The Prince Of Parthia Part 7

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 now Unfriended 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 compa.s.sion.

O! 'tis a heav'nly virtue when the heart Can feel the sorrows of another's bosom, It dignifies the man: The stupid wretch Who 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 LYSIAS._

LYSIAS.

Let us observe with care, something we, yet, May gather, to give to us the vantage; No matter what's the intent.

VARDANES.

How easy 'tis To cheat this busy, tattling, censuring world!

For fame still names our actions, good or bad, As introduc'd by chance, which ofttimes throws Wrong 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 l.u.s.tre--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.

LYSIAS.

Here, 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 expectation Join'd with serious thought describe him to us, His height'n'd terrors strike upon the soul With awful dread; imagination rais'd To 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 BETHAS._

ARSACES.

Health to the n.o.ble Bethas, health and joy!

BETHAS.

A steady harden'd villain, one experienc'd In 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.

ARSACES.

Oh! view me better, Say, do I wear the gloomy ruffian's frown?

BETHAS.

Ha! 'tis the gallant Prince, the brave Arsaces, And Bethas' Conqueror.

ARSACES.

And Bethas' friend, A name I'm proud to wear.

BETHAS.

Away--away-- Mock with your jester to divert the court, Fit Scene for sportive joys and frolic mirth; Think'st thou I lack that manly constancy Which 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 G.o.ds have empty'd all their mighty store, Of h.o.a.rded 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'd My soul, just rising, down again to earth, And clogg'd her wings with dull mortality, A hateful bondage! Why--

ARSACES.

A moment hear me--

BETHAS.

Why 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 oft In 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 this You penetrate my dark joyless prison?

ARSACES.

Oh! do not injure me by such suspicions.

Unknown to me are cruel scoffs and jests; My breast can feel compa.s.sion'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 more The youthful champion to the l.u.s.t for blood.

Retiring rage gives place to softer pa.s.sions, And gen'rous warriors know no longer hate, The name of foe is lost, and thus I ask Your friendship.

BETHAS.

Ah! why dost thou mock me thus?

ARSACES.

Let 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 indulge My just esteem for your superior virtue.