Oh! curse her not, nor threaten her with anger, She is all gentleness, yet firm to truth, And blest with ev'ry pleasing virtue, free From levity, her sex's character. She scorns to chace the turning of the wind, Varying from point to point. BETHAS. I love her, ye Gods! I need not speak the greatness of my love, Each look which straining draws my soul to hers Denotes unmeasur'd fondness; but mis'ry, Like a fretful peevish child, can scarce tell What it would wish, or aim at. ARSACES. Immortals, hear! Thus do I bow my soul in humble pray'r-- Thou, King of beings, in whose breath is fate, Show'r on Evanthe all thy choicest blessings, And bless her with excess of happiness; If yet, there is one bliss reserv'd in store, And written to my name, oh! give it her, And give me all her sorrows in return. BETHAS. 'Rise, 'rise my Prince, this goodness o'erwhelms me, She's too unworthy of so great a passion. ARSACES. I know not what it means, I'm not as usual, Ill-boding cares, and restless fears oppress me, And horrid dreams disturb, and fright, my slumbers; But yesternight, 'tis dreadful to relate, E'en now I tremble at my waking thoughts, Methought, I stood alone upon the shore, And, at my feet, there roll'd a sea of blood, High wrought, and 'midst the waves, appear'd my Father, Struggling for life; above him was Vardanes, Pois'd in the air, he seem'd to rule the storm, And, now and then, would push my Father down, And for a space he'd sink beneath the waves, And then, all gory, rise to open view, His voice in broken accents reach'd my ear, And bade me save him from the bloody stream; Thro' the red billows eagerly I rush'd, But sudden woke, benum'd with chilling fear. BETHAS. Most horrible indeed!--but let it pass, 'Tis but the offspring of a mind disturb'd, For sorrow leaves impressions on the fancy, Which shew most fearful to us lock'd in sleep. ARSACES. Thermusa! ha!--what can be her design? She bears this way, and carries in her looks An eagerness importing violence. Retire--for I would meet her rage alone. SCENE V. _ARSACES and QUEEN._ ARSACES. What means the proud Thermusa by this visit, Stoops heav'n-born pity to a breast like thine? Pity adorns th' virtuous, but ne'er dwells Where hate, revenge, and rage distract the soul. Sure, it is hate that hither urg'd thy steps, To view misfortune with an eye of triumph. I know thou lov'st me not, for I have dar'd To cross thy purposes, and, bold in censure, Spoke of thy actions as they merited. Besides, this hand 'twas slew the curs'd Vonones. QUEEN. 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.