 | Themistocles |  |
85
SCENE IV.
Enter Roxana.Asp.
[to herself.]
Alas! through all my trembling breast I feel
Each fibre shake with fear!
Rox.
Permit me now,
Aspasia, to complain; and why conceal
Thy happy fortune thus? Though not a friend,
I hop'd at least to find thee more sincere.
Asp.
[aside.]
Alas! she knows it all. Themistocles
Too surely is discover'd.
Rox.
Thou art pale!
Thou answer'st not? And have I truly heard,
And have I near me then my deadliest foe.
Asp.
Ah! princess!—
Rox.
Peace, ingrate, to thee I told
My secret soul, to thee intrusted all,
And thou, mean time, hast us'd each art to win
From me the heart of Xerxes.
Asp.
[aside.]
What I fear'd
Employs not now her thoughts.
Rox.
Is this, Aspasia,
The recompense for all my friendship shewn?
Asp.
Such taunts and insults ill become Roxana.
86
I never shall dispute it—no!—too well
I know myself; think not Aspasia's hopes
(Beyond her rank) aspire to mount the throne.
Rox.
Dissimulation all! A thousand thoughts
Confirm my fears, since Xerxes first beheld thee,
I find a daily change, while cold indifference
Succeeds declining love. I mark his looks,
Intent on thee; I hear his converse dwell
Too oft on thee; and when I speak of love,
He seems confus'd; then seeking an excuse
To veil his luke-warm passion, lays the blame
On all those cares that vex a monarch's peace.
Asp.
Not love, but generous pity warms his breast,
For poor Aspasia's fortune.
Rox.
Pity oft
Is but a specious name.
Asp.
Reflect, Roxana,
How great the distance twixt myself and Xerxes.
Rox.
Love equals those more distant.
Asp.
But a stranger?—
Rox.
'Tis that I fear. Sometimes the fancied value
Outweighs the true; those gems are little worth
Where Nature heaps them with a lavish hand,
But from their scarceness oft are treasures deem'd.
Asp.
For pity's sake, Roxana, be not thus
87
You wrong yourself and Xerxes: if the cares
Of love can find admission in this breast,
('Midst all the sufferings of my present state)
Not Xerxes is their object. In this heart
Another form is grav'd; and learn, Aspasia
Has not a heart that knows how love can change.
Rox.
And wilt thou then—
| Themistocles | |