Artaxerxes | ||
7
SCENE II.
Enter Artaban behind, with his sword drawn and bloody.Arb.
[to himself.]
O hard command! O fatal separation!
O cruel moment that must thus divide me
From her for whom I breathe, while still I am left
To drag this wretched life.
Artab.
[coming forward.]
My son—Arbaces.
Arb.
My lord!
Artab.
Give me thy sword.
Arb.
'Tis here, my lord.
Artab.
There—take thou mine: fly; hide from every eye
That crimson steel.
Arb.
O Gods! what hapless breast
Pour'd forth this blood?
Artab.
Enquire not now, be gone;
All shall be soon reveal'd.
Arb.
O sir! your looks,
All pale and wild, have fill'd me with affright:
I freeze with horror whilst I hear your lips
Give painful utterance to your words—O speak!
Tell me, what can this mean?
Artab.
Thou art reveng'd;
Xerxes is dead, and by this hand.
8
What say'st thou!—
What do I hear?—What is it thou hast done?
Artab.
My dearest son, thy injuries were mine—
For thee I am guilty.
Arb.
Ha! for me you are guilty!
There wanted only this to increase my woes.
And what are now your hopes?
Artab.
My mind revolves
A great design; thou may'st perhaps assume
The reins of sovereignty—depart—my purpose
Demands that I remain.
Arb.
My soul's distracted
In this dread interval!
Artab.
Still dost thou linger?
Arb.
O Heaven!
Artab.
Depart—no more—leave me in peace.
Arb.
What fatal day is this! undone Arbaces!
A thousand woes my breast surprise;
I pant in every part:
Cold through my veins the current flies
To guard my trembling heart.
I pant in every part:
Cold through my veins the current flies
To guard my trembling heart.
What anguish must this stroke of fate
My dear Mandane cost!
How shall my soul lament too late
A father's virtue lost!
My dear Mandane cost!
How shall my soul lament too late
A father's virtue lost!
[Exit.
Artaxerxes | ||