University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

The Temple of the Sun.
Enter Artaxerxes, Amestris, and Attendants.
Art.
'Tis done! 'Tis done! oh let me find some way
To tell the mighty Joy that fills my Breast,
Lest I grow mad with height of furious Bliss.
The holy Priest has ty'd the sacred Knot,
And my Amestris now is all my own.
Oh thou soft Charmer! thou excelling Sweetness!
Why art thou not transported all like me:
I swear thou dost not love thy Artaxerxes,
If thou art calm in this Excess of Happiness.

Amest.
Alas! my Lord! my panting Heart yet trembles
In vast Suspence between unruly Joys
And chilling fears; somewhat methinks there is
That checks my soul, and says I was too bold
To quit the pleasures of my Virgin state,
To barter 'em for cares and anxious love.

Artax.
These are the fears which wait on every Bride,
And only serves for preludes to her joys;
Short sighs, and all those motions of thy heart,
Are Nature's call, and kindle warm desires;
Soon as the friendly Goddess of the night,
Shall draw her vail of darkness o're thy blushes,
These little cold unnecessary doubts,
Shall fly the circle of my folding arms:
And when I press thee trembling to my bosom,
Thou shalt confess (if there be room for words,
Or ev'n for thoughts) that all those thoughts are bliss.

Amest.
Yet surely mine are more than common fears;
For oh! my Prince, when my foreboding heart
Surveys the uncertain state of humane joys,
How secretly the malice of our fate
Unseen pursues, and often blasts our happiness
In full security; I justly dread,
Lest death or parting, or some unseen accident,
Much worse, if possible, then each of these,
Should curse us more than ever we were blest.

Artax.
Doubt not the Gods, my Fair! whose righteous power
Shall favour and protect our vertuous Loves.
If still thou apprehendst approaching danger,
Let us make haste, and snatch th'uncertain joy,
While fate is in our power.
Now let us start, and give a loose to Love,
Feast ev'ry sence with most luxurious pleasure,
Improve our minutes, make 'em more than years,
Than ages, and ev'n live the life of Gods:
If after this, death or ill fortune comes,
It cannot injure us, since we already
Have liv'd, and been before-hand with our fate.

Amest.
Oh let me ease at once my tender heart,
And tell my dearest Lord my worst of fears:
There is an ill which more than death I dread;
Should you, by time and long fruition sated,
Grow faithless, and forget the lost Amestris;
Forget that everlasting truth you vow'd,
Tho sure I should not publickly complain
Nor to the Gods accuse my perjur'd Prince,
Yet my soft soul would sink beneath the weight.
I should grow mad, and curse my very being,
And wish I ne'er had been, or not been lov'd.

Artax.
Dost thou?—when every happier Star shines for us,
And with propitious Influence gilds our fortune,
Dost thou invent fantastick forms of danger,
And fright thy soul with things that are impossible?
Now by the Potent God of Love, I swear
I will have ample vengeance for thy doubts.
My soft complaining Fair, shalt thou not pay me
In Joys too fierce for thought, for these suspicions.
The bands which hold our Love are knit by fate,
Nor shall decaying time or nature loose 'em.
Beyond the limits of the silent Grave,
Love shall survive, immortal as our beings,
And when at once we climb yon azure Skies,
We will be shown to all the blest above,
For the most constant pair that e're deserv'd
To mingle with their Stars.

Amest.
'Tis true! 'tis true!
Nor ought I to suspect thee, O my Hero!
The Gods have form'd thee for the nearest pattern
Of their own excellence and perfect truth.
Oh let me sink upon thy gentle bosome,
And blushing tell how greatly I am blest.
Forgive me Modesty, if here I vow
That all the pleasures of my Virgin state
Were poor and trifling to the present rapture.
A gentle warmth invades my glowing breast,
And while I fondly gaze upon thy face,
Ev'n thought is lost in exquisite delight.

Artax.
Oh thou delicious perfect Angel Woman!
Thou art too much for mortal sence to bear:
The Vernal bloom and fragrancy of Spices
Wasted by gentle winds, are not like thee.
From thee, as from the Cyprian Queen of Love,
Ambrosial odours flow, my every faculty
Is charm'd by thee, and drinks Immortal pleasure.
Oh glorious God of day fly swiftly forward,
And to thy Sisters rule resign the world:
Nor haste to rise again, but let the night
Long bless me with her stay; that thy return
At morn may find me happiest of my kind.
Enter Memnon.
My Father! is there an Increase of Joy?
What can ye give, ye Gods, to make it more?

Mem.
Ye Blessings of my Age: Whom when I view,
The Memory of former Woes is lost.
Oh Prince! Well has this glorious Day repay'd
My Youth and Blood spent in Arsaces Service.
Nor had the Gods indulg'd my vainest Wishes,
Durst I have askt for such a Son as you are.
But I am roughly bred, in Words unknowing,
Nor can I phrase my Speech in a apt Expression,
To tell how much I love and honour you.
Might I but live to fight one Battel for you,
Tho' with my Life I bought the Victory,
Tho' my old batter'd Trunk were hew'd to pieces,
And scatter'd o're the Field, yet should I bless
My Fate, and think my Years wound up with Honour.

Art.
Doubt not, my noble Father but even yet
A large remain of Glory is behind.
When civil Discord shall be reconcil'd,
And all the Noise of Faction husht to Peace,
Rough Greece, alike in Arts and Arms severe,
No more shall brand the Persian Name with softness.
Athens and Sparta wondring shall behold us,
Strict in our Discipline, undaunted, patient
Of Wars stern toil, and dread our hostile Vertue.
Those stubborn Commonwealths, that proudly dare
Disdain the glorions Monarchs of the East;
Shall pay their Homage to the Throne of Cyrus.
And when with Lawrels cover'd we return,
My Love shall meet, and smiling bless our Triumph,
While at her Feeet I lay the Scepters of the World.

Mem.
Oh glorious Theme! By Heaven it fires my Age,
And kindles Youth again in my cold Veins.

Art.
Ha! Mirza and the Queen! retire my fair,
Ungentle Hate and brawling Rage shall not
Disturb the Peace, to which this happy Day
Is doubly sacred. Forward, to the Altar.

[Exeunt Axtaxerxes, Amestris, Memnon, and Attendants.
Enter at the other Door, Queen, Mirza, and Attendants.
Mirz.
All are dispos'd, and Fate but waits our Orders
For a deciding Blow.

Qu.
Your Caution was
Both wise and faithful, not to trust my Son
Too rashly with a Secret of this Nature.
The Youth, tho' great of Soul, and fond of Glory,
Yet leans to the fantastick Rules of Honour,
Would hesitate at such an Act as this,
Tho' future Empire should depend upon it.

Mirz.
When time shall add Experience to that Knowledge
With which his early Youth is richly fraught,
He'll be convinc'd that only Fools would lose
A Crown for notionary Principles.
Honour is the unthinking Souldier's Boast,
Whose dull Head cannot reach those finer Arts,
By which Mankind is govern'd.

Qu.
And yet it gives a Lustre to the Great,
And makes the Croud adore 'em.

Mirz.
Your Son shall reap
The whole Advantage, while we bear the Guilt:
You, Madam, when the sacred Hymns are finisht,
Must with the Prince retire; our Foes when seiz'd,
Within the Temple may be best secur'd,
Till you dispose their Fate.

Qu.
The Rites attend us,
[Solemn Musick is heard.
This Day my Son is Monarch of the East.

Mirz.
Lend us, ye Gods, your Temples but this Day,
You shall be paid with Ages of Devotion,
And after this for ever undisturb'd,
Brood o're your smoaking Altars.

[Exeunt Queen, Mirza, and Attendants.