University of Virginia Library

SCENE VIII.

Vardanes and Lysias (come forward.)
Lysias.
'Twas a moving Scene, e'en my rough nature
Was nighly melted.

Vardanes.
Hence coward pity—
What is joy to them, to me is torture.
Now am I rack'd with pains that far exceed
Those agonies, which fabling Priests relate,
The damn'd endure: The shock of hopeless Love,
Unblest with any views to sooth ambition,
Rob me of all my reas'ning faculties.
Arsaces gains Evanthe, fills the throne,
While I am doom'd to foul obscurity,
To pine and grieve neglected.

Lysias.
My noble Prince,
Would it not be a master-piece, indeed,
To make this very bliss their greatest ill,
And damn them in the very folds of joy?

Vardanes.
This I will try, and stretch my utmost art,
Unknown is yet the means—We'll think on that—
Success may follow if you'll lend your aid.

Lysias.
The storm still rages—I must to the King,
And know what further orders 'ere he sleeps:
Soon I'll return, and speak my mind more fully.

Vardanes.
Haste, Lysias, haste, to aid me with thy council;
For without thee, all my designs will prove
Like night and chaos, darkness and confusion;
But to thy word shall light and order spring.—
Let coward Schoolmen talk of Virtue's rules,
And preach the vain Philosophy of fools;
Court eager their obscurity, afraid
To taste a joy, and in some gloomy shade
Dream o'er their lives, while in a mournful strain
They sing of happiness, they never gain.
But form'd for nobler purposes I come,
To gain a crown, or else a glorious tomb.