 | Artaxerxes |  |
SCENE XIII.
Ataxerxes, Artaban, Mandane, Semira.Man.
Arbaces gone, I now indeed begin
To feel the stroke of death.
Artab.
Behold, Mandane,
To appease thy rage I shed my dearest blood.
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Ah! wretch! fly from my presence, from the light
Of Heaven, the golden stars: hide thee, inhuman,
Deep in the hollow earth's most dark recess,
If earth herself will in her entrails yield
A shelter for a cruel impious father,
Lost to affection, and to nature lost!
Artab.
And is my virtue then—
Man.
Barbarian! peace:
What virtue dost thou boast? Virtue has still
Its bounds prescrib'd; extending to excess,
It grows a vice.
Artab.
But art not thou the same
That urg'd my tardy justice?
Man.
Yes, I am;
And glory in my rigour—Let Arbaces
Be judg'd again, again I'll urge his sentence.
Mandane's duty was to avenge a father,
But Artaban's to save a son: compassion
Became thy state, and hatred suited mine.
I was forbid to listen to the call
Of tender love, but thou should'st have forgot
The rigorous judge: such were our different duties.
And glory in my rigour—Let Arbaces
Be judg'd again, again I'll urge his sentence.
Mandane's duty was to avenge a father,
But Artaban's to save a son: compassion
Became thy state, and hatred suited mine.
I was forbid to listen to the call
Of tender love, but thou should'st have forgot
The rigorous judge: such were our different duties.
Hence to Hircania's woods confin'd,
Whose gloom a thousand monsters hides;
There none amid the savage kind,
So cruel as thyself resides.
Whate'er of evil Afric forms,
Whose sands are parch'd with burning heat;
Whate'er is seen in raging storms,
All, all, in thee collected meet.
Whose gloom a thousand monsters hides;
There none amid the savage kind,
So cruel as thyself resides.
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Whose sands are parch'd with burning heat;
Whate'er is seen in raging storms,
All, all, in thee collected meet.
[Exit.
| Artaxerxes | |