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Juvenile poems on various subjects

With the Prince of Parthia, a tragedy

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SCENE III.
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SCENE III.

Queen and Vardanes.
Vardanes.
What, raging to the tempest?

Queen.
Away!—away!—
Yes, I will rage—a tempest's here within,
Above the trifling of the noisy elements.
Blow ye loud winds, burst with your violence,
For ye but barely imitate the storm
That wildly rages in my tortur'd breast—
The King—the King—

Vardanes.
Ha! what?—the King?

Queen.
Evanthe!—


153

Vardanes.
You talk like riddles, still obscure and short,
Give me some cue to guide me thro' this maze.

Queen.
Ye pitying pow'rs!—oh! for a poison, some
Curs'd deadly draught, that I might blast her beauties,
And rob her eyes of all their fatal lustre.

Vardanes.
What, blast her charms?—dare not to think of it—
Shocking impiety;—the num'rous systems
Which gay creation spreads, bright blazing suns,
With all th' attendant planets circling round,
Are not worth half the radiance of her eyes.
She's heav'n's peculiar care, good spir'ts hover
Round, a shining band, to guard her beauties.

Queen.
Be they watchful then; for should remissness
Taint the guard, I'll snatch the opportunity,
And hurl her to destruction.

Vardanes.
Dread Thermusa,
Say, what has rous'd this tumult in thy soul?
Why dost thou rage with unabating fury,
Wild as the winds, loud as the troubl'd sea?


154

Queen.
Yes, I will tell thee—Evanthe—curse her—
With charms—Would that my curses had the pow'r
To kill, destroy, and blast where e'er I hate,
Then would I curse, still curse, till death should seize
The dying accents on my falt'ring tongue,
So should this world, and the false changeling man
Be buried in one universal ruin.

Vardanes.
Still err'st thou from the purpose.

Queen.
Ha! 'tis so—
Yes I will tell thee—for I know fond fool,
Deluded wretch, thou dotest on Evanthe
Be that thy greatest curse, be curs'd like me,
With jealousy and rage, for know, the King,
Thy father, is thy rival.