University of Virginia Library

Sixth Scene

a Chamber.
Mariamne's discover'd lying on a Couch.
Enter Tyridates.
Tyrid.
See where She is! how her affections move!
She thinks on nothing but the Gods above.
What force of Men can such a Pow'r withstand,
Whose Piety does Gods themselves Command:

Mar.
Defend me Heav'n; what's this I here behold!
Tyr. running to her Kneels.
One of my Guard so Impudent and Bold!
Tyridates, ha! what does your rashness mean?
Do not you know 'tis Death to see the Queen?

Tyrid.
Madam, I do: but dangers I defy,
And I could wish them far more great, and nigh.
I no occasion had till now to show
How little I do value Life for you.

Mar.
Rise Tyridates; I and Herod know,
How great a Debt we to your Valour owe.
But the Kings Cruel humour gives me fear:
Would your Compassion had not brought you here.

Tyrid.
That temper your Misfortunes do Create;
I neither with his Love, nor fear his Hate.
He gave me shelter in his Court—'tis true;
But Murders now the Life he sav'd in You.

Mar.
I know Compassion moves you to be kind:
'Tis the Effect of every gen'rous mind.

Tyrid.
Give me but leave, this Sword shall set you Free.

Mar.
My Thoughts you cannot to Revenge incline;
That is the bus'ness of the Gods, Not mine.

Tyr.
To do you Justice You may me permit.

Mar.
I Act Revenge, when I shall suffer it.

Tyr.
In Your Misfortunes I a share do Claim.

Mar.
I beg You won't that Dang'rous Claim pursue;
Lest gen'rous pitty Fatal prove to You.

Tyr.
Ah wou'd the Gods! that Tyridates cou'd
Buy off Your Sufferings Madam with his Blood:
Or end Your Troubles with his Punishment,
By all the Deaths that Herod could Invent.
How fair would be my Fate to pay to You
My Life; to whom all Hearts, all Lives, are due:

[aside.
Mar.
Sure this from Passion, not from Pitty flowes.
I wou'd not know what now I but suppose.
Sir, Do you well consider what You Say?

[to Tyrid.
Tyr.
If my rash Tongue my Passion does betray;
And unawares the Secret has Confest
Which has so long bin lock't within my Brest.
Madam, do you adjudg what paines are Due:
I'le gladly suffer what's Impos'd by You.
Yes, Tyridates does as guilty Plead,
Since in your clouded Brows I Anger read.

Mar.
You'ld not have licens'd thus your self to tell
Your Folly, had you Known Mariamne well:
I Herods bloody Injuries forgive;
Yet scarce can pardon this Offence—yet—Live
[Exit Mar.

Tyr.
Stay Mariamne! Gods! What have I done?
Tortures! To what Confusion am I Run!
She pardons me! And yet pronounc'd my Death!
She bid me Live, Yet Kil'd me with that Breath.
Herod, who blushes with her Kindred's Gore,
With all his Injuries ne're mov'd Her more.
And is't not hard that th'oversights of Love,
To Anger more then Cruelties should move?
My Rashness has my blasted Joyes o're-thrown,
And my distemper'd Soul melts at her Frown.
[Exit. Tyr.