His looks are soft and kind, such gentleness Such virtue swells his bosom! in his eye Sits majesty, commanding ev'ry heart.

Strait as the pine, the pride of all the grove, More blooming than the spring, and sweeter far, Than asphodels or roses infant sweets.

Oh! I could dwell forever on his praise, Yet think eternity was scarce enough To tell the mighty theme; here in my breast His image dwells, but one dear thought of him, When fancy paints his Person to my eye, As he was wont in tenderness dissolv'd, Sighing his vows, or kneeling at my feet, Wipes off all mem'ry of my wretchedness.

VARDANES.

I know this brav'ry is affected, yet It gives me joy, to think my rival only Can in imagination taste thy beauties.

Let him,--'twill ease him in his solitude, And gild the horrors of his prison-house, Till death shall--

EVANTHE.

Ha! what was that? till death--ye G.o.ds!

Ah, now I feel distress's tort'ring pang-- Thou canst not, villain--darst not think his death-- O mis'ry!--

VARDANES.

Naught but your kindness saves him, Yet bless me, with your love, and he is safe; But the same frown which kills my growing hopes, Gives him to death.

EVANTHE.

O horror, I could die Ten thousand times to save the lov'd Arsaces.

Teach me the means, ye pow'rs, how to save him: Then lead me to what ever is my fate.

VARDANES.

Not only shall he die, but to thy view I'll bring the scene, those eyes that take delight In cruelty, shall have enough of death.

E'en here, before thy sight, he shall expire, Not sudden, but by ling'ring torments; all That mischief can invent shall be practis'd To give him pain; to lengthen out his woe I'll search around the realm for skillful men, To find new tortures.

EVANTHE.

Oh! wrack not thus my soul!

VARDANES.

The s.e.x o'erflows with various humours, he Who catches not their smiles the very moment, Will lose the blessing--I'll improve this softness.-- [_Aside to her._ Heav'n never made thy beauties to destroy, They were to bless, and not to blast mankind; Pity should dwell within thy lovely breast, That sacred temple ne'er was form'd for hate A habitation; but a residence For love and gaiety.

EVANTHE.

Oh! heav'ns!

VARDANES.

That sigh, Proclaims your kind consent to save Arsaces. [_Laying hold of her._

EVANTHE.

Ha! villain, off--unhand me--hence--

VARDANES.

In vain Is opportunity to those, who spend An idle courtship on the fair, they well Deserve their fate, if they're disdain'd;--her charms To rush upon, and conquer opposition, Gains the Fair one's praise; an active lover Suits, who lies aside the c.o.xcomb's empty whine, And forces her to bliss.

EVANTHE.

Ah! hear me, hear me, Thus kneeling, with my tears, I do implore thee: Think on my innocence, nor force a joy Which will ever fill thy soul with anguish.

Seek not to load my ills with infamy, Let me not be a mark for bitter scorn, To bear proud virtue's taunts and mocking jeers, And like a flow'r, of all its sweetness robb'd, Be trod to earth, neglected and disdain'd, And spurn'd by ev'ry vulgar saucy foot.

VARDANES.

Speak, speak forever--music's in thy voice, Still attentive will I listen to thee, Be hush'd as night, charm'd with the magic sound.

EVANTHE.

Oh! teach me, heav'n, soft moving eloquence, To bend his stubborn soul to gentleness.-- Where is thy virtue? Where thy princely l.u.s.tre?

Ah! wilt thou meanly stoop to do a wrong, And stain thy honour with so foul a blot?

Thou who shouldst be a guard to innocence.

Leave force to brutes--for pleasure is not found Where still the soul's averse; horror and guilt, Distraction, desperation chace her hence.

Some happier gentle Fair one you may find, Whose yielding heart may bend to meet your flame, In mutual love soft joys alone are found; When souls are drawn by secret sympathy, And virtue does on virtue smile.

VARDANES.

No more-- Her heav'nly tongue will charm me from th' intent-- Hence coward softness, force shall make me blest.

EVANTHE.

a.s.sist me, ye bless't pow'rs!--oh! strike, ye G.o.ds!

Strike me, with thunder dead, this moment, e'er I suffer violation--

VARDANES.

'Tis in vain, The idle pray'rs by fancy'd grief put up, Are blown by active winds regardless by, Nor ever reach the heav'ns.

SCENE II.

_VARDANES, EVANTHE and LYSIAS._

LYSIAS.

Arm, arm, my Lord!--

VARDANES.

d.a.m.nation! why this interruption now?--

LYSIAS.

Oh! arm! my n.o.ble Prince, the foe's upon us.

Arsaces, by Barzaphernes releas'd, Join'd with the citizens, a.s.saults the Palace, And swears revenge for Artaba.n.u.s' death.