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 spring Around 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._

ACT IV.

SCENE I. _A Prison._

_GOTARZES and PHRAATES._

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 G.o.ds!--

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 d.a.m.ned deed, Urg'd by the b.l.o.o.d.y 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 first I 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 Vardanes As Parthia's dreaded Lord!--"'Tis done", he cry'd, "'Tis done, and Artaba.n.u.s 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 bring Bright day and joy to ev'ry heart."

GOTARZES.

Why slept Your vengeance, oh! ye righteous G.o.ds?

PHRAATES.

Then told A tale, so fill'd with b.l.o.o.d.y circ.u.mstance, Of this d.a.m.n'd deed, that stiffen'd me with horror.

Vardanes seem'd to blame the hasty act, As rash, and unadvis'd, by pa.s.sion urg'd, Which never yields to cool reflection's place.

But, being done, resolv'd it secret, lest The mult.i.tude should take it in their wise Authority to pry into his death.

Arsaces was, by a.s.sa.s.sination, Doom'd to fall. Your name was mention'd also-- But hurried by my fears away, I left The rest unheard--

GOTARZES.

What can be done?--Reflection, why wilt thou Forsake us, when distress is at our heels?

Phraates, help me, aid me with thy council.

PHRAATES.

Then stay not here, fly to Barzaphernes, His conqu'ring troops are at a trivial distance; Soon will you reach the camp; he lov'd your Brother, And your Father with affection serv'd; haste Your flight, whilst yet I have the city-guard, For Lysias I expect takes my command.

I to the camp dispatch'd a trusty slave, Before the morn had spread her blushing veil.

Away, you'll meet the Gen'ral on the road, On such a cause as this he'll not delay.

GOTARZES.

I thank your love--

SCENE II.

PHRAATES [_alone_].

I'll wait behind, my stay May aid the cause; dissembling I must learn, Necessity shall teach me how to vary My features to the looks of him I serve.

I'll thrust myself disguis'd among the croud, And fill their ears with murmurs of the deed: Whisper all is not well, blow up the sparks Of discord, and it soon will flame to rage.

SCENE III.

_QUEEN and LYSIAS._

QUEEN.

Haste, and shew me to the Prince Arsaces, Delay not, see the signet of Vardanes.

LYSIAS.

Royal Thermusa, why this eagerness?

This tumult of the soul?--what means this dagger?

Ha!--I suspect--

QUEEN.

Hold--for I'll tell thee, Lysias.

'Tis--oh! I scarce can speak the mighty joy-- I shall be greatly blest in dear revenge, 'Tis vengeance on Arsaces--yes, this hand Shall urge the shining poniard to his heart, And give him death--yea, give the ruffian death; So shall I smile on his keen agonies.