Bethas.
Ha! 'tis 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;
Think'st 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.
'Tis thou, insulting Prince, 'tis 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.
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?