University of Virginia Library

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.
[Music sounds]

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 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]
—Heav'n never made thy beauties to destroy,
[to her]
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 sight,
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 everflowing 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—farewel—
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
Foresend!—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?—

Brazaphernes.
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 death's—Bethas—

Barzaphnernes.
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.