Zenobia | ||
58
SCENE VI.
Tiridatesalone.
I know not what Zenobia's words import,
Nor what myself intends.—She drives me from her,
Yet tells not why.—There's something from that lip
So sweetly sounds; there's something on that brow
So awful shines, as ever must defend her,
And strike all censure dumb.
Zenobia | ||