Arsaces.
Oh, piteous sight!—
Queen.
Hist! prithee, hist! oh death!
I'm all on fire—now freezing bolts of ice
Dart thro' my breast—Oh! burst ye cords of life—
Ha! who are ye?—Why do ye stare upon me?—
Oh!—defend me, from these bick'ring Furies!
Arsaces.
Alas! her sense is lost, distressful Queen!
Queen.
Help me, thou King of Gods! oh! help me! help!—
See! they envir'n me round—Vonones too,
The foremost leading on the dreadful troop—
But there, Vardanes beck'ns me to shun
Their hellish rage—I come, I come!
Ah! they pursue me, with a scourge of fire.—
[Runs out distracted.
Scene VI.