The Prince of Parthia

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 chainsHymnParent of Light, to thee belongOur 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 treeTo hail thy glorious dawn repair,While the sweet sons of harmonyWith Hallelujahs fill the air.'Tis thou hast brac'd the Hero's arm,And giv'n the Love of praise to warmHis bosom, as he onward flies,And for his Country bravely dies.Thine's victory, and from thee springsAmbition's fire, which glows in Kings.King [coming forward]Thus, to the Gods our tributary songs,And now, oh! let me welcome once againMy blooming victor to his Father's arms;And let me thank thee for our safety: ParthiaShall thank thee too, and give her grateful praiseTo her Deliverer.OmnesAll hail! Arsaces!KingThanks 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 indeedI'd hail him like the rest, but blast him too.ArsacesMy 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 —KingHa! 'tis Bethas!Know'st thou, vain wretch, what fate attends on thoseWho dare oppose the pow'r of mighty Kings,Whom heav'n delights to favour? sure some GodWho 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.BethasAt honour's call, and at my King's command,Tho' it were even with my single arm, againI'd brave the multitude, which, like a deluge,O'erwhelm'd my gallant handful; yea, wou'd meetUndaunted, 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.KingIt 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'dAs 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 metThe due reward of your audacity.Now shake your chains, shake and delight your earsWith the soft music of your golden fetters.BethasTrue, 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 backDisfigur'd with dishonourable wounds.No, here, deep on their bosoms, are engrav'dThe marks of honour! 'twas thro' here their soulsFlew to their blissful seats. Oh! why did ISurvive 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! —KingAway with him to instant death.ArsacesHear 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.KingWell, be it so; hence, bear him to his dungeon;Lysias, we here commit him to thy charge.BethasWelcome my dungeon, but more welcome death.Trust not too much, vain Monarch, to your pow'r,Know fortune places all her choicest giftsOn 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 sunMay view him seated on a splendid throne,And, setting, see him shake the servile chain.[Exit guarded.

Scene VI

King, Arsaces, Vardanes, Gotarzes, PhraatesGotarzesThus let me hail thee from the croud distinct,For in the exulting voice of gen'ral joyMy fainter sounds were lost, believe me, Brother,My soul dilates with joy to see thee thus.ArsacesThus let me thank thee in this fond embrace.VardanesThe next will be my turn, Gods, I had ratherBe circl'd in a venom'd serpent's fold.GotarzesO, my lov'd Brother, 'tis my humble boon,That, when the war next calls you to the field,I may attend you in the rage of battle.By imitating thy heroic deeds,Perhaps, I may rise to some little worth,Beneath thy care I'll try my feeble wings,Till taught by thee to soar to nobler heights.KingWhy, that's my boy, thy spirit speaks thy birth,No more I'll turn thee from the road to glory,To rust in slothfulness, with lazy Gownsmen.GotarzesThanks, to my Sire, I'm now completely blest.ArsacesBut, I've another Brother, where's Vardanes?KingHa! what, methinks, he lurks behind the croud,And wears a gloom which suits not with the time.VardanesDoubt not my Love, tho' I lack eloquence,To dress my sentiments and catch the ear,Tho' plain my manners, and my language rude,My honest heart disdains to wear disguise.Then think not I am slothful in the race,Or, that my Brother springs before my Love.ArsacesFar be suspicion from me.VardanesSo, 'tis done,Thanks to dissembling, all is well again.KingNow let us forward, to the Temple go,And let, with chearful wine, the goblets flow;Let blink-ey'd Jollity his aid afford,To crown our triumph, round the festive board:But, let the wretch, whose soul can know a care,Far from our joys, to some lone shade repair,In secrecy, there let him e'er remain,Brood o'er his gloom, and still increase his pain.End of the First Act

ACT II

Scene I. A Prison

Lysias [alone]The Sun set frowning, and refreshing EveLost all its sweets, obscur'd in double gloom.This night shall sleep be stranger to these eyes,Peace dwells not here, and slumber flies the shock;My spirits, like the elements, are warring,And mock the tempest with a kindred rage —I, who can joy in nothing, but revenge,Know not those boasted ties of Love and Friendship;Vardanes I regard, but as he give meSome hopes of vengeance on the Prince Arsaces —But, ha! he comes, wak'd by the angry storm,'Tis to my wish, thus would I form designs,Horror should breed beneath the veil of horror,And darkness aid conspiracies – He's here —

Scene II. Vardanes and Lysias

LysiasWelcome, my noble Prince.VardanesThanks, gentle friend;Heav'ns! what a night is this!Lysias'Tis fill'd with terror;Some dread event beneath this horror lurks,Ordain'd by fate's irrevocable doom;Perhaps Arsaces' fall – and angry heav'nSpeaks it, in thunder, to the trembling world.VardanesTerror indeed! it seems as sick'ning NatureHad giv'n her order up to gen'ral ruin;The Heav'ns appear as one continu'd flame,Earth with her terror shakes, dim night retires,And the red lightning gives a dreadful day,While in the thunder's voice each sound is lost;Fear sinks the panting heart in ev'ry bosom,E'en the pale dead, affrighted at the horror,As tho' unsafe, start from their marble goals,And howling thro' the streets are seeking shelter.LysiasI saw a flash stream thro' the angry clouds,And bend its course to where a stately pineBehind the garden stood, quickly it seiz'd,And wrapt it in a fiery fold, the trunkWas shiver'd into atoms, and the branchesOff were lopt, and wildly scatter'd round.VardanesWhy rage the elements, they are not curs'dLike me? Evanthe frowns not angry on them,The wind may play upon her beauteous bosomNor fear her chiding, light can bless her sense,And in the floating mirror she beholdsThose beauties which can fetter all mankind.Earth gives her joy, she plucks the fragrant rose,Pleas'd takes its sweets, and gazes on its bloom.LysiasMy Lord, forget her, tear her from your breast.Who, like the Phœnix gazes on the sun,And strives to soar up to the glorious blaze,Should never leave Ambition's brightest object,To turn, and view the beauties of a flow'r.VardanesO, Lysias, chide no more, for I have done.Yes, I'll forget this proud disdainful beauty;Hence, with vain love – Ambition, now, alone,Shall guide my actions, since mankind delightsTo give me pain, I'll study mischief too,And shake the earth, e'en like this raging tempest.LysiasA night like this, so dreadful to behold,Since my remembrance's birth, I never saw.VardanesE'en such a night, dreadful as this, they say,My teeming Mother gave me to the world.Whence by those sages who, in knowledge rich,Can pry into futurity, and tellWhat distant ages will produce of wonder,My days were deem'd to be a hurricane;My early life prov'd their prediction false;Beneath a sky serene my voyage began,But, to this long uninterrupted calm,Storms shall succeed.LysiasThen haste, to raise the tempest;My soul disdains this one eternal round,Where each succeeding day is like the former.Trust me, my noble Prince, here is a heartSteady and firm to all your purposes,And here's a hand that knows to executeWhate'er designs thy daring breast can form,Nor ever shake with fear.VardanesAnd I will use it,Come to my bosom, let me place thee here,How happy am I clasping so much virtue!Now, by the light, it is my firm belief,One mighty soul in common swells our bosoms,Such sameness can't be match'd in diff'rent beings.LysiasYour confidence, my Lord, much honours me,And when I act unworthy of your loveMay I be hooted from Society,As tho' disgraceful to the human kind,And driv'n to herd among the savage race.VardanesBelieve me, Lysias, I do not knowA single thought which tends toward suspicion,For well I know thy worth, when I affront it,By the least doubt, may I be ever curs'dWith faithless friends, and by his dagger fallWhom my deluded wishes most would favour.LysiasThen let's no longer trifle time away,I'm all impatience till I see thy browsBright in the glories of a diadem;My soul is fill'd with anguish when I thinkThat by weak Princes worn, 'tis thus disgrac'd.Haste, mount the throne, and, like the morning Sun,Chace with your piercing beams those mists away,Which dim the glory of the Parthian state:Each honest heart desires it, numbers there areReady to join you, and support your cause,Against th' opposing faction.VardanesSure some God,Bid you thus call me to my dawning honours,And joyful I obey the pleasing summons.Now by the pow'rs of heav'n, of earth and hell,Most solemnly I swear, I will not knowThat quietude which I was wont to know,'Til I have climb'd the height of all my wishes,Or fell, from glory, to the silent grave.LysiasNobly resolv'd, and spoken like Vardanes,There shone my Prince in his superior lustre.VardanesBut, then, Arsaces, he's a fatal bar —O! could I brush this busy insect from me,Which envious strives to rob me of my bloom,Then might I, like some fragrant op'ning flow'r,Spread all my beauties in the face of day.Ye Gods! why did ye give me such a soul(A soul, which ev'ry way is form'd for Empire),And damn me with a younger Brother's right?The diadem would set as well on mine,As on the brows of any lordly He;Nor is this hand weak to enforce command.And shall I steal into my grave, and giveMy name up to oblivion, to be thrownAmong the common rubbish of the times?No: Perish first, this happy hated Brother.LysiasI always wear a dagger, for your service,I need not speak the rest —When humbly I intreated of your BrotherT' attend him as Lieutenant in this war,Frowning contempt, he haughtily reply'd,He entertain'd not Traitors in his service.True, I betray'd Orodes, but with cause,He struck me, like a sorry abject slave,And still withheld from giving what he'd promis'd.Fear not Arsaces, believe me, he shallSoon his Quietus have – But, see, he comes, —What can this mean? Why at this lonely hour,And unattended? – Ha! 'tis opportune —I'll in, and stab him now. I heed not whatThe danger is, so I but have revenge,Then heap perdition on me.VardanesHold, awhile —'Twould be better could we undermine him,And make him fall by Artabanus' doom.LysiasWell, be it so —VardanesBut let us now retire,We must not be observ'd together here.

Scene III

Arsaces [alone]'Tis here that hapless Bethas is confin'd;He who, but yesterday, like angry Jove,When punishing the crimes of guilty men,Spread death and desolation all around,While Parthia trembl'd at his name; is nowUnfriended and forlorn, and counts the hours,Wrapt in the gloomy horrors of a goal. —How dark, and hidden, are the turns of fate!His rigid fortune moves me to compassion.O! 'tis a heav'nly virtue when the heartCan feel the sorrows of another's bosom,It dignifies the man: The stupid wretchWho knows not this sensation, is an image,And wants the feeling to make up a life —I'll in, and give my aid to sooth his sorrows.

Scene IV

Vardanes and LysiasLysiasLet us observe with care, something we, yet,May gather, to give to us the vantage;No matter what's the intent.VardanesHow easy 'tisTo cheat this busy, tattling, censuring world!For fame still names our actions, good or bad,As introduc'd by chance, which ofttimes throwsWrong lights on objects; vice she dresses up —In the bright form, and goodliness, of virtue,While virtue languishes, and pines neglected,Rob'd of her lustre – But, let's forward, Lysias —Thou know'st each turn in this thy dreary rule,Then lead me to some secret stand, from whence,Unnotic'd, all their actions we may view.LysiasHere, take your stand behind – See, Bethas comes.[They retire.

Scene V

Bethas [alone]To think on Death in gloomy solitude,In dungeons and in chains, when expectationJoin'd with serious thought describe him to us,His height'n'd terrors strike upon the soulWith awful dread; imagination rais'dTo frenzy, plunges in a sea of horror,And tastes the pains, the agonies of dying —Ha! who is this, perhaps he bears my fate?It must be so, but, why this privacy?

Scene VI

Arsaces and BethasArsacesHealth to the noble Bethas, health and joy!BethasA steady harden'd villain, one experienc'dIn his employment; ha! where's thy dagger?It cannot give me fear; I'm ready, see,My op'ning bosom tempts the friendly steel.Fain would I cast this tiresome being off,Like an old garment worn to wretchedness.Here, strike for I'm prepar'd.ArsacesOh! view me better,Say, do I wear the gloomy ruffian's frown?BethasHa! 'tis the gallant Prince, the brave Arsaces,And Bethas' Conqueror.ArsacesAnd Bethas' friend,A name I'm proud to wear.BethasAway – away —Mock with your jester to divert the court,Fit Scene for sportive joys and frolic mirth;Think'st thou I lack that manly constancyWhich braves misfortune, and remains unshaken?Are these, are these the emblems of thy friendship,These rankling chains, say, does it gall like these?No, let me taste the bitterness of sorrow,For I am reconcil'd to wretchedness.The Gods have empty'd all their mighty store,Of hoarded Ills, upon my whiten'd age;Now death – but, oh! I court coy death in vain,Like a cold maid, he scorns my fond complaining.'Tis thou, insulting Prince, 'tis thou hast dragg'dMy soul, just rising, down again to earth,And clogg'd her wings with dull mortality,A hateful bondage! Why —ArsacesA moment hear me —BethasWhy dost thou, like an angry vengeful ghost,Glide hither to disturb this peaceful gloom?What, dost thou envy me my miseries,My chains and flinty pavement, where I oftIn sleep behold the image of the death I wish,Forget my sorrows and heart-breaking anguish?These horrors I would undisturb'd enjoy,Attended only by my silent thoughts;Is it to see the wretch that you have made;To view the ruins of unhappy Bethas,And triumph in my grief? Is it for thisYou penetrate my dark joyless prison?ArsacesOh! do not injure me by such suspicions.Unknown to me are cruel scoffs and jests;My breast can feel compassion's tenderness,The warrior's warmth, the soothing joys of friendship.When adverse bold battalions shook the earth,And horror triumph'd on the hostile field,I sought you with a glorious enmity,And arm'd my brow with the stern frown of war.But now the angry trumpet wakes no moreThe youthful champion to the lust for blood.Retiring rage gives place to softer passions,And gen'rous warriors know no longer hate,The name of foe is lost, and thus I askYour friendship.BethasAh! why dost thou mock me thus?ArsacesLet the base coward, he who ever shrinks,And trembles, at the slight name of danger,Taunt, and revile, with bitter gibes, the wretched;The brave are ever to distress a friend.Tho' my dear country (spoil'd by wasteful war,Her harvests blazing, desolate her towns,And baleful ruin shew'd her haggard face)Call'd out on me to save her from her foes,And I obey'd, yet to your gallant prowess,And unmatch'd deeds, I admiration gave.But now my country knows the sweets of safety,Freed from her fears; sure now I may indulgeMy just esteem for your superior virtue.BethasYes, I must think you what you would be thought,For honest minds are easy of belief,And always judge of others by themselves,But often are deceiv'd; yet Parthia breeds notVirtue much like thine, the barb'rous clime teemsWith nought else but villains vers'd in ill.ArsacesDissimulation never mark'd my looks,Nor flatt'ring deceit e'er taught my tongue,The tale of falsehood, to disguise my thoughts:To Virtue, and her fair companion, Truth,I've ever bow'd, their holy precepts kept,And scann'd by them the actions of my life.Suspicion surely ne'er disturbs the brave,They never know the fears of doubting thoughts;But free, as are the altars of the Gods,From ev'ry hand receive the sacrifice.

Scene VII

Arsaces, Bethas, Evanthe and CleoneEvantheHeav'ns! what a gloom hangs round this dreadful place,Fit habitation for the guilty mind!Oh! if such terrors wait the innocent,Which tread these vaults, what must the impious feel,Who've all their crimes to stare them in the face?BethasImmortal Gods! is this reality?Or mere illusion? am I blest at last,Or is it to torment me that you've rais'dThis semblance of Evanthe to my eyes?It is! it is! 'tis she! —ArsacesHa! – what means this? —She faints! she faints! life has forsook its seat,Pale Death usurps its place – Evanthe, Oh!Awake to life! – Love and Arsaces call! —BethasOff – give her to my arms, my warm embraceShall melt Death's icy chains.CleoneShe lives! she lives! —See, on her cheeks the rosy glow returns.ArsacesO joy! O joy! her op'ning eyes, again,Break, like the morning sun, a better day.BethasEvanthe! —EvantheOh! my Father! —ArsacesHa! – her Father!BethasHeav'n thou art kind at last, and this indeedIs recompense for all the ills I've past;For all the sorrows which my heart has known,Each wakeful night, and ev'ry day of anguish.This, this has sweet'n'd all my bitter cup,And gave me once again to taste of joy,Joy which has long been stranger to this bosom.Hence – hence disgrace – off, ignominy off —But one embrace – I ask but one embrace,And 'tis deny'd.EvantheOh, yes, around thy neckI'll fold my longing arms, thy softer fetters,Thus press thee to my happy breast, and kissAway those tears that stain thy aged cheeks.BethasOh! 'tis too much! it is too much! ye Gods!Life's at her utmost stretch, and bursting nearWith heart-swoln ecstasy; now let me die.ArsacesWhat marble heartCould see this scene unmov'd, nor give a tear?My eyes grow dim, and sympathetic passionFalls like a gushing torrent on my bosom.EvantheO! happy me, this place, which lately seem'dSo fill'd with horror, now is pleasure's circle.Here will I fix my seat; my pleasing taskShall be to cherish thy remaining life.All night I'll keep a vigil o'er thy slumbers,And on my breast repose thee, mark thy dreams,And when thou wak'st invent some pleasing tale,Or with my songs the tedious hours beguile.BethasStill let me gaze, still let me gaze upon thee,Let me strain ev'ry nerve with ravishment,And all my life be center'd in my vision.To see thee thus, to hear thy angel voice,It is, indeed, a luxury of pleasure! —Speak, speak again, for oh! 'tis heav'n to hear thee!Celestial sweetness dwells on ev'ry accent; —Lull me to rest, and sooth my raging joy.Joy which distracts me with unruly transports.Now, by thy dear departed Mother's shade,Thou brightest pattern of all excellence,Thou who in prattling infancy hast blest me,I wou'd not give this one transporting moment,This fullness of delight, for all – but, ah!'Tis vile, Ambition, Glory, all is vile,To the soft sweets of love and tenderness.EvantheNow let me speak, my throbbing heart is full,I'll tell thee all – alas! I have forgot —'T 'as slipt me in the tumult of my joy.And yet I thought that I had much to say.BethasOh! I have curs'd my birth, indeed, I haveBlasphem'd the Gods, with unbecoming passion,Arraign'd their Justice, and defy'd their pow'r,In bitterness, because they had deny'dThee to support the weakness of my age.But now no more I'll rail and rave at fate,All its decrees are just, complaints are impious,Whate'er short-sighted mortals feel, springs fromTheir blindness in the ways of Providence;Sufficient wisdom 'tis for man to knowThat the great Ruler is e'er wise and good.ArsacesYe figur'd stones!Ye senseless, lifeless images of men,Who never gave a tear to others' woe,Whose bosoms never glow'd for others' good,O weary heav'n with your repeated pray'rs,And strive to melt the angry pow'rs to pity,That ye may truly live.EvantheOh! how my heartBeats in my breast, and shakes my trembling frame!I sink beneath this sudden flood of joy,Too mighty for my spirits.ArsacesMy Evanthe,Thus in my arms I catch thy falling beauties,Chear thee; and kiss thee back to life again:Thus to my bosom I could ever hold thee,And find new pleasure.EvantheO! my lov'd Arsaces,Forgive me that I saw thee not before,Indeed my soul was busily employ'd,Nor left a single thought at liberty.But thou, I know, art gentleness and love.Now I am doubly paid for all my sorrows,For all my fears for thee.ArsacesThen, fear no more:Give to guilty wretches painful terrors:Whose keen remembrance raises horrid forms,Shapes that in spite of nature shock their soulsWith dreadful anguish: but thy gentle bosom,Where innocence beams light and gayety,Can never know a fear, now shining joyShall gild the pleasing scene.EvantheAlas! this joyI fear is like a sudden flame shot fromTh' expiring taper, darkness will ensue,And double night I dread enclose us round.Anxiety does yet disturb my breast,And frightful apprehension shakes my soul.BethasHow shall I thank you, ye bright glorious beings!Shall I in humble adoration bow,Or fill the earth with your resounding praise?No, this I leave to noisy hypocrites,A Mortal's tongue disgraces such a theme;But heav'n delights where silent gratitudeMounts each aspiring thought to its bright throne,Nor leaves to language aught; words may indeedFrom man to man their sev'ral wants express,Heav'n asks the purer incense of the heart.ArsacesI'll to the King, ere he retires to rest,Nor will I leave him 'til I've gain'd your freedom;His love will surely not deny me this.

Scene VIII

Vardanes and Lysias come forwardLysias'Twas a moving scene, e'en my rough natureWas nighly melted.VardanesHence coward pity —What is joy to them, to me is torture.Now am I rack'd with pains that far exceedThose 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.LysiasMy 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?VardanesThis 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.LysiasThe 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.VardanesHaste, Lysias, haste, to aid me with thy council;For without thee, all my designs will proveLike 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, afraidTo taste a joy, and in some gloomy shadeDream o'er their lives, while in a mournful strainThey 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 PalaceQueen and EdessaQueenTalk not of sleep to me, the God of RestDisdains 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.EdessaYet, hear me, Madam!QueenHence, away, Edessa,For thou know'st not the pangs of jealousy.Say, has he not forsook my bed, and left meLike 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'rIts torments on me – Ha! isn't that the King!EdessaIt is your Royal Lord, great Artabanus.QueenLeave me, for I would meet him here alone,Something is lab'ring in my breast —