Ah! hear me, hear me, Thus kneeling, with my tears, I do implore thee: Think on my innocence, nor force a joy Which will ever fill thy soul with anguish. Seek not to load my ills with infamy, Let me not be a mark for bitter scorn, To bear proud virtue's taunts and mocking jeers, And like a flow'r, of all its sweetness robb'd, Be trod to earth, neglected and disdain'd, And spurn'd by ev'ry vulgar saucy foot. VARDANES. Speak, speak forever--music's in thy voice, Still attentive will I listen to thee, Be hush'd as night, charm'd with the magic sound. EVANTHE. Oh! teach me, heav'n, soft moving eloquence, To bend his stubborn soul to gentleness.-- Where is thy virtue? Where thy princely lustre? Ah! wilt thou meanly stoop to do a wrong, And stain thy honour with so foul a blot? Thou who shouldst be a guard to innocence. Leave force to brutes--for pleasure is not found Where still the soul's averse; horror and guilt, Distraction, desperation chace her hence. Some happier gentle Fair one you may find, Whose yielding heart may bend to meet your flame, In mutual love soft joys alone are found; When souls are drawn by secret sympathy, And virtue does on virtue smile. VARDANES. No more-- Her heav'nly tongue will charm me from th' intent-- Hence coward softness, force shall make me blest. EVANTHE. Assist me, ye bless't pow'rs!--oh! strike, ye Gods! Strike me, with thunder dead, this moment, e'er I suffer violation-- VARDANES. 'Tis in vain, The idle pray'rs by fancy'd grief put up, Are blown by active winds regardless by, Nor ever reach the heav'ns. SCENE II. _VARDANES, EVANTHE and LYSIAS._ LYSIAS. Arm, arm, my Lord!-- VARDANES. Damnation! why this interruption now?-- LYSIAS. Oh! arm! my noble Prince, the foe's upon us. Arsaces, by Barzaphernes releas'd, Join'd with the citizens, assaults the Palace, And swears revenge for Artabanus' death. VARDANES. Ha! what? revenge for Artabanus' death?-- 'Tis the curse of Princes that their counsels, Which should be kept like holy mysteries, Can never rest in silent secrecy. Fond of employ, some cursed tattling tongue Will still divulge them. LYSIAS. Sure some fiend from hell, In mischief eminent, to cross our views, Has giv'n th' intelligence, for man could not. EVANTHE. Oh! ever blest event!--All-gracious heav'n! This beam of joy revives me. SCENE III. _VARDANES, EVANTHE, LYSIAS, to them, an OFFICER._ OFFICER. Haste! my Lord! Or all will soon be lost; tho' thrice repuls'd By your e'erfaithful guards, they still return With double fury. VARDANES.