, like an orient sun, reviving joy.

[Aside.

Arsaces.

The stern Vonones ne'er could boast a meritBut loving her.

King.

Ah! curse the hated name—Yes, I remember when the fell ruffianDirected all his fury at my life;Then sent, by pitying heav'n, t' assert the rightOf injur'd Majesty, thou, Arsaces,Taught him the duty he ne'er knew before,And laid the Traitor dead.

Arsaces.

My Royal Sire!

Lysias.

My Liege, the Prince still kneels.

King.

Ha!—rebel, off—[Strikes him.What, Lysias, did I strike thee? forgive my rage—The name of curs'd Vonones fires my blood,And gives me up to wrath.—

[Strikes him.

Lysias.

I am your slave,Sway'd by your pleasure—when I forget it,May this keen dagger, which I mean to hideDeep in his bosom, pierce my vitals thro'.[Aside.

[Aside.

King.

Didst thou not name Evanthe?

Arsaces.

I did, my Lord!And, say, whom should I name but her, in whomMy soul has center'd all her happiness?Nor canst thou blame me, view her wond'rous charms,She's all perfection; bounteous heav'n has form'd herTo be the joy, and wonder of mankind;But language is too vile to speak her beauties.Here ev'ry pow'r of glowing fancy's lost:Rose blush secure, ye lilies still enjoyYour silver whiteness, I'll not rob your charmsTo deck the bright comparison; for hereIt sure must fail.

King.

He's wanton in her praise—[Aside.I tell thee, Prince, hadst thou as many tongues,As days have wasted since creation's birth,They were too few to tell the mighty theme.

[Aside.

Evanthe.

I'm lost! I'm lost![Aside.

[Aside.

Arsaces.

Then I'll be dumb for ever.

King.

O rash and fatal oath! is there no way,No winding path to shun this precipice,But must I fall and dash my hopes to atoms?In vain I strive, thought but perplexes me,Yet shews no hold to bear me up—now, holdMy heart a while—she's thine—'tis done.

Arsaces.

In deepProstration, I thank my Royal Father.

King.

A sudden pain shoots thro' my trembling breast—Lend me thy arm Vardanes—cruel pow'rs!

Scene VII.

ArsacesandEvanthe.

Evanthe[after a pause].

E'er since the dawn of my unhappy lifeJoy never shone serenely on my soul;Still something interven'd to cloud my day.Tell me, ye pow'rs, unfold the hidden crimeFor which I'm doom'd to this eternal woe,Thus still to number o'er my hours with tears?The Gods are just I know, nor are decreesIn hurry shuffl'd out, but where the boltTakes its direction justice points the mark.Yet still in vain I search within my breast,I find no sins are there to shudder at—Nought but the common frailties of our natures.Arsaces,—Oh!—

Arsaces.

Ha! why that look of anguish?Why didst thou name me with that sound of sorrow?Ah! say, why stream those gushing tears so fastFrom their bright fountain? sparkling joy should nowBe lighten'd in thine eye, and pleasure glowUpon thy rosy cheek;—ye sorrows hence—'Tis love shall triumph now.

Evanthe.

Oh![Sighs.

[Sighs.

Arsaces.

What means that sigh?Tell me why heaves thy breast with such emotion?Some dreadful thought is lab'ring for a vent,Haste, give it loose, ere strengthen'd by confinementIt wrecks thy frame, and tears its snowy prison.Is sorrow then so pleasing that you hoard itWith as much love, as misers do their gold?Give me my share of sorrows.

Evanthe.

Ah! too soonYou'll know what I would hide.

Arsaces.

Be it from thee—The dreadful tale, when told by thee, shall please;Haste, to produce it with its native terrors,My steady soul shall still remain unshaken;For who when bless'd with beauties like to thineWould e'er permit a sorrow to intrude?Far hence in darksome shades does sorrow dwell,Where hapless wretches thro' the awful gloom,Echo their woes, and sighing to the winds,Augment with tears the gently murm'ring stream;But ne'er disturbs such happiness as mine.

Evanthe.

Oh! 'tis not all thy boasted happiness,Can save thee from disquietude and care;Then build not too securely on these joys,For envious sorrow soon will undermine,And let the goodly structure fall to ruin.

Arsaces.

I charge thee, by our mutual vows, Evanthe,Tell me, nor longer keep me in suspense:Give me to know the utmost rage of fate.

Evanthe.

Then know—impossible!—

Arsaces.

Ha! dost thou fearTo shock me?—

Evanthe.

Know, thy Father—loves Evanthe.—

Arsaces.

Loves thee?

Evanthe.

Yea, e'en to distraction loves me.Oft at my feet he's told the moving tale,And woo'd me with the ardency of youth.I pitied him indeed, but that was all,Thou would'st have pitied too.

Arsaces.

I fear 'tis true;A thousand crouding circumstances speak it.Ye cruel Gods! I've wreck'd a Father's peace,Oh! bitter thought!

Evanthe.

Didst thou observe, Arsaces,How reluctant he gave me to thy arms?

Arsaces.

Yes, I observ'd that when he gave thee up,It seem'd as tho' he gave his precious life.And who'd forego the heav'n of thy love?To rest on thy soft swelling breast, and inSweet slumbers sooth each sharp intruding care?Oh! it were bliss, such as immortals taste,To press thy ruby lips distilling sweets,Or circl'd in thy snowy arms to snatchA joy, that Gods——

Evanthe.

Come, then, my much-lov'd Prince,Let's seek the shelter of some kind retreat.Happy Arabia opens wide her arms,There may we find some friendly solitude,Far from the noise and hurry of the Court.Ambitious views shall never blast our joys,Or tyrant Fathers triumph o'er our wills:There may we live like the first happy pairCloth'd in primeval innocence secure.Our food untainted by luxurious arts,Plain, simple, as our lives, shall not destroyThe health it should sustain; while the clear brookAffords the cooling draught our thirsts to quench.There, hand in hand, we'll trace the citron grove,While with the songsters' round I join my voice,To hush thy cares and calm thy ruffl'd soul:Or, on some flow'ry bank reclin'd, my strainsShall captivate the natives of the stream,While on its crystal lap ourselves we view.

Arsaces.

I see before us a wide sea of sorrows,Th' angry waves roll forward to o'erwhelm us,Black clouds arise, and the wind whistles loud.But yet, oh! could I save thee from the wreck,Thou beauteous casket, where my joys are stor'd,Let the storm rage with double violence,Smiling I'd view its wide extended horrors.

Evanthe.

'Tis not enough that we do know the ill,Say, shall we calmly see the tempest rise,And seek no shelter from th' inclement sky,But bid it rage?—

Arsaces.

Ha! will he force thee from me?What, tear thee from my fond and bleeding heart?And must I lose thee ever? dreadful word!Never to gaze upon thy beauties more?Never to taste the sweetness of thy lips?Never to know the joys of mutual love?Never!—Oh! let me lose the pow'r of thinking,For thought is near allied to desperation.Why, cruel Sire—why did you give me life,And load it with a weight of wretchedness?Take back my being, or relieve my sorrows—Ha! art thou not Evanthe?—Art thou notThe lovely Maid, who bless'd the fond Arsaces?—[Raving.

[Raving.

Evanthe.

O, my lov'd Lord, recall your scatter'd spir'ts,Alas! I fear your senses are unsettl'd.

Arsaces.

Yes, I would leave this dull and heavy sense.Let me grow mad; perhaps, I then may gainSome joy, by kind imagination form'd,Beyond reality.—O! my Evanthe!Why was I curs'd with empire? born to rule?—Would I had been some humble Peasant's son,And thou some Shepherd's daughter on the plain;My throne some hillock, and my flock my subjects,My crook my sceptre, and my faithful dogMy only guard; nor curs'd with dreams of greatness.At early dawn I'd hail the coming day,And join the lark the rival of his lay;At sultry noon to some kind shade repair,Thus joyful pass the hours, my only care,To guard my flock, and please the yielding Fair.

Scene VIII.

King.—Vardanesbehind the Scene.

King.

I will not think, to think is torment—Ha!See, how they twine! ye furies cut their hold.Now their hot blood beats loud to love's alarms;Sigh presses sigh, while from their sparkling eyesFlashes desire—Oh! ye bright heav'nly beings,Who pitying bend to suppliant Lovers' pray'rs,And aid them in extremity, assist me!

Vardanes.

Thus, for the Trojan, mourn'd the Queen of Carthage;So, on the shore she raving stood, and sawHis navy leave her hospitable shore.In vain she curs'd the wind which fill'd their sails,And bore the emblem of its change away.[Comes forward.

[Comes forward.

King.

Vardanes—Ha!—come here, I know thou lov'st me.

Vardanes.

I do, my Lord; but, say, what busy villainDurst e'er approach your ear, with coz'ning tales,And urge you to a doubt?

King.

None, none believe me.I'll ne'er oppress thy love with fearful doubt—A little nigher—let me lean upon thee—And thou be my support—for now I meanT' unbosom to thee free without restraint:Search all the deep recesses of my soul,And open ev'ry darling thought before thee,Which long I've secreted with jealous care.Pray, mark me well.

Vardanes.

I will, my Royal Sire.

King.

On Anna thus reclin'd the love-sick Dido;Thus to her cheek laid hers with gentle pressure,And wet her sister with a pearly show'r,Which fell from her sad eyes, then told her tale,While gentle Anna gave a pitying tear,And own'd 'twas moving—thou canst pity too,I know thy nature tender and engaging.

Vardanes.

Tell me, my gracious Lord, what moves you thus?Why is your breast distracted with these tumults?Teach me some method how to sooth your sorrows,And give your heart its former peace and joy;Instruct thy lov'd Vardanes.—

King.

Yes, I'll tell thee;But listen with attention while I speak;And yet I know 'twill shock thy gentle soul,And horror o'er thee 'll spread his palsy hand.O, my lov'd Son! thou fondness of my age!Thou art the prop of my declining years,In thee alone I find a Father's joy,Of all my offspring: but Arsaces—

Vardanes.

Ha!My Brother!—

King.

Ay—why dost start?—thy BrotherPursues me with his hate: and, while warm lifeRolls the red current thro' my veins, delightsTo see me tortur'd; with an easy smileHe meets my suff'rings, and derides my pain.

Vardanes.

Oh!

King.

What means that hollow groan?—Vardanes, speak,Death's image fits upon thy pallid cheek,While thy low voice sounds as when murmurs runThro' lengthen'd vaults—

Vardanes.

O! my foreboding thoughts.[Aside.'Twas this disturb'd my rest; when sleep at nightLock'd me in slumbers; in my dreams I sawMy Brother's crime—yet, death!—it cannot be—

[Aside.

King.

Ha!—what was that?—

Vardanes.

O! my dread Lord, some VillainBred up in lies, and train'd to treach'ry,Has injur'd you by vile reports, to stainMy Princely Brother's honour.

King.

Thou know'st more,Thy looks confess what thou in vain wouldst hide—And hast thou then conspir'd against me too,And sworn concealment to your practices?—Thy guilt—

Vardanes.

Ha! guilt!—what guilt?—

King.

Nay, start not so—I'll know your purposes, spite of thy art.

Vardanes.

O! ye great Gods! and is it come to this?—My Royal Father call your reason home,Drive these loud passions hence, that thus deform you.My Brother—Ah! what shall I say?—My BrotherSure loves you as he ought.

King.

Ha! as he ought?—Hell blister thy evasive tongue—I'll know it—I will; I'll search thy breast, thus will I openA passage to your secrets—yet resolv'd—Yet steady in your horrid villany—'Tis fit that I from whom such monsters sprungNo more should burthen earth—Ye Parricides!—Here plant your daggers in this hated bosom—Here rive my heart, and end at once my sorrows,I gave ye being, that's the mighty crime.

Vardanes.

I can no more—here let me bow in anguish—Think not that I e'er join'd in his designs,Because I have conceal'd my knowledge of them:I meant, by pow'rful reason's friendly aid,To turn him from destruction's dreadful path,And bring him to a sense of what he ow'dTo you as King and Father.

King.

Say on—I'll hear.

Vardanes.

He views thy sacred life with envious hate,As 'tis a bar to his ambitious hopes.On the bright throne of Empire his plum'd wishesSeat him, while on his proud aspiring browsHe feels the pleasing weight of Royalty.But when he wakes from these his airy dreams(Delusions form'd by the deceiver hope,To raise him to the glorious height of greatness),Then hurl him from proud Empire to subjection.Wild wrath will quickly swell his haughty breast,Soon as he finds 'tis but a shadowy blessing.—'Twas fav'ring accident discover'd to meAll that I know; this Evening as I stoodAlone, retir'd, in the still gallery,That leads up to th' appartment of my Brother,T' indulge my melancholy thoughts,—

King.

Proceed—

Vardanes.

A wretch approach'd with wary step, his eyeSpoke half his tale, denoting villany.In hollow murmurs thus he question'd me—Was I the Prince?—I answer'd to content him—Then in his hand he held this paper forth."Take this," says he, "this Bethas greets thee with,Keep but your word our plot will meet success."I snatch'd it with more rashness than discretion,Which taught him his mistake. In haste he drew,And aim'd his dagger at my breast, but paidHis life, a forfeit, for his bold presuming.

King.

O Villain! Villain!

Vardanes.

Here, read this, my Lord—I read it, and cold horror froze my blood.And shook me like an ague.

King.

Ha!—what's this?—"Doubt not Arabia's aid, set me but free,I'll easy pass on the old cred'lous King,For fair Evanthe's Father."—Thus to atoms—Oh! could I tear these cursed traitors thus.[Tears the paper into pieces.

[Tears the paper into pieces.

Vardanes.

Curses avail you nothing, he has pow'r,And may abuse it to your prejudice.

King.

I am resolv'd—

Vardanes.

Tho' Pris'ner in his camp,Yet, Bethas was attended like a Prince,As tho' he still commanded the Arabians.'Tis true, when they approach'd the royal city,He threw him into chains to blind our eyes,A shallow artifice—

King.

That is a Truth.

Vardanes.

And, yet, he is your Son.

King.

Ah! that indeed—

Vardanes.

Why, that still heightens his impiety,To rush to empire thro' his Father's blood,And, in return of life, to give him death.

King.

Oh! I am all on fire, yes I must tearThese folds of venom from me.

Vardanes.

Sure 'twas LysiasThat cross'd the passage now.

King.

'Tis to my wish.I'll in, and give him orders to arrestMy traitor Son and Bethas—Now VardanesIndulge thy Father in this one request—Seize, with some horse, Evanthe, and bear herTo your command—Oh! I'll own my weakness—I love with fondness mortal never knew—Not Jove himself, when he forsook his heav'n,And in a brutal shape disgrac'd the God,E'er lov'd like me.

Vardanes.

I will obey you, Sir.

Scene IX.

Vardanes[alone].

I'll seize her, but I'll keep her for myself,It were a sin to give her to his age—To twine the blooming garland of the springAround the sapless trunks of wither'd oaks—The night, methinks, grows ruder than it was,Thus should it be, thus nature should be shock'd,And Prodigies, affrighting all mankind,Foretell the dreadful business I intend.The earth should gape, and swallow cities up,Shake from their haughty heights aspiring tow'rs,And level mountains with the vales below;The Sun amaz'd should frown in dark eclipse,And light retire to its unclouded heav'n;While darkness, bursting from her deep recess,Should wrap all nature in eternal night.—Ambition, glorious fever of the mind,'Tis that which raises us above mankind;The shining mark which bounteous heav'n has gave,From vulgar souls distinguishing the brave.

End of the Third Act.

Scene I.A Prison.

GotarzesandPhraates.

Phraates.

Oh! fly my Prince, for safety dwells not here,Hence let me urge thy flight with eager haste.Last night thy Father sigh'd his soul to bliss,Base murther'd—

Gotarzes.

Murther'd? ye Gods!—

Phraates.

Alas! 'tis true.Stabb'd in his slumber by a traitor's hand;I scarce can speak it—horror choaks my words—Lysias it was who did the damned deed,Urg'd by the bloody Queen, and his curs'd rage,Because the King, thy Sire, in angry mood,Once struck him on his foul dishonest cheek.Suspicion gave me fears of this, when firstI heard, the Prince, Arsaces, was imprison'd,By fell Vardanes' wiles.

Gotarzes.

Oh! horror! horror!Hither I came to share my Brother's sorrows,To mingle tears, and give him sigh for sigh;But this is double, double weight of woe.

Phraates.

'Tis held as yet a secret from the world.Frighted by hideous dreams I shook off sleep,And as I mus'd the garden walks along,Thro' the deep gloom, close in a neighb'ring walk,Vardanes with proud Lysias I beheld,Still eager in discourse they saw not me,For yet the early dawn had not appear'd;I sought a secret stand, where hid from view,I heard stern Lysias, hail the Prince VardanesAs Parthia's dreaded Lord!—"'Tis done", he cry'd,"'Tis done, and Artabanus is no more.The blow he gave me is repay'd in blood;Now shall the morn behold two rising suns:Vardanes thou, our better light, shalt bringBright day and joy to ev'ry heart."Gotarzes.Why sleptYour vengeance, oh! ye righteous Gods?

Gotarzes.

Why sleptYour vengeance, oh! ye righteous Gods?

Phraates.

Then toldA tale, so fill'd with bloody circumstance,Of this damn'd deed, that stiffen'd me with horror.Vardanes seem'd to blame the hasty act,As rash, and unadvis'd, by passion urg'd,Which never yields to cool reflection's place.But, being done, resolv'd it secret, lestThe multitude should take it in their wiseAuthority to pry into his death.Arsaces was, by assassination,Doom'd to fall. Your name was mention'd also—But hurried by my fears away, I leftThe rest unheard—

Gotarzes.

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