_Sar._ My Lord--my King--Sire--Sovereign; thus it is-- For ever thus, addressed with awe. I ne'er Can see a smile, unless in some broad banquet's Intoxicating glare, when the buffoons 440 Have gorged themselves up to equality, Or I have quaffed me down to their abasement. Myrrha, I can hear all these things, these names, Lord--King--Sire--Monarch--nay, time was I prized them; That is, I suffered them--from slaves and nobles; But when they falter from the lips I love, The lips which have been pressed to mine, a chill Comes o'er my heart, a cold sense of the falsehood Of this my station, which represses feeling In those for whom I have felt most, and makes me 450 Wish that I could lay down the dull tiara, And share a cottage on the Caucasus With thee--and wear no crowns but those of flowers. _Myr._ Would that we could! _Sar._ And dost _thou_ feel this?--Why? _Myr._ Then thou wouldst know what thou canst never know. _Sar._ And that is---- _Myr._ The true value of a heart; At least, a woman's. _Sar._ I have proved a thousand--A thousand, and a thousand. _Myr._ Hearts? _Sar._ I think so. _Myr._ Not one! the time may come thou may'st. _Sar._ It will. Hear, Myrrha; Salemenes has declared-- 460 Or why or how he hath divined it, Belus, Who founded our great realm, knows more than I-- But Salemenes hath declared my throne In peril. _Myr._ He did well. _Sar._ And say'st _thou_ so? Thou whom he spurned so harshly, and now dared[g] Drive from our presence with his savage jeers, And made thee weep and blush? _Myr._ I should do both More frequently, and he did well to call me Back to my duty. But thou spakest of peril Peril to thee---- _Sar._ Aye, from dark plots and snares 470 From Medes--and discontented troops and nations. I know not what--a labyrinth of things-- A maze of muttered threats and mysteries: Thou know'st the man--it is his usual custom. But he is honest. Come, we'll think no more on't-- But of the midnight festival. _Myr._ 'Tis time To think of aught save festivals. Thou hast not Spurned his sage cautions? _Sar._ What?--and dost thou fear? _Myr._ Fear!--I'm a Greek, and how should I fear death? A slave, and wherefore should I dread my freedom? 480 _Sar._ Then wherefore dost thou turn so pale? _Myr._ I love.