Siroes | ||
159
SCENE II.
Siroes, Medarses.Sir.
Canst thou, Medarses, fix without a blush
Thine eyes on Siroes?
Med.
Ha! Does Siroes thus
Address his king? Thou know'st that I this day
To thee am arbiter of life and death:
Think then how life to merit as my gift.
Sir.
Thou art too hasty, prince, to assume the stile
That fits a monarch: the paternal crown
Infolds not yet thy brows; and ere the day
Declines, our father may repent his purpose.
Siroes | ||