University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Zenobia. Tiridates in the cottage.
Zen.
Alas! my heart, too well I understand
Thy feelings now: thou gladly would'st embrace
(Thus left alone,) the freedom to complain.
Complaints are bred from weakness, but Zenobia
Less fears another's censure than her own;
And even in secret would she blush to find
Her firmness shaken. You, ye powers! who breath'd
Such virtue in my soul, expose it not
To meet a second trial; let one proof
Suffice my triumph: lead me not again
To Tiridates' sight.—How can I ever
Declare myself another's? This confession
Might kindle all his rage against my husband.
I tremble at the thought—And ah! his grief
Would strike too deeply here. Should chance once more
This way conduct him—Let me haste to shun
The cruel risk. This cottage offers me
A wish'd asylum—Ah! some stranger here—
I see, or fear impress'd upon my mind,
Has feign'd—O! Heaven! 'tis he! 'tis Tiridates!

Tir.
[coming out.]
Zenobia! 'tis in vain to fly me now:
Where'er thou goest behold me present still.

Zen.
Stay, Tiridates—hold.

Tir.
Alas! Zenobia,
What shall I say?

Zen.
[aside.]
Now, now my trial comes!

Tir.
And am I Tiridates? Is it thus
Thou giv'st me welcome? Princess most belov'd,
Is this the hour for which so much I languish'd?
Could the short space of two revolving moons
Suffice to change thee thus? What mean these cold,
These freezing looks? Ah! what has robb'd me thus
Of all thy wonted tenderness? Has aught
Against me kindled thy resentment? Speak:
Hast thou forgot thy faith? Impossible!
Thou art not capable of stains like these,
I know, my life—

Zen.
My lord, since you compel me
With you awhile in converse to remain,
Though but some moments, let not these at least
Be spent in vain.

Tir.
And does it then displease thee—

Zen.
It does—Reluctant I remain; then hear me,
And give me proof of Tiridates' virtue.

Tir.
I tremble while thou speak'st.

Zen.
The sacred ties
Of regal nuptials, by the hand of Fate
Are form'd in Heaven; nor is the choice our own.
For had the stars allow'd me to direct
My life, I then had found in Tiridates
The man of all mankind to make me happy.
But this can never be; our destiny
For ever parts me from thee, and I bow
Beneath the hard decree.—Go then in peace,
And leave me here in peace.—O! never more
Appear before these eyes; take from us, prince,
Such danger to our virtue—Yes, that virtue
Which join'd us first, and now dissolves the bands.

Tir.
Assist me, Gods! and must I never more
Indulge my hopes?

Zen.
You have no longer hope.

Tir.
But wherefore? Who, ah! who can bear thee from me?
What crime of mine?

Zen.
Ah! what avails it, prince,
To dwell on that with pain, which will but raise
The affections duty bids us now subdue?
Farewell! too long already you detain me.
'Tis not your guilt or mine that parts us now:
Let this suffice, and seek to know no further.

Tir.
Barbarian! canst thou then so coldly speak?
Thou know'st not thou art my fame, my peace, my life;
That if I lose thee, all to me is lost;
That never other object—

Zen.
Prince, farewell!

[going.
Tir.
Tell me at least—

Zen.
I cannot.

Tir.
Hear me.

Zen.
Oh!
I must not hear you.

Tir.
Dost thou hate me thus?
Thus fly my sight?

Zen.
Ah! did I hate you, sir,
I still might have remain'd.—I fear your presence;
'Tis hostile to my duty: though my reason
Is firmly fix'd, yet great are your deserts,
And O! such conflict serves at least to rend,
If not subdue my heart—And see you not,
(O! Heaven!) that now before you—that remembrance—
Depart, depart—I shall confess too much—
Respect at once my virtue and your own.
Yes, I entreat you, prince, by all your soul
Has priz'd on earth, or most reveres in Heaven;
Even by the tender love that bound us once;
By the dear spirit that informs your bosom;
By these sad tears you force me thus to shed,
O! leave me—fly, my lord—avoid my presence.

Tir.
And must I see thee never, never more?

Zen.
No, never, prince, if still to you are dear
My peace and glory.

Tir.
Cruel, cruel sentence!

Zen.
Go, seek for comfort and farewell!
And happy, though in absence dwell,
Nor lose a thought on me.

Tir.
Ah! speak not thus, relentless fair.
But sooner from this bosom tear
The heart that bleeds for thee.

Zen.
I feel a cold through every vein.

Tir.
My pulse forgets to move.

Both.

[Exeunt severally.
[Before the departure of Zen. and Rhad. Zop. appears behind, unseen of them, and stops to observe them.