University of Virginia Library

SCENE IX.

[To her Pheroras enters.]
Pheroras.
Give me, good heav'n! to feed on wholesom herbs
In camps, and drink the pure untainted spring;
Since death in ambush lies in sparkling cups,
And courtly viands!

Sal.
Why, my lord, so pale?
What strange disorder ends the festival?

Pher.
Sameas, the wretch whom I prefer'd to court,
Design'd to poison all.

Sal.
Avert it, heav'ns!
I hope he fail'd.

Pher.
His felon-cheek ne'er chang'd
It's colour, when he brought th'impoison'd bowl,
With garlands crown'd, and gave it to the King:
Who with the fondness of a lover cry'd,
He'd not indulge his taste, because the Queen
Refus'd t'adorn the circle, so resign'd
To Hazeroth the pledge of royal grace.
Sudden his lips grew livid, and discharg'd
A purple foam, his labouring bosom swell'd;
His eye-balls like malignant meteors glar'd,
Unmov'd and gastly: as the venom spread,
Frightful convulsions writh'd his tortur'd limbs;
Then mad with anguish, rushing to the floor
He groan'd his soul away.

Sal.
All scap'd but he?

Phe.
Had not the villain over-drug'd the wine,
We all had perish'd.