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 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 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 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 bring
Bright day and joy to ev'ry heart."
GOTARZES.
Why slept
Your vengeance, oh! ye righteous Gods?
PHRAATES.
Then told
A 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, lest
The multitude should take it in their wise
Authority 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 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.
LYSIAS.
Ha! am I robb'd of all my hopes of vengeance,
Shall I then calmly stand with all my wrongs,
And see another bear away revenge?
QUEEN.
For what can Lysias ask revenge, to bar
His Queen of hers?
LYSIAS.
Was I not scorn'd, and spurn'd,
With haughty insolence? like a base coward
Refus'd what e'er I ask'd, and call'd a boaster?
My honour sullied, with opprobrious words,
Which can no more its former brightness know,
'Til, with his blood, I've wash'd the stains away.
Say, shall I then not seek for glorious vengeance?
QUEEN.
And what is this, to the sad Mother's griefs,
Her hope cut off, rais'd up with pain and care?
Hadst thou e'er supported the lov'd Prattler?
Hadst thou like me hung o'er his infancy,
Wasting in wakeful mood the tedious night,
And watch'd his sickly couch, far mov'd from rest,
Waiting his health's return?--Ah! hadst thou known
The parent's fondness, rapture, toil and sorrow,
The joy his actions gave, and the fond wish
Of something yet to come, to bless my age,
And lead me down with pleasure to the grave,
Thou wouldst not thus talk lightly of my wrongs.
But I delay--
LYSIAS.
To thee I then submit.
Be sure to wreck a double vengeance on him;
If that thou knowst a part in all his body,
Where pain can most be felt, strike, strike him there--
And let him know the utmost height of anguish.
It is a joy to think that he shall fall,
Tho' 'tis another hand which gives the blow.
SCENE IV.
_ARSACES and BETHAS._
ARSACES.
Why should I linger out my joyless days,
When length of hope is length of misery?
Hope is a coz'ner, and beguiles our cares,
Cheats us with empty shews of happiness,
Swift fleeting joys which mock the faint embrace;
We wade thro' ills pursuing of the meteor,
Yet are distanc'd still.
BETHAS.
Ah! talk not of hope--
Hope fled when bright Astraea spurn'd this earth,
And sought her seat among the shining Gods;
Despair, proud tyrant, ravages my breast,
And makes all desolation.
ARSACES.
How can I
Behold those rev'rent sorrows, see those cheeks
Moist with the dew which falls from thy sad eyes,
Nor imitate distraction's frantic tricks,
And chace cold lifeless reason from her throne?
I am the fatal cause of all this sorrow,
The spring of ills,--to know me is unhappiness;--
And mis'ry, like a hateful plague, pursues
My wearied steps, and blasts the springing verdure.
BETHAS.
No;--It is I that am the source of all,
It is my fortune sinks you to this trouble;
Before you shower'd your gentle pity on me,
You shone the pride of this admiring world.--
Evanthe springs from me, whose fatal charms
Produces all this ruin.--Hear me heav'n!
If to another love she ever yields,
And stains her soul with spotted falsehood's crime,
If e'en in expectation tastes a bliss,
Nor joins Arsaces with it, I will wreck
My vengeance on her, so that she shall be
A dread example to all future times.
ARSACES.
Oh! curse her not, nor threaten her with anger,
She is all gentleness, yet firm to truth,
And blest with ev'ry pleasing virtue, free
From levity, her sex's character.
She scorns to chace the turning of the wind,
Varying from point to point.
BETHAS.
I love her, ye Gods!
I need not speak the greatness of my love,
Each look which straining draws my soul to hers
Denotes unmeasur'd fondness; but mis'ry,
Like a fretful peevish child, can scarce tell
What it would wish, or aim at.
ARSACES.
Immortals, hear!
Thus do I bow my soul in humble pray'r--
Thou, King of beings, in whose breath is fate,
Show'r on Evanthe all thy choicest blessings,
And bless her with excess of happiness;
If yet, there is one bliss reserv'd in store,
And written to my name, oh! give it her,
And give me all her sorrows in return.
BETHAS.
'Rise, 'rise my Prince, this goodness o'erwhelms me,
She's too unworthy of so great a passion.
ARSACES.
I know not what it means, I'm not as usual,
Ill-boding cares, and restless fears oppress me,
And horrid dreams disturb, and fright, my slumbers;
But yesternight, 'tis dreadful to relate,
E'en now I tremble at my waking thoughts,
Methought, I stood alone upon the shore,
And, at my feet, there roll'd a sea of blood,
High wrought, and 'midst the waves, appear'd my Father,
Struggling for life; above him was Vardanes,
Pois'd in the air, he seem'd to rule the storm,
And, now and then, would push my Father down,
And for a space he'd sink beneath the waves,
And then, all gory, rise to open view,
His voice in broken accents reach'd my ear,
And bade me save him from the bloody stream;
Thro' the red billows eagerly I rush'd,
But sudden woke, benum'd with chilling fear.
BETHAS.
Most horrible indeed!--but let it pass,
'Tis but the offspring of a mind disturb'd,
For sorrow leaves impressions on the fancy,
Which shew most fearful to us lock'd in sleep.
ARSACES.
Thermusa! ha!--what can be her design?
She bears this way, and carries in her looks
An eagerness importing violence.
Retire--for I would meet her rage alone.
SCENE V.
_ARSACES and QUEEN._
ARSACES.
What means the proud Thermusa by this visit,
Stoops heav'n-born pity to a breast like thine?
Pity adorns th' virtuous, but ne'er dwells
Where hate, revenge, and rage distract the soul.
Sure, it is hate that hither urg'd thy steps,
To view misfortune with an eye of triumph.
I know thou lov'st me not, for I have dar'd
To cross thy purposes, and, bold in censure,
Spoke of thy actions as they merited.
Besides, this hand 'twas slew the curs'd Vonones.
QUEEN.
And darst thou insolent to name Vonones?
To heap perdition on thy guilty soul?
There needs not this to urge me to revenge--
But let me view this wonder of mankind,
Whose breath can set the bustling world in arms.
I see no dreadful terrors in his eye,
Nor gathers chilly fears around my heart,
Nor strains my gazing eye with admiration,
And, tho' a woman, I can strike the blow.
ARSACES.
Why gaze you on me thus? why hesitate?
Am I to die?
QUEEN.
Thou art--this dagger shall
Dissolve thy life, thy fleeting ghost I'll send
To wait Vonones in the shades below.
ARSACES.
And even there I'll triumph over him.
QUEEN.
O, thou vile homicide! thy fatal hand
Has robb'd me of all joy; Vonones, to
Thy Manes this proud sacrifice I give.
That hand which sever'd the friendship of thy
Soul and body, shall never draw again
Imbitt'ring tears from sorr'wing mother's eyes.
This, with the many tears I've shed, receive
[_Offers to stab him._
Ha!--I'd strike; what holds my hand?--'tis n't pity.
ARSACES.
Nay, do not mock me, with the shew of death,
And yet deny the blessing; I have met
Your taunts with equal taunts, in hopes to urge
The blow with swift revenge; but since that fails,
I'll woo thee to compliance, teach my tongue
Persuasion's winning arts, to gain thy soul;
I'll praise thy clemency, in dying accents
Bless thee for, this, thy charitable deed.
Oh! do not stand; see, how my bosom heaves
To meet the stroke; in pity let me die,
'Tis all the happiness I now can know.
QUEEN.
How sweet the eloquence of dying men!
Hence Poets feign'd the music of the Swan,
When death upon her lays his icy hand,
She melts away in melancholy strains.
ARSACES.
Play not thus cruel with my poor request,
But take my loving Father's thanks, and mine.
QUEEN.
Thy Father cannot thank me now.
ARSACES.
He will,
Believe me, e'en whilst dissolv'd in ecstacy
On fond Evanthe's bosom, he will pause,
One moment from his joys, to bless the deed.
QUEEN.
What means this tumult in my breast? from whence
Proceeds this sudden change? my heart beats high,
And soft compassion makes me less than woman:
I'll search no more for what I fear to know.
ARSACES.
Why drops the dagger from thy trembling hand?
Oh! yet be kind--
QUEEN.
No: now I'd have thee live,
Since it is happiness to die: 'Tis pain
That I would give thee, thus I bid thee live;
Yes, I would have thee a whole age a dying,
And smile to see thy ling'ring agonies.
All day I'd watch thee, mark each heighten'd pang,
While springing joy should swell my panting bosom;
This I would have--But should this dagger give
Thy soul the liberty it fondly wishes,
'Twould soar aloft, and mock my faint revenge.
ARSACES.
This mildness shews most foul, thy anger lovely.
Think that 'twas I who blasted thy fond hope,
Vonones now lies number'd with the dead,
And all your joys are buried in his grave;
My hand untimely pluck'd the precious flow'r,
Before its shining beauties were display'd.
QUEEN.
O Woman! Woman! where's thy resolution?
Where's thy revenge? Where's all thy hopes of vengeance?
Giv'n to the winds--Ha! is it pity?--No--
I fear it wears another softer name.
I'll think no more, but rush to my revenge,
In spite of foolish fear, or woman's softness;
Be steady now my soul to thy resolves.
Yes, thou shalt die, thus, on thy breast, I write
Thy instant doom--ha!--ye Gods!
[_QUEEN starts, as, in great fright, at hearing something._
ARSACES.
Why this pause?
Why dost thou idly stand like imag'd vengeance,
With harmless terrors threatning on thy brow,
With lifted arm, yet canst not strike the blow?
QUEEN.
It surely was the Echo to my fears,
The whistling wind, perhaps, which mimick'd voice;
But thrice methought it loudly cry'd, "Forbear."
Imagination hence--I'll heed thee not--
[_Ghost of ARTABANUS rises._
Save me--oh!--save me--ye eternal pow'rs!--
See!--see it comes, surrounded with dread terrors--
Hence--hence! nor blast me with that horrid sight--
Throw off that shape, and search th' infernal rounds
For horrid forms, there's none can shock like thine.
GHOST.
No; I will ever wear this form, thus e'er
Appear before thee; glare upon thee thus,
'Til desperation, join'd to thy damn'd crime,
Shall wind thee to the utmost height of frenzy.
In vain you grasp the dagger in your hand,
In vain you dress your brows in angry frowns,
In vain you raise your threatning arm in air,
Secure, Arsaces triumphs o'er your rage.
Guarded by fate, from thy accurs'd revenge,
Thou canst not touch his life; the Gods have giv'n
A softness to thy more than savage soul
Before unknown, to aid their grand designs.
Fate yet is lab'ring with some great event,
But what must follow I'm forbid to broach--
Think, think of me, I sink to rise again,
To play in blood before thy aching sight,
And shock thy guilty soul with hell-born horrors--
Think, think of Artabanus! and despair-- [_Sinks._
QUEEN.
Think of thee, and despair?--yes, I'll despair--
Yet stay,--oh! stay, thou messenger of fate!
Tell me--Ha! 'tis gone--and left me wretched--
ARSACES.
Your eyes seem fix'd upon some dreadful object,
Horror and anguish clothe your whiten'd face,
And your frame shakes with terror; I hear you speak
As seeming earnest in discourse, yet hear
No second voice.
QUEEN.
What! saw'st thou nothing?
ARSACES.
Nothing.
QUEEN.
Nor hear'd?--
ARSACES.
Nor Hear'd.
QUEEN.
Amazing spectacle!--
Cold moist'ning dews distil from ev'ry pore,
I tremble like to palsied age--Ye Gods!
Would I could leave this loath'd detested being!--
Oh! all my brain's on fire--I rave! I rave!-- [_Ghost rises again._
Ha! it comes again--see, it glides along--
See, see, what streams of blood flow from its wounds!
A crimson torrent--Shield me, oh! shield me, heav'n.--
ARSACES.
Great, and righteous Gods!--
QUEEN.
Ah! frown not on me--
Why dost thou shake thy horrid locks at me?
Can I give immortality?--'tis gone-- [_Ghost sinks._
It flies me, see, ah!--stop it, stop it, haste--
ARSACES.
Oh, piteous sight!--
QUEEN.
Hist! prithee, hist! oh death!
I'm all on fire--now freezing bolts of ice
Dart thro' my breast--Oh! burst ye cords of life--
Ha! who are ye?--Why do ye stare upon me?--
Oh!--defend me, from these bick'ring Furies!
ARSACES.
Alas! her sense is lost, distressful Queen!
QUEEN.
Help me, thou King of Gods! oh! help me! help!--
See! they envir'n me round--Vonones too,
The foremost leading on the dreadful troop--
But there, Vardanes beck'ns me to shun
Their hellish rage--I come, I come!
Ah! they pursue me, with a scourge of fire.-- [_Runs out distracted._
SCENE VI.
ARSACES [_alone_].
Oh!--horror!--on the ground she breathless lies,
Silent, in death's cold sleep; the wall besmear'd
With brains and gore, the marks of her despair.
O guilt! how dreadful dost thou ever shew!
How lovely are the charms of innocence!
How beauteous tho' in sorrows and distress!--
Ha!--what noise?-- [_Clashing of swords._
SCENE VII.
_ARSACES, BARZAPHERNES and GOTARZES._
BARZAPHERNES.
At length we've forc'd our entrance--
O my lov'd Prince! to see thee thus, indeed,
Melts e'en me to a woman's softness; see
My eyes o'erflow--Are these the ornaments
For Royal hands? rude manacles! oh shameful!
Is this thy room of state, this gloomy goal?
Without attendance, and thy bed the pavement?
But, ah! how diff'rent was our parting last!
When flush'd with vict'ry, reeking from the slaughter,
You saw Arabia's Sons scour o'er the plain
In shameful flight, before your conqu'ring sword;
Then shone you like the God of battle.
ARSACES.
Welcome!
Welcome, my loyal friends! Barzaphernes!
My good old soldier, to my bosom thus!
Gotarzes, my lov'd Brother! now I'm happy.--
But, say, my soldier, why these threatning arms?
Why am I thus releas'd by force? my Father,
I should have said the King, had he relented,
He'd not have us'd this method to enlarge me.
Alas! I fear, too forward in your love,
You'll brand me with the rebel's hated name.
BARZAPHERNES.
I am by nature blunt--the soldier's manner.
Unus'd to the soft arts practis'd at courts.
Nor can I move the passions, or disguise
The sorr'wing tale to mitigate the smart.
Then seek it not: I would sound the alarm,
Loud as the trumpet's clangour, in your ears;
Nor win I hail you, as our Parthia's King,
'Til you've full reveng'd your Father's murther.
ARSACES.
Murther?--good heav'n!
BARZAPHERNES.
The tale requires some time;
And opportunity must not be lost;
Your traitor Brother, who usurps your rights,
Must, ere his faction gathers to a head,
Have from his brows his new-born honours torn.
ARSACES.
What, dost thou say, murther'd by Vardanes?
Impious parricide!--detested villain!--
Give me a sword, and onward to the charge,
Stop gushing tears, for I will weep in blood,
And sorrow with the groans of dying men.--
Revenge! revenge!--oh!--all my soul's on fire!
GOTARZES.
'Twas not Vardanes struck the fatal blow,
Though, great in pow'r usurp'd, he dares support
The actor, vengeful Lysias; to his breast
He clasps, with grateful joy, the bloody villain;
Who soon meant, with ruffian wiles, to cut
You from the earth, and also me.
ARSACES.
Just heav'ns!--
But, gentle Brother, how didst thou elude
The vigilant, suspicious, tyrant's craft?
GOTARZES.
Phraates, by an accident, obtain'd
The knowledge of the deed, and warn'd by him
I bent my flight toward the camp, to seek
Protection and revenge; but scarce I'd left
The city when I o'ertook the Gen'ral.
BARZAPHERNES.
Ere the sun 'rose I gain'd th' intelligence:
The soldiers when they heard the dreadful tale,
First stood aghast, and motionless with horror.
Then suddenly, inspir'd with noble rage,
Tore up their ensigns, calling on their leaders
To march them to the city instantly.
I, with some trusty few, with speed came forward,
To raise our friends within, and gain your freedom.
Nor hazard longer, by delays, your safety.
Already faithful Phraates has gain'd
A num'rous party of the citizens;
With these we mean t' attack the Royal Palace,
Crush the bold tyrant with surprise, while sunk
In false security; and vengeance wreck,
Ere that he thinks the impious crime be known.
ARSACES.
O! parent being, Ruler of yon heav'n!
Who bade creation spring to order, hear me.
What ever sins are laid upon my soul,
Now let them not prove heavy on this day,
To sink my arm, or violate my cause.
The sacred rights of Kings, my Country's wrongs,
The punishment of fierce impiety,
And a lov'd Father's death, call forth my sword.--
Now on; I feel all calm within my breast,
And ev'ry busy doubt is hush'd to rest;
Smile heav'n propitious on my virtuous cause,
Nor aid the wretch who dares disdain your laws.
_End of the Fourth Act._
ACT V.
SCENE I. _The Palace._
_The Curtain rises, slowly, to soft music, and discovers EVANTHE
sleeping on a sofa; after the music ceases, VARDANES enters._
VARDANES.
Now shining Empire standing at the goal,
Beck'ns me forward to increase my speed;
But, yet, Arsaces lives, bane to my hopes,
Lysias I'll urge to ease me of his life,
Then give the villain up to punishment.
The shew of justice gains the changeling croud,
Besides, I ne'er will harbour in my bosom
Such serpents, ever ready with their stings--
But now one hour for love and fair Evanthe--
Hence with ambition's cares--see, where reclin'd,
In slumbers all her sorrows are dismiss'd,
Sleep seems to heighten ev'ry beauteous feature,
And adds peculiar softness to each grace.
She weeps--in dreams some lively sorrow pains her--
I'll take one kiss--oh! what a balmy sweetness!
Give me another--and another still--
For ever thus I'd dwell upon her lips.
Be still my heart, and calm unruly transports.--
Wake her, with music, from this mimic death.
[_Music sounds._
SONG.
Tell me, Phillis, tell me why,
You appear so wond'rous coy,
When that glow, and sparkling eye,
Speak you want to taste the joy?
Prithee, give this fooling o'er,
Nor torment your lover more.
While youth is warm within our veins,
And nature tempts us to be gay,
Give to pleasure loose the reins,
Love and youth fly swift away.
Youth in pleasure should be spent,
Age will come, we'll then repent.
EVANTHE [_waking_].
I come, ye lovely shades--Ha! am I here?
Still in the tyrant's palace? Ye bright pow'rs!
Are all my blessings then but vis'onary?
Methought I was arriv'd on that blest shore
Where happy souls for ever dwell, crown'd with
Immortal bliss; Arsaces led me through
The flow'ry groves, while all around me gleam'd
Thousand and thousand shades, who welcom'd me
With pleasing songs of joy--Vardanes, ha!--
VARDANES.
Why beams the angry lightning of thine eye
Against thy sighing slave? Is love a crime?
Oh! if to dote, with such excess of passion
As rises e'en to mad extravagance
Is criminal, I then am so, indeed.
EVANTHE.
Away! vile man!--
VARDANES.
If to pursue thee e'er
With all the humblest offices of love,
If ne'er to know one single thought that does
Not bear thy bright idea, merits scorn--
EVANTHE.
Hence from my sight--nor let me, thus, pollute
Mine eyes, with looking on a wretch like thee,
Thou cause of all my ills; I sicken at
Thy loathsome presence--
VARDANES.
'Tis not always thus,
Nor dost thou ever meet the sounds of love
With rage and fierce disdain: Arsaces, soon,
Could smooth thy brow, and melt thy icy breast.
EVANTHE.
Ha! does it gall thee? Yes, he could, he could;
Oh! when he speaks, such sweetness dwells upon
His accents, all my soul dissolves to love,
And warm desire; such truth and beauty join'd!
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 Gods!
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 sex 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 coxcomb'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 lustre?
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.
Assist me, ye bless't pow'rs!--oh! strike, ye Gods!
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.
Damnation! why this interruption now?--
LYSIAS.
Oh! arm! my noble Prince, the foe's upon us.
Arsaces, by Barzaphernes releas'd,
Join'd with the citizens, assaults the Palace,
And swears revenge for Artabanus' death.
VARDANES.
Ha! what? revenge for Artabanus' death?--
'Tis the curse of Princes that their counsels,
Which should be kept like holy mysteries,
Can never rest in silent secrecy.
Fond of employ, some cursed tattling tongue
Will still divulge them.
LYSIAS.
Sure some fiend from hell,
In mischief eminent, to cross our views,
Has giv'n th' intelligence, for man could not.
EVANTHE.
Oh! ever blest event!--All-gracious heav'n!
This beam of joy revives me.
SCENE III.
_VARDANES, EVANTHE, LYSIAS, to them, an OFFICER._
OFFICER.
Haste! my Lord!
Or all will soon be lost; tho' thrice repuls'd
By your e'erfaithful guards, they still return
With double fury.
VARDANES.
Hence, then, idle love--
Come forth, my trusty sword--curs'd misfortune!--
Had I but one short hour, without reluctance,
I'd meet them, tho' they brib'd the pow'rs of hell,
To place their furies in the van: Yea, rush
To meet this dreadful Brother 'midst the war--
Haste to the combat--Now a crown or death--
The wretch who dares to give an inch of ground
Till I retire, shall meet the death he shun'd.
Away--away! delays are dang'rous now--
SCENE IV.
EVANTHE [_alone_].
Now heav'n be partial to Arsaces' cause,
Nor leave to giddy chance when virtue strives;
Let victory sit on his warlike helm,
For justice draws his sword: be thou his aid,
And let the opposer's arm sink with the weight
Of his most impious crimes--be still my heart,
For all that thou canst aid him with is pray'r.
Oh! that I had the strength of thousands in me!
Or that my voice could wake the sons of men
To join, and crush the tyrant!--
SCENE V.
_EVANTHE and CLEONE._
EVANTHE.
My Cleone--
Welcome thou partner of my joys and sorrows.
CLEONE.
Oh! yonder terror triumphs uncontroul'd,
And glutton death seems never satisfy'd.
Each soft sensation lost in thoughtless rage,
And breast to breast, oppos'd in furious war,
The fiery Chiefs receive the vengeful steel.
O'er lifeless heaps of men the soldiers climb
Still eager for the combat, while the ground
Made slipp'ry by the gushing streams of gore
Is treach'rous to their feet.--Oh! horrid sight!--
Too much for me to stand, my life was chill'd,
As from the turret I beheld the fight,
It forc'd me to retire.
EVANTHE.
What of Arsaces?
CLEONE.
I saw him active in the battle, now,
Like light'ning, piercing thro' the thickest foe,
Then scorning to disgrace his sword in low
Plebeian blood--loud for Vardanes call'd--
To meet him singly, and decide the war.
EVANTHE.
Save him, ye Gods!--oh! all my soul is fear--
Fly, fly Cleone, to the tow'r again,
See how fate turns the ballance; and pursue
Arsaces with thine eye; mark ev'ry blow,
Observe if some bold villain dares to urge
His sword presumptuous at my Hero's breast.
Haste, my Cleone, haste, to ease my fears.
SCENE VI.
EVANTHE [_alone_].
Ah!--what a cruel torment is suspense!
My anxious soul is torn 'twixt love and fear,
Scarce can I please me with one fancied bliss
Which kind imagination forms, but reason,
Proud, surly reason, snatches the vain joy,
And gives me up again to sad distress.
Yet I can die, and should Arsaces fall
This fatal draught shall ease me of my sorrows.
SCENE VII.
CLEONE [_alone_].
Oh! horror! horror! horror!--cruel Gods!--
I saw him fall--I did--pierc'd thro' with wounds--
Curs'd! curs'd Vardanes!--hear'd the gen'ral cry,
Which burst, as tho' all nature had dissolv'd.
Hark! how they shout! the noise seems coming this way.
SCENE VIII.
_ARSACES, GOTARZES, BARZAPHERNES and OFFICERS, with VARDANES and
LYSIAS, prisoners._
ARSACES.
Thanks to the ruling pow'rs who blest our arms,
Prepare the sacrifices to the Gods,
And grateful songs of tributary praise.--
Gotarzes, fly, my Brother, find Evanthe,
And bring the lovely mourner to my arms.
GOTARZES.
Yes, I'll obey you, with a willing speed. [_Exit GOTARZES._
ARSACES.
Thou, Lysias, from yon tow'r's aspiring height
Be hurl'd to death, thy impious hands are stain'd
With royal blood--Let the traitor's body
Be giv'n to hungry dogs.
LYSIAS.
Welcome, grim death!--
I've fed thy maw with Kings, and lack no more
Revenge--Now, do thy duty, Officer.
OFFICER.
Yea, and would lead all traitors gladly thus,--
The boon of their deserts.
SCENE IX.
ARSACES, VARDANES, BARZAPHERNES.
ARSACES.
But for Vardanes,
The Brother's name forgot--
VARDANES.
You need no more,
I know the rest--Ah! death is near, my wounds
Permit me not to live--my breath grows short,
Curs'd be Phraates' arm which stop'd my sword,
Ere it had reach'd thy proud exulting heart.
But the wretch paid dear for his presuming;
A just reward.--
ARSACES.
He sinks, yet bear him up--
VARDANES.
Curs'd be the multitude which o'erpow'r'd me,
And beat me to the ground, cover'd with wounds--
But, oh! 'tis done! my ebbing life is done--
I feel death's hand upon me--Yet, I die
Just as I wish, and daring for a crown,
Life without rule is my disdain; I scorn
To swell a haughty Brother's sneaking train,
To wait upon his ear with flatt'ring tales,
And court his smiles; come, death, in thy cold arms,
Let me forget Ambition's mighty toil,
And shun the triumphs of a hated Brother--
O! bear me off--Let not his eyes enjoy
My agonies--My sight grows dim with death. [_They bear him off._
SCENE (_the Last_).
_ARSACES, GOTARZES, BARZAPHERNES, and EVANTHE supported._
EVANTHE.
Lead me, oh! lead me, to my lov'd Arsaces.
Where is he?--
ARSACES.
Ha! what's this?--Just heav'ns!--my fears--
EVANTHE.
Arsaces, oh! thus circl'd in thy arms,
I die without a pang.
ARSACES.
Ha! die?--why stare ye,
Ye lifeless ghosts? Have none of ye a tongue
To tell me I'm undone?
GOTARZES.
Soon, my Brother,
Too soon, you'll know it by the sad effects;
And if my grief will yet permit my tongue
To do its office, thou shalt hear the tale.
Cleone, from the turret, view'd the battle,
And on Phraates fix'd her erring sight,
Thy brave unhappy friend she took for thee,
By his garb deceiv'd, which like to thine he wore.
Still with her eye she follow'd him, where e'er
He pierc'd the foe, and to Vardanes' sword
She saw him fall a hapless victim, then,
In agonies of grief, flew to Evanthe,
And told the dreadful tale--the fatal bowl
I saw--
ARSACES.
Be dumb, nor ever give again
Fear to the heart, with thy ill-boding voice.
EVANTHE.
Here, I'll rest, till death, on thy lov'd bosom,
Here let me sigh my--Oh! the poison works--
ARSACES.
Oh! horror!--
EVANTHE.
Cease--this sorrow pains me more
Than all the wringing agonies of death,
The dreadful parting of the soul from, this,
Its wedded clay--Ah! there--that pang shot thro'
My throbbing heart--
ARSACES.
Save her, ye Gods!--oh! save her!
And I will bribe ye with clouds of incense;
Such num'rous sacrifices, that your altars
Shall even sink beneath the mighty load.
EVANTHE.
When I am dead, dissolv'd to native dust,
Yet let me live in thy dear mem'ry--
One tear will not be much to give Evanthe.
ARSACES.
My eyes shall e'er two running fountains be,
And wet thy urn with overflowing tears,
Joy ne'er again within my breast shall find
A residence--Oh! speak, once more--
EVANTHE.
Life's just out--
My Father--Oh! protect his honour'd age,
And give him shelter from the storms of fate,
He's long been fortune's sport--Support me--Ah!--
I can no more--my glass is spent--farewell--
Forever--Arsaces!--Oh! [_Dies._
ARSACES.
Stay, oh! stay,
Or take me with thee--dead! she's cold and dead!
Her eyes are clos'd, and all my joys are flown--
Now burst ye elements, from your restraint,
Let order cease, and chaos be again.
Break! break, tough heart!--oh! torture--life dissolve--
Why stand ye idle? Have I not one friend
To kindly free me from this pain? One blow,
One friendly blow would give me ease.
BARZAPHERNES.
The Gods
Forefend!--Pardon me, Royal Sir, if I
Dare, seemingly disloyal, seize your sword,
Despair may urge you far--
ARSACES.
Ha! traitors! rebels!--
Hoary rev'rend Villain! what, disarm me?
Give me my sword--what, stand ye by, and see
Your Prince insulted? Are ye rebels all?--
BARZAPHERNES.
Be calm, my gracious Lord!
GOTARZES.
Oh! my lov'd Brother!
ARSACES.
Gotarzes too! all! all! conspir'd against me?
Still, are ye all resolv'd that I must live,
And feel the momentary pangs of death?--
Ha!--this, shall make a passage for my soul--
[_Snatches BARZAPHERNES' sword._
Out, out vile cares, from your distress'd abode-- [_Stabs himself._
BARZAPHERNES.
Oh! ye eternal Gods!
GOTARZES.
Distraction! heav'ns!
I shall run mad--
ARSACES.
Ah! 'tis in vain to grieve--
The steel has done its part, and I'm at rest.--
Gotarzes, wear my crown, and be thou blest,
Cherish, Barzaphernes, my trusty chief--
I faint, oh! lay me by Evanthe's side--
Still wedded in our deaths--Bethas--
BARZAPHERNES.
Despair,
My Lord, has broke his heart, I saw him stretch'd,
Along the flinty pavement, in his gaol--
Cold, lifeless--
ARSACES.
He's happy then--had he heard
This tale, he'd--Ah! Evanthe chides my soul,
For ling'ring here so long--another pang
And all the world, adieu--oh! adieu!-- [_Dies._
GOTARZES.
Oh!
Fix me, heav'n, immoveable, a statue,
And free me from o'erwhelming tides of grief.
BARZAPHERNES.
Oh! my lov'd Prince, I soon shall follow thee;
Thy laurel'd glories whither are they fled?--
Would I had died before this fatal day!--
Triumphant garlands pride my soul no more,
No more the lofty voice of war can charm--
And why then am I here? Thus then-- [_Offers to stab himself._
GOTARZES.
Ah! hold,
Nor rashly urge the blow--think of me, and
Live--My heart is wrung with streaming anguish,
Tore with the smarting pangs of woe, yet, will I
Dare to live, and stem misfortune's billows.
Live then, and be the guardian of my youth,
And lead me on thro' virtue's rugged path.
BARZAPHERNES.
O, glorious youth, thy words have rous'd the
Drooping genius of my soul; thus, let me
Clasp thee, in my aged arms; yes, I will live--
Live, to support thee in thy kingly rights,
And when thou 'rt firmly fix'd, my task's perform'd,
My honourable task--Then I'll retire,
Petition gracious heav'n to bless my work,
And in the silent grave forget my cares.
GOTARZES.
Now, to the Temple, let us onward move,
And strive t' appease the angry pow'rs above.
Fate yet may have some ills reserv'd in store,
Continu'd curses, to torment us more.
Tho', in their district, Monarchs rule alone,
Jove sways the mighty Monarch on his throne:
Nor can the shining honours which they wear,
Purchase one joy, or save them from one care.
_Finis._
FOOTNOTES:
[5] The Tigris.
TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES
Page 21: Thomas Godfrey's date of birth corrected from 1763 to 1736.
Page 78: appartment as in original.
Page 93: "this gloomy goal" as in original. Should perhaps be gloomy gaol.