 | Artaxerxes |  |
SCENE III.
Artabanalone.
Now, Artaban, subdue thy weak affections,
And to his fate resign a rebel-son.
And yet I cannot from my heart condemn him;
Methinks I love him more for differing from me;
At once I am fill'd with rage and admiration;
Pity and wrath by turns divide my soul.
| Artaxerxes | |