On the barbaric race I weep to hear!
Atossa.
O god, how many sorrows hast thou sent
To weigh me down: but this doth gnaw my heart,
That I should live to see my kingly son
Come in griefs tattered weeds to Susa’s halls;
But I will go and bring a seemly robe
To meet him, if I may. I will not leave
My dear-loved son unsolaced in his woe.
[Exit into the palace.