University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

SCENE the Prison.
Oxartes, Cleander, and Guards.
Oxart.
Cleander , best dismiss your Fellow-Guards
To make all sure.—But let the Prince be told
Lord Mirvan's Will.—

Clean.
—You know this Signet, Friends;
With it I've Orders to discharge you hence,
To join the Centry on the Castle Duty;
I must attend the Prince's latest Hour.
Farewell t'you all: But, Captain, let him know
This Rev'rend Man is from his Brother sent;
To beg he would in Death all Wrongs forget.
[Exeunt Guards.
The Noon of Night is past; and I have Work
Will take up all my Time; so must not stay
To be a Witness of your op'ning Friendship.
Make not delays:
[Exit Cleander

Oxart.
—The Gods for ever love you!

Enter Capt. as discoursing with Artaban, then Exit. Amestris follows weeping.
Artab.
I thank him, Sir;—My Bosom is at rest,
And ev'ry Thought of Injuries corrected:
May the good Gods as freely seal his Pardon,
As Artaban does from his Soul forgive him.

Oxart.
Off, off, Disguise;—Throw thy dark Mantle by;
And shoot like Day, on his amazed Eyes.

Artab.
Propitious Heav'n, what Prodigies are these?
O all you Gods, It must be sure Oxartes,
In Kindness come to see his dying Friend:
Give me my All, and close my wounded Breast;
That, aking, yawn'd to be supplied by thee,
And found a Loss of half its vital Pow'rs.

Oxart.
To be your humblest, ever faithful Slave,
[Kneeling.
Is all the Fame Oxartes would desire
To bless his Life, and crown his Death with Honour.

Artab.
Rise, my best Friend; Death only must divide us:
A thousand Questions croud for Utterance,
All choak the Passage, and would all be first.
What Deity preserv'd you in the War?
I saw you fall oppress'd, and thought you dead.
Where got you this Disguise? And why? and how,
Prevail'd for Entrance?—Say, and give me Ease.

Oxart.
Time is too precious, and advanc'd too far
To waste it in Enquiries. Royal Sir,
O spare this Prodigality of Kindness;
Least I be lost in your Excess of Love,
And so forget, I come to set you free.

Artab.
Ye Pow'rs, what new Vicissitude of Fate
Has your Eternal Justice yet in store?

Amest.
Instruct me, Heav'n! how shall my grateful Soul
Best thank, or best applaud the brave Oxartes?

Oxart.
'Tis not my Praise, but Joy, most Honour'd Mistress;
For Man but treads his Fate-directed Rounds,
And all he does is from above deriv'd.
Think, there are Guardian Pow'rs that always wake
To save the Good; for Virtue props their Heav'n:
And I'm the happy executing Choice,
To Minister to their unseen Decrees;
Which, as their Substitute, I thus begin.
Accept this Sword, and if we are oppos'd,
Then let us fight for Conquest and for Freedom.

Artab.
Gods! How Amazement swallows up my Senses
And in th'Impetuous Whirl of circling Fate
Drinks down my Reason!—

Oxart.
—Haste, my gracious Lord;
The Master Jaylor, good Cleander's ours;
Assists our Flight in Person, and directs
A secret Path: Not far from hence, there stands
Prepar'd a Chariot for my Royal Mistress;
And on the Hills, impatient of your Presence,
Six hundred valiant Men, Armenians all,
The willing Partners of your Captive Fortune,
Who fought indeed, but could not conquer for you,
(For Destiny o'erpower'd their Mortal Force;)
Wait, eager to conduct you to a Throne.

Artab.
O my Amestris, shall I once again
Bear thee to Joys, to Royalty, and Love?
But we delay;—My brave Deliv'rer lead,
We will with distant Admiration tread;
And in your Mien divine Refulgence read.
So when Æneas sought the golden Bough,
With Contemplation sick, his Gate was slow;
When strait his Mother's sacred Doves appear'd,
And o'er his Head their airy Voyage steer'd:
Then with Security and Joy he trod,
And trac'd the Footsteps of the Leading God.

[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to the Castle-Yard.
Enter Memnon and Servant.
Memn.
Get me my Horse;—The Morning rises slow;
And all those ruddy Streaks, that us'd to paint
The Day's Approach, are lost in Clouds; as if
The Horrors of the Night had sent 'em back
To warn the Sun, he should not leave the Sea:
Or peep on Objects would prophane his Brightness.
I must be gone; my Danger chides me hence:
Where Kings are murther'd, who can hope for Safety?
Poor Prince! thy Mem'ry and thy Subjects Love
Are with Thee dead; and all Applause is Mirvan's.

Re-enter Servant.
Serv.
Your Servants wait your Pleasure;—

Memn.
—'Tis enough:
[Shouts within.
Hark, how the Clam'rous Rebels rend the Sky;
For shame ye Pow'rs, give o'er your Providence,
And let this little Globe of Earth become
A Play-thing, to be toss'd about by Fortune.
Chance may connive at Villains, Murther'd Kings,
And Usurpation, yet be well excus'd;
Because it wants the Thunder to revenge:
But Heav'n, that has the Power to redress,
In an extream of Mercy blasts its Justice.
Farewel, ungrateful City! I no more
Will enter these your Walls, till I'm assur'd
A better Choice adorns the Throne of Persia.
[Ex. Memnon.

A Flourish of Trumpets, after which Enter Mirvan, as King, attended: People Shouting.
Mirv.
Enough, my Friends, of this tumultuous Joy;
It jarrs against the Ear, and gives Offence.
The Nation's Ferment, and the publick Cause
Of fresh Afflictions, might have well excus'd
This loud Officious Love.—No more, I pray;
But leave me, Sirs. Time and my Reign will best
Determine how I may deserve your Thanks.
Pisastris.

[Exeunt People.
Offic.
Sir;

Mirv.
I must employ you:—Cold
Deliberate Heads hatch Dangers in their Hearts.
Old Memnon, and th'Inquiring Factious Peers
Seem not to relish Me, as I would have 'em;
But chew upon their Monarch's sudden Death,
As if it smelt of something more than Fate.
I've sent a Summons to 'em, and thereby
Will sound their Inclinations. Draw up all
Your Men, and plant 'em round the Castle Walls,
Let others be dispers'd to guard the City,
And crush each rising Tumult.—

Offic.
—We obey.
[Exeunt Officers.

Manet Mirvan.
Mirv.
This droaning Priest does Murther sure in State;
With lazy Pomp, and deep-designing Slowness,
T'inhance the Merit of the Fact with Doubts
And anxious Expectation.—Or perhaps
Some envious Chance has balk'd his fair Intent;
And interpos'd betwixt our hop'd Revenge.
Or, if the Villain should have plaid me false;
O Jealousie, thou Demon of the Brain,
Haunt not my Breast with thy mis-shapen Anguish!
He hopes for Favour and Reward from Me;
And what Enticements, to betray that Trust,
Can issue from a Slave's dejected State?
Whom the next Hour disrobes of Gorgeous Life;
And crushes th'unperforming Promiser!

Enter Barzanes hastily.
Barz.
My Royal Lord—

Mirv.
—O welcome, good Barzanes;
How fares our Int'rest? Speak;—

Barz.
—The Priest o'th'Sun
Stands in the Circ, hemm'd in by gath'ring Crouds;
Who, as he bawls his Rhet'rick in your Service,
Catch at the dying Accents of his Voice;
And Eccho back the Sound with just Applause.

Mirv.
But what said Memnon to our hasty Summons?

Barz.
I came, and found his Doors besieg'd with Herds
Of Mules and Servants; laden, and prepar'd,
As 'twere for Journey to remoter Parts.
And as I press'd amidst the busie Throng,
He with a num'rous Equipage came forth;
He started, when he saw me; seem'd surpriz'd,
And faulter'd at my Message; bad me say,
That Age and Sorrow had oppress'd his Judgment,
And render'd him unfit for nicer Counsels:
This said, he mounted, and away they rode.

Mirv.
Let the old Dotard go;—But on, and say
What did Import your Haste.

Barz.
—By Heav'n, it is
A Story of that fatal Consequence,
I fear to give it Words: Let me be dumb,
And drown the Sorrows of my Tale in Silence.

Mirv.
What After-game of Mischief is on foot,
To blast the Pleasures of my Infant Reign?
While jealous Fancy's busie with my Thoughts,
To swell this unknown Ill to Giant Greatness:
Speak, in the Name of Horror, all thy Tydings;
Tho' they have force to freeze my youthful Blood,
And turn me to a Statue with Confusion!

Barz.
That hellish Priest, whom you but now employ'd,
Work'd into Trust soon slipt his Serpent's Skin;
And under his Exterior Sanctity
Was false Oxartes hid.

Mirv.
—Oxartes! Ha!—
Furies, and Hell reward the subtle Fiend.

Barz.
Oh, this is nothing to the Blow that follows;
You are betray'd too by Cleander; He,
Brib'd by Oxartes, hath releas'd the Slaves.
The Dungeons all are destitute and empty,
And they this Night with Artaban are fled.

Mirv.
The Slaves releas'd! My Rival too escap'd!
A clammy Sweat comes o'er me:—O my Tortures!—
Millions of Plagues o'er-take 'em in their Flight.
Assist, ye wrathful Pow'rs; let posting Deaths
Ride on the sickly Air, and make it breathe
Cramps, Pains, Sores, Poisons, ev'ry Name that bears
Antipathy to Life, or Health, or Ease!—

Barz.
Have Patience, Sir, to stem this Tide of Fate;
And summon all your Spirits to your Aid.
I have a Word of Horror yet remains,
Will pass thro' all the Inlets of your Breast;
And rush, like molten Lead, upon your Heart.
The Princess—

Mirv.
—What of Her?

Barz.
—Is with Them fled.

Mirv.
The Princess fled! O Mirvan! Fool! What Seas
Of Blood hast thou been diving thro', to see
The rich sought Coral snatch'd by other Hands!
Empire alone's an empty, barren Rock,
When Ornamental Beauty's torn away.
Deceitful Fortune! Ever-changing Strumpet,
Curse on thy Gifts; henceforward I disclaim
Thy treach'rous Bounty, and will fix my Hopes
On my own Sphere: Nor is it yet too late:
Quick, see it done.—

Barz.
What done, my Lord?

Mirv.
—Unnecessary Slave!
I will have Vengeance shall make Nature shake,
And tremble at my Fury.—Draw out all
My Veteran Troops, and strait pursue the Traytors:
Nor let one Slave, on Pain of Death, escape,
But hew 'em into Atoms: Only spare
Amestris' Life, and guard it as your own.
She yet may see her Folly, and be kind;
If not, I'll drag her trembling to my Arms;
And Pleasures heighten'd in her Anguish prove:
Then stab Her, glowing with unwilling Love.

[Exeunt severally.
SCENE changes to a Plain, with a distant Prospect of the City.
Enter Artaban, Amestris, Memnon, Oxartes richly habited, Cleander, Soldiers, and Attendants.
Art.
This fair Alliance pleases me so well,
It only gives me room to wish, it had
Sprung from a less detested Cause than Murther.
For tho' the King of Persia were my Foe,
And to have kill'd him bravely in the Field
Had been a Cause for Triumph: Yet to think
Him basely murther'd, cancels Enmity,
Turns all the Streams of Hate, and makes 'em flow
In Pity's Channels.

Amest.
—Sure such Acts as these,
Were Hell yet uncreate, would force the Gods
In Self-defence to quash bold impious Man:
Or now begin to muse on Realms of Torture!—

Memn.
Impartial Jove, that lords it o'er the World,
Will in his Time revenge a Monarch's Blood.

Artab.
Oh! my Amestris, how the pearly Dew
That trickles down your Cheeks, falls heavy here!
But to forbid it for a Brother's Death,
Would do a wrong to Piety and Custom.
Tears are the Call of Nature.—

Oxart.
—Royal Sir,
Our common Safety points another Hour,
More suitable, for Ceremonial Sorrow:
We scarce are distant yet a flow Hour's March,
And may from hence o'er-look the City's Spires;
Who dares assure us, but th'Usurper Mirvan
Alarm'd upon our Flight, and taught by Fear,
To make his guilty Title more secure,
May send his Forces out in strict Pursuit,
And take us unprepar'd?

Memn.
—'Tis true, my Lord;
His Guilt may prove pernicious to us all.

Art.
Therefore let's fence against the Tyrant's Rage:
Pitch down your Tents awhile; I hold it best,
That you and I, Lord Memnon, with a Party
Ride round the Country; and proclaim to all
Our Purpose to revenge the poison'd King:
This will inhance the Justice of our Cause,
And may augment our Numbers.—

Amest.
—O my Lord,
Must I be left so soon? Bear Witness, Heav'n,
What dreadful Apprehensions scare my Soul;
A chilly Fear runs shudd'ring thro' my Veins;
And tells my Heart, I ne'er shall see you more.

Artab.
O think me not unkind, nor cherish Doubts;
Not half the Space that measures out a Day,
Will I be banish'd from your matchless Arms.
Nor would I leave thee on a trivial Cause,
But this has on the Shape of publick Moment,
'Tis the Concern of all:—To thee, Oxartes,
I here bequeath all that my Heart holds Dear;
Thou hast a Soul may cheer her Widow'd Virtue,
And make the Hours of my unwilling Absence
Fly on uncounted.

Amest.
—All the Gods protect you,
And bring you back in Safety to Amestris.

Artab.
Doubt not, my Princess; nay, forbear these Tears;
They make the Pangs of my Departure long;
And clog Farewel for ever on my Tongue.
But oh! Farewel, my Love;—She's gone, my Lord;
And we, like lonely Travellers, must stray;
Robb'd of the friendly Sun's all-chearing Ray,
Lost in the Gloom, and longing for the Day.

[Exeunt, Amestris led by Oxart. at one Door, Artaban and Memn. at another.