Arsaces.

Ah! 'tis in vain to grieve—
The steel has done its part, and I'm at rest.—
Gotarzes, wear my crown, and be thou blest,
Cherish, Barzaphernes, my trusty chief—
I faint, oh! lay me by Evanthe's side—
Still wedded in our deaths—Bethas—

Barzaphernes.

Despair,
My Lord, has broke his heart, I saw him stretch'd,
Along the flinty pavement, in his gaol—
Cold, lifeless—

Arsaces.

He's happy then—had he heard
This tale, he'd—Ah! Evanthe chides my soul,
For ling'ring here so long—another pang
And all the world, adieu—oh! adieu!—

[Dies.

Gotarzes.

Oh!
Fix me, heav'n, immoveable, a statue,
And free me from o'erwhelming tides of grief.

Barzaphernes.