 | Siroes |  |
161
SCENE IV.
Emira, Siroes.Sir.
O! lovely and belov'd Emira.
Em.
Hold.
Reveal me not, but call me still Hydaspes.
Sir.
No ear is nigh, and you are known, Emira,
To me alone: behold the wrongs I suffer
From an unfeeling father.
Em.
Yes, I've seen,
And seen it long: but what does Siroes do?
He rests meanwhile in stupid apathy,
The lethargy of mean degenerate souls;
And while a kingdom moulders from his hope,
He, like a child, a helpless infant, finds
No other arms to oppose his cruel fortune,
But fruitless sighs and idle lamentation.
Sir.
And what could Siroes do?
Em.
What could he do?
What could he not? For him his faithful people
With loyal fury burn: a single blow
Secures thy triumph, and at once completes
My vengeance and thy own.
Sir.
Alas! Emira,
What would'st thou ask?
Em.
I ask a single blow,
Needful to both—and know'st thou who I am?
162
Ah! well I know thee for my soul's best treasure,
Cambaya's princess—yes, thou art Emira.
Em.
Say, I am she, whose sire Asbites died
By Cosroes' cruel hand; that hapless daughter,
Who stript of empire, in a foreign clime,
Now wanders far from her paternal seat;
Who veils, in this attire, her woman's weakness,
And hopes at length to reap a great revenge.
Sir.
O Heaven! by me receiv'd within the palace,
You found the means to win the heart of Cosroes:
His favour all is yours; and can you now,
Forgetful of his benefits conferr'd,
Still brood in secret o'er revenge and hatred.
Em.
The tyrant loves Hydaspes not Emira.
Remember, if you wish Emira's hand,
I wish for Cosroes' death.
Sir.
And could Emira
Receive me stain'd with blood, this face distorted
With all the horrors of a father's murder?
Em.
And how can I, forgetful of my oath,
Behold a parent's pale and bleeding shade
Still hover round and call on me for vengeance;
While careless, stretch'd upon my downy pillow,
I sleep beside the son of him that slew him?
Sir.
If then—
Em.
If then thou wouldst receive my hand,
Thou know'st what service can alone deserve it:
163
Sir.
Never! never!
Em.
Hear, if thou, Siroes, still refuse thine arm,
Another's is not wanting: yes, this day
Completes the work; and he whose courage aids
Emira's cause, Emira's love rewards:
Thus, should thy coward hand refuse the stroke,
Thou losest me, and canst not save thy father.
Sir.
Are these, Emira, these the tender feelings
With which you once were wont to sooth my anguish?
'Twas hatred led you hither, while to me
You feign'd your guide was love.
Em.
I kept from thee
My hatred hid, while Cosroes was a father;
But now he sinks the father in the tyrant,
No longer deem in thee to find a son.
Sir.
And would'st thou have me then a parricide?
And does the crime of loving thee deserve
A punishment so dreadful?
Em.
Now full well
I read thy heart: thou never lov'dst Emira.
Sir.
I never lov'd!
Em.
Behold Laodice,
She, who enjoys thy love, she best confirms it.
Sir.
Laodice! I but endur'd her passion
With faint repulse, to sooth, by harmless guile
In her, whom Cosroes loves, a powerful foe.
| Siroes | |