Читать книгу: «The Prince of Parthia», страница 2

Scene II. Vardanes and Lysias

Lysias

 
That shout proclaims
 

[Shout.

 
Arsaces' near approach.
 

Vardanes

 
Peace, prithee, peace,
Wilt thou still shock me with that hated sound,
And grate harsh discord in my offended ear?
If thou art fond of echoing the name,
Join with the servile croud, and hail his triumph.
 

Lysias

 
I hail him? By our glorious shining God,
I'd sooner lose my speech, and all my days
In silence rest, conversing with my thoughts,
Than hail Arsaces.
 

Vardanes

 
Yet, again his name,
Sure there is magic in it, Parthia's drunk
And giddy with the joy; the houses' tops
With gaping spectators are throng'd, nay wild
They climb such precipices that the eye
Is dazzl'd with their daring; ev'ry wretch
Who long has been immur'd, nor dar'd enjoy
The common benefits of sun and air,
Creeps from his lurking place; e'en feeble age,
Long to the sickly couch confin'd, stalks forth,
And with infectious breath assails the Gods.
O! curse the name, the idol of their joy.
 

Lysias

 
And what's that name, that thus they should disturb
The ambient air, and weary gracious heav'n
With ceaseless bellowings? Vardanes sounds
With equal harmony, and suits as well
The loud repeated shouts of noisy joy.
Can he bid Chaos Nature's rule dissolve,
Can he deprive mankind of light and day,
And turn the Seasons from their destin'd course?
Say, can he do all this, and be a God?
If not, what is his matchless merit? What dares he,
Vardanes dares not? blush not, noble Prince,
For praise is merit's due, and I will give it;
E'en 'mid the croud which waits thy Brother's smile,
I'd loud proclaim the merit of Vardanes.
 

Vardanes

 
Forbear this warmth, your friendship urges far.
Yet know your love shall e'er retain a place
In my remembrance. There is something here —
 

[Pointing to his breast.

 
Another time and I will give thee all;
But now, no more. —
 

Lysias

 
You may command my services,
I'm happy to obey. Of late your Brother
Delights in hind'ring my advancement,
And ev'ry boaster's rais'd above my merit,
Barzaphernes alone commands his ear,
His oracle in all.
 

Vardanes

 
I hate Arsaces,
Tho' he's my Mother's son, and churchmen say
There's something sacred in the name of Brother.
My soul endures him not, and he's the bane
Of all my hopes of greatness. Like the sun
He rules the day, and like the night's pale Queen,
My fainter beams are lost when he appears.
And this because he came into the world,
A moon or two before me: What's the diff'rence,
That he alone should shine in Empire's seat?
I am not apt to trumpet forth my praise,
Or highly name myself, but this I'll speak,
To him in ought, I'm not the least inferior.
Ambition, glorious fever! mark of Kings,
Gave me immortal thirst and rule of Empire.
Why lag'd my tardy soul, why droop'd the wing,
Nor forward springing, shot before his speed
To seize the prize? – 'Twas Empire – Oh! 'twas Empire —
 

Lysias

 
Yet, I must think that of superior mould
Your soul was form'd, fit for a heav'nly state,
And left reluctant its sublime abode,
And painfully obey'd the dread command,
When Jove's controuling fate forc'd it below.
His soul was earthly, and it downward mov'd,
Swift as to the center of attraction.
 

Vardanes

 
It might be so – But I've another cause
To hate this Brother, ev'ry way my rival;
In love as well as glory he's above me;
I dote on fair Evanthe, but the charmer
Disdains my ardent suit, like a miser
He treasures up her beauties to himself:
Thus is he form'd to give me torture ever. —
But hark, they've reach'd the Temple,
Didst thou observe the croud, their eagerness,
Each put the next aside to catch a look,
Himself was elbow'd out? – Curse, curse their zeal —
 

Lysias

 
Stupid folly!
 

Vardanes

 
I'll tell thee, Lysias,
This many-headed monster multitude,
Unsteady is as giddy fortune's wheel,
As woman fickle, varying as the wind;
To-day they this way course, the next they veer,
And shift another point, the next another.
 

Lysias

 
Curiosity's another name for man,
The blazing meteor streaming thro' the air
Commands our wonder, and admiring eyes,
With eager gaze we trace the lucent path,
'Til spent at length it shrinks to native nothing.
While the bright stars which ever steady glow,
Unheeded shine, and bless the world below.
 

Scene III. Queen and Edessa

Queen

 
Oh! give me way, the haughty victor comes,
Surrounded by adoring multitudes;
On swelling tides of praise to heav'n they raise him;
To deck their idol, they rob the glorious beings
Of their splendour.
 

Edessa

 
My royal Lady,
Chace hence these passions.
 

Queen

 
Peace, forever peace,
Have I not cause to hate this homicide?
'Twas by his cursed hand Vonones fell,
Yet fell not as became his gallant spirit,
Not by the warlike arm of chief renown'd,
But by a youth, ye Gods, a beardless stripling,
Stab'd by his dastard falchin from behind;
For well I know he fear'd to meet Vonones,
As princely warriors meet with open daring,
But shrunk amidst his guards, and gave him death,
When faint with wounds, and weary with the fight.
 

Edessa

 
With anguish I have heard his hapless fate,
And mourn'd in silence for the gallant Prince.
 

Queen

 
Soft is thy nature, but, alas! Edessa,
Thy heart's a stranger to a mother's sorrows,
To see the pride of all her wishes blasted;
Thy fancy cannot paint the storm of grief,
Despair and anguish, which my breast has known.
Oh! show'r, ye Gods, your torments on Arsaces,
Curs'd be the morn which dawn'd upon his birth.
 

Edessa

 
Yet, I intreat —
 

Queen

 
Away! for I will curse —
Oh! may he never know a father's fondness,
Or know it to his sorrow, may his hopes
Of joy be cut like mine, and his short life
Be one continu'd tempest; if he lives,
Let him be curs'd with jealousy and fear,
And vext with anguish of neglecting scorn;
May tort'ring hope present the flowing cup,
Then hasty snatch it from his eager thirst,
And when he dies base treach'ry be the means.
 

Edessa

 
Oh! calm your spirits.
 

Queen

 
Yes, I'll now be calm,
Calm as the sea when the rude waves are laid,
And nothing but a gentle swell remains;
My curse is heard, and I shall have revenge;
There's something here which tells me 'twill be so,
And peace resumes her empire o'er my breast.
Vardanes is the Minister of Vengeance;
Fir'd by ambition, he aspiring seeks
T'adorn his brows with Parthia's diadem;
I've fann'd the fire, and wrought him up to fury,
Envy shall urge him forward still to dare,
And discord be the prelude to destruction,
Then this detested race shall feel my hate.
 

Edessa

 
And doth thy hatred then extend so far,
That innocent and guilty all alike
Must feel thy dreadful vengeance?
 

Queen

 
Ah! Edessa,
Thou dost not know e'en half my mighty wrongs,
But in thy bosom I will pour my sorrows.
 

Edessa

 
With secrecy I ever have repaid
Your confidence.
 

Queen

 
I know thou hast; then hear:
The changeling King who oft has kneel'd before me,
And own'd no other pow'r, now treats me
With ill dissembl'd love mix'd with disdain.
A newer beauty rules his faithless heart,
Which only in variety is blest;
Oft have I heard him, when wrapt up in sleep,
And wanton fancy rais'd the mimic scene,
Call with unusual fondness on Evanthe,
While I have lain neglected by his side,
Except sometimes in a mistaken rapture
He'd clasp me to his bosom.
 

Edessa

 
Oh! Madam,
Let not corroding jealousy usurp
Your Royal breast, unnumber'd ills attend
The wretch who entertains that fatal guest.
 

Queen

 
Think not that I'll pursue its wand'ring fires,
No more I'll know perplexing doubts and fears,
And erring trace suspicion's endless maze,
For, ah! I doubt no more.
 

Edessa

 
Their shouts approach.
 

Queen

 
Lead me, Edessa, to some peaceful gloom,
Some silent shade far from the walks of men,
There shall the hop'd revenge my thoughts employ,
And sooth my sorrows with the coming joy.
 

Scene IV. Evanthe and Cleone

Evanthe

 
No, I'll not meet him now, for love delights
In the soft pleasures of the secret shade,
And shuns the noise and tumult of the croud.
How tedious are the hours which bring him
To my fond, panting heart! for oh! to those
Who live in expectation of the bliss,
Time slowly creeps, and ev'ry tardy minute
Seems mocking of their wishes. Say, Cleone,
For you beheld the triumph, 'midst his pomp,
Did he not seem to curse the empty show,
The pageant greatness, enemy to love,
Which held him from Evanthe? haste, to tell me,
And feed my gready ear with the fond tale —
Yet, hold – for I shall weary you with questions,
And ne'er be satisfied – Beware, Cleone,
And guard your heart from Love's delusive sweets.
 

Cleone

 
Is Love an ill, that thus you caution me
To shun his pow'r?
 

Evanthe

 
The Tyrant, my Cleone,
Despotic rules, and fetters all our thoughts.
Oh! wouldst thou love, then bid adieu to peace,
Then fears will come, and jealousies intrude,
Ravage your bosom, and disturb your quiet,
E'en pleasure to excess will be a pain.
Once I was free, then my exulting heart
Was like a bird that hops from spray to spray,
And all was innocence and mirth; but, lo!
The Fowler came, and by his arts decoy'd,
And soon the Wanton cag'd. Twice fifteen times
Has Cynthia dipt her horns in beams of light,
Twice fifteen times has wasted all her brightness,
Since first I knew to love; 'twas on that day
When curs'd Vonones fell upon the plain,
The lovely Victor doubly conquer'd me.
 

Cleone

 
Forgive my boldness, Madam, if I ask
What chance first gave you to Vonones' pow'r?
Curiosity thou know'st is of our sex.
 

Evanthe

 
That is a task will wake me to new sorrows,
Yet thou attend, and I will tell thee all.
Arabia gave me birth, my father held
Great Offices at Court, and was reputed
Brave, wise and loyal, by his Prince belov'd.
Oft has he led his conqu'ring troops, and forc'd
From frowning victory her awful honours.
In infancy I was his only treasure,
On me he wasted all his store of fondness.
Oh! I could tell thee of his wond'rous goodness,
His more than father's love and tenderness.
But thou wouldst jeer, and say the tale was trifling;
So did he dote upon me, for in childhood
My infant charms, and artless innocence
Blest his fond age, and won on ev'ry heart.
But, oh! from this sprung ev'ry future ill,
This fatal beauty was the source of all.
 

Cleone

 
'Tis often so, for beauty is a flow'r
That tempts the hand to pluck it.
 

Evanthe

 
Full three times
Has scorching summer fled from cold winter's
Ruthless blasts, as oft again has spring
In sprightly youth drest nature in her beauties,
Since bathing in Niphates'⁵ silver stream,
Attended only by one fav'rite maid;
As we were sporting on the wanton waves,
Swift from the wood a troop of horsemen rush'd,
Rudely they seiz'd, and bore me trembling off,
In vain Edessa with her shrieks assail'd
The heav'ns, for heav'n was deaf to both our pray'rs.
The wretch whose insolent embrace confin'd me
(Like thunder bursting on the guilty soul),
With curs'd Vonones' voice pour'd in my ears
A hateful tale of love; for he it seems
Had seen me at Arabia's royal court,
And took those means to force me to his arms.
 

Cleone

 
Perhaps you may gain something from the Captives
Of your lost Parents.
 

Evanthe

 
This I meant to try,
Soon as the night hides Nature in her darkness,
Veil'd in the gloom we'll steal into their prison.
But, oh! perhaps e'en now my aged Sire
May 'mongst the slain lie welt'ring on the field,
Pierc'd like a riddle through with num'rous wounds,
While parting life is quiv'ring on his lips,
He may perhaps be calling on his Evanthe.
Yes, ye great Pow'rs who boast the name of mercy,
Ye have deny'd me to his latest moments,
To all the offices of filial duty,
To bind his wounds, and wash them with my tears,
Is this, is this your mercy?
 

Cleone

 
Blame not heav'n,
For heav'n is just and kind; dear Lady, drive
These black ideas from your gentle breast;
Fancy delights to torture the distress'd,
And fill the gloomy scene with shadowy ills,
Summon your reason, and you'll soon have comfort.
 

Evanthe

 
Dost thou name comfort to me, my Cleone,
Thou who know'st all my sorrows? plead no more,
'Tis reason tells me I am doubly wretched.
 

Cleone

 
But hark, the music strikes, the rites begin,
And, see, the doors are op'ning.
 

Evanthe

 
Let's retire;
My heart is now too full to meet him here,
Fly swift ye hours, till in his arms I'm prest,
And each intruding care is hush'd to rest.
 

Scene V

The Scene draws and discovers, in the inner part of the Temple, a large image of the Sun, with an altar before it. Around Priests and Attendants.

King, Arsaces, Vardanes, Gotarzes, Phraates, Lysias, with Bethas in chains

Hymn

 
Parent of Light, to thee belong
Our grateful tributary songs;
Each thankful voice to thee shall rise,
And chearful pierce the azure skies;
While in thy praise all earth combines,
And Echo in the Chorus joins.
All the gay pride of blooming May,
The Lily fair and blushing Rose,
To thee their early honours pay,
And all their heav'nly sweets disclose.
The feather'd Choir on ev'ry tree
To hail thy glorious dawn repair,
While the sweet sons of harmony
With Hallelujahs fill the air.
'Tis thou hast brac'd the Hero's arm,
And giv'n the Love of praise to warm
His bosom, as he onward flies,
And for his Country bravely dies.
Thine's victory, and from thee springs
Ambition's fire, which glows in Kings.
 

King [coming forward]

 
Thus, to the Gods our tributary songs,
And now, oh! let me welcome once again
My blooming victor to his Father's arms;
And let me thank thee for our safety: Parthia
Shall thank thee too, and give her grateful praise
To her Deliverer.
 

Omnes

 
All hail! Arsaces!
 

King

 
Thanks to my loyal friends.
 

Vardanes [aside]

 
Curse, curse the sound,
E'en Echo gives it back with int'rest,
The joyful gales swell with the pleasing theme,
And waft it far away to distant hills.
O that my breath was poison, then indeed
I'd hail him like the rest, but blast him too.
 

Arsaces

 
My Royal Sire, these honours are unmerited,
Beneath your prosp'rous auspices I fought,
Bright vict'ry to your banners joyful flew,
And favour'd for the Sire the happy son.
But lenity should grace the victor's laurels,
Then, here, my gracious Father —
 

King

 
Ha! 'tis Bethas!
Know'st thou, vain wretch, what fate attends on those
Who dare oppose the pow'r of mighty Kings,
Whom heav'n delights to favour? sure some God
Who sought to punish you for impious deeds,
'Twas urg'd you forward to insult our arms,
And brave us at our Royal City's gates.
 

Bethas

 
At honour's call, and at my King's command,
Tho' it were even with my single arm, again
I'd brave the multitude, which, like a deluge,
O'erwhelm'd my gallant handful; yea, wou'd meet
Undaunted, all the fury of the torrent.
'Tis honour is the guide of all my actions,
The ruling star by which I steer thro' life,
And shun the shelves of infamy and vice.
 

King

 
It was the thirst of gain which drew you on;
'Tis thus that Av'rice always cloaks its views,
Th' ambition of your Prince you gladly snatch'd
As opportunity to fill your coffers.
It was the plunder of our palaces,
And of our wealthy cities, fill'd your dreams,
And urg'd you on your way; but you have met
The due reward of your audacity.
Now shake your chains, shake and delight your ears
With the soft music of your golden fetters.
 

Bethas

 
True, I am fall'n, but glorious was my fall,
The day was brav'ly fought, we did our best,
But victory's of heav'n. Look o'er yon field,
See if thou findest one Arabian back
Disfigur'd with dishonourable wounds.
No, here, deep on their bosoms, are engrav'd
The marks of honour! 'twas thro' here their souls
Flew to their blissful seats. Oh! why did I
Survive the fatal day? To be this slave,
To be the gaze and sport of vulgar crouds,
Thus, like a shackl'd tyger, stalk my round,
And grimly low'r upon the shouting herd.
Ye Gods! —
 

King

 
Away with him to instant death.
 

Arsaces

 
Hear me, my Lord, O, not on this bright day,
Let not this day of joy blush with his blood.
Nor count his steady loyalty a crime,
But give him life, Arsaces humbly asks it,
And may you e'er be serv'd with honest hearts.
 

King

 
Well, be it so; hence, bear him to his dungeon;
Lysias, we here commit him to thy charge.
 

Bethas

 
Welcome my dungeon, but more welcome death.
Trust not too much, vain Monarch, to your pow'r,
Know fortune places all her choicest gifts
On ticklish heights, they shake with ev'ry breeze,
And oft some rude wind hurls them to the ground.
Jove's thunder strikes the lofty palaces,
While the low cottage, in humility,
Securely stands, and sees the mighty ruin.
What King can boast, to-morrow as to-day,
Thus, happy will I reign? The rising sun
May view him seated on a splendid throne,
And, setting, see him shake the servile chain.
 

[Exit guarded.