University of Virginia Library

Scene IV.—The Persian Camp.

Darius lies on the ground, bleeding. A Greek soldier gives him water to drink from his helmet.
Dar.
Sir, you have stain'd, I fear, your scarf. I thank you
For this good office. Kings should have more than thanks
For friendly service. Bessus and his knaves
Have fled before your face.

Sol.
Ye gods! Ye gods!

Dar.
My friends have been my foes; a foe my friend:—
Likewise your king show'd reverence to my mother:
Tell him I stretch'd to him my hand in death.
Persia, farewell!

[Dies. Alexander arrives with Hephestion, Eumenes, and Philotas.
Sol.
Behold the Persian king!

Alex.
(after long silence).
If that reproof had lodged upon thy brow,
Or any sneer had curl'd that quiet lip,
I could have brook'd it better. See, Hephestion,
How humble he doth look, and unupbraiding;
How charitable, peaceful, and content!
What hath he found? An empire he hath lost,
And lo, he smiles in death! Remove that cloak:
Lo, there the wounds through which his life-blood rush'd—
The blood of Cyrus! Traitors foul and fell!
King, he that caused thy death strove yet to save thee:
Me too those sacrilegious daggers struck,
My fame and me, through that deep-trenchèd breast:
I'll slay them on thy grave.

Phi.
'Twas true! Darius
Of Persia's sons was comeliest.

Eum.
Of her daughters
They say his queen was fairest. Issus lost,
How soon she slept in death!

Heph.
Alas, Arsinoe!

Alex.
(removing his own mantle).
Take, crownless monarch, take, insensate clay,
From whom thine empire like a vesture slid,
This mantle immemorial of my house;
Wear it as thou had'st conquer'd Macedon,
Yea, wear it in thy grave.
The king is dead. The royal obsequies
By ancient use are his successor's care:
I'll have his body to his mother borne
With ceremonial of the Persian wont,
With Magian death-dirge, and procession long,
The silver altars moving at his head,
The Sacred Fire ascending; in the rear
Those mystic youths that emblem night and day,
Three hundred, and three score, and five. A sun
For ever rising, o'er the bier shall shine,
Persia's high pledge of immortality.
Thus to the burial-place of eastern kings
Darius shall be borne, and with them sleep.
Why stand ye silent, lords? Battle is battle,
Kings too must die. To Hecatompylus!
Hephestion, move we on. This thing is ill:
But who of men is greater than the Fates?
Less than my empire what is mine I'd give.
To undo this deed. This deed, though not undone,
Another deed shall expiate. Till that hour
I must forget him.