University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter Varanes.
Vraa.
'Tis Night, dead Night, and weary Nature lies
So fast, as if she never were to rise:
No breath of Wind now whispers through the Trees;
No noise at Land, nor murmur in the Seas;
Lean Wolves forget to howl at Night's pale Noon;
No wakeful Dogs bark at the silent Moon:
Nor 'bay the Ghosts that glide with Horror by,
To view the Caverns where their Bodies lie,
The Ravens perch, and no Presages give;
Nor to the Windows of the dying cleave.
The Owls forget to scream, no midnight sound
Calls drowsie Echo from the hollow ground;
In Vaults the walking Fires extinguisht lie;
The Stars, Heav'ns Centry, wink and seem to die.
Such universal Silence spreads below,
Through the vast Shades where I am doom'd to go;
Nor shall I need a Violence to wound:
The Storm is here that drives me on the Ground,
Sure means to make the Soul and Body part,
A burning Fever, and a broken Heart.
What, hoa, Aranthes!
[Enter Aranthes.
I sent thee to the Apartment of
Athenais! I sent thee, did I not, to be admitted?

Aran.
You did, my Lord; but oh
I fear to give you an account.

Vara.
Alas!
Aranthes, I am got on the other side
Of this bad World; and now am past all fear.
O ye avenging Gods, is there a Plague
Among your hoarded Bolts and heaps of Vengeance
Beyond the mighty Loss of Athenais?
'Tis contradiction, speak, then speak, Aranthes.
For all misfortunes, if compar'd with that,
Will make Varanes smile—

Aranth.
My Lord, the Empress,
Crown'd and adorn'd with the Imperial Robes,
At this dead time of Night with silent Pomp,
As they design'd from all to keep it secret,
But chiefly sure from you; I say the Empress
Is now conducted by the General.
Atticus and her Father, to the Temple,
There to espouse th'Emperor, Theodosius.

Vara.
Say'st thou? is't certain! hah.

Arant.
Most certain, Sir, I saw 'em in procession.

Vara.
Give me thy Sword, malicious Fate! O Fortune!
O giddy Chance! O turn of Love and Greatness!
Marry'd! she has kept her Promise now indeed;
And oh her pointed Fame and nice Revenge,
Have reach'd their end. No Aranthes! no!
I will not stay the lazy Execution
Of a slow Fever: Give me thy Hand, and swear
By all the Love and Duty that thou ow'st me,
To observe the last Commands that I shall give thee;
Stir not against my purpose, as thou fear'st
My Anger and Disdain; Nor dare to oppose me
With troublesome unnecessary formal Reasons;
For what my Thought has doom'd, my Hand shall seal.
I charge thee hold it stedfast to my Heart,
Fixt as the Fate that throws me on the Point.
Tho' I have liv'd a Persian, I will fall
As fair, as fearless, and as full resolv'd
As any Greek or Roman of 'em all.

Aranth.
What you command is terrible but sacred,
And to atone for this too cruel Duty,
My Lord, I'll follow you—

Vara.
I charge thee not!
But when I am dead take the attending Slaves,
And bear me, with my Blood distilling down,
Streight to the Temple; lay me, O Aranthes!
Lay my cold Coarse at Athenais's Feet,
And say, O why, why, do my Eyes run o'er!
Say with my latest Gasp I groan'd for Pardon.
Just here my Friend, hold fast, and fix the Sword;
I feel the Artery, where the Life-Blood lies;
It heaves against the Point—Now, O ye Gods,
If for the greatly wretched you have room,
Prepare my place, for dauntless lo I come!
The force of Love thus makes the Mortal Wound,
And Athenais sends me to the Ground.

[Kills himself.