University of Virginia Library

SCENE VIII.

Enter Araxes.
Arax.
My sister, with impatience have I sought thee.

Laod.
And now most opportune for me, we meet.

Ar.
Thy help was ne'er more needful.

Laod.
Nor have I
So wish'd thy converse: know my brother—

Ar.
Hold:
First hear me, sister: fir'd with hasty passion,
Cosroes will raise Medarses to the throne:
Orders are issued for the solemn pomp;
The people vent complaints; the soldiers murmur.
Thou, if thou canst, appease an angry father,
Incens'd unjustly, and in Siroes save
A hero to the land.

Laod.
A hero?—No,
Thou art deceiv'd; for in the breast of Siroes
Resides a soul most obstinately savage;
A heart o'erflow'd with pride: he seems to prize
Himself alone, and thinks the subject world
Must all pay tribute to his matchless valour.

Ar.
Is this my sister speaks? And dost thou think—

Laod.
I think his ruin is by us, Araxes,
Most firmly to be wish'd: his fall is near,
Prevent not thou his fate.

Ar.
And who has thus
Estrang'd Laodice?

Laod.
'Tis not for thee
To fathom yet my secret.

Ar.
Every one
Will blame your fickle and inconstant nature.

Laod.

[Exit.