King, Arsaces, Vardanes, Evanthe, Lysias.
King.
Evanthe!—
See pleasure's goddess deigns to dignify
The happy scene, and make our bliss complete.
So Venus, from her heav'nly seat, descends
To bless the gay Cythera with her presence;
A thousand smiling graces wait the goddess,
A thousand little loves are flutt'ring round,
And joy is mingl'd with the beauteous train.
Evanthe.
O! Royal Sir, thus lowly to the ground
I bend, in humble gratitude, accept
My thanks, for this thy goodness, words are vile
T' express the image of my lively thought,
And speak the grateful fulness of my heart.
All I can say, is that I now am happy,
And that thy giving hand has made me blest.
King.
O! rise, Evanthe rise, this lowly posture
Suits not with charms like thine, they should command,
And ev'ry heart exult in thy behests;—
But, where's thy aged Sire?
Evanthe.
This sudden turn
Of fortune has so wrought upon his frame,
His limbs could not support him to thy presence.
Arsaces.