Evanthe.
Then know—impossible!—
Arsaces.
Ha! dost thou fear
To shock me?—
Evanthe.
Know, thy Father—loves Evanthe.—
Arsaces.
Loves thee?
Evanthe.
Yea, e'en to distraction loves me.
Oft at my feet he's told the moving tale,
And woo'd me with the ardency of youth.
I pitied him indeed, but that was all,
Thou would'st have pitied too.