Arsaces.

Nor Hear'd.

Queen.

Amazing spectacle!—
Cold moist'ning dews distil from ev'ry pore,
I tremble like to palsied age—Ye Gods!
Would I could leave this loath'd detested being!—
Oh! all my brain's on fire—I rave! I rave!—

[Ghost rises again.

Arsaces.

Great, and righteous Gods!—

Queen.

Ah! frown not on me—
Why dost thou shake thy horrid locks at me?
Can I give immortality?—'tis gone—

[Ghost sinks.