University of Virginia Library

Sce. 2.

To them below Arsamnes, Hydarnes, Orontes, Praxaspes, Masistes, and others in warlike habits.
Prax.
Can you containe Sir? looke how proudly hee
Sits in the midst, hemm'd in on every side
With Beauties, which his wheeling eye runs o're
All in a Minute.

Mas.
Here's a delicacy
That ne're was practis'd by a Captive yet,
Nor heard of since the Custome first began,
That Conquer'd Slaves should personate their King.

Arsam.
The Luxury and Ryot of arm'd Love!
O that mine eyes could dart forth peircing Lightning!
That I could shoot some quicke invisible Plague
Into his boyling marrow. Hee is seated
So, that a Dart or Arrow cannot reach him,
Without the danger of a Persian breast,
Worth all his Nation. But why name I worth,
Where I see so much Infamy? O Atossa!
Is this your amity to Vertue? this
The Pity that you lend afflicted goodnesse?
There's worke enough now for my sword, although
The Enemy approach not. Credulous woman,
Descend, Arsamnes calls thee; if he be
A Name regarded when Cratander's by.

Atos.
Most vertuous Sir, you may expect perhaps
Atossa's breast growne strange, and wrested from
Her wonted faith; but witnesse O thou Sun,
Whom with a pious eye I now behold,
That I have neither try'd t'unty, or loosen
That sacred knot: but what I've condescended
To ayde thus farre, is only a faire likenesse
Of something that I love in you.

Arsam.
If then
Your Loyalty be still intire to me,
Shew it, and yeeld Cratander up to us.

Atos.
As his designes are honourable, so
Are our intents, with which there needes must stand
A resolutenesse: it cannot be Vertue,
Unles't be constant too. Th'approach o'th' Enemy
Forbids me to say more: On to your Victory,
Your wonted art to Conquer; they're the Reliques
Of a few scatter'd troopes, the fragments of
The last meale that your swords made; on, and when
You have subdu'd them wholly, we will plant
Fresh Bayes upon your browes, and seale unto you
A peace, as everlasting as our Loves.

Sould.
within.
Arme, arme, arme, arme.

Ex. Arsam. Lords, &c. as to the Battle.
Omn.
Mithra and Victory.

Atos.
Let us be resolute now my Ladyes, and
At their returne shew them that they have something
Left yet to Conquer; Breasts, that are not shaken
With their loud noyse of Trumpets. See, they're comming:
This was a Race, no Battle; Let's prepare.