University of Virginia Library

SCENE The Palace.
An Allarm is heard, several run or'e the Stage, and Xerxes in Disorder.
Omn.
Fly! Fly! they are Entring! they are upon us: Fly!

Exeunt.
Xer.
Confusion! How the Slaves forsake me!
They've caught me in the Snare! Nor can I 'scape 'em now.
Let 'em go all! I'll stand the shock alone!
The fearful Stag at Bay will Fight,
Will dye reveng'd upon his Hunters;
And the fierce Lyon's wilder in the Toil:
Shall Danger shake a Monarch's Soul?
Now by my Crown's Right Royal Majesty
I will not fall! What Hoa! my Beaver Slaves!
I'll put the Godhead on, and Destiny
Shall tear her Idle Scrolls of Fate decreed;
For she has written false of me! I will not dye,
Nor shall my Foes have power to Face me!
Thus with this Awful Front,
I'll look the Raging God within,
And Frown 'em into Fear!—Thou Pale fac'd Slave!

[Shout & Clashing.
Enter a Soldier.
Sol.
My Lord, Your Guards are half destroy'd,
The rest Revolted all to Artabanus,
Who like a Deluge, with his Force comes Rowling in.

Xer.
Let him Rowl on!
He meets a Rock will stand unmov'd his Roar,
And dash him into Dew.

[Shout again.
Enter Artabanus Pressing back his Followers.
Art.
On pain of Death let no Man follow me!

Xer.
How darest thou Slave!
With that Rebellious Face Confront thy King,
Or Tempt the Vengeance of a waking Deity?

Art.
When Kings are Cast in Molds Divine,
We find their Actions Great and Pitiful:
Pity's the Noblest Composition of a God.
But thou hast none! No soft Compassion ever toucht thee.
Tygers and Wolves, to thee, are tame! See here,
[The Handkerchief.
The ruful Flag proclaims thee worse than Tyrant:
Or if a nearer Name can reach thee—Devil!

Xer.
Traytor—

Art.
From any Mouth but thine, wou'd shock my Soul.
Or if I am a Traytor,
Ev'n those just Powers that gave me Vertue,
When they behold the Wrongs that rais'd my Arm,
Will sure allow, I was not prompt to Ill,
Not easily disloyal—My Vertue did its part:
If held, it struggled stoutly to be tame.
But here's a Force would break the strongest Hold,
And turn ev'n Pity to Revenge and Rage
If yet the Horrour of the Deed
Has left thee Temper, speak! What had the poor
Tamira done, to merit such a Death?
Why hast thou kill'd—
The tendrest Mother, and the softest Wife?

Xer.
But that I know to say, will gall thy Heart,
I'd spurn thee, Traytor, for this bold Demand;
Daring to ask a Reason of thy Monarch's Will:
But, as a God, to Thunder-strike thy Soul,
I tell thee, Slave, I Whor'd her to a Dis-liking,
And then she was unfit for Life:
Nor cou'd I brook to let her live for thee,
After the Stamp of Royal Love was on her.

Art.
O savage! bloody Tyrant! The Horrour of his Words
Has numm'd my Senses, and drowns my weak Revenge in Tears.

Xer.
Now, By my Glorious Brother in the Skies,
My Words have more than Power of common Kings;
They're something near! 'Tis Second Fate
To strike this hardy Soldier pale with Fear!
He weeps! he dies!—I've look'd him to a Ghost!

Art.
And art thou dead? Our Infant-Love for ever parted!
—No more of Woman now!—Farewell!
Nor need I this to dry my Tears,
The Thirst of Vengeance rages in my Blood,
And drinks 'em faster than they flow—
Hear, hear me, Gods! Revenge your Heads prophan'd;
[Kneels.
And as the Cause, the woeful Cause, is yours,
So from this Arm (your not unwilling Instrument)
Hurl swift Destruction to the Tyrant's Heart—

[Rising.
Xer.
I laugh at all that Fate can do! Come on, rash Fool!
And if thy Life's a Pain, (as, sure, a Rebel's ought,)
Thus Hand to Hand oppos'd, Death never took
A Nobler Form to face thee—

Art.
Now, By the Sun's Refulgent Ray,
I meet thee worthy of my Rage.
Oh! I cou'd thank thee that thy Blood's so high:
That Manly Fury in thy Eyes transports me!
It sets the Noble Front of Honour in my View,
And heightens my Revenge with Glory.

[They fight; and after some Passes, Xerxes speaks.
Xer.
Confusion! How he dallies with my Fury!
But thus I pour it all at once
And certain send thee to the Shades.

Art.
And thus the Gods re-pay thee—

[Both fall.
Xer.
Furies! and Hell! They've struck me now indeed!
But if there be Hereafter, I'll revenge it still:
Rebellion from the lowest Shades shall rise,
And give 'em fresh Alarms of War,
More dreadful than their puny Giants Rage:
The desperate Fiends, by me to Freedom led,
Shall dash their Chains against their Crystal Tow'rs,
And shake their Heav'n to Horrour!—Oh! I am faint!
My gushing Blood flows inward to my Throat.
And drives our Life before it! Ha! 'tis false!
I am not dying! No! I'm weary of the World,
And now will sleep for ever!—

[Dies.
Art.
When I behold this Sight, I wish to follow thee:
Death cannot be more terrible;
His Hand is on me, and his Looks are mild.
To be no more, is now to be most happy.
Oh, for a Friendly Witness of my Glory! Hark!
[A Trumpet.
My Fortune's kind, I hear 'em coming!
Enter Mardonius and his Party.
Oh! welcome Friend! My Fellow-Soldiers, welcome!
See there the Wounds of Persia cur'd, the Tyrant's dead:
By me he fell, and poor Tamira is reveng'd.

Mar.
Horrour on Horrour! Thy Tamira lives!
And comes with eager Love to meet thy Arms:
Oh! rather had she died, than thus to meet thee!

Art.
What means my Friend? Tamira living?

Mar.
Run! Haste, and tell her of this bloody Chance!
If she would see her Husband, she must fly.
[Exit a Soldier.
Alas, my Friend! That Gory Handkercher
Was only by the Tyrant thrown to gall thee:
Thy poor Tamira lives! This Moment dragg'd along
By the rude Rabble, I redeem'd her safe.
But hark! Aranthes brings her on! He faints!
[A Trumpet at a distance.
O Cruel! Gods! can you not lend one Hour
To a departing Lover!

Art.
Grieve not for me! Give to my Wife thy Tears;
She'll need a Friends Compassion: Let not her Sorrows
(For I know she'll mourn my Fall) be desperate;
Her little Infant will require some Care;
I charge her, live for that—
Commend me to her Heart, and let her know,
My latest dying Words, and Thoughts,
Confest her Loving, more than Life belov'd—

[Dies.
Mar.
He's gone! O Freedome dearly bought!
Unwelcome Peace! Without the Life that gave it.
But see, his frighted Widow comes! O mournful Thought!
O piteous Woman!

Enter Aranthes, with Tamira: she runs to the Body.
Tam.
Where! where's my bleeding Lord? Stand off!
O give him to my Arms! Hah!—Speechless! and pale! Oh!

Aranthes.
Help ho! she sinks; lets raise her from him.

Tam.
Oh! we must never part,
But with more Pain than Bodies lose their Souls.
Dear Sir, for Pity's sake oppose me not:
Ev'n in your Eyes I read a Friend's Concern;
But mine's a nearer Tye! a Wife! Alas!
I was his Wife, his tender Wife belov'd.

Mar.
Indeed, I pity thee: But yet, call Reason to thy Aid.

Tam.
Ah! Do I not, my Lord? Are not my Tears my Duty?
Have I not Cause to tear my Flesh, to bleed,
And dash me on the Ground?—
Oh! cou'd my Tears but fall like Showers from Heav'n,
This dismal Object, sure, wou'd drown the World.

Mar.
Be comforted, fair Creature!
Nothing is ours: Nature but lends us Life.
Since Death's a Debt that all must pay—

Tam.
Since he is dead, is there a Comfort left me?
Oh! I cou'd out-weep the Southern Clouds! Away,
And give my Sorrows Room: Stand off!
And let me fill my Arms with Woe:
[Embracing the Body.
Grudge me not this! This Ease of Misery indulg'd,
Let me but talk a while, and gaze, and kiss
His cold, unfeeling Lips, and you shall see me quiet;
Hush'd as the Cradle-Babe,
When chidden by its angry Parent to a Slumber.

[Weeps over him.
Aran.
Give her her Way, my Lord!
Her Grief swells higher when oppos'd.

Mar.
By Heav'n, this stubborn Heart, that has, unmov'd,
Walk'd by a Heap of groaning Foes,
At this sad Sight is melted down to Woman.

Tam.
Hush!—Who's that, weeps so loud!—You'll wake my Lord!
He is not well,—he slumbers, and a cold,
Damp Sweat is on his Brow! O my poor Love!
Hark! hark! He calls me in his Sleep! He chides;
Says I am unkind, and fear to follow him!
As if the Terrour were not in Life behind him! Ha!
What means this Friendly Weapon at my Breast?
It looks not, sure, as if the Hand of Chance.
But Love, had laid it, to relieve my Woes!
—'Tis so!—'Twas Love:—and Love applies it here!

[She stabs her self with her Husband's Sword.
Aran.
O fatal Deed!

Mar.
O rash Despair!

Tam.
Call it not rash, when there's such Ease in Death.
But Death, alas! is never wholly kind,
For tho' I'm pleas'd to think I had not Power
T'out live my Lord, yet Oh! it grieves my Heart
That I have robb'd an Infant of its Mother.
Oh! be a Friend to that; and teach him, Sir,
To keep the Middle-Paths of Active Life,
When wild Ambition, or too powerful Love,
With eager Heat would drive him blindly on;
Be kind, and warn him with his Parents Ruin.

[Dies.
Mar.
There broke
The tend'rest Heart that ever sigh'd in Love:
But Love was her Undoing; for once,
In wild Revenge, to right her Love betray'd,
She struck a Ponyard to the Villain Memnon's Heart.
The Gods have frown'd; but Men must pity her:
Nay, Heav'n but half resents her Fault, gives her
A kind, a not untimely Death: 'Twas then
Too late to live, when all the lov'd was gone.
Remove the Bodies, never more to part:
Living, one chaste Bed; now one Grave shall hold 'em.
But here, the Gods with Terrour strike Mankind.
[Turning to Xerxes.
Let Kings and jarring Subjects hence be warn'd,
Not to oppress, or drive Revenge too far:
Kings are but Men, and Men by Nature err;
Subjects are Men, and cannot always bear.
Much shou'd be born before Revenge is sought:
Ever Revenge on Kings is dearly bought,
Yet, to our Woes, the Gods this Comfort give;
From those that die, the Living learn to live.