_Zemp_. True, whilst they are free: But power once lost, farewell their sanctity: 'Tis power, to which the gods their worship owe, Which, uncontrouled, makes all things just below: Thou dost the plea of saucy rebels use; They will be judge of what their prince must chuse: Hard fate of monarchs, not allowed to know When safe, but as their subjects tell them so. Then princes but like public pageants move, And seem to sway, because they sit above. [_Exit_. _Trax_. She loves him; in one moment this new guest Has drove me out from this false woman's breast; They, that would fetter love with constancy, Make bonds to chain themselves, but leave him free With what impatience I her falsehood bear! Yet do myself that, which I blame in her; But interest in my own cause makes me see That act unjust in her, but just in me. [_Exit_. SCENE II. ISMERON _asleep.--Enter_ ZEMPOALLA. _Zemp_. Ho, Ismeron, Ismeron! He stirs not; ha, in such a dismal cell Can gentle sleep with his soft blessings dwell? Must I feel tortures in a human breast, While beasts and monsters can enjoy their rest? What quiet they possess in sleep's calm bliss! The lions cease to roar, the snakes to hiss, While I am kept awake, Only to entertain my miseries. Or if a slumber steal upon my eyes, Some horrid dream my labouring soul benumbs And brings fate to me sooner than it comes. Fears most oppress when sleep has seized upon The outward parts, and left the soul alone. What envied blessings these cursed things enjoy! Next to possess, 'tis pleasure to destroy. Ismeron! ho, Ismeron, Ismeron! [_Stamps_. _Ism_. Who's that, that with so loud and fierce a call Disturbs my rest? _Zemp_. She, that has none at all, Nor ever must, unless thy powerful art Can charm the passions of a troubled heart. _Ism_. How can you have a discontented mind, To whom the gods have lately been so kind? _Zemp_. Their envious kindness how can I enjoy, When they give blessings, and the use destroy? _Ism_. Dread empress, tell the cause of all your grief; If art can help, be sure of quick relief. _Zemp_. I dreamed, before the altar that I led A mighty lion in a twisted thread; I shook to hold him in so slight a tie, Yet had not power to seek a remedy: When, in the midst of all my fears, a clove, With hovering wings, descended from above, Flew to the lion, and embraces spread, With wings, like clasping arms, about his head, Making that murmuring noise that cooing doves Use, in the soft expression of their loves; While I, fixed by my wonder, gazed to see So mild a creature with so fierce agree: At last the gentle dove turned from his head, And, pecking, tried to break the slender thread, Which instantly she severed, and released From that small bond the fierce and mighty beast, Who presently turned all his rage on me, And, with his freedom, brought my destiny.