_Sar._ Or for my trophies I have founded cities: There's Tarsus and Anchialus, both built In one day--what could that blood-loving beldame, My martial grandam, chaste Semiramis, Do more, except destroy them? _Sal._ 'Tis most true; 240 I own thy merit in those founded cities, Built for a whim, recorded with a verse Which shames both them and thee to coming ages. _Sar._ Shame me! By Baal, the cities, though well built, Are not more goodly than the verse! Say what Thou wilt 'gainst me, my mode of life or rule, But nothing 'gainst the truth of that brief record. Why, those few lines contain the history Of all things human: hear--"Sardanapalus, The king, and son of Anacyndaraxes, 250 In one day built Anchialus and Tarsus. Eat, drink, and love; the rest's not worth a fillip."[10] _Sal._ A worthy moral, and a wise inscription, For a king to put up before his subjects! _Sar._ Oh, thou wouldst have me doubtless set up edicts-- "Obey the king--contribute to his treasure-- Recruit his phalanx--spill your blood at bidding-- Fall down and worship, or get up and toil." Or thus--"Sardanapalus on this spot Slew fifty thousand of his enemies. 260 These are their sepulchres, and this his trophy." I leave such things to conquerors; enough For me, if I can make my subjects feel The weight of human misery less, and glide Ungroaning to the tomb: I take no license Which I deny to them. We all are men. _Sal._ Thy Sires have been revered as Gods-- _Sar._ In dust And death, where they are neither Gods nor men. Talk not of such to me! the worms are Gods;[11] At least they banqueted upon your Gods, 270 And died for lack of farther nutriment. Those Gods were merely men; look to their issue-- I feel a thousand mortal things about me, But nothing godlike,--unless it may be The thing which you condemn, a disposition To love and to be merciful, to pardon The follies of my species, and (that's human) To be indulgent to my own. _Sal._ Alas! The doom of Nineveh is sealed.--Woe--woe To the unrivalled city! _Sar._ What dost dread? 280 _Sal._ Thou art guarded by thy foes: in a few hours The tempest may break out which overwhelms thee, And thine and mine; and in another day What _is_ shall be the past of Belus' race. _Sar._ What must we dread? _Sal._ Ambitious treachery, Which has environed thee with snares; but yet There is resource: empower me with thy signet To quell the machinations, and I lay The heads of thy chief foes before thy feet. _Sar._ The heads--how many?