And pleasure, each in turn, depart; But pleasure has a briefer reign. From lowest to the highest state A fleeting hour may bring us. He, Who wears a crown upon his brow, To whom the trembling nations kneel, 600 Before whose nod the barbarous Medes Lay down their arms, the Indians too, Who dwell beneath the nearer sun, And Dacians, who the Parthian horse Are ever threat'ning: he, the king, With anxious mind the scepter bears, Foresees and fears the fickle chance 605 And shifting time which soon or late Shall all his power overthrow. Ye, whom the ruler of the land And sea has given o'er subject men The fearful power of life and death, Abate your overweening pride. For whatsoever fear of you 610 Your weaker subjects feel today, Tomorrow shall a stronger lord Inspire in you. For every power Is subject to a greater power. Him, whom the dawning day beholds In proud estate, the setting sun Sees lying in the dust. Let no one then trust overmuch 615 To favoring fate; and when she frowns, Let no one utterly despair Of better fortune yet to come. For Clotho mingles good and ill; She whirls the wheel of fate around, Nor suffers it to stand. To no one are the gods so good That he may safely call his own 620 Tomorrow's dawn; for on the whirling wheel Has God our fortunes placed for good or ill. ACT IV [_Enter_ Messenger _breathlessly announcing the horror which has just been enacted behind the scenes_.] _Messenger:_ Oh, for some raging blast to carry me With headlong speed through distant realms of air, And wrap me in the darkness of the clouds; That so I might this monstrous horror tear From my remembrance. Oh, thou house of shame 625 To Pelops even and to Tantalus! _Chorus:_ What is the news thou bring'st? _Messenger:_ What realm is this? Argos and Sparta, once the noble home Of pious brothers? Corinth, on whose shores Two rival oceans beat? Or do I see The barbarous Danube on whose frozen stream The savage Alani make swift retreat? 630 Hyrcania beneath eternal snows? Or those wide plains of wandering Scythians? What place is this that knows such hideous crime? _Chorus:_ But tell thy tidings, whatsoe'er they be. _Messenger:_ When I my scattered senses gather up, And horrid fear lets go its numbing hold Upon my limbs. Oh, but I see it still, The ghastly picture of that dreadful deed! 635 Oh, come, ye whirlwinds wild, and bear me far, Far distant, where the vanished day is borne.