The Prince Of Parthia Part 18

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 friends.h.i.+p 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 compa.s.sion 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 G.o.ds!

[_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 ARTABa.n.u.s 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 d.a.m.n'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 G.o.ds 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 h.e.l.l-born horrors-- Think, think of Artaba.n.u.s! and despair-- [_Sinks._