The vengeance due to injur'd heav'n and me:
And by this warning double thy offence:
Think, think of vengeance; 'tis the only joy
Which thou haft left me; I'm no more thy wife,
Nor queen; but know I am a woman still.
May all the gods watch o'er your life and empire,
And render omens vain! So fierce the storm,
Old Memphis from her deep foundations shakes,
And fuch unheard-of prodigies hang o'er us,
As make the boldest tremble: See the moon
Robb'd of her light, discolour'd, without form,
Appears a bloody fign, hung out by Jove,
To speak peace broken with the fons of men ;
The Nile, as frighted, fhrinks within its banks;
And as this hour I pafs'd great Ifis' temple,
A fudden flood of light'ning rush'd upon it,
And laid the fhrine in afhes.
Why all these figns in nature? Why this tumult
To tell me I am guilty? If my crown
The fates demand, why, let them take it back:
My crown, indeed, I may refign; but O!
Who can awake the dead?.
"Tis hence these spectres fhock my midnight thoughts, And nature's laws are broke to discompose me;
"Tis I that whirl these hurricanes in air,
And shake the earth's foundations with my guilt.
O Myris! give me back my innocence.
I bought it with an empire.
Why didst thou urge my lifted arm to strike
The pious king, when my own heart recoil'd ?
QUEEN.
Why did you yield when urg'd, and by a woman;
You that are vain of your fuperior reason,
And fwell with the prerogative of man?
If you fucceed, our counsel is of nought;
You own it, not accepted, though enjoy'd;
But fteal the glory, and deny the favour:
Yet if a fatal confequence attend,
Then we're the authors; then your treach'rous praise
Allows us fense enough to be condemn'd.
"Tis prudent to diffemble with her fury,
And wait a fofter season for my love.
Bid Ifs' priefts attend their king's devotions;
I'll footh with facrifice the angry pow'rs;
Swift to my dungeons, bid their darkfome wombs
Give up the numerous captives of my wars;
Ten thousand lives to heaven devoutly pour;
Nor let the facred knife grow cold from blood,
Till fevenfold Nile, infected with the ftain,
In all his ftreams flows purple to the main.
QUEEN.
Thin artifice! I know the facrifice
You moft indeed-But I will dash your joys;
Thou, victim, and thy goddess, both shall feel me.
And is he ftill afflicted?
It grieves your faithful fervant to relate it:
He ftruggles manfully; but all in vain :
Sometimes he calls in mufic to his aid:
He ftrives with martial strains to fire his blood,
And roufe his foul to battle
Then he relapses into love again,
Feeds the disease, and doats upon his ruin.
Why feeks he here the cause of all his forrow?
AULETES.
He feeks not here Mandane, but her father;
For friendship is the balm of all our cares,
Melts in the wound, and foftens every fate.
Enter MYRON, at a diftance.
Heav'ns! what a glory blazes from his eye!
What force, what majefty, in ev'ry motion,
As at each step he trod upon a foe!
O that this ardour would for ever laft!
It fhall; nor will I curfe my being more;
Chain'd kings, and conquer'd kingdoms, are before me;
I'll bend the bow, and launch the whistling fpear,
Bound o'er the mountains, plunge into the stream,
Where thickest faulchions gleam, and helmets blaze.
I'll number my own heart among my foes,
I would remind thee of my late commands.
Madam, 'tis needlefs to remind your slave-
At dead of night I fet the pris'ners free.
Yes, fet the pris'ners free-'tis great revenge;
Such as my
foul pants after-It becomes me,
O it will gall the tyrant! ftab him home;
And if one spark of gratitude furvives,
Soften Syphoces to my foft defire:
The tyrant's torment is my only joy;
Ye gods! or let me perish, or destroy;
Or rather both; for what has life to boast
When vice is tafteless grown, and virtue lost?
Glory and wealth I call upon in vain,
Nor wealth, nor glory, can appease my pain;
My every joy upbraids me with my guilt,
And triumphs tell me facred blood is spilt.
The fhining images of war are fled,
The fainting trumpets languish in mine ear,
The banners furl'd, and all the sprightly blaze
Of burnish'd armour, like the setting fun,
Infenfibly is vanish'd from my thought:
No battle, fiege, or storm, sustain my foul
In wonted grandeur, and fill out my breaft:
But softness steals upon me, melting down
My rugged heart in languishments and fighs,
And
pours it out at my Mandane's feet-
I fee her e'en this moment stand before me,
Too fair for fight, and fatal to behold:
I have her here; I clasp her in my arms;
And in the madnefs of exceffive love,
Sigh out my heart, and bleed with tenderness.
AULETES.
My lord, too much you cherish this delufion:
She is another's.
Say rather she is dead: each heav'nly charm
Turn'd into horror! O the pain of pains
Is when the fair one, whom our foul is fond of,
Gives transport, and receives it from another!
How does my foul burn up with ftrong defire;
Now shrink into itself! Now blaze again!
I'll tear and rend the ftrings that tie me to her:
If I stay longer here, I am undone.
As he is going, Enter NICANOR.
My prince, and, fince fuch honours you vouchsafe,
My friend! I have prefum'd upon your favour;
This is my daughter's birth-day, and this night
I dedicate to joys, which ever languish,
If you refuse to crown them with your presence.
MYRON.
Nicanor, I was warm on other thoughts
I am still near you in the day of danger,
In toilfome marches, and the bloody field,
When nations against nations clash in arms,
And half a people in one groan expire;
Why am I, with your helmet, thrown afide,
Caft off, and useless, in the hour of peace?
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