 | Siroes |  |
SCENE VIII.
Apartments, with a view of the royal gardens.Siroes disarmed. Araxes.
Ar.
He who refuses succour justifies
The rigour of his fate: despair, my prince,
199
A zeal that has improv'd the people's favour
In your behalf.
Sir.
The stroke of adverse Fate
Is conquer'd by endurance.
Ar.
Seldom Fortune
Is friend to merit; and she takes offence
That ever man should more confide in virtue
Than in her partial favours.
Sir.
Know, the soul
That warms this bosom would far rather bear
The pangs of suffering innocence than find
Such happiness as follows prosperous guilt.
Ar.
That innocence is little priz'd which meets
The world's reproach.—The vulgar from events
Direct their judgment, and believe those guilty
Whom Fortune has depress'd.
Sir.
Enough for me
To know myself and die with self-applause.
Ar.
Still in despite of this too rigid virtue,
The care be mine to save you from your father,
Unjust and cruel Cosroes: yes, the people,
The squadrons will unite in such a cause.
Sir.
But this is surely treason, not defence.
200
Since you, though innocent, would lose
That aid a friend supplies:
To meet the conflict you refuse,
My valour shall suffice;
And few the treason will accuse
By which a traitor dies.
[Exit.
| Siroes | |