University of Virginia Library

SCENE the Third.

Semanthe
Sola.
What is this Thing call'd Life? Tis better far
To be no more, than be the Wretch I am,
So young, and so unhappy, thus depriv'd
Of both my Parents; one in Battle slain,
The other (oh most fatal Loss to me!)
Expiring here, prest with the triple Weight
Of Years, of my Misfortunes, and her own.
Oh my destructive Beauty! Oh Semanthe!
Hast thou not Cause eternal to complain,
T'accuse th'unconstant Guardians of thy Fate,
And brand them with their cruel base Neglect?
How have I glory'd in my Virgin State,
My Love unsoil'd, my Honour undefil'd,
Chast as my Thoughts, and white as falling Snow?
But now that spotless Whiteness is no more,
Polution, black as Hell, hath stain'd my Lustre.
Trebellius too, that dear, that much-lov'd Man,
Chief in my Heart, and first in all my Wishes,
Falls like the injur'd Dove, an harmless Prey
To the pursuing Vultures, for my sake:
Then whither, whither shall Semanthe fly?
A friendless Orphan, and unhappy Slave,
Subject to ev'ry scornful Victor's Pow'r:
No, I'll resolve and be in Death secure.

[Exit.