The Prince of Parthia: A Tragedy

ARSACES, VARDANES, BARZAPHERNES.

Arsaces. But for Vardanes, The Brother's name forgot--

Vardanes. You need no more, I know the rest--Ah! death is near, my wounds Permit me not to live--my breath grows short, Curs'd be Phraates' arm which stop'd my sword, Ere it had reach'd thy proud exulting heart. But the wretch paid dear for his presuming; A just reward.--

Arsaces. He sinks, yet bear him up--

Vardanes. Curs'd be the multitude which o'erpow'r'd me, And beat me to the ground, cover'd with wounds-- But, oh! 'tis done! my ebbing life is done-- I feel death's hand upon me--Yet, I die Just as I wish, and daring for a crown, Life without rule is my disdain; I scorn To swell a haughty Brother's sneaking train, To wait upon his ear with flatt'ring tales, And court his smiles; come, death, in thy cold arms, Let me forget Ambition's mighty toil, And shun the triumphs of a hated Brother-- O! bear me off--Let not his eyes enjoy My agonies--My sight grows dim with death. [_They bear him off._

SCENE (_the Last_).

_ARSACES, GOTARZES, BARZAPHERNES, and EVANTHE supported._

Evanthe. Lead me, oh! lead me, to my lov'd Arsaces. Where is he?--

Arsaces. Ha! what's this?--Just heav'ns!--my fears--

Evanthe. Arsaces, oh! thus circl'd in thy arms, I die without a pang.

Arsaces. Ha! die?--why stare ye, Ye lifeless ghosts? Have none of ye a tongue To tell me I'm undone?

Gotarzes. Soon, my Brother, Too soon, you'll know it by the sad effects; And if my grief will yet permit my tongue To do its office, thou shalt hear the tale. Cleone, from the turret, view'd the battle, And on Phraates fix'd her erring sight, Thy brave unhappy friend she took for thee, By his garb deceiv'd, which like to thine he wore. Still with her eye she follow'd him, where e'er He pierc'd the foe, and to Vardanes' sword She saw him fall a hapless victim, then, In agonies of grief, flew to Evanthe, And told the dreadful tale--the fatal bowl I saw--

Arsaces. Be dumb, nor ever give again Fear to the heart, with thy ill-boding voice.

Evanthe. Here, I'll rest, till death, on thy lov'd bosom, Here let me sigh my--Oh! the poison works--

Arsaces. Oh! horror!--

Evanthe. Cease--this sorrow pains me more Than all the wringing agonies of death, The dreadful parting of the soul from, this, Its wedded clay--Ah! there--that pang shot thro' My throbbing heart--

Arsaces. Save her, ye Gods!--oh! save her! And I will bribe ye with clouds of incense; Such num'rous sacrifices, that your altars Shall even sink beneath the mighty load.

Evanthe. When I am dead, dissolv'd to native dust, Yet let me live in thy dear mem'ry-- One tear will not be much to give Evanthe.

Arsaces. My eyes shall e'er two running fountains be, And wet thy urn with overflowing tears, Joy ne'er again within my breast shall find A residence--Oh! speak, once more--

Evanthe. Life's just out-- My Father--Oh! protect his honour'd age, And give him shelter from the storms of fate, He's long been fortune's sport--Support me--Ah!-- I can no more--my glass is spent--farewell-- Forever--Arsaces!--Oh! [_Dies._

Arsaces. Stay, oh! stay, Or take me with thee--dead! she's cold and dead! Her eyes are clos'd, and all my joys are flown-- Now burst ye elements, from your restraint, Let order cease, and chaos be again. Break! break, tough heart!--oh! torture--life dissolve-- Why stand ye idle? Have I not one friend To kindly free me from this pain? One blow, One friendly blow would give me ease.

Barzaphernes. The Gods Forefend!--Pardon me, Royal Sir, if I Dare, seemingly disloyal, seize your sword, Despair may urge you far--

Arsaces. Ha! traitors! rebels!-- Hoary rev'rend Villain! what, disarm me? Give me my sword--what, stand ye by, and see Your Prince insulted? Are ye rebels all?--

Barzaphernes. Be calm, my gracious Lord!

Gotarzes. Oh! my lov'd Brother!

Arsaces. Gotarzes too! all! all! conspir'd against me? Still, are ye all resolv'd that I must live, And feel the momentary pangs of death?-- Ha!--this, shall make a passage for my soul--

[_Snatches BARZAPHERNES' sword._

Out, out vile cares, from your distress'd abode-- [_Stabs himself._

Barzaphernes. Oh! ye eternal Gods!

Gotarzes. Distraction! heav'ns! I shall run mad--

Arsaces. Ah! 'tis in vain to grieve-- The steel has done its part, and I'm at rest.-- Gotarzes, wear my crown, and be thou blest, Cherish, Barzaphernes, my trusty chief-- I faint, oh! lay me by Evanthe's side-- Still wedded in our deaths--Bethas--

Barzaphernes. Despair, My Lord, has broke his heart, I saw him stretch'd, Along the flinty pavement, in his gaol-- Cold, lifeless--

Arsaces. He's happy then--had he heard This tale, he'd--Ah! Evanthe chides my soul, For ling'ring here so long--another pang And all the world, adieu--oh! adieu!-- [_Dies._

Gotarzes. Oh! Fix me, heav'n, immoveable, a statue, And free me from o'erwhelming tides of grief.

Barzaphernes. Oh! my lov'd Prince, I soon shall follow thee; Thy laurel'd glories whither are they fled?-- Would I had died before this fatal day!-- Triumphant garlands pride my soul no more, No more the lofty voice of war can charm-- And why then am I here? Thus then-- [_Offers to stab himself._

Gotarzes. Ah! hold, Nor rashly urge the blow--think of me, and Live--My heart is wrung with streaming anguish, Tore with the smarting pangs of woe, yet, will I Dare to live, and stem misfortune's billows. Live then, and be the guardian of my youth, And lead me on thro' virtue's rugged path.

Barzaphernes. O, glorious youth, thy words have rous'd the Drooping genius of my soul; thus, let me Clasp thee, in my aged arms; yes, I will live-- Live, to support thee in thy kingly rights, And when thou 'rt firmly fix'd, my task's perform'd, My honourable task--Then I'll retire, Petition gracious heav'n to bless my work, And in the silent grave forget my cares.

Gotarzes. Now, to the Temple, let us onward move, And strive t' appease the angry pow'rs above. Fate yet may have some ills reserv'd in store, Continu'd curses, to torment us more. Tho', in their district, Monarchs rule alone, Jove sways the mighty Monarch on his throne: Nor can the shining honours which they wear, Purchase one joy, or save them from one care.

_Finis._

FOOTNOTES:

[5] The Tigris.

TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES

Page 21: Thomas Godfrey's date of birth corrected from 1763 to 1736.

Page 78: appartment as in original.

Page 93: "this gloomy goal" as in original. Should perhaps be gloomy gaol.