This, this is truly great, this is the Hero, Like heav'n, to scatter blessings 'mong mankind And e'er delight in making others happy. Cold is the praise which waits the victor's triumph (Who thro' a sea of blood has rush'd to glory), To the o'erflowings of a grateful heart, By obligations conquer'd: Yet, extend Thy bounty unto me. [_Kneels._ KING. Ha! rise Arsaces. ARSACES. Not till you grant my boon. KING. Speak, and 'tis thine-- Wide thro' our kingdom let thy eager wishes Search for some jewel worthy of thy seeing; Something that's fit to show the donor's bounty, And by the glorious sun, our worship'd God, Thou shalt not have denial; e'en my crown Shall gild thy brows with shining beams of Empire. With pleasure I'll resign to thee my honours, I long for calm retirement's softer joys. ARSACES. Long may you wear it, grant it bounteous heav'n, And happiness attend it; 'tis my pray'r That daily rises with the early sweets Of nature's incense, and the lark's loud strain. 'Tis not the unruly transport of ambition That urges my desires to ask your crown; Let the vain wretch, who prides in gay dominion, Who thinks not of the great ones' weighty cares, Enjoy his lofty wish, wide spreading rule. The treasure which I ask, put in the scale, Would over-balance all that Kings can boast, Empire and diadems. KING. Away, that thought-- Name it, haste--speak. ARSACES. For all the dang'rous toil, Thirst, hunger, marches long that I've endur'd, For all the blood I've in thy service spent, Reward me with Evanthe. KING. Ha! what said'st thou?-- VARDANES. The King is mov'd, and angry bites his lip.-- Thro' my benighted soul all-cheering hope [_Aside._ Beams, like an orient sun, reviving joy. ARSACES. The stern Vonones ne'er could boast a merit But loving her. KING. Ah! curse the hated name-- Yes, I remember when the fell ruffian Directed all his fury at my life; Then sent, by pitying heav'n, t' assert the right Of injur'd Majesty, thou, Arsaces, Taught him the duty he ne'er knew before, And laid the Traitor dead. ARSACES. My Royal Sire! LYSIAS. My Liege, the Prince still kneels. KING. Ha!--rebel, off-- [_Strikes him._ What, Lysias, did I strike thee? forgive my rage-- The name of curs'd Vonones fires my blood, And gives me up to wrath.-- LYSIAS. I am your slave, Sway'd by your pleasure--when I forget it, May this keen dagger, which I mean to hide Deep in his bosom, pierce my vitals thro'. [_Aside._ KING. Didst thou not name Evanthe? ARSACES.