University of Virginia Library

ACT. V.

SCENE I.

Mirza's Palace.
Enter Mirza, Magas, and Attendants with Lights.
Mirz.
Pho! You o're rate the Danger.

Mag.
If I do
We err in the Extreams, since you Esteem it
As much too lightly; think you then 'tis nothing.
This horrid Jar of Tumult and Confusion?
Heads white with Years, and vers'd in long Experience,
Who yet remember all the different Changes
A Rolling Age produces, cannot call
To mind one Instance dreadful as this Night.
Infernal Discord hideous to behold,
Hangs like it's evil Genius o're the City,
And sends a Snake to every vulgar Breast.
From several Quarters the mad Rabble swarm
Arm'd with the Instruments of hasty Rage,
And in confus'd disorderly Array
Most formidable March; their differing Clamours,
Together joyn'd compose the deafning Sound;
Arm! Arm! they Cry, Religion is no more,
Our Gods are slighted, whom if we revenge not
War, Pestilence and Famine will ensue,
And Universal ruin swallows all.

Mirz.
A Crew of mean unthinking heartless Slaves,
With ease stirr'd up to mutiny, and quell'd
With the same ease, with like Expressions shew
Their Joy or Anger both are noise and tumult.
And still when Holydays make Labour cease,
They meet and Shout; do these deserve our Fears?

Mag.
Most certainly they may; if we consider
Each Circumstance of Peril that Concurrs;
Tigranes with the rest that 'scap'd the Temple,
Are mix'd amongst this Herd, and urge the Wrongs
Which with the Gods their Prince and Memnon suffer.

Mirz.
Nor need we fear ev'n that, safe in the Aid
And Number of our Friends, who treble theirs,
For this mad Rout that hum and swarm together
For want of somewhat to employ their Folly;
Indulge 'em in their Fancy for Religion.
Thou and thy holy Brotherhood of Priests,
Shall in Procession bear the sacred Fire,
And all our Golden Gods, Let their Friends judge
If still they look not kindly as of Old;
'Tis a most apt Amusement for a Crowd,
They'll gaze, and gather round the gaudy Shew,
And quite forget the Thoughts of Mutiny;
A Guard shall wait you.

Mag.
Why go not you too with us?
They hold your Wisdom in most high regard,
And will be greatly sway'd by your Perswasion,
Th'occasion is well worth your Care and Presence.

Mirz.
O! you'll not need my Aid: Besides, my Friend,
My Hours this Night are destin'd to a Task
Of more import, than are the Fates of Millions
Such grovelling Souls as theirs. As yet the Secret
Is Immature, nor worth you present knowledge:
To Morrow that and all my Breast is yours,
(Aside ...)
I must not, dare not trust him with my weakness,
'Twill mark me for his scorn, 'tis yet some Wisdom
If we must needs be fools to hide our Folly. (... Aside)


Mag.
He means the Pris'ners death, let him engross
The Peoples hate, Monopolize Damnation,
I will be safely Ignorant of Mischief
Hereafter when your Wisdom shall think fit
To share those thoughts, and trust 'em with your Friend,
I shall be pleas'd to know; This instant Hour,
My Cares are all employ'd on my own Province,
Which hasts me hence.

Mirz
May all your Gods assist you.

Exeunt.

SCENE II.

An Apartment in Mirza's Palace.
Enter Amestris.
Ames.
Will ye not hear, ye ever Gracious Gods?
Since sure you do not joy in our Misfortunes,
But only try the Strength of our frail Vertue.
Are not my Sorrows full? Can ought be added?
My Royal Lord and Father! ye dear Names
In which my all of Happiness was summ'd.
What have the Ministers of Fate done with you?
Are you not dead? Too sure! That's past a doubt;
O Memnon! Oh my Prince! My Father! Oh my Husband!

Enter Mirza.
Mirz.
Such Juno was (except alone those Tears)
When, upon Ida's Top, she charm'd the God
That long had been a Stranger to her Bed;
Made him forget the Business of the World,
And lay aside his Providence, t'employ
The whole Divinity upon her Beauty.
And sure 'twas worth the while, had I been Jove,
So had I too been pleas'd, to be deceiv'd
Into Immortal Joys. Oh cease thy Tears!—

Ames
Give 'em me back, or if the Grave and thou
Restore to none, oh joyn my Fate to theirs;
Shut us together in some silent Vault,
Where I may sit and weep till Death's kind Hand
Shall lay me gently by my Lord's dear side,
And hush my Sorrows in Eternal Slumber.

Mirz.
In pity to your Form asswage those Tears,
Sorrow is Beauty's Bane; nor let your Breast
Harbour a Fear; I wage not War with fair ones;
But wish you would efface those ugly Thoughts,
That live in your Remembrance to perplex you;
Let Joy, the native of your Soul return,
And Love's gay God sit smiling in your Eyes,
As e'rst he did; I wish you wondrous well,
And would so fully Recompence the Loss
You fondly mourn, that when you count the Gains,
Your self should own your Fortunes are well chang'd.

Ames.
Oh Impious Comforter! talk'st thou of Joy,
When Nature dictates only Death and Horrour,
Is there a God can break the Laws of Fate?
And give me back the precious Lives I've lost?
What nam'st thou Recompence? Can ought atone
For Blood? a Father's and a Husband's Blood?
Such Comfort brings the hungry midnight Wolf,
When having slain the Shepherd, smear'd with Gore,
He leaps amidst the helpless bleating Flock.

Mirz.
Away with this Perverseness of thy Sex,
These foolish Tears, these peevish Sighs and Sobbings!
Look up, be gay, and chear me with thy Beauties,
And, to thy wish I will indulge thy Fancy,
Not all the imagin'd Splendor of the Gods
Shall match thy Pomp, sublimely shalt thou shine,
The Boast and Glory of our Asian World;
Nor shall one She of all thy towring Sex
Out-rival thee (thou lovely Fair) in Power,
Oh think on Power, on Power and Place supreme.

Ames.
There is but one, one only thing to think on,
My Murther'd Lord, and his dark gaping Grave,
That waits unclos'd impatient of my coming.

Mirz.
Oh listen gentle Maid, while I impart
A Story of such Softness to thy Ear,
As (like the Halcyon brooding o're the Waves)
May with its Influence hush thy stormy Griefs.

Ames.
Begone, and if thou bear'st one Thought of Pity
In that hard Breast; oh leave me to my self
Nor by thy Presence hideous to my Soul,
And horrid Consolations strive to add
To my full Woes that swell'd without thy Help,
All ready rise and bubble o're the Margent.

Mirz.
What if I talk'd of Love?

Ames.
Of Love! oh Monster!

Mirz.
If Love be monstrous, so is this fair Frame,
This beauteous World, this Canopy, the Sky;
That sparkling shines with Gems of Light innumerable,
And so art thou and I, since Love made all;
Who kindly reconcil'd the jarring Atoms
In friendly League, and bid 'em be a World.
Frame not thy lovely Mouth then to Blaspheme
Thy great Creator, thou art his, and made for
His more peculiar Service; thy bright Eyes,
Thy moist red Lip, thy rising snowy Bosom,
Thy every Part was made to furnish Joy,
Ev'n to a riotous Excess of Happiness;
Oh give me but to taste thy blissful Charms,
And take my Wealth, my Honour, Power, take all,
All, All for Recompence.

Ames.
Execrable Wretch!
Thus! Is it thus thou wouldst asswage my Sorrows?
When thy inhuman Bloody Cruelty,
Now with redoubling Pangs cleaves my poor Heart,
Com'st thou bespotted with the recent Slaughter
To proffer impious Love? Accursed Fiend!
Horrour and Grief shall turn me to a Fury,
Still with my Ecchoing Cries, I will pursue thee,
And hollow Vengeance in thy guilty Ears;
Vengeance for Murther! for my Prince's Murther!
And for my poor old Father think not Villain
Who art the Plague and Scourge of Human kind;
That there is Peace for thee, whilst I run mad
With raging Sorrow; Vengeance, Vengeance waits thee,
Great as my Woes!—My dear! dear! Artaxarxes!

Mirz.
I am not lucky at the glossing Art
Of catching Girls with Words, but 'tis no matter,
Force is a sure Resort, and when at last
Fierce as a towring Falcon from her Height,
I stoop to strike the Prey, it is my own.
[Aside.
Obstinate Fool! how dar'st thou cross my Wishes:
Since the same Hand that has aveng'd me well,
Upon my other Foes Commands thy Fate,
Tho'Mercy in Compassion of thy Beauty
Reach out her Hand to save thee, yet if urg'd
Revenge may still take place; think well on that.

Ames.
That, that is all the Mercy which I ask,
Indulge thy thirsty Malice in my Blood,
And hasten me to Peace. My Woman's Heart
Shall gather all its little stock of Courage
To arm me for the Blow. Tho' Death be terrible,
Ghastly and Pale; yet I will joy to meet him;
My better Life already is destroy'd,
Imperfect now, and wanting half my self,
I wonder here in vain, and want thy Hand
To guide and re-unite me to my Lord.

Mirz.
Alas! thou hast not read aright thy Destiny,
Matter of much Import requires thy Life,
And still detains thee here; Come, I'll instruct thee,
And put thee in the way of Fate's Design.

[Laying hold on her.
Ames.
Unhand me, Villain!

Mirz.
Nay, you must not struggle,
Nor frown, and look askew; fantastick Sex!
That put Men on the Drudgery to force you
To your own Satisfaction.

Ames.
Let me go,
Abhorr'd, detested Monster! Shall he brave you,
You aweful Gods? Shall not your Lightning blast him?

Mirz.
Oh no! Your Gods have Pleasures of their own,
Some mortal Beauty charms the wanton Jove,
Within whose Arms he Revels; nor has Leisure
To mind thy foolish Screaming.

Ames.
Hear me now, sweet Heaven,
Save me, ye Gods! oh save me! save me! save me!

Mirz.
Come, come along! you see you strive in vain.

[Striving with her.
Ames.
Is there no Hope of Aid from Gods or Men?
Oh let me turn to thee then, kneel to thee,
And with my Pray'rs and Tears implore thy Pity.

Mirz.
Speak, for Enchantment dwells upon thy Tongue,
And all the flattering Spirits in my Blood
Dance nimbly on to the Cœlestial Sound.

Ames.
What shall I say to move him to Compassion?
Thus groveling, prostrate thus upon the Earth,
Let me conjure you, spare my Virgin-Honour,
Spare to commit a Wrong to you unprofitable;
Yet worse to me than Torments, Racks and Death;
Kill me the last of my unhappy Race,
And let old Memnon's Name with me be lost,
If Death be not enough, let me live wretched,
Pull off these Robes, and cloath me like a Slave,
Then send me out to labour at some Village,
Where I may groan beneath a cruel Master,
Be hardly us'd, and want even Food and Rayment;
Till Cold, and Dirt, and Poverty shall change,
And make me loathsome as my Fellow-Wretches.
Oh! Let my Rags claim only this one Priviledge,
To wrap me in the Grave a spotless Maid.

Mirz.
That Tongue which pleads makes all Intreating vain,
Thy every Motion, each complaining Accent
Warms me afresh and urges new Desire;
Thou art, thou must be mine, nor Heaven, nor Earth,
Nor the conspiring Power of Hell shall save thee;
I long to lose my Age in thy Embraces,
To bask and wanton in thy warmer Sun,
Till a new Youth shoot thro' me.

Ames.
Chast Diana,
And thou the Guardian of the Marriage-Bed,
[Getting loose from him.
Thou Royal Juno! oh protect thy Votary.

Mem.
My jaded Age and weak enervate Limbs
Falter and shrink unequal to their Office,
I prithee, yield, come, yield, and be a Queen!
[Laying hold on her again.
Yield, and be any thing! I cannot bear
These fierce convulsive Starts, this raging Flame
That drinks my Blood.

Ames.
Oh never, never, never!
A Cause like this will turn me to a Fighter,
To my last Gasp, to Death I will resist.

Mirz.
My coward Strength, dost thou go back from Beauty?
Rouze, and deserve the Pleasure thou wouldst taste.

Ames.
Unmanly Traytor!—seize him all ye Fiends.

In the Struggle, she draws his own Ponyard, and stabs him.
Mirza
falling.]
Damnation, oh my Heart! the Cursed Steel
Has struck me to the Earth.

Ames.
There sink for ever!
Nor rise again to plague the wretched World.

Mirz.
My heated Blood ebbs out, and now too late
My cooler Reason bids me curse my Folly;
Oh Ideot, Ideot! to be caught so poorly;
Where are thy fine Arts now? Unravell'd all,
Mangl'd and cut to Pieces by a Girl!
Oh Shame of Wisdom! when Revenge was sure,
And Fate was in my Grasp, to lose it all,
Neglect the Noble Game, and run out my Years,
On the Pursuit of Joys I could not taste;
My Memory must be the Jest of Boys.

Ames.
My boasted Courage sinks at sight of Blood,
[Letting fall the Ponyard.
Tho' justly shed, and I grow stiff with Horrour.
Mirza attempting to rise, falls again.
It w'ont be! Life gushes out amain,
And I shall dye without Revenge or Aid;
What Noise is that? without there! Help!

[Trampting without.
Ames.
Oh Heavens!
What will become of me?

Enter Orchanes hastily.
Orch.
My Lord! Where are you?
Bleeding! and on the Ground! what wretched Accident?—
Then Fate resolves to make this Night compleat,
Such as succeeding Horrours ne're shall match.

Mirz.
Oh my Orchanes! I am fall'n vilely,
And this last Part of Life will sully all
The Wisdom and Renown of what is past,
Methought thou talk'dst of Horrors, speak 'em boldly,
And try if ought can add to this Confusion.

Orch.
Prepare, my Lord, and summon all your Wisdom,
Your utmost Constancy of Soul to hear—

Mirz.
No more! I cannot wait thy Preparation,
Let the ill Fortune take me as it finds me.

Orch.
Then hear it thus; your Daughter's dead.—

Mirz.
My Daughter!
Thy Words have met with at unguarded Side,
And pierce even thro' my Soul. Say, How? Where? Tell me!—

Orch.
As with a Guard I kept the Temple Gates,
I heard old Memnon and the Pris'ner Prince
Loud as the roaring Ocean in a Storm,
Ecchoing their Rage thro' the vaste sounding Dome,
When on a sudden e're the Night had gain'd
Four Hours at most, the Noise was hush'd in Silence,
Wondring and Curious of the Cause, I enter'd,
And found, oh Grief to Sight! your Lovely Daughter
Drest like a Boy, then warm, and newly dead,
One Wound was on her Breast. Why she was there,
Or how we know not; to compleat the Ill,
The Pris'ners both are fled.

Mirz.
Fled! 'tis impossible.
Ha! which way? whither? how? they could not fly!

Ames.
Oh wondrous turn of Joy, are they not dead then?

Orch.
They could not 'scape the Guards, no other Passage
Remain'd but yours, and ev'n that was fast.
Upon the Instant I beset each Avenue
Which to your Palace leads; happily as yet
They are not past from thence!

Ames.
Guard 'em, ye Gods!

Mirz.
Find 'em again Orchanes, e're I dye,
Or I am more than double damn'd; this Loss
Is worse than mine, worse than my Daughter's Death,
'Tis Death of my Revenge. Malicious Fortune!
She took the Moment when my Wisdom nodded,
And ruin'd me at once. O doating Fool!
Thou Fool of Love and of pernicious Woman!
I sicken! Nature fails me! Oh Revenge!
Will not thy Cordial keep back flying Life?
It shall! Orchanes drag that Trait'ress to me.

Ames.
Oh if thou art a Man, I charge thee loose me,
And scorn his Bidding, scorn to be his Slave,
A Devil's Drudge in Mischief. Save me from Death,
Have Pity on my Youth, oh spare my Youth!

Orchanes pulls Amestris down to Mirza.
Mirz.
Hearken not to her! drag her! pull her down!
Shall Memnon boast of thee, while I dye Childless,
No, to Cleone's Ghost thou art a Victim,
Oh could I but have seen thee with those Eyes
I view thee now, I had been wise and safe;
That Face shall make no more Fools in this World,
Down! bear thy fatal Beauties down to Hell,
And try if thou can'st charm amongst the Dead.
Dye Witch! Enchantress dye!

[He stabs her.
Ames.
Ah! Mercy Heavens!

Mirz.
I thank the Hand at least for this last Service,
Now fly Orchanes, haste and tell the Queen,
My latest Breath stays for her—Something I would
[Exit Orchanes.
Important to her Service—I breath short,
Life stays in Pain, and struggles to be gone,
I strive in vain to hold it—ha! what mean
These fleeting Shades that dance before my Sight?
'Tis Death, I feel it plain; the dreadful Change
That Nature starts at. Death!—Death!—What is Death?
'Tis a vast Disquisition, Priests and Scholars
Enquire whole Ages, and are yet in Doubt.
My Head turns round!—I cannot form one Thought
That pleases me about it,—Dying—must resolve me.

Ames.
Oh my hard Fortune! must I dye? dye now?
[Mirza dyes.
When Artaxerxes calls and bids me live.
His dear-lov'd Image stays my parting Soul,
And makes it linger in its ruin'd House.
Ha, sure he's dead!—'tis so, and now he stands
[Looking on Mirza.
Arraign'd before the dread Impartial Judges,
To answer to a long Account of Crimes;
Had I but Strength, perhaps my Fate may yet
[Rising.
Find out a way to save me.
My Love and Father make Life worth my Care,
Alas! My Blood flows fast; this way I think.

[Goes off faintly.
Enter at the other side Artaxerxes and Memnon, with a Sword and Dark Lanthorn.
Mem.
Ha, here are Lights, hold up thy Weapon, Son.

Artax.
And see Blood, and a Body on the Floor,
What means this Scene of Death? What Wretch art thou?
Oh all ye juster Powers, 'tis Mirza, see,
He seems now dead.

Mem.
Damnation then is now to him,
And if there be one deeper Pit of Sepulchre,
One Plague above the rest in those dark Regions,
He as the most abandon'd Dog may claim it,
And vie for Preference with Devils themselves.

Re-Enter Amestris.
Ames.
The Doors are Guarded, Fate has clos'd me round.

Artax.
Ha, art thou my Amestris?

Mem.
Oh, my Daughter.

[They run to her.
Ames.
Are ye then come at last to bless my Eyes
That could not close without one parting View.
Oh hold me, or I sink!—

Mem.
Alas my Child,—

Artax.
My cruel Fears, why art thou pale and faint?
Ha, whence this Blood? oh killing Spectacle.

Ames.
Forth from my Heart the Crimson River flows,
My Lavish Heart that hastily Consumes
Its small Remain of Life: Oh lay me gently
On my last Bed the Earth, whose cold hard Bosom
Must shortly be the Place of my long Rest.

Mem.
What have we done? or, oh if we have sinn'd,
What has thy Innocence done to merit this?

Ames.
That Villain Mirza—

Mem.
Ha, Say what of him.

Ames.
Offer'd most brutal Outrage to my Honour.

Artax.
Oh ye Eternal Rulers of the World,
Could you look on unmov'd? But say, instruct me,
That I might bow before the God that sav'd thee.

Ames.
Sure't was some Chaster Power that made me hold,
And taught my trembling Hand to find the way
With his own Ponyard to the Villains Heart.

Mem.
Thou art my Daughter still! oh noble Action!
That gives in Death an Interval of Joy.

Ames.
Just in that hour of Fate a Villain enter'd,
By whose Assistance the revengeful Mirza
Forc'd me to share Death with him.

Artax.
'Tis past, 'tis past;
[Lying down.
And all fires those that lighted up my Soul
Glory and bright Ambition languish now,
And leave me dark and gloomy as the Grave.
Oh thou soft dying sweetness!—Shall I Rage
And Curse my self? Curse ev'n the God's?—Oh no;
I am the Slave of Fate, and bow beneath
The load that presses me; am snuk to Earth
And ne're shall rise again; here will I sit
And gaze 'till I am nothing.

Ames.
Alas! My Lord,
Fain would I strive to bid you not be sad,
Fain would I Chear your Grief; but 'tis in vain;
I know by my own Heart it is impossible;
For we have lov'd too well. Oh mournful Nuptials;
Are these the Joys of Brides? Indeed 'tis hard,
'Tis very hard to part; I cannot leave you,
The Agonizing Thought distracts me; hold me,
Oh hold me fast, Death shall not tear me from you.

Artax.
Oh could my Arms fence thee from Destiny,
The God's might launch their Thunder on my Head;
Plague me with Woes treble to what I feel.
With Joy, I would endure it all to save thee;
What shall I say? what shall I do to save thee;
Grief shakes my Frame, it melts my very Temper;
My manly Constancy and Royal Courage
Run gushing thro' my Eyes; oh my Amestris

Ames.
And see my Father! his white Beard is wet
With the sad Dew.

Mem.
I try'd to Man my Heart,
But could not stand the Buffet of this Tempest,
It tears me up—My Child! ha! art thou dying?

Ames.
Indeed I am very Sick! oh hold me up,
My Pain encreases, and a Cold damp Dew
Hangs on my Face. Is there no help? No ease?
Have I your Arm my Love?

Artax.
Thou hast; My Heart
Dost thou yet hold.

Ames.
Say will you not forget me?
When I am laid to moulder in my Tomb?
'Tis sure you will not, still there will be room
For my Remembrance in your noble Heart;
I know you lov'd me truly: Now! I faint!
Oh shield me; shield me from that ugly Fantome
The Cave of Death! how dark and deep it is!
I tremble at the Sight—'tis hideous Horror!—
The Gloom grows o're me—Let me not lie there

[Amestris dies.
Art.
There Life gave way, and the last Rosie Breath
Went in that Sigh. Death like a Brutal Victor
Already enter'd with rude hast defaces,
The lovely Frame he hast master'd; see how soon.
These Starry Eyes have lost their Light and Lustre!
Stay let me close their Lids. Now for the Rest.
Old Memnon! ha! Grief has transfix'd his Brain,
And he perceives me not!—Now what of thee?
Think'st thou to live thou Wretch? Think not of any thing
Thought is Damnation, 'tis the Plague of Devils.
To think on what they are! and see this Weapon
Shall shield me from it, plunge me in forgetfulness.
Er'e the dire Scorpion Thought can rouse to sting me.
Lend me thy Bosom, my cold Bride; Ill Fortune
[Lying by her.
Has done its Worst, and we shall part no more;
Wait for me, Gentle Spirit, since the Stars
Together must receive us! [Stabs himself.]
Oh well aim'd!
How foolish is the Coward's Fear of Death!
Of Death, the gentlest—surest way to Peace.

Artax. dies.
[Memnon stands looking on the Bodies some time, and then speaks.
Mem.
Yet will I gaze! Yet! Tho' my Eyes grow stiff
And turn to Steel or Marble; here's a Sight
To bless a Father! These! These were your Gifts,
Ye bounteous Gods, you'll spare my Thanks for 'em,
You gave me Being too, and spurn me out
To hoary Wretchedness; away, 'twas Cruelty,
Oh Cursed, Cursed, Cursed four Score Years,
Ye Heap of Ills, Ye monstrous Pile of Plagues!
Sure they lov'd well, the very Streams of Blood,
That flow from their pale Bosoms meet and mingle.
Stay, let me view 'em better—Nay, 'tis thus—
If thou art like thy Mother—She dy'd too—
Where is she?—Ha! that Dog, that Villain Mirza!
He bearsher from me; Shall we not pursue?—
The Whirl of Battle comes across me, fly!
Begon! They shall not, dare not brave me thus!
Hey, 'tis a glorious Sound, rush on my Prince,
We'll start and reach the Goal of Fate at once!

[Runs off.
Enter on the other side, Queen and Atteddants with Lights
Qu.
Why am I am Summon'd with this Call of Death?
This is no common Ruine; Artaxerxes!
And Memnon's Daughter. Mirza thou art fallen
In pompous Slaughter, Could not all thy Arts,
That Dold about Destruction to our Enemies,
Guard thy own Life from Fate? Vain bost of Wisdom
That with fantastick Pride, like busie Children,
Builds Paper Towns and Houses, which at once
The Hand of Chance o'erturns and loosly scatters.

[Looking out.
1 Att.
Oh Dismal Sight,

Qu.
What is it frights thy Eyes?

1 Att.
Old Memnon's Body.

Qu.
'Tis a grateful Horror.

1 Att.
Upon the Floor the batter'd Carcass lies
Weltring in Gore, whilst on the marble Wall
A dreadful Mass of Brains, Grey Hair, and Blood
Is smear'd in hideous Mixture.

Qu.
Fierce Despair
Has forc'd a way for the impetuous Soul.
'Tis well he is in Peace—What means this Tumult?

[Shout, Clashing of Swords: Enter an Officer, his Sword drawn.
Offic.
Fly, Madam, Lest your Person be not safe,
The Traytor Bagoas, to whose Charge you trusted
The Prince your Son, has drawn the Guards to join him;
And now assisted by the furious Rabble,
On every side they charge those Few who keep
This Place and the Temple, with loud Out-cries,
Proclaiming, that they mean to free the Pris'ners.
Orchanes, e're I fled to give you Notice,
Fell by the Prince's Hand, the raging Torrent
Bore down our weak Resistance, and pursuing
With furious Haste, ev'n trod upon my Flight.
This Instant brings 'em here.

Qu.
Let 'em come on,
I cannot fear; this Storm is rais'd too late,
I stand secur'd of all I wish already.

[Shout and Clashing of Swords again.
Enter Artaban, Cleanthes and Attendants, their Swords drawn.
Artab.
Then Virtue is in vain, since base Deceit
And Treachery have triumph'd o'er the Mighty.
Oh Nature, let me turn my Eyes away,
Lest I am Blasted by a Mother's Sight.

Qu.
Ungrateful Rebel! Do thy Impious Arms
Pursue me for my too indulgent Fondness
And Care for thee?

Artab.
Well has that Care been shewn,
Have you not fouly stain'd my Sacred Fame?
Look on that Scene of Blood; the dire Effects
Of Cruel Female Arts. But oh what Recompence!
What can you give me for my murder'd Love?
Has not the Labyrinth of your fatal Counsels
Involv'd my Fair, my Lovely, Lost Cleone?
By our Bright Gods I swear I will assert
The Majesty of Manly Government,
Nor wear again your Chains, still as our Mother
Be honour'd; rule amongst your Maids and Eunuchs,
Nor mingle in our State, where mad Confusion
Shakes the whole Frame, to boast a Woman's Cunning.

Qu.
Thou talk'st as if thy infant Hand could grasp
Guide and Command the Fortune of the World,
But thou art young in Power. Remember, Boy,
Thy Father once the Hero of his Age,
Was proud to be the Subject of my Sway,
The Warrior of the Woman's Wits gave way,
And found it was his Interest to obey.
And dost thou hope to shake off my Command;
Dost thou? The Creature of my forming Hand.
When I assert the Power, thou dar'st invade,
Like Heaven I will resolve to be obey'd,
And Rule or Ruine that which once I made.

[Exit Queen and Attendants.
Artab.
Let a Guard wait the Queen, tho' Nature plead
For Reverence to her Person, jealous Power
Must watch her subtle and ambitious Wit.
Hast thou secur'd the Impious Priest Cleanthes?
Magas, that Wretch, that prostitutes our Gods.

Cleon.
Already he has met the Fate he merited,
This Night the Hypocrite in Grand Procession
March'd thro' the City to appease the People,
And bore the Gods along to aid his Purpose.
When on a sudden, like a Hurricane,
That starts at once, and ruffles all the Ocean,
Some Fury more than mortal seiz'd the Crowd;
At once they rush'd, at once they cry'd Revenge;
Then snatch'd, and tore the trembling Priest to Pieces.
What was most strange, no Injury was offer'd,
To any of the Brotherhood beside,
But all their Rage was ended in his Death.
Like formal Justice that severely strikes,
And in an instant is serene and calm.

Artab.
Oh my Cleanthes, do but cast thy Thoughts
Back on the recent Story of this Night;
And thou with me wilt wonder, and confess
The Gods are great and just. Well have you mark'd
Celestial Powers, your righteous Detestation
Of Sacrilege, of base and bloody Treachery.
May this Example guide my future Sway;
Let Honour, Truth and Justice crown my Reign,
Ne're let my Kingly Word be giv'n in vain,
But ever sacred with my Foes remain.
On these Foundations shall my Empire stand,
The Gods shall vindicate my just Command,
And guard that Power they trusted to my Hand.

[Exeunt Omnes.