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Читать книгу: «The Prince of Parthia», страница 6

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Scene V

Arsaces and Queen

Arsaces

What means the proud Thermusa by this visit,
Stoops heav'n-born pity to a breast like thine?
Pity adorns th' virtuous, but ne'er dwells
Where hate, revenge, and rage distract the soul.
Sure, it is hate that hither urg'd thy steps,
To view misfortune with an eye of triumph.
I know thou lov'st me not, for I have dar'd
To cross thy purposes, and, bold in censure,
Spoke of thy actions as they merited.
Besides, this hand 'twas slew the curs'd Vonones.

Queen

And darst thou insolent to name Vonones?
To heap perdition on thy guilty soul?
There needs not this to urge me to revenge —
But let me view this wonder of mankind,
Whose breath can set the bustling world in arms.
I see no dreadful terrors in his eye,
Nor gathers chilly fears around my heart,
Nor strains my gazing eye with admiration,
And, tho' a woman, I can strike the blow.

Arsaces

Why gaze you on me thus? why hesitate?
Am I to die?

Queen

Thou art – this dagger shall
Dissolve thy life, thy fleeting ghost I'll send
To wait Vonones in the shades below.

Arsaces

And even there I'll triumph over him.

Queen

O, thou vile homicide! thy fatal hand
Has robb'd me of all joy; Vonones, to
Thy Manes this proud sacrifice I give.
That hand which sever'd the friendship of thy
Soul and body, shall never draw again
Imbitt'ring tears from sorr'wing mother's eyes.
This, with the many tears I've shed, receive

[Offers to stab him.

Ha! – I'd strike; what holds my hand? – 'tis n't pity.

Arsaces

Nay, do not mock me, with the shew of death,
And yet deny the blessing; I have met
Your taunts with equal taunts, in hopes to urge
The blow with swift revenge; but since that fails,
I'll woo thee to compliance, teach my tongue
Persuasion's winning arts, to gain thy soul;
I'll praise thy clemency, in dying accents
Bless thee for, this, thy charitable deed.
Oh! do not stand; see, how my bosom heaves
To meet the stroke; in pity let me die,
'Tis all the happiness I now can know.

Queen

How sweet the eloquence of dying men!
Hence Poets feign'd the music of the Swan,
When death upon her lays his icy hand,
She melts away in melancholy strains.

Arsaces

Play not thus cruel with my poor request,
But take my loving Father's thanks, and mine.

Queen

Thy Father cannot thank me now.

Arsaces

He will,
Believe me, e'en whilst dissolv'd in ecstacy
On fond Evanthe's bosom, he will pause,
One moment from his joys, to bless the deed.

Queen

What means this tumult in my breast? from whence
Proceeds this sudden change? my heart beats high,
And soft compassion makes me less than woman:
I'll search no more for what I fear to know.

Arsaces

Why drops the dagger from thy trembling hand?
Oh! yet be kind —

Queen

No: now I'd have thee live,
Since it is happiness to die: 'Tis pain
That I would give thee, thus I bid thee live;
Yes, I would have thee a whole age a dying,
And smile to see thy ling'ring agonies.
All day I'd watch thee, mark each heighten'd pang,
While springing joy should swell my panting bosom;
This I would have – But should this dagger give
Thy soul the liberty it fondly wishes,
'Twould soar aloft, and mock my faint revenge.

Arsaces

This mildness shews most foul, thy anger lovely.
Think that 'twas I who blasted thy fond hope,
Vonones now lies number'd with the dead,
And all your joys are buried in his grave;
My hand untimely pluck'd the precious flow'r,
Before its shining beauties were display'd.

Queen

O Woman! Woman! where's thy resolution?
Where's thy revenge? Where's all thy hopes of vengeance?
Giv'n to the winds – Ha! is it pity? – No —
I fear it wears another softer name.
I'll think no more, but rush to my revenge,
In spite of foolish fear, or woman's softness;
Be steady now my soul to thy resolves.
Yes, thou shalt die, thus, on thy breast, I write
Thy instant doom – ha! – ye Gods!

[Queen starts, as, in great fright, at hearing something.

Arsaces

Why this pause?
Why dost thou idly stand like imag'd vengeance,
With harmless terrors threatning on thy brow,
With lifted arm, yet canst not strike the blow?

Queen

It surely was the Echo to my fears,
The whistling wind, perhaps, which mimick'd voice;
But thrice methought it loudly cry'd, "Forbear."
Imagination hence – I'll heed thee not —

[Ghost of Artabanus rises.

Save me – oh! – save me – ye eternal pow'rs! —
See! – see it comes, surrounded with dread terrors —
Hence – hence! nor blast me with that horrid sight —
Throw off that shape, and search th' infernal rounds
For horrid forms, there's none can shock like thine.

Ghost

No; I will ever wear this form, thus e'er
Appear before thee; glare upon thee thus,
'Til desperation, join'd to thy damn'd crime,
Shall wind thee to the utmost height of frenzy.
In vain you grasp the dagger in your hand,
In vain you dress your brows in angry frowns,
In vain you raise your threatning arm in air,
Secure, Arsaces triumphs o'er your rage.
Guarded by fate, from thy accurs'd revenge,
Thou canst not touch his life; the Gods have giv'n
A softness to thy more than savage soul
Before unknown, to aid their grand designs.
Fate yet is lab'ring with some great event,
But what must follow I'm forbid to broach —
Think, think of me, I sink to rise again,
To play in blood before thy aching sight,
And shock thy guilty soul with hell-born horrors —
Think, think of Artabanus! and despair —

[Sinks.

Queen

Think of thee, and despair? – yes, I'll despair —
Yet stay, – oh! stay, thou messenger of fate!
Tell me – Ha! 'tis gone – and left me wretched —

Arsaces

Your eyes seem fix'd upon some dreadful object,
Horror and anguish clothe your whiten'd face,
And your frame shakes with terror; I hear you speak
As seeming earnest in discourse, yet hear
No second voice.

Queen

What! saw'st thou nothing?

Arsaces

Nothing.

Queen

Nor hear'd? —

Arsaces

Nor Hear'd.

Queen

Amazing spectacle! —
Cold moist'ning dews distil from ev'ry pore,
I tremble like to palsied age – Ye Gods!
Would I could leave this loath'd detested being! —
Oh! all my brain's on fire – I rave! I rave! —

[Ghost rises again.

Ha! it comes again – see, it glides along —
See, see, what streams of blood flow from its wounds!
A crimson torrent – Shield me, oh! shield me, heav'n. —

Arsaces

Great, and righteous Gods! —

Queen

Ah! frown not on me —
Why dost thou shake thy horrid locks at me?
Can I give immortality? – 'tis gone —

[Ghost sinks.

It flies me, see, ah! – stop it, stop it, haste —

Arsaces

Oh, piteous sight! —

Queen

Hist! prithee, hist! oh death!
I'm all on fire – now freezing bolts of ice
Dart thro' my breast – Oh! burst ye cords of life —
Ha! who are ye? – Why do ye stare upon me? —
Oh! – defend me, from these bick'ring Furies!

Arsaces

Alas! her sense is lost, distressful Queen!

Queen

Help me, thou King of Gods! oh! help me! help! —
See! they envir'n me round – Vonones too,
The foremost leading on the dreadful troop —
But there, Vardanes beck'ns me to shun
Their hellish rage – I come, I come!
Ah! they pursue me, with a scourge of fire. —

[Runs out distracted.

Scene VI

Arsaces [alone]

Oh! – horror! – on the ground she breathless lies,
Silent, in death's cold sleep; the wall besmear'd
With brains and gore, the marks of her despair.
O guilt! how dreadful dost thou ever shew!
How lovely are the charms of innocence!
How beauteous tho' in sorrows and distress! —
Ha! – what noise? —

[Clashing of swords.

Scene VII

Arsaces, Barzaphernes and Gotarzes

Barzaphernes

At length we've forc'd our entrance —
O my lov'd Prince! to see thee thus, indeed,
Melts e'en me to a woman's softness; see
My eyes o'erflow – Are these the ornaments
For Royal hands? rude manacles! oh shameful!
Is this thy room of state, this gloomy goal?
Without attendance, and thy bed the pavement?
But, ah! how diff'rent was our parting last!
When flush'd with vict'ry, reeking from the slaughter,
You saw Arabia's Sons scour o'er the plain
In shameful flight, before your conqu'ring sword;
Then shone you like the God of battle.

Arsaces

Welcome!
Welcome, my loyal friends! Barzaphernes!
My good old soldier, to my bosom thus!
Gotarzes, my lov'd Brother! now I'm happy. —
But, say, my soldier, why these threatning arms?
Why am I thus releas'd by force? my Father,
I should have said the King, had he relented,
He'd not have us'd this method to enlarge me.
Alas! I fear, too forward in your love,
You'll brand me with the rebel's hated name.

Barzaphernes

I am by nature blunt – the soldier's manner.
Unus'd to the soft arts practis'd at courts.
Nor can I move the passions, or disguise
The sorr'wing tale to mitigate the smart.
Then seek it not: I would sound the alarm,
Loud as the trumpet's clangour, in your ears;
Nor win I hail you, as our Parthia's King,
'Til you've full reveng'd your Father's murther.

Arsaces

Murther? – good heav'n!

Barzaphernes

The tale requires some time;
And opportunity must not be lost;
Your traitor Brother, who usurps your rights,
Must, ere his faction gathers to a head,
Have from his brows his new-born honours torn.

Arsaces

What, dost thou say, murther'd by Vardanes?
Impious parricide! – detested villain! —
Give me a sword, and onward to the charge,
Stop gushing tears, for I will weep in blood,
And sorrow with the groans of dying men. —
Revenge! revenge! – oh! – all my soul's on fire!

Gotarzes

'Twas not Vardanes struck the fatal blow,
Though, great in pow'r usurp'd, he dares support
The actor, vengeful Lysias; to his breast
He clasps, with grateful joy, the bloody villain;
Who soon meant, with ruffian wiles, to cut
You from the earth, and also me.

Arsaces

Just heav'ns! —
But, gentle Brother, how didst thou elude
The vigilant, suspicious, tyrant's craft?

Gotarzes

Phraates, by an accident, obtain'd
The knowledge of the deed, and warn'd by him
I bent my flight toward the camp, to seek
Protection and revenge; but scarce I'd left
The city when I o'ertook the Gen'ral.

Barzaphernes

Ere the sun 'rose I gain'd th' intelligence:
The soldiers when they heard the dreadful tale,
First stood aghast, and motionless with horror.
Then suddenly, inspir'd with noble rage,
Tore up their ensigns, calling on their leaders
To march them to the city instantly.
I, with some trusty few, with speed came forward,
To raise our friends within, and gain your freedom.
Nor hazard longer, by delays, your safety.
Already faithful Phraates has gain'd
A num'rous party of the citizens;
With these we mean t' attack the Royal Palace,
Crush the bold tyrant with surprise, while sunk
In false security; and vengeance wreck,
Ere that he thinks the impious crime be known.

Arsaces

O! parent being, Ruler of yon heav'n!
Who bade creation spring to order, hear me.
What ever sins are laid upon my soul,
Now let them not prove heavy on this day,
To sink my arm, or violate my cause.
The sacred rights of Kings, my Country's wrongs,
The punishment of fierce impiety,
And a lov'd Father's death, call forth my sword. —
Now on; I feel all calm within my breast,
And ev'ry busy doubt is hush'd to rest;
Smile heav'n propitious on my virtuous cause,
Nor aid the wretch who dares disdain your laws.

End of the Fourth Act

ACT V

Scene I. The Palace

The Curtain rises, slowly, to soft music, and discovers Evanthe sleeping on a sofa; after the music ceases, Vardanes enters.

Vardanes

Now shining Empire standing at the goal,
Beck'ns me forward to increase my speed;
But, yet, Arsaces lives, bane to my hopes,
Lysias I'll urge to ease me of his life,
Then give the villain up to punishment.
The shew of justice gains the changeling croud,
Besides, I ne'er will harbour in my bosom
Such serpents, ever ready with their stings —
But now one hour for love and fair Evanthe —
Hence with ambition's cares – see, where reclin'd,
In slumbers all her sorrows are dismiss'd,
Sleep seems to heighten ev'ry beauteous feature,
And adds peculiar softness to each grace.
She weeps – in dreams some lively sorrow pains her —
I'll take one kiss – oh! what a balmy sweetness!
Give me another – and another still —
For ever thus I'd dwell upon her lips.
Be still my heart, and calm unruly transports. —
Wake her, with music, from this mimic death.

[Music sounds.

Song

Tell me, Phillis, tell me why,
You appear so wond'rous coy,
When that glow, and sparkling eye,
Speak you want to taste the joy?
Prithee, give this fooling o'er,
Nor torment your lover more.
While youth is warm within our veins,
And nature tempts us to be gay,
Give to pleasure loose the reins,
Love and youth fly swift away.
Youth in pleasure should be spent,
Age will come, we'll then repent.

Evanthe [waking]

I come, ye lovely shades – Ha! am I here?
Still in the tyrant's palace? Ye bright pow'rs!
Are all my blessings then but vis'onary?
Methought I was arriv'd on that blest shore
Where happy souls for ever dwell, crown'd with
Immortal bliss; Arsaces led me through
The flow'ry groves, while all around me gleam'd
Thousand and thousand shades, who welcom'd me
With pleasing songs of joy – Vardanes, ha! —

Vardanes

Why beams the angry lightning of thine eye
Against thy sighing slave? Is love a crime?
Oh! if to dote, with such excess of passion
As rises e'en to mad extravagance
Is criminal, I then am so, indeed.

Evanthe

Away! vile man! —

Vardanes

If to pursue thee e'er
With all the humblest offices of love,
If ne'er to know one single thought that does
Not bear thy bright idea, merits scorn —

Evanthe

Hence from my sight – nor let me, thus, pollute
Mine eyes, with looking on a wretch like thee,
Thou cause of all my ills; I sicken at
Thy loathsome presence —

Vardanes

'Tis not always thus,
Nor dost thou ever meet the sounds of love
With rage and fierce disdain: Arsaces, soon,
Could smooth thy brow, and melt thy icy breast.

Evanthe

Ha! does it gall thee? Yes, he could, he could;
Oh! when he speaks, such sweetness dwells upon
His accents, all my soul dissolves to love,
And warm desire; such truth and beauty join'd!
His looks are soft and kind, such gentleness
Such virtue swells his bosom! in his eye
Sits majesty, commanding ev'ry heart.
Strait as the pine, the pride of all the grove,
More blooming than the spring, and sweeter far,
Than asphodels or roses infant sweets.
Oh! I could dwell forever on his praise,
Yet think eternity was scarce enough
To tell the mighty theme; here in my breast
His image dwells, but one dear thought of him,
When fancy paints his Person to my eye,
As he was wont in tenderness dissolv'd,
Sighing his vows, or kneeling at my feet,
Wipes off all mem'ry of my wretchedness.

Vardanes

I know this brav'ry is affected, yet
It gives me joy, to think my rival only
Can in imagination taste thy beauties.
Let him, – 'twill ease him in his solitude,
And gild the horrors of his prison-house,
Till death shall —

Evanthe

Ha! what was that? till death – ye Gods!
Ah, now I feel distress's tort'ring pang —
Thou canst not, villain – darst not think his death —
O mis'ry! —

Vardanes

Naught but your kindness saves him,
Yet bless me, with your love, and he is safe;
But the same frown which kills my growing hopes,
Gives him to death.

Evanthe

O horror, I could die
Ten thousand times to save the lov'd Arsaces.
Teach me the means, ye pow'rs, how to save him:
Then lead me to what ever is my fate.

Vardanes

Not only shall he die, but to thy view
I'll bring the scene, those eyes that take delight
In cruelty, shall have enough of death.
E'en here, before thy sight, he shall expire,
Not sudden, but by ling'ring torments; all
That mischief can invent shall be practis'd
To give him pain; to lengthen out his woe
I'll search around the realm for skillful men,
To find new tortures.

Evanthe

Oh! wrack not thus my soul!

Vardanes

The sex o'erflows with various humours, he
Who catches not their smiles the very moment,
Will lose the blessing – I'll improve this softness. —

[Aside to her.

Heav'n never made thy beauties to destroy,
They were to bless, and not to blast mankind;
Pity should dwell within thy lovely breast,
That sacred temple ne'er was form'd for hate
A habitation; but a residence
For love and gaiety.

Evanthe

Oh! heav'ns!

Vardanes

That sigh,
Proclaims your kind consent to save Arsaces.

[Laying hold of her.

Evanthe

Ha! villain, off – unhand me – hence —

Vardanes

In vain
Is opportunity to those, who spend
An idle courtship on the fair, they well
Deserve their fate, if they're disdain'd; – her charms
To rush upon, and conquer opposition,
Gains the Fair one's praise; an active lover
Suits, who lies aside the coxcomb's empty whine,
And forces her to bliss.

Evanthe

Ah! hear me, hear me,
Thus kneeling, with my tears, I do implore thee:
Think on my innocence, nor force a joy
Which will ever fill thy soul with anguish.
Seek not to load my ills with infamy,
Let me not be a mark for bitter scorn,
To bear proud virtue's taunts and mocking jeers,
And like a flow'r, of all its sweetness robb'd,
Be trod to earth, neglected and disdain'd,
And spurn'd by ev'ry vulgar saucy foot.

Vardanes

Speak, speak forever – music's in thy voice,
Still attentive will I listen to thee,
Be hush'd as night, charm'd with the magic sound.

Evanthe

Oh! teach me, heav'n, soft moving eloquence,
To bend his stubborn soul to gentleness. —
Where is thy virtue? Where thy princely lustre?
Ah! wilt thou meanly stoop to do a wrong,
And stain thy honour with so foul a blot?
Thou who shouldst be a guard to innocence.
Leave force to brutes – for pleasure is not found
Where still the soul's averse; horror and guilt,
Distraction, desperation chace her hence.
Some happier gentle Fair one you may find,
Whose yielding heart may bend to meet your flame,
In mutual love soft joys alone are found;
When souls are drawn by secret sympathy,
And virtue does on virtue smile.