 | Zenobia |  |
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—
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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.
| Zenobia | |