Wrong lights on objects; vice she dresses up—
In the bright form, and goodliness, of virtue,
While virtue languishes, and pines neglected,
Rob[b]'d of her lustre—But, let 's forward, Lysias—
Thou know'st each turn in this thy dreary rule,
Then lead me to some secret stand, from whence,
Unnotic'd, all their actions we may view.
Lysias. Here, take your stand behind—See, Bethas comes.
Scene 5.
Bethas, alone.
To think on Death in gloomy solitude,
In dungeons and in chains, when expectation
Join'd with serious thought describe him to us,
His height'n'd terrors strike upon the soul
With awful dread; imagination rais'd
To frenzy, plunges in a sea of horror,
And tastes the pains, the agonies of dying—
Ha! who is this, perhaps he bears my fate?
It must be so, but, why this privacy?
Scene 6.
Arsaces and Bethas.
Arsaces. Health to the noble Bethas, health and joy!
Bethas. A steady harden'd villain, one experienc'd
In his employment; ha! where's thy dagger?
It cannot give me fear; I 'm ready, see,
My op'ning bosom tempts the friendly steel.
Fain would I cast this tiresome being off,
Like an old garment worn to wretchedness.
Here, strike for I 'm prepar'd.
Arsaces. Oh! view me better,
Say, do I wear the gloomy ruffian's frown?
Bethas. Ha! 't is the gallant Prince, the brave Arsaces,
And Bethas' Conqueror.
Arsaces. And Bethas' friend,
A name I'm proud to wear.
Bethas. Away—away—
Mock with your jester to divert the court,
Fit Scene for sportive joys and frolic mirth;
Thinkst thou I lack that manly constancy
Which braves misfortune, and remains unshaken?
Are these, are these the emblems of thy friendship,
These rankling chains, say, does it gall like these?
No, let me taste the bitterness of sorrow,
For I am reconcil'd to wretchedness.
The Gods have empty'd all their mighty store,
Of hoarded Ills, upon my whiten'd age;
Now death—but, oh! I court coy death in vain,
Like a cold maid, he scorns my fond complaining.
'T is thou, insulting Prince, 't is thou hast dragg'd
My soul, just rising, down again to earth,
And clogg'd her wings with dull mortality,
A hateful bondage! Why—
Arsaces. A moment hear me—
Bethas. Why dost thou, like an angry vengeful ghost,
Glide hither to disturb this peaceful gloom?
What, dost thou envy me my miseries,
My chains and flinty pavement, where I oft
In sleep behold the image of the death I wish,
Forget my sorrows and heart-breaking anguish?
These horrors I would undisturb'd enjoy,
Attended only by my silent thoughts;
Is it to see the wretch that you have made;
To view the ruins of unhappy Bethas,
And triumph in my grief? Is it for this
You penetrate my dark joyless prison?
Arsaces. Oh! do not injure me by such suspicions.
Unknown to me are cruel scoffs and jests;
My breast can feel compassion's tenderness,
