University of Virginia Library

SCENE XVIII.

Enter Siroes, his sword drawn.
Sir.
[interposing.]
Emira, hold! what dost thou?
Fear not, my father, Siroes is your guard.

Em.
O! cruel fate!

[aside.
Cos.
And dost thou live, my son!

Sir.
I live, and live to die in your defence.

Cos.
And who preserv'd thy life.