Whom heav'n delights to favour? sure some God
Who sought to punish you for impious deeds,
'T was urg'd you forward to insult our arms,
And brave us at our Royal City's gates.
Bethas. At honour's call, and at my King's command,
Tho' it were even with my single arm, again
I 'd brave the multitude, which, like a deluge,
O'erwhelm'd my gallant handful; yea, wou'd meet
Undaunted, all the fury of the torrent.
'T is honour is the guide of all my actions,
The ruling star by which I steer thro' life,
And shun the shelves of infamy and vice.
King. It was the thirst of gain which drew you on;
'T is thus that Av'rice always cloaks its views,
Th' ambition of your Prince you gladly snatch'd
As opportunity to fill your coffers.
It was the plunder of our palaces,
And of our wealthy cities, fill'd your dreams,
And urg'd you on your way; but you have met
The due reward of your audacity.
Now shake your chains, shake and delight your ears
With the soft music of your golden fetters.
Bethas. True, I am fall'n, but glorious was my fall,
The day was brav'ly fought, we did our best,
But victory 's of heav'n. Look o'er yon field,
See if thou findest one Arabian back
Disfigur'd with dishonourable wounds.
No, here, deep on their bosoms, are engrav'd
The marks of honour! 't was thro' here their souls
Flew to their blissful seats. Oh! why did I
Survive the fatal day? To be this slave,
To be the gaze and sport of vulgar crouds,
Thus, like a shackl'd tyger, stalk my round,
And grimly low'r upon the shouting herd.
Ye Gods!—
King. Away with him to instant death.
Arsaces. Hear me, my Lord, O, not on this bright day,
Let not this day of joy blush with his blood.
Nor count his steady loyalty a crime,
But give him life, Arsaces humbly asks it,
And may you e'er be serv'd with honest hearts.
King. Well, be it so; hence, bear him to his dungeon;
Lysias, we here commit him to thy charge.
Bethas. Welcome my dungeon, but more welcome death.
Trust not too much, vain Monarch, to your pow'r,
Know fortune places all her choicest gifts
On ticklish heights, they shake with ev'ry breeze,
And oft some rude wind hurls them to the ground.
Jove's thunder strikes the lofty palaces,
While the low cottage, in humility,
Securely stands, and sees the mighty ruin.
What King can boast, to morrow as to day,
Thus, happy will I reign? The rising sun
May view him seated on a splendid throne,
And, setting, see him shake the servile chain.
Scene 6.
King, Arsaces, Vardanes, Gotarzes, Phraates.
Gotarzes. Thus let me hail thee from the croud distinct,
For in the exulting voice of gen'ral joy
My fainter sounds were lost, believe me, Brother,
My soul dilates with joy to see thee thus.
Arsaces. Thus let me thank thee in this fond embrace.
Vardanes. The next will be my turn, Gods, I had rather
Be circl'd in a venom'd serpent's fold.
Gotarzes. O, my lov'd Brother, 't is my humble boon,
That, when the war next calls you to the field,
