University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The open country, with Ægle's cottage.
Tiridates, Mithranes.
Tir.
But if myself I saw her? If myself
Heard her but now? Yes, still her living form
Is plac'd before my eyes; her well-known voice
Still vibrates on my heart—Zenobia lives!
I dreamt it not, Mithranes.

Mit.
Lovers, sir,
Even waking dream—Affliction clouds the sense
And blunts our reason: what is not, we see;
And what is present oft eludes our sight.
The soul, from habit, figures to herself
The ideas that delight us.—Each with ease
Will feign what most he wishes.

Tir.
No: these feet
Had trac'd her steps, but that the cruel sight
Of my Zenobia, arm'd to pierce her bosom,
Froze all my vital powers.

Mit.
O! think, my prince,
Think of the duties which your rank demands.
The Armenians offer you their vacant throne,
And ask, for this, the head of Rhadamistus.
Embrace the moment of propitious Fortune:
You know too well her favours never last.

Tir.
Let Rhadamistus then be sought; the traitor
Shall meet his punishment. But think not, friend,
The bright reward of royalty incites
The zeal of Tiridates; no, I burn
To slay a victim to Zenobia's wrongs.

Mit.
Then still you cherish hope?

Tir.
But late I question'd
A gentle shepherdess, her name is Ægle:
Behold her cottage here; from her we best
May learn more certain tidings.

Mit.
But what said
The maid when question'd?

Tir.
Nothing she replied.

Mit.
And yet you hope?

Tir.
I do—At what I ask'd
She seem'd confus'd: she look'd on me and blush'd.
She strove to speak—began as if to explain
Her secret thoughts, then sunk again to silence.

Mit.
Alas! how little will suffice to feed
A lover's hopes.

Tir.
I'll speak again with Ægle;
Go, lead her to me.

Mit.
Instant I obey.

[goes into the cottage.
Tir.
What cruel conflict now of hope and fear
Divides my breast! No other state on earth
Can equal what I feel.

Mit.
[returning.]
The shepherdess
Is absent thence, and vacant now the dwelling.

Tir.
I'll wait for her return.—Go, seek the camp.

Mit.
Your care is vain: the bloody robe which late
These eyes beheld—

Tir.
Cruel, unkind Mithranes,
What have I done?—O! take not from me thus
The last dear hope—At least—

Mit.
Too oft, my prince,
You know that hope is with deception join'd.

[Exit.

SCENE II.

Tiridates
alone.

[goes into the cottage.

SCENE III.

Zenobia, Ægle.
Zen.
Go then, my friend, go seek and bring him to me.
From what I have said thou wilt not fail to know
The husband I have lost. Amidst these woods
He surely dwells. Till thy return I'll wait
Conceal'd within thy cottage—O! I tremble,
Lest once again I meet with Tiridates.
The first encounter teaches me with care
To shun a second.

Ægl.
He who loves you, princess,
May plead forgiveness: never have I view'd
A mien more graceful.

Zen.
Hast thou seen him then?
Ah! where?

Ægl.
But now I met him: he, who seeks
Tidings of you from all, with me awhile
Discours'd of his Zenobia.

Zen.
Ah! what then
Could Ægle say?

Ægl.
With stupid gaze I stood
To wonder at his form, his gentle looks,
His pleasing speech—

Zen.
I ask not this, my friend:
Awake not thus, with such insidious praise,
The conflict in my bosom.—Didst thou then
To him reveal my fortune?

Ægl.
I remember'd
Your caution given, and kept a faithful silence.

Zen.
Now go, and with my spouse return—Take heed,
And should'st thou meet with Tiridates, still
Observe my laws prescrib'd.

Ægl.

[Exit.

SCENE IV.

Zenobia. Tiridates in the cottage.
Zen.
Alas! my heart, too well I understand
Thy feelings now: thou gladly would'st embrace
(Thus left alone,) the freedom to complain.
Complaints are bred from weakness, but Zenobia
Less fears another's censure than her own;
And even in secret would she blush to find
Her firmness shaken. You, ye powers! who breath'd
Such virtue in my soul, expose it not
To meet a second trial; let one proof
Suffice my triumph: lead me not again
To Tiridates' sight.—How can I ever
Declare myself another's? This confession
Might kindle all his rage against my husband.
I tremble at the thought—And ah! his grief
Would strike too deeply here. Should chance once more
This way conduct him—Let me haste to shun
The cruel risk. This cottage offers me
A wish'd asylum—Ah! some stranger here—
I see, or fear impress'd upon my mind,
Has feign'd—O! Heaven! 'tis he! 'tis Tiridates!

Tir.
[coming out.]
Zenobia! 'tis in vain to fly me now:
Where'er thou goest behold me present still.

Zen.
Stay, Tiridates—hold.

Tir.
Alas! Zenobia,
What shall I say?

Zen.
[aside.]
Now, now my trial comes!

Tir.
And am I Tiridates? Is it thus
Thou giv'st me welcome? Princess most belov'd,
Is this the hour for which so much I languish'd?
Could the short space of two revolving moons
Suffice to change thee thus? What mean these cold,
These freezing looks? Ah! what has robb'd me thus
Of all thy wonted tenderness? Has aught
Against me kindled thy resentment? Speak:
Hast thou forgot thy faith? Impossible!
Thou art not capable of stains like these,
I know, my life—

Zen.
My lord, since you compel me
With you awhile in converse to remain,
Though but some moments, let not these at least
Be spent in vain.

Tir.
And does it then displease thee—

Zen.
It does—Reluctant I remain; then hear me,
And give me proof of Tiridates' virtue.

Tir.
I tremble while thou speak'st.

Zen.
The sacred ties
Of regal nuptials, by the hand of Fate
Are form'd in Heaven; nor is the choice our own.
For had the stars allow'd me to direct
My life, I then had found in Tiridates
The man of all mankind to make me happy.
But this can never be; our destiny
For ever parts me from thee, and I bow
Beneath the hard decree.—Go then in peace,
And leave me here in peace.—O! never more
Appear before these eyes; take from us, prince,
Such danger to our virtue—Yes, that virtue
Which join'd us first, and now dissolves the bands.

Tir.
Assist me, Gods! and must I never more
Indulge my hopes?

Zen.
You have no longer hope.

Tir.
But wherefore? Who, ah! who can bear thee from me?
What crime of mine?

Zen.
Ah! what avails it, prince,
To dwell on that with pain, which will but raise
The affections duty bids us now subdue?
Farewell! too long already you detain me.
'Tis not your guilt or mine that parts us now:
Let this suffice, and seek to know no further.

Tir.
Barbarian! canst thou then so coldly speak?
Thou know'st not thou art my fame, my peace, my life;
That if I lose thee, all to me is lost;
That never other object—

Zen.
Prince, farewell!

[going.
Tir.
Tell me at least—

Zen.
I cannot.

Tir.
Hear me.

Zen.
Oh!
I must not hear you.

Tir.
Dost thou hate me thus?
Thus fly my sight?

Zen.
Ah! did I hate you, sir,
I still might have remain'd.—I fear your presence;
'Tis hostile to my duty: though my reason
Is firmly fix'd, yet great are your deserts,
And O! such conflict serves at least to rend,
If not subdue my heart—And see you not,
(O! Heaven!) that now before you—that remembrance—
Depart, depart—I shall confess too much—
Respect at once my virtue and your own.
Yes, I entreat you, prince, by all your soul
Has priz'd on earth, or most reveres in Heaven;
Even by the tender love that bound us once;
By the dear spirit that informs your bosom;
By these sad tears you force me thus to shed,
O! leave me—fly, my lord—avoid my presence.

Tir.
And must I see thee never, never more?

Zen.
No, never, prince, if still to you are dear
My peace and glory.

Tir.
Cruel, cruel sentence!

Zen.
Go, seek for comfort and farewell!
And happy, though in absence dwell,
Nor lose a thought on me.

Tir.
Ah! speak not thus, relentless fair.
But sooner from this bosom tear
The heart that bleeds for thee.

Zen.
I feel a cold through every vein.

Tir.
My pulse forgets to move.

Both.

[Exeunt severally.
[Before the departure of Zen. and Rhad. Zop. appears behind, unseen of them, and stops to observe them.

SCENE V.

Zopyrus
and followers.
[as he is going he sees Rhad. and stops.

[conceals himself.

SCENE VI.

Enter Rhadamistus and Ægle, as in conversation. Zopyrus apart.
Rhad.
Deceive me not,
Ah! courteous shepherdess.—To sport with misery
Were cruelty, alas! that ill would suit
Thy gentle nature.

Ægl.
Think not I deceive you:
Your consort lives.—I drew her from the stream
Pierc'd with her wound, and sav'd her at the peril,
With her unhappy life to lose my own.

Rhad.
Ah! lovely nymph! my tutelary Goddess!
Is such compassion found in savage woods?
Yes—virtue these resides; in peopled cities
Are only known the semblance and the name.

Ægl.
We now have reach'd the place.—Expect me here;
I'll haste before you and prepare Zenobia.

[goes into the cottage.
Rhad.
I burn with fond impatience to behold her,
And yet I tremble to approach her presence:
I'm warm'd by love and chill'd by deep remorse.

Ægl.
[coming out of the cottage.]
Zenobia is departed; vainly there
I seek to find her.

Rhad.
O! Almighty Powers!

Ægl.
Be not dismay'd: she surely will return;
Perchance for us she seeks.

Rhad.
O! no—She hates,
She shuns me now—Alas! I cannot blame her;
Just is her hatred, Ægle; nor have I
Deserv'd to suffer less from her resentment.

Ægl.
Zenobia hate you? Shun you? Ill indeed
You know your spouse: such false suspicion wrongs
The truest consort that the world has known.
For you she seeks, for you alone she sighs,
And trembles but for you.—She even defends,
And loves your cruelty; while he, who hears
Her plead your cause, no longer can condemn you:
She calls the hand that struck her merciful.

Rhad.
O! let us haste to find her; at her feet
Let me expire with love, with shame and sorrow.

Ægl.
Removing hence, you may perchance but lose
Her whom you hope to find.

Rhad.
Go then, my Ægle,
Do thou pursue the search—Alas! delay not—
Forgive my hasty warmth—I sigh to gain
A blessing mourn'd so long with heart-felt anguish.

Ægl.

[Exit.

SCENE VII.

Rhadamistus. Zopyrus apart.
Rhad.
O! princess, worthy of a spouse less cruel;
Generous Zenobia! When was ever known
A spirit more exalted?—You, who seek
With envy to detract from female glory,
Say, which of all our heroes e'er could boast
A virtue more sublime?

Zop.
[coming forward,]
Where, where, my prince,
Have you at distance wander'd? Is it thus
You waited my return?

Rhad.
O! come and share
With me my happy fortune—my Zenobia—

Zop.
Zenobia lives.

Rhad.
And dost thou know it too?

Zop.
Would I had never known it!

Rhad.
Say'st thou? Wherefore?

Zop.
Wherefore? Enquire no further, Rhadamistus:
Forget her—She's unworthy of your love.

Rhad.
Tell me what cause—

Zop.
Ah! what avails, my lord,
To afflict you further?

Rhad.
Speak: thy silence more
Afflicts me than thy speech.

Zop.
I shall obey.
I saw your faithless spouse—but, prince, already
Your cheek is pale—Forgive me, sir; it better
Becomes me to be silent.

Rhad.
Speak, I charge thee.

Zop.
Since you command—then blame not me, my lord:
But late I with her Tiridates saw
Your faithless consort: from their view conceal'd,
I heard them speak of love.—He to her mind
Recall'd each promise given, while she to him
With solemn vows declar'd her former flame,
Long cherish'd, burnt with all its wonted warmth.

Rhad.
False traitor! peace—Too well I know Zenobia;
She ne'er could thus betray me.

Zop.
'Tis my duty
To suffer all from you; but, O! my prince,
This sure I merit not, for having seen
Your dearest peace betray'd: yourself compell'd me
At first to speak, and then—

Rhad.
O Heaven! I never
Would doubt Zenobia's truth.

Zop.
Without my speaking
You knew she fled you—but perchance you knew not
That all her soul was fix'd on Tiridates,
And that a first affection never dies.

Rhad.
Too true, by Heaven!

Zop.
[aside.]
'Tis well—the poison works.

Rhad.
Immortal Powers! Are women thus inconstant?
O! happy you, by friendly stars ordain'd
Inhabitants of old Arcadian shades,
If you, as fame reports, deriv'd your birth
From senseless trunks.

Zop.
Ere you, my lord, aspir'd
To gain her heart, 'twas given to Tiridates,
And whilst he lives he ever will possess it.

Rhad.
But shall not long—I fly to pierce his breast.

Zop.
Yet hold—What can you hope? Amidst his guard
Of troops in arms, you but in vain expose
Your life to hazard.—Could we draw him thence
Far from his friends to some sequester'd part—

Rhad.
But how?

Zop.
Who knows? Let me reflect a little—
We must secure the blow.

Rhad.
But rage like mine
Brooks no delay.

Zop.
Then hear—By my contrivance,
A wily message, in Zenobia's name,
Shall lure him to a place that suits our purpose.

Rhad.
But what if he mistrust the truth?—'Twere well
At least to cloak it with some specious token.
Ah! hold—this shall secure it—take this ring;
It was Zenobia's, given by Tiridates
When last they parted: she, that fatal day
Which saw our nuptial rites, (as if she meant
To abjure all memory of her former love,)
On me bestow'd it—then a treacherous pledge,
But now the faithful instrument of vengeance.

Zop.
[aside.]
Auspicious Fortune! [to Rhad.]
In the lonely valley
Where first we met—

Rhad.
But what—

Zop.
The charge be mine
To make our plot secure.

Rhad.

[Exit.

SCENE VIII.

Zopyrus, and followers apart.
Zop.
O! glorious victory! For me my foes
Will wage the fight, while I, without a blow
Shall make Zenobia mine.—Come forth, my friends,
[they come out.
Go hence, and round enclose the vale of myrtles;
Thither will Tiridates come to fight
With Rhadamistus: there remain conceal'd,
Nor interrupt their combat; but when one
Shall fall beneath his rival, let your weapons
Transfix the victor, wearied with his toil.
Away—but some behind abide with me:
I have a message soon for Tiridates.
Yet soft—I fear no follower of my own
Must be an envoy here: he might discover—
Some artless nymph, or rustic swain were best—
But is not that I see— [looking out.]
Propitious Gods!
Look there, my friends, look where Zenobia comes:
I leave her to your care.—When I am gone,
By stratagem or force conduct her to me.
What have I more to ask, could I but call
That heart my own; or could I know at least
Who would dispute it with me? Both the rivals
'Tis true will perish, but of these my hatred
Knows not on which to fix; and doubtful hatred
Must tarnish all the pleasure of revenge.
This secret shall be known: my mind even now
Suggests an artful falsehood that shall force
Zenobia's self to unveil the truth to me.

SCENE IX.

Enter Zenobia.
Zen.
[entering.]
What do I see? Thou in Armenia here;
Thou Zopyrus?

Zop.
Ah! princess, blest event
That brings thee thus before me: 'tis from thee
I counsel seek, or rather seek command,
In what concerns thy heart's most dear affection.

Zen.
Even now I hasten to pursue my spouse.

Zop.
To find or lose him must depend on thee.

Zen.
What dost thou mean?

Zop.
I'm bound by solemn compact,
(Which nothing can annul,) to take the life
Of Rhadamistus or of Tiridates.

Zen.
O! heavenly powers!

Zop.
Attend my words.—The first
Is by my followers now detain'd a prisoner;
The second, by a message forg'd to blind him,
For which this gem must seem a certain pledge,
[shews the ring.
Will soon be drawn to where his death is plann'd.

Zen.
Whence did thy hand receive—

Zop.
First hear me speak:
The power is mine of these to kill or save
Him whom my will elects.—That choice shall now
Depend on thee: the one by thee was lov'd,
And one thou hast espous'd: for me determine,
And, at thy pleasure, now absolve or sentence.

Zen.
And must I then—O! cruel fate!—But whence
Such impious mandate?—What detested cause—
Who thus compels thee?

Zop.
Now 'twere long to tell;
Time presses: much already have I lost
In seeking thee—now open all thy heart,
And let me be dismiss'd.

Zen.
Eternal Powers!
And could'st thou then consent (O! most inhuman!)
To such a deed as this?

Zop.
The sovereign mandate
Admits of no dispute: my life must answer
Should I neglect to obey.

Zen.
What punishment,
What recompense, what power, howe'er supreme,
Can make that just which bears the stamp of guilt?

Zop.
Adieu!—I came not hither to dispute
With idle words.—Thou see'st how far, Zenobia,
Respect for thee might fix my wavering choice.
—Myself shall then determine.

[going.
Zen.
Stay, O! stay.

Zop.
[returning.]
What would'st thou say?

Zen.
Fain would I—yet reflect—
Assist me, Gods!

Zop.
I understand thee well.
I must, without thy speech, prevent thy wishes:
This ever was the privilege of women.
Full well I know with reason must thou hate
Inhuman Rhadamistus: well I know
His stormy passions, jealousy unjust;
The impious barbarous wound—enough—ere long
Thou shalt have ample vengeance.

[going.
Zen.
O! perfidious!
And dost thou think Zenobia's heart can harbour
Impiety like this?

Zop.
Be not offended:
Thy silence had misled me—Ho! conduct
[to his followers.
The princess to her consort, while I haste
To take the forfeit life of Tiridates.

[going.
Zen.
Yet hear me!—O! ye powers! you put my virtue
To too severe a trial—Must these lips
Pronounce the dreadful fate of Tiridates?
How has he injur'd me? The soul of honour,
The pride of spotless faith—and can I ever—

Zop.
Does still Zenobia doubt?

Zen.
She has no doubts:
She knows too well whom duty bids her save,
But shrinks with horror at the dreadful ransom.

Zop.
I must no longer here remain—decide,
Or I am gone.

Zen.
O! yet a moment stay.
Thou surely may'st consent—

Zop.
We lose the time
In vain expostulation.—One must die.

Zen.
Let then the death—O Heaven! how shall I speak it?
—Preserve for me—

Zop.
Say—whom?

Zen.
Preserve them both,
If thou would'st have me owe to thee my peace;
If both thou canst not save—yet save my husband.

Zop.
[aside.]
'Tis Rhadamistus then enjoys her love.
[to her.]
And canst thou then, Zenobia, will the death
Of such a faithful lover?

Zen.
[in agony.]
Save my husband!
And tell me not (O Heaven!) what victim dies.

Zop.

[Exit.

SCENE X.

Zenobia
alone.

[Exit.