SCENE V.
ATHRIDATES, ORONTES, ORCHANES.
ATHRIDATES.
Thou blind to fate, who, fearless of my wrath,
Hast dar'd protect my victims! hence, nor brave
An injur'd monarch's fury; this right arm,
Unless thou giv'st them instant to my sword,
(Unaw'd by superstition's gloomy terrors)
Shall seize, and drag them to the death which waits them.
ORONTES.
Stop, Athridates, nor with impious step
Prophane this holy place.—I know thy rights,
The reverence due to thrones; nor thou forget
The power which plac'd the sceptre in thy hand,
And can resume the gift. Unaided, weak,
No conquering bands protect us; but the gods
War on our side; th' imperial Lord of Heaven
Is our support, this temple our defence;
And if thy rage with lawless force invades
This sacred fane, the blest abode of peace,
'Tis o'er my bleeding corse thou must approach
The violated altars.
ATHRIDATES.
Dost thou think
With shadowy fears to shake a soul resolv'd?
Can thy enervate arm, thy feeble altars,
Save from their fate the captives of my sword?
Retire, nor bar my way, or see, involv'd
In rising flames, and trembling to its base,
Thy boasted temple fall.
ORONTES.
Away, blasphemer!—
But heaven, indignant, wills thee to compleat
The sum of thy offences. With compassion,
Elate I see thee, vain of transient power
Nor once revolving the uncertain state
Of wretched man, by flattering hope betray'd.
This hour is thine, the next is hid in clouds.
ATHRIDATES.
This hour shall then revenge me; swift advance,
And aid your master's justice.
