Zan. Alas!
So. Too late!
Her hand is fearful whose mind’s desperate. 160
It is but sleepy opium he hath drunk.
Help, Zanthia!
[They lay Vangue in Syphax’ bed and draw the curtains.
There lie Syphax’ bride; a naked man is soon undress’d;
There bide dishonoured passion.
[They knock within, forthwith Syphax comes.
Sy. Way for the king!
So. Straight for the king. I fly
Where misery shall see nought but itself.
Dear Zanthia, close the vault when I am sunk,
And whilst he slips to bed, escape; be true;
I can no more; come to me. Hark, gods, my breath
Scorns to crave life, grant but a well-famed death. 170
[She descends.
Enter Syphax, ready for bed, with attendants.