The Prince of Parthia: A Tragedy

_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.