 | Artaxerxes |  |
SCENE X.
Enter Mandane.Man.
Let none presume
To break on my retirement.
[to a page, who [having received the order, departs.
Now, my soul,
Thou may'st at liberty indulge thy anguish,
Thy wild despair—Yes, yes, my dear Arbaces,
My savage fury shed thy blood, and now
My own shall flow to appease thee.
[draws a dagger.
Arb.
Hold!
Man.
Ye powers!
[seeing Arbaces, she lets fall the dagger.
Arb.
What inconsiderate rage!
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Arbaces here!
In freedom and alive!
Arb.
A friendly hand
Struck off my chains.
Man.
Fly hence! Be gone! Ah! leave me—
What will be said if here thou art found? Ingrate!
Leave then my fame unsullied.
Arb.
Who can quit
His native land without beholding thee?
Man.
What would'st thou seek from me, perfidious traitor!
Arb.
Ah! princess; speak not thus—I know full well
Thou wear'st a sternness foreign to thy heart.
Did I not hear thee? Yes, my dear Mandane,
Arbaces heard thy love.
Man.
'Tis falsehood all,
Or self-deceit; but grant I've spoken aught,
My lips, betray'd by use, belied my soul.
Arb.
Yet am I still the object of your passion.
Man.
Thou art my detestation.
Arb.
Cruel maid!
Take then this sword, and sate thy utmost rage;
Behold my bosom bare to meet the blow.
Man.
Death would reward, not punish thee.
Arb.
'Tis true:
Forgive me, I have err'd; but with this hand
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[about to stab himself.
Man.
What would'st thou do? Perhaps
Thou think'st thy blood sufficient to appease me:
No, I would have thy death a spectacle
Of public infamy; no mark, no shadow
Of generous courage must adorn thy fall.
Arb.
Ingrate, inhuman! thou shalt have thy wish;
[throws away the dagger.
I'll seek again my prison.
[going.
Man.
Stay, Arbaces!
Arb.
What would'st thou say?
Man.
Alas! I know not what!
Arb.
And hast thou yet some small degree of love
That still detains me here?
Man.
Enquire no further:
Why would'st thou raise my blushes? Save thyself—
No more afflict me.
Arb.
Still thou lov'st Arbaces,
If thus thou art mov'd to pity him.
Man.
O no!
Believe not that 'tis love: but fly and live!
Arb.
Thou bid'st me, dear Mandane, live,
But if thy love thou wilt not give,
My tortur'd heart must break!
Man.
Ye powers! how cruel is my pain!
O let these blushes then explain
The thoughts I dare not speak.
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Hear me once more.
Man.
Ah no!
Arb.
Thou art, Mandane—
Man.
Light of these desiring eyes!
Leave me, leave me yet in peace!
Both.
Tell me when, relentless skies!
When your fatal rage will cease?
What cannot human life sustain,
If life can bear such cruel pain!
[Exeunt.
| Artaxerxes | |