University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

A Grove of palm trees, with the Temple of Mars discovered at a distance. [Clashing of swords.]
Enter Orontes retreating before Pharnaces; a Party of Orontes driven off by the Soldiers of Pharnaces.
Phar.
Enough, my friends, enough—this life demands
My sword alone—for thee, whose murderous guile
With seeming manhood, drew me from the fight
To fall by numbers, from this arm receive
Thy treason's due reward.

Oro.
Fortune at length
Deceives my aim;—but be it so—I scorn
To depecate thy vengeance—well thou know'st
Orontes now—Zopyrus has confess'd,
Pale, trembling dastard! sinking by thy arm,
Our first device against the feign'd Arsetes—
This last is mine—though interest and ambition
Forbid me now to risk an equal combat,
Yet since thy hated genius still prevails,—
Hence every vain disguise—as man to man,
I dare thy worst.

Phar.
Behold, thou double traitor!
The grove and temple where Araxes fell:
Where now thy followers lurk'd in fatal ambush
To ensnare Pharnaces—tremble now, while justice
Here lifts the sword on this devoted spot,
Here claims a sacrifice to every virtue,
Faith, friendship, loyalty, and poor Araxes!

[Fight.
Arta.
[Within.]
Defend, defend my son!

Oron. falls.
Phar.
There sink for ever,
Nor leave thy equal here to curse mankind!

Enter Artabasus and Agenor.
Arta.
Art thou then safe?—my son! my son!

Phar.
My father!

Enter Lycomedes, Cleonice, and Teramenes.
Cleo.
[Entering.]
Death has been busy—sure the battle's tumult
Rag'd here but now—

Phar.
[Turning.]
'T is Cleonice's voice!

Lyc.
He lives indeed! 't is he!—the guardian genius
That watch'd Bithynia's safety—

Cleo.
Heavenly Powers!
And yet it cannot—speak,—O speak, my father,
Ere this lov'd phantom—

Phar.
Still Arsetes lives;
Behold him here;— [Kneels]
—No more unknown, who now
Assert the lineal honours that await
A kingdom's heir and Artabasus' son.

Cleo.
Pharnaces rise,—sure 't is allusion all!
What then was he, whose pale and lifeless corse—

Arta.
The youth, whom late you mourn'd for slain Arsetes,
Was in his stead deputed for the fight.

Phar.
Orontes and Zopyrus have confess'd
The snare in which this hapless victim fell;
Orontes drew me now, by fraudful ambush,
To perish here—behold where lies the traitor;
His guilty life fast ebbing with his blood.

Lyc.
Orontes!—where! then where is virtue, gods!
Now only living with Bithynia's foes!
Why, Artabasus, did Polemon fall!
Or fall by thee!—

Oro.
[Raising himself.]
Hear, most unhappy father;
Thou seek'st t'avenge Polemon's death,—behold
Him now reveng'd—lo! here his murderer lies!

Arta.
The youth that fell by me!

Oro.
By thee he fell,
But fell unwounded—to his tent convey'd
Senseless awhile, he lay—myself alone
Watch'd his returning life—at that fell moment,
Ambition, powerful fiend! held forth to view
Bithynia's crown—my sacrilegious hand
Uplifted then, with murderous weapon struck
My prince's life.

Lyc.
What do I hear!—my blood
Is chill'd!—pernicious villain!—take the vengeance
A father's fury—

[Draws, is held by Arta. and Tera.
Cleo.
Gracious Heaven!—my brother!—

Tera.
Yet hold—though great your woes—the guilty wretch
Already gasps in death, and shivering stands
On that dread brink, where vast eternity
Unfolds her infinite abyss.—

Lyc.
Polemon!
My murder'd boy!

Oro.
O thou bright sun! whose beams
Now set in blood, dost thou not haste to veil
Thy head in night, while Nature, through her works
Shrinks from a wretch like me!—Come, deepest darkness,
Hide, hide me from myself!—hence, bleeding phantom,
Why dost thou haunt me still!—another!—hence!
They drive me to the precipice—I sink—
—O, Lycomedes!—

[Dies.
Lyc.
Lo! where lies the serpent
That late I nourish'd in my breast, to sting
My unsuspecting heart—

Arta.
A father's nature
Feels for thy dreadful trial—Lycomedes,
Receive this pledge of friendship—still be thine
Bithynia's crown, nor claim I aught from conquest
But mutual peace—some other time shall tell
This work of fate—But who shall search the ways
Of Heaven inscrutable, or dare to question
Why the same power beheld Polemon fall,
And sav'd Pharnaces for a father's love?
'T is ours with humble praise to take from Jove
The cordial draught of joy, not murmur when
He deals the cup of woe.

Lyc.
O, Artabasus!
No longer now my foe—this honour'd hand,
This hand now free from my Polemon's death,
Confirm the brother's union—balmy peace
Rest with his manes, and remembrance ever
With odorous praise surround his laurell'd tomb!
But yet I have a son—in thee he lives,
Lives in Pharnaces— [Embrace.]
—Yes, my more than brother,
Our friendship knit shall plant the welcome olives
Through both our lands, and bless their sons with peace!

Phar.
It must, it must—some genius whispers now
Oblivion to my cares, and bright-wing'd Hope,
Like Cleonice, points my soul to bliss!

Lyc.
If bliss be Cleonice, she is your's
Once more, my son—

Arta.
My daughter—every God
Propitious smile to crown your virtuous love!

Phar.
Speak, Cleonice! does thy heart refuse
To own the mighty rapture?

Cleo.
O, Pharnaces!
Think how my bosom throbs with various tumult
Of mingled joy and grief—My brother's fate
Still labours here, 'spite of the bliss that fills
My conscious heart; for bliss it is to avow
My boundless passion—wife of my Pharnaces,
Or rather that dear name which first subdu'd
My virgin heart—my ever lov'd Arsetes!

Lyc.
To thee, my son Pharnaces, I resign
Bithynia's crown, while I, retir'd in ease,
Steal gently down the peaceful vale of life.

Arta.
Behold the latent treason brought to light!
Though hid from mortal eye, the Eternal Mind
Pervades the deepest gloom—Confess, my brother,
The dazzling meteor that misled thy youth,
And even seduc'd thy age: the monarch fir'd
With false ambition for a conqueror's name,
Is but the lash of Jove to scourge mankind.
For thee, my son, by Lycomedes rais'd
To guide, with early hand, the reins of empire,
Remember what the duty of a king
Exacts, while each domestic bliss shall crown
Thy private hours, to watch thy people's weal,
And share, like Heaven, thy happiness with all.

[Exeunt Omnes.