University of Virginia Library

The Scene, the Palace.
Enter Xerxes attended, a Messenger offering him a Letter.
Xer.
Wait on me to morrow!
I'm not at leisure now for Business.

Mess.
To morrow, Sir, may be too late;
They're of importance, and concern
The Safety of your Royal Person.

Xer.
I tell thee, Slave, my Will's my Safety:
When Danger dares to face me,
I'll command it from my Person.

Mess.
But, Sir—

Xer.
No more! My Pleasures wait!
Enter Cleontes.
Now, my Cleontes; What News from Love?
How does Tamira bear her heavy Change of Fortune?

Cleo.
Oh! never, never did the weeping Eyes
Of Pity view a Scene so mournful. When first
We seiz'd, and forc'd her Husband from her Arms,
She wrung her Hands, and shriek'd, and tore her flowing Hair!
Beating her Breasts; and in her wild Despair
She broke through all the Guards, with an amazing Force,
And strain'd her Arms once more around him.
We strove to part him from her Hold; but she
Still clung, and clasp'd with such Convulsive Force,
That from her half-heal'd Wounds the starting Blood
Agen sprung forth—
And sprinkl'd those with Pity that oppos'd her.
Mov'd by that Sight, we stopt a while,
To let her take a short, a last Farewell.
Quite Breathless now, her Head upon his Bosom lean'd;
She wept, and spoke with dying Eyes
The tender Anguish of her Soul.
He press'd her close, and call'd, My Life!
She sigh'd and groan'd, and offer'd and Embrace;
But there, alas! her wasted Spirits sunk,
And left her on the Floor, expiring.

Xer.
Extravagance of Love!
If only to behold her parted from a Husband's Arms
Were such a mournful Sight,
Oh! what a Beauteous Ruin will her Sorrows make
When rifl'd of her dearer Honour!
She weeps and wails; with swoll'n Eyes looks up to Heav'n,
And chides the Neuter-Gods for their Neglect of Innocence!
But say! How have you dispos'd her Husband?

Cleo.
While she lay fainting on the Ground
We hurry'd him to Prison, then us'd all our Care
To bring her back to Life.

Xer.
Is she then recover'd?

Cleo.
To Life she is, but hardly to her Senses.
She speaks to none, nor minds another's Speech:
Pensive she sits, with folded Arms,
Fixing to th'Earth her Blood-shot Eyes, and looks
The piteous Image of true Mourning Misery.

Xer.
How are her Wounds?

Cleo.
By virtue of an Arabian Plant, she has
Already lost the Pain: They were at first
But slight; tho' smarting.

Xer.
Use all the Power of Art to chear her Spirits,
But keep her still within the Palace.
When you perceive she is inclin'd to talk,
Let me hear of her—

Mess.
I beg your Majesty—

Xer.
Agen this Plague! Whence are these Letters?

Mess.
From my Master, Sir, the Governor of your New-erected Fort.

Xer.
(Reads.)
Ha! He tells me here some Rebels are in Arms,
—That you are able to inform me farther!
Say! Who, what are they?

Mess.
Most of 'em are those the Grecians left unslaughter'd.

Xer.
In Arms!

Mess.
Yes, Sir, and in Order too: They have been
Long us'd to War: You taught 'em first the Trade,
And now they say, they'll set up for themselves.

Xer.
So blunt?

Mess.
They talk but little, Sir; they look their Thoughts,
And threaten in their Silence.

Xer.
Aranthes at the Head of 'em?

Mess.
I saw, and spoke with him.

Xer.
What said the Traytor?

Mess.
He bid me tell you, Sir, Unless the General
Were free to morrow, he'd himself find Hands
To force the Prison-Gates.

Xer.
So Resolute? What was their Number?

Mess.
When first I view'd 'em they appear'd
Not above Ten Thousand: But in Four Hours
I perceiv'd 'em doubl'd.

Xer.
Ha! It may be dangerous then too far
T'incense a gathering Power—It must be so!
Here, take the Royal Signet; haste, and stop
The Execution of Artabanus.
[Exit an Attendant.
(Aside.)
Nor is it Fear that makes me do it;
But, on my second Thoughts, it may advance
The glorious Project of my loose Desire:
(For she'll believe, when I protest it so,
That Love of her has made me pitiful.)
Beside, the News will call her Spirits home,
And make her fit so much the sooner for my Arms.
(To Mess.)
Post to thy Master, back: Bid him draw out
Those Forces under his Command, and meet the Rebels.

Mess.
The Rebels, Sir, are more than thrice his Number.

Xer.
No more! But let him do't, or die!

Mess.
I am gone, Sir. And if he takes my Counsel,
His few shall make their Number greater.

[Aside.
Xer.
I'll think no more, nor shock my Ease,
To entertain a Thought of Toilsome Arms!
But yet, I am not safe till these are quell'd—
Let Hood-wink'd Fortune use her Sensless Will!
Man sees in vain, and does in vain oppose her:
Fight, or neglect 'em, still my Fate's decree'd;
Nor is't in me to shun a future Ill,
Unless, with Pow'r to act, Heav'n gives me Will.
Yet thus to live in Doubt a Torment is!
Then Magick Art shall set my Mind at Peace:
I'll to the Magi's Cave, whose Charms shall prove
What Fate's design'd my Empire, and my Love.

[Exit.