University of Virginia Library

SCENE XI.

Sohemus enters with Sameas.
Sohemus,
to Sameas.
The diamond will confirm your evidence.

[Aside.
Her.
Sameas beware, and tremble to transgress
The bounds of truth: if one assertion fail
Of utmost evidence against the Queen;
Thou for a single fiction shalt descend
Quick to the heart of hell. Who gave the drugs
That poison'd Hazeroth?

Sam.
Arsinoe said
She brought them from the Queen; and much extoll'd
Their pow'rful virtue to revive the flames
Of dying love.

Mar.
Heav'n guard my innocence!

Her.
Haste! call Arsinoe.—

Soh.
Sir, she fled the court
In great disorder.

Her.
How!

Soh.
The Roman camp
Protects her guilt.

Her.
A potion to revive
The flames of love! Did e'er my passion need
The wicked pow'r of art to make it glow?
[To Mar.
O'er-whelm'd with blank confusion!—

Mar.
Must a dream,
The transient image of a troubled thought,
Join'd with that villain's frontless perjury,
Be clear consummate proof, t' affirm a fact
Wou'd make fiends start, and stand in wild amaze
Abstracted from their hate! Can he produce
A promise of rewards, or present bribe
To fortify this proof?

Sam.
Arsinoe gave
This precious token of your future grace.

[Shews a jewel
Her.
Know you this diamond, sorceress!

Mar.
'Tis the same
You gave me on your birth-day.

Her.
To be made
The lure of death—O foul!

Mar.
Arsinoe's false;
Send, intercept her flight: let her confront
His evidence; and if they both conspire
T' attaint my innocence—

Her.
My guards!—secure
[To the Captain of the guard.
That wicked woman with a double guard—
Seize her, I say!—

Mar.
Friend, tremble not t' obey
His orders, thou'rt a soldier.—But, my lord!—
Think not these tears, the frailty of my sex,
Argue a sense of guilt, or servile hope
Of moving pity, to retard my doom:
I weep not for my self; nor wish to ward
The blow, whene'er misguided justice strikes:
But if I e'er was treasur'd in your heart;
For sure you lov'd me once—

Her.
And lov'd too well!
May all who hate me love as much as I,
And then be thus requited!

Mar.
When I'm dead,
O, let the stream of dear affection flow,
Redoubled on my son! to him transfer
The share I've lost.—And never may the wrong
His mother bears, obstruct the sweet returns
Of filial duty, and paternal love!
But may my memory his soul inspire
To scorn inglorious life, when honour calls
Greatly to act, or suffer in her cause:
And think the debt which death is sure to claim,
A tribute due to virtue, and to fame.

[Exeunt.