Читать книгу: «The Prince of Parthia», страница 4

Scene VIII

Vardanes and Lysias come forward

Lysias

 
'Twas a moving scene, e'en my rough nature
Was nighly melted.
 

Vardanes

 
Hence coward pity —
What is joy to them, to me is torture.
Now am I rack'd with pains that far exceed
Those agonies, which fabling Priests relate,
The damn'd endure: The shock of hopeless Love,
Unblest with any views to sooth ambition,
Rob me of all my reas'ning faculties.
Arsaces gains Evanthe, fills the throne,
While I am doom'd to foul obscurity,
To pine and grieve neglected.
 

Lysias

 
My noble Prince,
Would it not be a master-piece, indeed,
To make this very bliss their greatest ill,
And damn them in the very folds of joy?
 

Vardanes

 
This I will try, and stretch my utmost art,
Unknown is yet the means – We'll think on that —
Success may follow if you'll lend your aid.
 

Lysias

 
The storm still rages – I must to the King,
And know what further orders ere he sleeps:
Soon I'll return, and speak my mind more fully.
 

Vardanes

 
Haste, Lysias, haste, to aid me with thy council;
For without thee, all my designs will prove
Like night and chaos, darkness and confusion;
But to thy word shall light and order spring. —
Let coward Schoolmen talk of Virtue's rules,
And preach the vain Philosophy of fools;
Court eager their obscurity, afraid
To taste a joy, and in some gloomy shade
Dream o'er their lives, while in a mournful strain
They sing of happiness they never gain.
But form'd for nobler purposes I come,
To gain a crown, or else a glorious tomb.
 

End of the Second Act

ACT III

Scene I. The Palace

Queen and Edessa

Queen

 
Talk not of sleep to me, the God of Rest
Disdains to visit where disorder reigns;
Not beds of down, nor music's softest strains,
Can charm him when 'tis anarchy within.
He flies with eager haste the mind disturb'd,
And sheds his blessings where the soul's in peace.
 

Edessa

 
Yet, hear me, Madam!
 

Queen

 
Hence, away, Edessa,
For thou know'st not the pangs of jealousy.
Say, has he not forsook my bed, and left me
Like a lone widow mourning to the night?
This, with the injury his son has done me,
If I forgive, may heav'n in anger show'r
Its torments on me – Ha! isn't that the King!
 

Edessa

 
It is your Royal Lord, great Artabanus.
 

Queen

 
Leave me, for I would meet him here alone,
Something is lab'ring in my breast —
 

Scene II

King and Queen

King

 
This leads
To fair Evanthe's chamber – Ha! the Queen.
 

Queen

 
Why dost thou start? so starts the guilty wretch,
When, by some watchful eye, prevented from
His dark designs.
 

King

 
Prevented! how, what mean'st thou?
 

Queen

 
Art thou then so dull? cannot thy heart,
Thy changeling heart, explain my meaning to thee,
Or must upbraiding 'wake thy apprehension?
Ah! faithless, tell me, have I lost those charms
Which thou so oft hast sworn could warm old age,
And tempt the frozen hermit from his cell,
To visit once again our gayer world?
This, thou hast sworn, perfidious as thou art,
A thousand times; as often hast thou sworn
Eternal constancy, and endless love,
Yet ev'ry time was perjur'd.
 

King

 
Sure, 'tis frenzy.
 

Queen

 
Indeed, 'tis frenzy, 'tis the height of madness,
For I have wander'd long in sweet delusion.
At length the pleasing Phantom chang'd its form,
And left me in a wilderness of woe.
 

King

 
Prithee, no more, dismiss those jealous heats;
Love must decay, and soon disgust arise,
Where endless jarrings and upbraidings damp
The gentle flame, which warms the lover's breast.
 

Queen

 
Oh! grant me patience heav'n! and dost thou think
By these reproaches to disguise thy guilt?
No, 'tis in vain, thy art's too thin to hide it.
 

King

 
Curse on the marriage chain! – the clog, a wife,
Who still will force and pall us with the joy,
Tho' pow'r is wanting, and the will is cloy'd,
Still urge the debt when Nothing's left to pay.
 

Queen

 
Ha! dost thou own thy crime, nor feel the glow
Of conscious shame?
 

King

 
Why should I blush, if heav'n
Has made me as I am, and gave me passions?
Blest only in variety, then blame
The Gods, who form'd my nature thus, not me.
 

Queen

 
Oh! Traitor! Villain!
 

King

 
Hence – away —
No more I'll wage a woman's war with words.
 

[Exit.

Queen

 
Down, down ye rising passions, give me ease,
Or break my heart, for I must yet be calm —
But, yet, revenge, our Sex's joy, is mine;
By all the Gods! he lives not till the morn.
Who slights my love, shall sink beneath my hate.
 

Scene III

Queen and Vardanes

Vardanes

 
What, raging to the tempest?
 

Queen

 
Away! – away! —
Yes, I will rage – a tempest's here within,
Above the trifling of the noisy elements.
Blow ye loud winds, burst with your violence,
For ye but barely imitate the storm
That wildly rages in my tortur'd breast —
The King – the King —
 

Vardanes

 
Ha! what? – the King?
 

Queen

 
Evanthe!
 

Vardanes

 
You talk like riddles, still obscure and short,
Give me some cue to guide me thro' this maze.
 

Queen

 
Ye pitying pow'rs! – oh! for a poison, some
Curs'd deadly draught, that I might blast her beauties,
And rob her eyes of all their fatal lustre.
 

Vardanes

 
What, blast her charms? – dare not to think of it —
Shocking impiety; – the num'rous systems
Which gay creation spreads, bright blazing suns,
With all th' attendant planets circling round,
Are not worth half the radiance of her eyes.
She's heav'n's peculiar care, good spir'ts hover
Round, a shining band, to guard her beauties.
 

Queen

 
Be they watchful then: for should remissness
Taint the guard, I'll snatch the opportunity,
And hurl her to destruction.
 

Vardanes

 
Dread Thermusa,
Say, what has rous'd this tumult in thy soul?
What dost thou rage with unabating fury,
Wild as the winds, loud as the troubl'd sea?
 

Queen

 
Yes, I will tell thee – Evanthe – curse her —
With charms – Would that my curses had the pow'r
To kill, destroy, and blast where e'er I hate,
Then would I curse, still curse, till death should seize
The dying accents on my falt'ring tongue.
So should this world, and the false changeling man
Be buried in one universal ruin.
 

Vardanes

 
Still err'st thou from the purpose.
 

Queen

 
Ha! 'tis so —
Yes I will tell thee – for I know fond fool,
Deluded wretch, thou dotest on Evanthe —
Be that thy greatest curse, be curs'd like me,
With jealousy and rage, for know, the King,
Thy father, is thy rival.
 

Scene IV

Vardanes [alone]

 
Ha! my rival!
How knew she that? – yet stay – she's gone – my rival,
What then? he is Arsaces' rival too.
Ha! – this may aid and ripen my designs —
Could I but fire the King with jealousy,
And then accuse my Brother of Intrigues
Against the state – ha! – join'd with Bethas, and
Confed'rate with th' Arabians – 'tis most likely
That jealousy would urge him to belief.
I'll sink my claim until some fitter time,
'Til opportunity smiles on my purpose.
Lysias already has receiv'd the mandate
For Bethas' freedom: Let them still proceed,
This harmony shall change to discord soon.
Fortune methinks of late grows wond'rous kind,
She scarcely leaves me to employ myself.
 

Scene V

King, Arsaces, Vardanes

King

 
But where's Evanthe? Where's the lovely Maid?
 

Arsaces

 
On the cold pavement, by her aged Sire,
The dear companion of his solitude,
She sits, nor can persuasion make her rise;
But in the wild extravagance of joy
She weeps, then smiles, like April's sun, thro' show'rs.
While with strain'd eyes he gazes on her face,
And cries, in ecstacy, "Ye gracious pow'rs!
It is too much, it is too much to bear!"
Then clasps her to his breast, while down his cheeks
Large drops each other trace, and mix with hers.
 

King

 
Thy tale is moving, for my eyes o'erflow —
How slow does Lysias with Evanthe creep!
So moves old time when bringing us to bliss.
Now war shall cease, no more of war I'll have,
Death knows satiety, and pale destruction
Turns loathing from his food, thus forc'd on him.
The triffling dust, the cause of all this ruin,
The trade of death shall urge no more. —
 

Scene VI

King, Arsaces, Vardanes, Evanthe, Lysias

King

 
Evanthe! —
See pleasure's goddess deigns to dignify
The happy scene, and make our bliss complete.
So Venus, from her heav'nly seat, descends
To bless the gay Cythera with her presence;
A thousand smiling graces wait the goddess,
A thousand little loves are flutt'ring round,
And joy is mingl'd with the beauteous train.
 

Evanthe

 
O! Royal Sir, thus lowly to the ground
I bend, in humble gratitude, accept
My thanks, for this thy goodness, words are vile
T' express the image of my lively thought,
And speak the grateful fulness of my heart.
All I can say, is that I now am happy,
And that thy giving hand has made me blest.
 

King

 
O! rise, Evanthe rise, this lowly posture
Suits not with charms like thine, they should command,
And ev'ry heart exult in thy behests; —
But, where's thy aged Sire?
 

Evanthe

 
This sudden turn
Of fortune has so wrought upon his frame,
His limbs could not support him to thy presence.
 

Arsaces

 
This, this is truly great, this is the Hero,
Like heav'n, to scatter blessings 'mong mankind
And e'er delight in making others happy.
Cold is the praise which waits the victor's triumph
(Who thro' a sea of blood has rush'd to glory),
To the o'erflowings of a grateful heart,
By obligations conquer'd: Yet, extend
Thy bounty unto me.
 

[Kneels.

King

 
Ha! rise Arsaces.
 

Arsaces

 
Not till you grant my boon.
 

King

 
Speak, and 'tis thine —
Wide thro' our kingdom let thy eager wishes
Search for some jewel worthy of thy seeing;
Something that's fit to show the donor's bounty,
And by the glorious sun, our worship'd God,
Thou shalt not have denial; e'en my crown
Shall gild thy brows with shining beams of Empire.
With pleasure I'll resign to thee my honours,
I long for calm retirement's softer joys.
 

Arsaces

 
Long may you wear it, grant it bounteous heav'n,
And happiness attend it; 'tis my pray'r
That daily rises with the early sweets
Of nature's incense, and the lark's loud strain.
'Tis not the unruly transport of ambition
That urges my desires to ask your crown;
Let the vain wretch, who prides in gay dominion,
Who thinks not of the great ones' weighty cares,
Enjoy his lofty wish, wide spreading rule.
The treasure which I ask, put in the scale,
Would over-balance all that Kings can boast,
Empire and diadems.
 

King

 
Away, that thought —
Name it, haste – speak.
 

Arsaces

 
For all the dang'rous toil,
Thirst, hunger, marches long that I've endur'd,
For all the blood I've in thy service spent,
Reward me with Evanthe.
 

King

 
Ha! what said'st thou? —
 

Vardanes

 
The King is mov'd, and angry bites his lip. —
Thro' my benighted soul all-cheering hope
 

[Aside.

 
Beams, like an orient sun, reviving joy.
 

Arsaces

 
The stern Vonones ne'er could boast a merit
But loving her.
 

King

 
Ah! curse the hated name —
Yes, I remember when the fell ruffian
Directed all his fury at my life;
Then sent, by pitying heav'n, t' assert the right
Of injur'd Majesty, thou, Arsaces,
Taught him the duty he ne'er knew before,
And laid the Traitor dead.
 

Arsaces

 
My Royal Sire!
 

Lysias

 
My Liege, the Prince still kneels.
 

King

 
Ha! – rebel, off —
 

[Strikes him.

 
What, Lysias, did I strike thee? forgive my rage —
The name of curs'd Vonones fires my blood,
And gives me up to wrath. —
 

Lysias

 
I am your slave,
Sway'd by your pleasure – when I forget it,
May this keen dagger, which I mean to hide
Deep in his bosom, pierce my vitals thro'.
 

[Aside.

King

 
Didst thou not name Evanthe?
 

Arsaces

 
I did, my Lord!
And, say, whom should I name but her, in whom
My soul has center'd all her happiness?
Nor canst thou blame me, view her wond'rous charms,
She's all perfection; bounteous heav'n has form'd her
To be the joy, and wonder of mankind;
But language is too vile to speak her beauties.
Here ev'ry pow'r of glowing fancy's lost:
Rose blush secure, ye lilies still enjoy
Your silver whiteness, I'll not rob your charms
To deck the bright comparison; for here
It sure must fail.
 

King

 
He's wanton in her praise —
 

[Aside.

 
I tell thee, Prince, hadst thou as many tongues,
As days have wasted since creation's birth,
They were too few to tell the mighty theme.
 

Evanthe

 
I'm lost! I'm lost!
 

[Aside.

Arsaces

 
Then I'll be dumb for ever.
 

King

 
O rash and fatal oath! is there no way,
No winding path to shun this precipice,
But must I fall and dash my hopes to atoms?
In vain I strive, thought but perplexes me,
Yet shews no hold to bear me up – now, hold
My heart a while – she's thine – 'tis done.
 

Arsaces

 
In deep
Prostration, I thank my Royal Father.
 

King

 
A sudden pain shoots thro' my trembling breast —
Lend me thy arm Vardanes – cruel pow'rs!
 

Scene VII

Arsaces and Evanthe

Evanthe [after a pause]

 
E'er since the dawn of my unhappy life
Joy never shone serenely on my soul;
Still something interven'd to cloud my day.
Tell me, ye pow'rs, unfold the hidden crime
For which I'm doom'd to this eternal woe,
Thus still to number o'er my hours with tears?
The Gods are just I know, nor are decrees
In hurry shuffl'd out, but where the bolt
Takes its direction justice points the mark.
Yet still in vain I search within my breast,
I find no sins are there to shudder at —
Nought but the common frailties of our natures.
Arsaces, – Oh! —
 

Arsaces

 
Ha! why that look of anguish?
Why didst thou name me with that sound of sorrow?
Ah! say, why stream those gushing tears so fast
From their bright fountain? sparkling joy should now
Be lighten'd in thine eye, and pleasure glow
Upon thy rosy cheek; – ye sorrows hence —
'Tis love shall triumph now.
 

Evanthe

 
Oh!
 

[Sighs.

Arsaces

 
What means that sigh?
Tell me why heaves thy breast with such emotion?
Some dreadful thought is lab'ring for a vent,
Haste, give it loose, ere strengthen'd by confinement
It wrecks thy frame, and tears its snowy prison.
Is sorrow then so pleasing that you hoard it
With as much love, as misers do their gold?
Give me my share of sorrows.
 

Evanthe

 
Ah! too soon
You'll know what I would hide.
 

Arsaces

 
Be it from thee —
The dreadful tale, when told by thee, shall please;
Haste, to produce it with its native terrors,
My steady soul shall still remain unshaken;
For who when bless'd with beauties like to thine
Would e'er permit a sorrow to intrude?
Far hence in darksome shades does sorrow dwell,
Where hapless wretches thro' the awful gloom,
Echo their woes, and sighing to the winds,
Augment with tears the gently murm'ring stream;
But ne'er disturbs such happiness as mine.
 

Evanthe

 
Oh! 'tis not all thy boasted happiness,
Can save thee from disquietude and care;
Then build not too securely on these joys,
For envious sorrow soon will undermine,
And let the goodly structure fall to ruin.
 

Arsaces

 
I charge thee, by our mutual vows, Evanthe,
Tell me, nor longer keep me in suspense:
Give me to know the utmost rage of fate.
 

Evanthe

 
Then know – impossible! —
 

Arsaces

 
Ha! dost thou fear
To shock me? —
 

Evanthe

 
Know, thy Father – loves Evanthe. —
 

Arsaces

 
Loves thee?
 

Evanthe

 
Yea, e'en to distraction loves me.
Oft at my feet he's told the moving tale,
And woo'd me with the ardency of youth.
I pitied him indeed, but that was all,
Thou would'st have pitied too.
 

Arsaces

 
I fear 'tis true;
A thousand crouding circumstances speak it.
Ye cruel Gods! I've wreck'd a Father's peace,
Oh! bitter thought!
 

Evanthe

 
Didst thou observe, Arsaces,
How reluctant he gave me to thy arms?
 

Arsaces

 
Yes, I observ'd that when he gave thee up,
It seem'd as tho' he gave his precious life.
And who'd forego the heav'n of thy love?
To rest on thy soft swelling breast, and in
Sweet slumbers sooth each sharp intruding care?
Oh! it were bliss, such as immortals taste,
To press thy ruby lips distilling sweets,
Or circl'd in thy snowy arms to snatch
A joy, that Gods —
 

Evanthe

 
Come, then, my much-lov'd Prince,
Let's seek the shelter of some kind retreat.
Happy Arabia opens wide her arms,
There may we find some friendly solitude,
Far from the noise and hurry of the Court.
Ambitious views shall never blast our joys,
Or tyrant Fathers triumph o'er our wills:
There may we live like the first happy pair
Cloth'd in primeval innocence secure.
Our food untainted by luxurious arts,
Plain, simple, as our lives, shall not destroy
The health it should sustain; while the clear brook
Affords the cooling draught our thirsts to quench.
There, hand in hand, we'll trace the citron grove,
While with the songsters' round I join my voice,
To hush thy cares and calm thy ruffl'd soul:
Or, on some flow'ry bank reclin'd, my strains
Shall captivate the natives of the stream,
While on its crystal lap ourselves we view.
 

Arsaces

 
I see before us a wide sea of sorrows,
Th' angry waves roll forward to o'erwhelm us,
Black clouds arise, and the wind whistles loud.
But yet, oh! could I save thee from the wreck,
Thou beauteous casket, where my joys are stor'd,
Let the storm rage with double violence,
Smiling I'd view its wide extended horrors.
 

Evanthe

 
'Tis not enough that we do know the ill,
Say, shall we calmly see the tempest rise,
And seek no shelter from th' inclement sky,
But bid it rage? —
 

Arsaces

 
Ha! will he force thee from me?
What, tear thee from my fond and bleeding heart?
And must I lose thee ever? dreadful word!
Never to gaze upon thy beauties more?
Never to taste the sweetness of thy lips?
Never to know the joys of mutual love?
Never! – Oh! let me lose the pow'r of thinking,
For thought is near allied to desperation.
Why, cruel Sire – why did you give me life,
And load it with a weight of wretchedness?
Take back my being, or relieve my sorrows —
Ha! art thou not Evanthe? – Art thou not
The lovely Maid, who bless'd the fond Arsaces? —
 

[Raving.

Evanthe

 
O, my lov'd Lord, recall your scatter'd spir'ts,
Alas! I fear your senses are unsettl'd.
 

Arsaces

 
Yes, I would leave this dull and heavy sense.
Let me grow mad; perhaps, I then may gain
Some joy, by kind imagination form'd,
Beyond reality. – O! my Evanthe!
Why was I curs'd with empire? born to rule? —
Would I had been some humble Peasant's son,
And thou some Shepherd's daughter on the plain;
My throne some hillock, and my flock my subjects,
My crook my sceptre, and my faithful dog
My only guard; nor curs'd with dreams of greatness.
At early dawn I'd hail the coming day,
And join the lark the rival of his lay;
At sultry noon to some kind shade repair,
Thus joyful pass the hours, my only care,
To guard my flock, and please the yielding Fair.