 | The Siege of Sinope |  |
SCENE I.
The Street.ATHRIDATES, ARTAXIAS.
ATHRIDATES.
Revenge at length is mine: on yonder towers
The Cappadocian banners proudly wave
And wanton in the gale. The fierce Pharnaces,
A lion in the toils, within his palace
Hides his dishonour'd head.
ARTAXIAS.
Ill-fated prince!
ATHRIDATES.
Dost thou lament him? By th' unburied dead
Sent by my conquering sword this day to seek
The gloomy borders of stern Pluto's reign,
Another word like that, and to the shades
Thy trembling ghost shall follow.
ARTAXIAS.
When I view
The dreadful carnage of this day of blood;
See this fair city, which the dawn beheld
The pride of Asia, humbled in the dust;
Her slaughter'd citizens; her blazing domes;
Her infants, clinging round their dying mothers;
Forgive me, sir; if, loyal as I am,
I drop the tear humane.
24
Reserve thy tears;
If for my foes they fall, those tears are treason.
ARTAXIAS.
My sword, my arm, my life, O king! are yours;
The feelings of my heart, the sacred drops
Of generous pity, heaven alone controuls.
ATHRIDATES.
Keep them for heaven, nor damp thy master's triumph
With inauspicious sorrows.
ARTAXIAS.
Spare at least
A child in Thamyris.
ATHRIDATES.
Thou plead'st in vain:
No, heaven be witness, I will ne'er withdraw
The fiends of carnage, 'till the sierce Pharnaces,
His queen (no more my daughter), and their son,
The bond of their detested union, glut
The ravening vulture's hunger. Let her perish:—
She dies,—this sword—or rather let her live;
Live to drink up the bitter cup of shame;
To swell the triumph of victorious Rome;
In chains, to follow the proud car of Cæsar,
And learn to scorn a father.
ARTAXIAS.
Can your heart,
To pity dead, forget her infant charms,
Her springing dawn of beauty?
25
Speak not of her:
Speak of revenge: of slaughter, horrors,—death;
Her disobedience draws the righteous sword,
And I am but the delegate of heaven,
To strike the destin'd blow.
| The Siege of Sinope | |