University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

An inner garden belonging to the Royal palace of the Kings of Persia. A prospect of the palace. Time, night: moonlight.
Mandane, Arbaces.
Arb.
Farewell!

Man.
Arbaces, stay.

Arb.
Belov'd Mandane!
The dawn is near; should Xerxes ever learn
That 'gainst his harsh command I enter'd here,
It little would avail in my defence
To urge a lover's warmth; nor would the name
Of daughter plead for thee.

Man.
Thy fear is just:
This regal dwelling must for thee be dangerous.
But yet thou may'st remain in Susa's walls;
Since exil'd from the palace, not the city.
Hope is not wholly lost: thou know'st thy father,
The mighty Artaban, directs at will
The heart of Xerxes; that to him 'tis given,
At every hour, to pierce the deep recesses
Of this imperial mansion; that my brother,
My Artaxerxes boasts thee for his friend.
In virtue and in fame you grew together,
All Persia has beheld you partners still
In danger's deeds: each from the other caught
The emulative flame: the troops admire thee,
The people even adore thee, and the kingdom
Expects its surest safety from thy arm:
Amidst such friends how canst thou fail support!

Arb.
Alas! my love, we but deceive ourselves:
Thy brother would in vain attempt to aid me:
He and my father are alike suspected,
When they defend Arbaces: every plea
Is heard with slow belief, when warmly urg'd
By partial friendship, or paternal fondness.
And for the inconstant herd of vulgar friends,
These shrink, when once the monarch's favour fails.
How many that with awe but late beheld me,
Now look on me with scorn! Where then, Mandane,
Where would'st thou have me hope? My dwelling here
Is danger to thyself, and pain to me.
To thee 'tis dangerous, as it adds new matter
To feed suspicion in the breast of Xerxes:
To me 'tis painful to be ever near thee,
Yet be denied to gaze upon thy beauties.
Since then my birth alone has made me guilty,
I'll die, or merit thee—my life! farewell.

[going.
Man.
Inhuman, canst thou leave me thus?

Arb.
Alas!
I am not inhuman: Xerxes is the tyrant:
Thy father is unjust.

Man.
Yet some excuse
Even he might claim when he denied my hand:
Our rank, the world, the distance plac'd between us:
Who knows but all his anger was dissembled?
Perhaps in secret he condemn'd his rigour.

Arb.
He might have yet refus'd to grant my suit
Without contempt: to drive me from him thus,
To treat me like the lowest of the vulgar;
To stile me base, presumptuous—such reproach
I feel, Mandane, at my inmost heart.
What if my ancestors ne'er wore the crown,
At least they have defended it for his:
If in these veins there runs no royal blood,
By saving Artaxerxes I've preserv'd
The blood of Persia's kings. Let Xerxes speak
His own, not boast the merits of his race.
'Tis chance, not virtue to be nobly born:
Did choice direct our births, and only give
Kingdoms to those who best could rule, perhaps
Arbaces had been Xerxes, Xerxes then
Had been Arbaces.

Man.
In Mandane's presence,
With more respect, Arbaces, name her father.

Arb.
But when I suffer such injurious treatment,
When I'm denied to indulge a blameless passion,
'Tis surely little, if I but complain.

Man.
Forgive me: from thy anger I begin
To doubt thy truth: how shall I hope the heart
That hates the father, can esteem the daughter?

Arb.
This hatred proves my passion more, Mandane;
My indignation springs from love to thee;
Because I fear, that, banish'd from thy sight,
I ne'er may see thee more; that this perhaps
Is the last time—O Heaven, thou weep'st!—forbear,
Dry up those tears, my love; too much I'm soften'd
Without thy grief—I here would have thee cruel—
Permit me to depart; now imitate
The sternness of thy father.

[going.
Man.
Stay, and hear me;
I have no heart to see thee leave me thus:
Fain would I go—Farewell!

Arb.
Farewell, Mandane!

Man.

[Exit.