Читать книгу: «The Prince of Parthia», страница 5

Scene VIII

King. – Vardanes behind the Scene

King

 
I will not think, to think is torment – Ha!
See, how they twine! ye furies cut their hold.
Now their hot blood beats loud to love's alarms;
Sigh presses sigh, while from their sparkling eyes
Flashes desire – Oh! ye bright heav'nly beings,
Who pitying bend to suppliant Lovers' pray'rs,
And aid them in extremity, assist me!
 

Vardanes

 
Thus, for the Trojan, mourn'd the Queen of Carthage;
So, on the shore she raving stood, and saw
His navy leave her hospitable shore.
In vain she curs'd the wind which fill'd their sails,
And bore the emblem of its change away.
 

[Comes forward.

King

 
Vardanes – Ha! – come here, I know thou lov'st me.
 

Vardanes

 
I do, my Lord; but, say, what busy villain
Durst e'er approach your ear, with coz'ning tales,
And urge you to a doubt?
 

King

 
None, none believe me.
I'll ne'er oppress thy love with fearful doubt —
A little nigher – let me lean upon thee —
And thou be my support – for now I mean
T' unbosom to thee free without restraint:
Search all the deep recesses of my soul,
And open ev'ry darling thought before thee,
Which long I've secreted with jealous care.
Pray, mark me well.
 

Vardanes

 
I will, my Royal Sire.
 

King

 
On Anna thus reclin'd the love-sick Dido;
Thus to her cheek laid hers with gentle pressure,
And wet her sister with a pearly show'r,
Which fell from her sad eyes, then told her tale,
While gentle Anna gave a pitying tear,
And own'd 'twas moving – thou canst pity too,
I know thy nature tender and engaging.
 

Vardanes

 
Tell me, my gracious Lord, what moves you thus?
Why is your breast distracted with these tumults?
Teach me some method how to sooth your sorrows,
And give your heart its former peace and joy;
Instruct thy lov'd Vardanes. —
 

King

 
Yes, I'll tell thee;
But listen with attention while I speak;
And yet I know 'twill shock thy gentle soul,
And horror o'er thee 'll spread his palsy hand.
O, my lov'd Son! thou fondness of my age!
Thou art the prop of my declining years,
In thee alone I find a Father's joy,
Of all my offspring: but Arsaces —
 

Vardanes

 
Ha!
My Brother! —
 

King

 
Ay – why dost start? – thy Brother
Pursues me with his hate: and, while warm life
Rolls the red current thro' my veins, delights
To see me tortur'd; with an easy smile
He meets my suff'rings, and derides my pain.
 

Vardanes

 
Oh!
 

King

 
What means that hollow groan? – Vardanes, speak,
Death's image fits upon thy pallid cheek,
While thy low voice sounds as when murmurs run
Thro' lengthen'd vaults —
 

Vardanes

 
O! my foreboding thoughts.
 

[Aside.

 
'Twas this disturb'd my rest; when sleep at night
Lock'd me in slumbers; in my dreams I saw
My Brother's crime – yet, death! – it cannot be —
 

King

 
Ha! – what was that? —
 

Vardanes

 
O! my dread Lord, some Villain
Bred up in lies, and train'd to treach'ry,
Has injur'd you by vile reports, to stain
My Princely Brother's honour.
 

King

 
Thou know'st more,
Thy looks confess what thou in vain wouldst hide —
And hast thou then conspir'd against me too,
And sworn concealment to your practices? —
Thy guilt —
 

Vardanes

 
Ha! guilt! – what guilt? —
 

King

 
Nay, start not so —
I'll know your purposes, spite of thy art.
 

Vardanes

 
O! ye great Gods! and is it come to this? —
My Royal Father call your reason home,
Drive these loud passions hence, that thus deform you.
My Brother – Ah! what shall I say? – My Brother
Sure loves you as he ought.
 

King

 
Ha! as he ought? —
Hell blister thy evasive tongue – I'll know it —
I will; I'll search thy breast, thus will I open
A passage to your secrets – yet resolv'd —
Yet steady in your horrid villany —
'Tis fit that I from whom such monsters sprung
No more should burthen earth – Ye Parricides! —
Here plant your daggers in this hated bosom —
Here rive my heart, and end at once my sorrows,
I gave ye being, that's the mighty crime.
 

Vardanes

 
I can no more – here let me bow in anguish —
Think not that I e'er join'd in his designs,
Because I have conceal'd my knowledge of them:
I meant, by pow'rful reason's friendly aid,
To turn him from destruction's dreadful path,
And bring him to a sense of what he ow'd
To you as King and Father.
 

King

 
Say on – I'll hear.
 

Vardanes

 
He views thy sacred life with envious hate,
As 'tis a bar to his ambitious hopes.
On the bright throne of Empire his plum'd wishes
Seat him, while on his proud aspiring brows
He feels the pleasing weight of Royalty.
But when he wakes from these his airy dreams
(Delusions form'd by the deceiver hope,
To raise him to the glorious height of greatness),
Then hurl him from proud Empire to subjection.
Wild wrath will quickly swell his haughty breast,
Soon as he finds 'tis but a shadowy blessing. —
'Twas fav'ring accident discover'd to me
All that I know; this Evening as I stood
Alone, retir'd, in the still gallery,
That leads up to th' appartment of my Brother,
T' indulge my melancholy thoughts, —
 

King

 
Proceed —
 

Vardanes

 
A wretch approach'd with wary step, his eye
Spoke half his tale, denoting villany.
In hollow murmurs thus he question'd me —
Was I the Prince? – I answer'd to content him —
Then in his hand he held this paper forth.
"Take this," says he, "this Bethas greets thee with,
Keep but your word our plot will meet success."
I snatch'd it with more rashness than discretion,
Which taught him his mistake. In haste he drew,
And aim'd his dagger at my breast, but paid
His life, a forfeit, for his bold presuming.
 

King

 
O Villain! Villain!
 

Vardanes

 
Here, read this, my Lord —
I read it, and cold horror froze my blood.
And shook me like an ague.
 

King

 
Ha! – what's this? —
"Doubt not Arabia's aid, set me but free,
I'll easy pass on the old cred'lous King,
For fair Evanthe's Father." – Thus to atoms —
Oh! could I tear these cursed traitors thus.
 

[Tears the paper into pieces.

Vardanes

 
Curses avail you nothing, he has pow'r,
And may abuse it to your prejudice.
 

King

 
I am resolv'd —
 

Vardanes

 
Tho' Pris'ner in his camp,
Yet, Bethas was attended like a Prince,
As tho' he still commanded the Arabians.
'Tis true, when they approach'd the royal city,
He threw him into chains to blind our eyes,
A shallow artifice —
 

King

 
That is a Truth.
 

Vardanes

 
And, yet, he is your Son.
 

King

 
Ah! that indeed —
 

Vardanes

 
Why, that still heightens his impiety,
To rush to empire thro' his Father's blood,
And, in return of life, to give him death.
 

King

 
Oh! I am all on fire, yes I must tear
These folds of venom from me.
 

Vardanes

 
Sure 'twas Lysias
That cross'd the passage now.
 

King

 
'Tis to my wish.
I'll in, and give him orders to arrest
My traitor Son and Bethas – Now Vardanes
Indulge thy Father in this one request —
Seize, with some horse, Evanthe, and bear her
To your command – Oh! I'll own my weakness —
I love with fondness mortal never knew —
Not Jove himself, when he forsook his heav'n,
And in a brutal shape disgrac'd the God,
E'er lov'd like me.
 

Vardanes

 
I will obey you, Sir.
 

Scene IX

Vardanes [alone]

 
I'll seize her, but I'll keep her for myself,
It were a sin to give her to his age —
To twine the blooming garland of the spring
Around the sapless trunks of wither'd oaks —
The night, methinks, grows ruder than it was,
Thus should it be, thus nature should be shock'd,
And Prodigies, affrighting all mankind,
Foretell the dreadful business I intend.
The earth should gape, and swallow cities up,
Shake from their haughty heights aspiring tow'rs,
And level mountains with the vales below;
The Sun amaz'd should frown in dark eclipse,
And light retire to its unclouded heav'n;
While darkness, bursting from her deep recess,
Should wrap all nature in eternal night. —
Ambition, glorious fever of the mind,
'Tis that which raises us above mankind;
The shining mark which bounteous heav'n has gave,
From vulgar souls distinguishing the brave.
 

End of the Third Act

ACT IV

Scene I. A Prison

Gotarzes and Phraates

Phraates

 
Oh! fly my Prince, for safety dwells not here,
Hence let me urge thy flight with eager haste.
Last night thy Father sigh'd his soul to bliss,
Base murther'd —
 

Gotarzes

 
Murther'd? ye Gods! —
 

Phraates

 
Alas! 'tis true.
Stabb'd in his slumber by a traitor's hand;
I scarce can speak it – horror choaks my words —
Lysias it was who did the damned deed,
Urg'd by the bloody Queen, and his curs'd rage,
Because the King, thy Sire, in angry mood,
Once struck him on his foul dishonest cheek.
Suspicion gave me fears of this, when first
I heard, the Prince, Arsaces, was imprison'd,
By fell Vardanes' wiles.
 

Gotarzes

 
Oh! horror! horror!
Hither I came to share my Brother's sorrows,
To mingle tears, and give him sigh for sigh;
But this is double, double weight of woe.
 

Phraates

 
'Tis held as yet a secret from the world.
Frighted by hideous dreams I shook off sleep,
And as I mus'd the garden walks along,
Thro' the deep gloom, close in a neighb'ring walk,
Vardanes with proud Lysias I beheld,
Still eager in discourse they saw not me,
For yet the early dawn had not appear'd;
I sought a secret stand, where hid from view,
I heard stern Lysias, hail the Prince Vardanes
As Parthia's dreaded Lord! – "'Tis done", he cry'd,
"'Tis done, and Artabanus is no more.
The blow he gave me is repay'd in blood;
Now shall the morn behold two rising suns:
Vardanes thou, our better light, shalt bring
Bright day and joy to ev'ry heart."
Gotarzes.
Why slept
Your vengeance, oh! ye righteous Gods?
 

Phraates

 
Then told
A tale, so fill'd with bloody circumstance,
Of this damn'd deed, that stiffen'd me with horror.
Vardanes seem'd to blame the hasty act,
As rash, and unadvis'd, by passion urg'd,
Which never yields to cool reflection's place.
But, being done, resolv'd it secret, lest
The multitude should take it in their wise
Authority to pry into his death.
Arsaces was, by assassination,
Doom'd to fall. Your name was mention'd also —
But hurried by my fears away, I left
The rest unheard —
 

Gotarzes

 
What can be done? – Reflection, why wilt thou
Forsake us, when distress is at our heels?
Phraates, help me, aid me with thy council.
 

Phraates

 
Then stay not here, fly to Barzaphernes,
His conqu'ring troops are at a trivial distance;
Soon will you reach the camp; he lov'd your Brother,
And your Father with affection serv'd; haste
Your flight, whilst yet I have the city-guard,
For Lysias I expect takes my command.
I to the camp dispatch'd a trusty slave,
Before the morn had spread her blushing veil.
Away, you'll meet the Gen'ral on the road,
On such a cause as this he'll not delay.
 

Gotarzes

 
I thank your love —
 

Scene II

Phraates [alone]

 
I'll wait behind, my stay
May aid the cause; dissembling I must learn,
Necessity shall teach me how to vary
My features to the looks of him I serve.
I'll thrust myself disguis'd among the croud,
And fill their ears with murmurs of the deed:
Whisper all is not well, blow up the sparks
Of discord, and it soon will flame to rage.
 

Scene III

Queen and Lysias

Queen

 
Haste, and shew me to the Prince Arsaces,
Delay not, see the signet of Vardanes.
 

Lysias

 
Royal Thermusa, why this eagerness?
This tumult of the soul? – what means this dagger?
Ha! – I suspect —
 

Queen

 
Hold – for I'll tell thee, Lysias.
'Tis – oh! I scarce can speak the mighty joy —
I shall be greatly blest in dear revenge,
'Tis vengeance on Arsaces – yes, this hand
Shall urge the shining poniard to his heart,
And give him death – yea, give the ruffian death;
So shall I smile on his keen agonies.
 

Lysias

 
Ha! am I robb'd of all my hopes of vengeance,
Shall I then calmly stand with all my wrongs,
And see another bear away revenge?
 

Queen

 
For what can Lysias ask revenge, to bar
His Queen of hers?
 

Lysias

 
Was I not scorn'd, and spurn'd,
With haughty insolence? like a base coward
Refus'd what e'er I ask'd, and call'd a boaster?
My honour sullied, with opprobrious words,
Which can no more its former brightness know,
'Til, with his blood, I've wash'd the stains away.
Say, shall I then not seek for glorious vengeance?
 

Queen

 
And what is this, to the sad Mother's griefs,
Her hope cut off, rais'd up with pain and care?
Hadst thou e'er supported the lov'd Prattler?
Hadst thou like me hung o'er his infancy,
Wasting in wakeful mood the tedious night,
And watch'd his sickly couch, far mov'd from rest,
Waiting his health's return? – Ah! hadst thou known
The parent's fondness, rapture, toil and sorrow,
The joy his actions gave, and the fond wish
Of something yet to come, to bless my age,
And lead me down with pleasure to the grave,
Thou wouldst not thus talk lightly of my wrongs.
But I delay —
 

Lysias

 
To thee I then submit.
Be sure to wreck a double vengeance on him;
If that thou knowst a part in all his body,
Where pain can most be felt, strike, strike him there —
And let him know the utmost height of anguish.
It is a joy to think that he shall fall,
Tho' 'tis another hand which gives the blow.
 

Scene IV

Arsaces and Bethas

Arsaces

 
Why should I linger out my joyless days,
When length of hope is length of misery?
Hope is a coz'ner, and beguiles our cares,
Cheats us with empty shews of happiness,
Swift fleeting joys which mock the faint embrace;
We wade thro' ills pursuing of the meteor,
Yet are distanc'd still.
 

Bethas

 
Ah! talk not of hope —
Hope fled when bright Astræa spurn'd this earth,
And sought her seat among the shining Gods;
Despair, proud tyrant, ravages my breast,
And makes all desolation.
 

Arsaces

 
How can I
Behold those rev'rent sorrows, see those cheeks
Moist with the dew which falls from thy sad eyes,
Nor imitate distraction's frantic tricks,
And chace cold lifeless reason from her throne?
I am the fatal cause of all this sorrow,
The spring of ills, – to know me is unhappiness; —
And mis'ry, like a hateful plague, pursues
My wearied steps, and blasts the springing verdure.
 

Bethas

 
No; – It is I that am the source of all,
It is my fortune sinks you to this trouble;
Before you shower'd your gentle pity on me,
You shone the pride of this admiring world. —
Evanthe springs from me, whose fatal charms
Produces all this ruin. – Hear me heav'n!
If to another love she ever yields,
And stains her soul with spotted falsehood's crime,
If e'en in expectation tastes a bliss,
Nor joins Arsaces with it, I will wreck
My vengeance on her, so that she shall be
A dread example to all future times.
 

Arsaces

 
Oh! curse her not, nor threaten her with anger,
She is all gentleness, yet firm to truth,
And blest with ev'ry pleasing virtue, free
From levity, her sex's character.
She scorns to chace the turning of the wind,
Varying from point to point.
 

Bethas

 
I love her, ye Gods!
I need not speak the greatness of my love,
Each look which straining draws my soul to hers
Denotes unmeasur'd fondness; but mis'ry,
Like a fretful peevish child, can scarce tell
What it would wish, or aim at.
 

Arsaces

 
Immortals, hear!
Thus do I bow my soul in humble pray'r —
Thou, King of beings, in whose breath is fate,
Show'r on Evanthe all thy choicest blessings,
And bless her with excess of happiness;
If yet, there is one bliss reserv'd in store,
And written to my name, oh! give it her,
And give me all her sorrows in return.
 

Bethas

 
'Rise, 'rise my Prince, this goodness o'erwhelms me,
She's too unworthy of so great a passion.
 

Arsaces

 
I know not what it means, I'm not as usual,
Ill-boding cares, and restless fears oppress me,
And horrid dreams disturb, and fright, my slumbers;
But yesternight, 'tis dreadful to relate,
E'en now I tremble at my waking thoughts,
Methought, I stood alone upon the shore,
And, at my feet, there roll'd a sea of blood,
High wrought, and 'midst the waves, appear'd my Father,
Struggling for life; above him was Vardanes,
Pois'd in the air, he seem'd to rule the storm,
And, now and then, would push my Father down,
And for a space he'd sink beneath the waves,
And then, all gory, rise to open view,
His voice in broken accents reach'd my ear,
And bade me save him from the bloody stream;
Thro' the red billows eagerly I rush'd,
But sudden woke, benum'd with chilling fear.
 

Bethas

 
Most horrible indeed! – but let it pass,
'Tis but the offspring of a mind disturb'd,
For sorrow leaves impressions on the fancy,
Which shew most fearful to us lock'd in sleep.
 

Arsaces

 
Thermusa! ha! – what can be her design?
She bears this way, and carries in her looks
An eagerness importing violence.
Retire – for I would meet her rage alone.