University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

SCENE continues, the Plain, &c.
Enter Oxartes with his Sword drawn, follow'd by Memnon.
Oxart.
O! had I bravely dy'd in her Defence,
I'd paid a Debt to Duty and to Glory;
But to survive, and have Her born away,
In Spite of all I could, or dar'd to do;
It stabs my Virtue with a Breach of Trust:
Villain and Coward!—Gods! It is too much;
And nought remains to justifie my Fame,
But thus to turn my Sword against my self.

Memn.
Forbear, rash Man; submit you to the Gods;
What Heav'n decrees,
With vain Effort, we struggle to subvert.
Acquitted to the World, you're self-condemn'd;
Because your Valour met not that Success
It well deserv'd:—How does the Prince resent
This Blow of Fortune?—

Oxart.
—Oh he raves, my Lord;
His Passion makes him rage, as wildly fierce,
As the scorch'd Tempest-beaten Sands of Africk
Sometimes in an Extream of silent Sorrow,
He mourning droops, regardless of his Friends:
Talk of his Empire, and he sighs, and cries,
No, let the Man that dares possess it, have it;
For I have done with Glory.—

Memn.
—Let's to his Tent,
And rouse him up to Fame; work his fond Soul
T'attempt her Rescue, or to fall with Honour.

[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to Artaban's Tent, discovers him lying on the Ground.
Art.
Let None presume on Birth, or Fortune's Smiles,
Nor fix his Happiness in being Great:
Re enter Oxartes and Memnon.
Learn all from Me, that Grandeur has its Plagues;
And Death's the first, best Refuge from Afflictions.
The Fate of Man's a Labyrinth of Chances,
Thro' which he drags his weary wand'ring Feet,
And thinks at ev'ry Turn he's disingag'd:
Still in the winding Crookedness involv'd,
And still perplex'd with Folds of endless Error!—
Ha! what art Thou?—
[Oxartes comes forward.
Haste in thy Steps, and Fury in thy Eyes!
Avant!—I will not hear of Battel more.—

Memn.
Exert your Soul, my Lord; Shake off this Sadness:
Forbid it Heav'n, that we should let your Honour
Thus wither in its Bloom:—Now, by the Sun,
I wept to see your Soldiers hang their Heads,
As if their Prince's Sorrow were contagious.

Art.
O Memnon, Memnon! think not I have lain
On Beds of Roses here: Not all the Plagues,
The Tortures, Man can suffer in his Body,
Afflict with half the Pains that I have bore.
O! what is our Ambition's Spring but Love!
Or, what the Source and Cherisher of Honour,
But Love!—For This, the Soldier prizes Danger;
And smiles with Pleasure on his Toils and Wounds:
To throw his Lawrels in his Mistress' Lap,
And entertain her with his grateful Labours!
O, my Amestris!—

Oxart.
Heave again, my Lord;
And let the rising Tempest of your Sighs
Rush strongly, and unhinge this galling Anguish.
Think of the poor Amestris; what must She
Endure? O let me be for ever dumb,
Rather than vent the Image of my Doubts,
Too horrid for Expression.—

Art.
—Thou hast rais'd
A Whirlwind in my Breast:—Conflicting Rage
Distends each Sinew; and remans my Soul.
Speak to my Fury, speak it all, Oxartes;
And give not dire Imagination room,
For ought beyond it hideous.

Oxart.
What will the Tyrant Mirvan leave undone,
To cure the raging Feaver in his Mind?
Suppose Him burning with his Lawless Love;
The Princess, urging all the Ties of Honour
And Duties of a Wife—Then think his Hate,
And frustrated Revenge in your Escape:
What more can please his disappointed Envy,
Than to compleat it on her Innocence?

Artab.
O, for Protection from that frightful Thought
Shall She be made the Spoil of brutal Lust,
And I not stir an Arm in her Defence?
O let it not be said, Oxartes, Memnon,
It is Amestris' Cause; and Heav'n it self
Must succour us against th'Invading Tyrant.
Justice no longer will his Insults bear,
But brandishes her executing Spear;
She draws our Swords, and wings us to the Fight,
Her Wrongs t'avenge, and vindicate her Right.

[Exeunt.
SCENE changes to the Castle.
Enter Mirvan.
Mirv.
Once more is Fate come back; the stubborn Dame
Is in my Hands; and shall submit, or Dye.
I will have Love, to recompence my Pangs;
Nor shall the cold Excuse of Wife, or Virtue,
Have Pow'r to dull, or disappoint my Ardour;
No, coy Amestris; I have fawn'd too long;
'Tis time I now command; and use my Pow'r.
Enter Barzanes hastily.
What ominous Fear speaks thro' your haggard Eyes?

Barz.
Our Watchmen from the Battlements, my Lord,
Tall Clouds of Dust descry, that choak the Sight;
And drive apace their tow'ring Circles hither.
And ever and anon, amidst the Smoak,
A Gleam of Brightness flashes on their Eyes.
Neighing of Steeds is heard, and a hoarse Din
Of clashing Armour; but the Sound encreases,
And ev'ry Moment brays with louder Terror.

Mirv.
With speed go learn their further Observations;
But charge 'em on their Lives, they do not noise
This Fright amongst the madding Populace.
[Ex. Barzanes.
These Persians are as Mutinous as Air;
That forms its Tumults from each factious Vapour
Of cold or hot Complection.—
If Artaban's hot Courage should attempt
The Princess' Rescue, so superior to him
Our Numbers are, of so much firmer Strength;
'Tis but for him to perish in th'Assault:
And render my Revenge yet more Compleat.

[Re-enter Barzanes with his Sword drawn.
Barz.
All's on the Rout, my Lord; Prince Artaban,
With Memnon, is at Hand; Auxiliar Troops
Croud up his Rear, and foyl our best Defence.
The faithless Persians, throwing down their Arms,
Traffick for Life; and sell their Sworn Allegiance
For shameful Quarter:—

Mirv.
Villain, get thee down
[Stabs him.
To Hell; and tell 'em that the Fray's begun;
And we will send such Shoals of murther'd Slaves,
Shall glut their empty Regions.

Barz.
—O! I dye;
Ungrateful! but I see Fate lye before me,
And view thee grappling in the Snare.—

[Dies.
Mirv.
—Thou ly'st,
False Prophet! but the Storm comes on apace,
And will prevent my Purpose.

[Goes in.
Enter Oxartes with a Party driving in the High-Priest Wounded.
H. Priest.
Spare my Life;
And do not violate this hallow'd Robe.

Oxart.
By all the Sanctity belongs to Priesthood,
No Privilege of Garb shall skreen a Villain!
Tho' all thy Mystick Trumpery, thy Heaps
Of Houshold Gods were wrap'd within thy Gown;
Nought should protect Thee from this Stroke of Justice.

H. Priest.
Revenge me, Gods!—

[Dies.
Oxart.
—Go make a fair Appeal
To Æacus, to Minos, Rhadamanthus;
And let those Potentates of nether Justice
See thee Reveng'd:—But be thy Crimes unknown;
Least Hell it self should fear more foul Disorder
From thee, the Breathing Trumpet of Sedition!

Sold.
What Body's this lies weltring in its Blood?

Oxart.
By Heav'n it is Barzanes, Mirvan's Creature;
May all such Villains meet the Fate they merit:
But see; the Guards are muster'd to oppose us.

[Oxartes and his Party fight off.
SCENE changes to a private Apartment.
Enter Amestris bloody, follow'd by Mirvan with a Dagger.
Mirv.
Why should you look on Pleasure with that Dread,
As to make Death a Refuge to avoid it?
The Purple Flood runs trickling down your Robe,
And had not I the greedy Weapon seiz'd,
It soon had found a Passage to your Heart.

Amest.
Then Heav'n had been most merciful and just;
And I with Joy had blest its Providence:
And shrunk into the leaden Arms of Death,
Secure from thee, and such detested Villains.

Mirv.
Think if I am a Villain; Traitress, think
'Twas baleful Influence of successless Love
That blasted first my Virtue. Then reflect,
And curse those beauteous, but malignant, Eyes:
Whose guilty Fires inflam'd my glowing Breast,
And then deny'd to cure the Wounds they made.
[An Alarm within.
But hark! they come, Enchantress.—

Amest.
—O, what mean you?

Mirv.
To quaff the luscious sparkling Nectar off,
And leave the Dregs for Him.—Come, spare my Labour;
Comply a little, and I will allow
Some Struggles to your wishing Modesty;
I know that Women will not wholly yield;
But must be gently forc'd to what they wish:
Nay, be not Obstinate.—

Amest.
—Oh! kill me rather;
But spare my Virtue; hear me, Chaste Diana:
Hear, Virgin Deity; support my Weakness,
And save me from Dishonour.—

Oxart.
[Within.]
Submit, and yield the Passage, or you Dye.

Guards.
Our Faith is more than Life.

Amest.
—O help, ye Gods!

Mirv.
He shall not yet possess thee.

[Oxart. breaks in as Mirv. goes to kill her; Mirv is joyn'd by Guards; they Fight; Oxart. bears off Amest.
Oxart.
Traytor, hold
Thy cursed Hand.

Mirv.
Have at thee, perjur'd Fiend.
[Fight off.
[Re-enter Mirvan wounded.
Perdition catch 'em! Am I left alone?
As if they watch'd this Turn of froward Fortune,
And waited but to sail before the Wind.

Enter Cleander.
Clean.
Ha! art thou found?

Mirv.
—Whom dost thou threaten, Hellhound?
Think'st thou that Mirvan is a Match for thee?

Clean.
Th'Injustice of thy Cause has levell'd Mirvan
Beneath our meanest Champions.

Mirv.
—Thou hast found
That Mirvan yet can conquer to thy Cost.

[Fight and Cleander falls.
As Mirvan is going, Enter Artaban.
Art.
Come back, Usurper; here, and meet thy Fate;
This Sword must end Thee; tho' it is my Curse
To stain it with that guilty Blood of thine:
But Justice, and that Heav'n which thou hast wrong'd
With Usurpation, Rapes, and savage Murthers,
Exact it, to attone their injur'd Pow'rs.

Mirv.
Fond and insulting! Flatter not thy self
With fancy'd Triumphs over me, who am
Born to controul and awe thy weaker Fate.
Behold the utmost Limits of thy Life;
But I could curse those unperforming Gods,
That made me fierce, and willing to destroy,
Yet gave me not the Pow'r of Basilisks,
To murther with a Look.—I would disdain
To lift my Arm, and blast Thee with my Eyes.

Art.
The Gods that know the Malice of a Fiend,
Hold in his Pow'r, subservient to their Will;
Else, absolute in his malignant Frenzy,
The Demon would depopulate the World:
Such is thy Rage, and so art thou restrain'd.
But, Tyrant, purple Villain! where's my Wife?

Mirv.
I would be silent, but that I have Words
Fell as the Hate I bear Thee: Sounds, as fatal
As Arrows dipt in the Nonacrian Lake,
To pierce and poison thy inamour'd Soul.
Thy Wife is dead.

Art.
—It cannot, must not be!
If there be Gods, it is impossible!
And thou the blackest, execrable Fiend,
Hast made this Fiction to torment my Soul.

Mirv.
Let it be so: But had you heard her Cries,
Her piercing Shrieks, in Intervals of Joy,
When I with Fury seiz'd my trembling Prey,
And grown Immortal in Excess of Pleasure
Revell'd amidst her Charms—Indeed she wept,
And sobb'd, and sigh'd, so hideous and profound,
With so much Bitterness of rueful Sorrow;
That I in Pity drew my Poniard out,
And ended all her Troubles.

Art.
—Do I Dream?
Or am I waken'd from the frightful Slumber
And finding it is true, congeal with Horror?
But I will tear this stupid Madness out;
Gods! did you hear with how much Insolence
He loudly dares your Justice, yet are calm?
But I delay too long.—

Mirv.
—Yet be advis'd,
And urge not thus your Fortune; I'm appeas'd,
And would not kill thee. What thy Fate would be,
Expect in Him.

Art.
—The poor Cleander slain?
O common Ravager! each Moment's pause
Produces fresh Examples of thy Guilt;
And hastens my Revenge.

[Fight, Mirv. falls.
Mirv.
Hell! I am fal'n.
O spare that Stab of Malice; 'tis enough:
I feel the grisly Monster drag me hard;
And now I'm hurry'd to his gloomy Den.

[Dies.
Art.
He Dies,—and I, the Victor, strait must follow.
Perhaps, the poor Amestris thinks me slow;
She, wafted into Bliss, with Pain beholds.
Me shiv'ring on the Shore; and waits my coming.
Thou well acquainted Steel, be faithful to me,
And do the last, best Office for thy Master!

[Going to fall on his Sword, Oxartes breaks in and prevents him; Amestris, Memnon and Soldiers.
Oxart.
All-gracious Heav'n forbid this dire Event.

Art.
Whoe'er thou art, thou hast prevented Death:
Oxartes! and Amestris! Sure I have
Already past the Stream, or all is Riddles.
She only can resolve 'em.

[Embracing her.
Amest.
—Oh my Joy
Swells high above Expression!

Art.
—Dost thou live?
Then thou art pure, unstain'd, and still Amestris;
And all the Villain spoke, was fictious Horror!
Old Memnon too! I am beset with Friends,
Each with a smiling Sympathy of Welcome.

Memn.
I on my Knees congratulate, and see
The Hand of Heav'n in unexpected Changes.
United Persia's Eyes are turn'd on you,
The kindly Balm to heal their gaping Wounds,
And set up broken Justice on its Basis.

Oxart.
Broken indeed. But see the trait'rous Cause,
That shock'd its Fabrick, punish'd in his Crime.
Hence let each bold aspiring Man beware,
Least Heav'n arrest his Passion's fierce Career;
For Vice shall but a short liv'd Triumph make,
Ere Jove's unerring Wrath its Guilt o'er-take;
And the licentious Pomp to Atoms shake.

[Exeunt Omnes.