Free from the Cares which Crowns and Empires bring;
There no Step-Mother, no Ambitious Brother,
No wicked Statesmen, would with impious Arts
Have ftrove to wreft from us our fmall Inheritance,
Or ftir the fimple Hinds to noify Faction:
Our Nights had all been bleft with balmy Slumbers,
And all our waking Hours been crown'd with Love.
Art. Exquifite Charmer! now by Orofmades
I fwear, thy each foft Accent melts my Soul:
The Joy of Conqueft, and immortal Triumph,
Honour and Greatnefs, all that fires the Hero
To high Exploits, and everlafting Fame,
Grows vile in fight of thee. My haughty Soul,
By Nature fierce, and panting after Glory,
Could be content to live obfcure with thee,
Forgotten and unknown of all but my Ameftris.
Amef. No, Son of great Arfaces, tho my Soul
Shares in my Sex's Weakness, and would fly
From Noife and Faction, and from fatal Greatness,
Yet for thy fake, thou Idol of my Heart,
(Nor will I blush to own the facred Flame,
Thy Sighs and Vows have kindled in my Breaft)
For thy lov'd fake, fpite of my boding Fears,
I'll meet the Danger which Ambition brings,
And tread one Path with thee: Nor fhalt thou lose
The glorious Portion which thy Fate designs thee,
For thy Ameftris' Fears.
Art. Give me those Fears;
For all things will be well.
Amef. Grant it, ye Powers:
This Day before your Altars will I kneel,
Where all my Vows fhall for my Prince be offer'd;
Still let Succefs attend him, let Mankind
Adore in him your vifible Divinity;
Nor will importune you for my felf,
But fum up all I ask in Artaxerxes.
Art. And doubt not but the Gods will kindly hear
Their Virgin Votary, and grant her Pray'r;
Our glorious Sun, the Source of Light and Heat,
Whofe Influence chears the World he did create,
Shall fmile on thee from his Meridian Skies,
And own the kindred Beauties of thy Eyes;
Thy Eyes, which, could his own fair Beams decay,
Might fhine for him, and bless the World with Day.
SCENE I. An Apartment of the Palace.
Enter Memnon and Magas.
HOSE who are wife in Courts, my holy
Sir,
Make Friendships with the Minifters of
State,
Nor feek the Ruins of a wretched Exile,
Left there should be Contagion in Misfortunes,
And make the Alliance fatal.
Mag. Friends like Memnon
Are worth being fought in Danger: Since this Age,
Of moft flagitious Note, degenerates
From the fam'd Vertue of our Ancestors,
And leaves but few Examples of their Excellence,
Whom should we feek for Friendfhips but those few,
Thofe happy few, within whose Breasts alone
The Footsteps of loft Vertue yet remain ?
Mem. I prithee Peace! for nothing misbecomes
The Man that would be thought a Friend, like Flattery;
Flattery! the meaneft kind of bafe diffembling,
And only us'd to catch the groffeft Fools;
Befides, it ftains the Honour of thy Function,
Which, like the Gods thou ferv'ft, fhould be fincere.
Mag. By that Sincerity, by all the Service
My Friend hip can exprefs, I would approve it ;
And tho I went not from Perfepolis
Companion of your Exile, yet my Heart
Was with
you ftill; and what I could I did,
Befeeching ev'ry God for your Return:
Nor were thofe Vows in vain, fince once again
'Tis given me to behold my Friend; nay more,
Would you agree, to keep you here for ever.
Mem. The Gods, 'tis true, are juft, and have, I hope, At length decreed an end of my Misfortunes At least they give me this, to die with Honour, When Life grows vile or burdenfome.
Mag. By me they offer all that you can ask,
And point an eafy way to Happiness.
Spare then the Wounds our wretched Country fears,
The thousand Ills which Civil Difcord brings.
Oh still that Noife of War, whofe dread Alarms
Frighten Repofe from Country Villages,
And ftir rude Tumult up, and wild Distraction
In all our peaceful Cities.
Ye awful Gods, who view our inmost Thoughts!
I took not Arms, till urg'd by Self-defence,
The eldeft Law of Nature.
Impute not then those Ills which may enfue
To me, but those who with inceffant Hate
Purfue my Life, whofe Malice fpreads the Flame
To every Part, that my devoted Fabrick
May in the universal Ruin burn.
Mag. And yet ev'n there perhaps you judge too rashly; Impetuous Paffion hurries you fo faft,
You cannot mark the Advantage of your Fortune.
Mem. Has not the Law been urg'd to fet a Brand
Of foul Difhonour on my hoary Head?
Ha! Am I not profcrib'd?
Mag. Forget that Thought,
That jarring grates your Soul, and turns the Harmony Of bleffed Peace to curft infernal Discord.
Hate and its fatal Caufes all fhall cease,
And Memnon's Name be honour'd as of old,
C
The braveft and the most successful Warrior,
The fortunate Defender of his Country.
Mem. 'Tis true, (nor will it feem a Boast to own)
I have fought well for Perfia, and repay'd
The Benefit of Birth with honeft Service;
Full fifty Years harnefs'd in rugged Steel,
I have endur'd the biting Winter's Blast,
And the feverer Heats of parching Summer;
While they who loll'd at home on lazy Couches
Amidst a Crew of Harlots and foft Eunuchs,
Were at my Coft fecure in Luxury :
This is a Juftice Mirza's self must do me.
Mag. Even he, tho fatal Accidents have fet
A most unhappy Bar between your Friendship,
Lamenting that there had been Caufe of Enmity,
And owning all the Merit of your Vertues,
Will often wish Fate had ordain'd you Friends.
Mem. Our God, the Sun, fhall fooner change his
Courfe,
And all the Impoffibilities which Poets
Count to extravagance of loose Description,
Shall fooner be.
Mag. Yet hear me, noble Memnon;
When by the Duty of my Priesthood mov❜d,
And in just Detestation of the Mischiefs
Inteftine Jars produce, I urg'd wife Mirza,
By his Concurrence, Help, and healing Counfels,
To stop thofe Wounds at which his Country bleeds;
Griev'd at the Thought, he vow'd his whole Endeavour
Should be to close those Breaches:
That ev'n Cleander's Death, and all those Quarrels
That long have nourish'd Hatred in your Houses,
Should be in Joy of publick Peace forgotten.
Mem. Oh couldst thou charm the Malice of a Statesman, And make him quit his Purpose of Revenge,
Thy Preaching might reform the guilty World,
And Vice would be no more.
Mag. Nay, ev'n the Queen
Will bind the Confirmation by her Son,
And asks the fair Ameftris for Prince Artaban.
Mem. Were that the only Terms, it were impoffible."
Mag. You would not fhun the Alliance of a Prince?
Mem. No; for it is the Glory of my Fate,
That Artaxerxes is defign'd my Son,
With every Grace and Royal Vertue crown'd;
Great, juft, and merciful, fuch as Mankind
(When, in the infant World, firft Governments
Began by chance) would have defign'd a King.
Mag. Unbounded Power, and Height of Greatnefs,
give
To Kings that Luftre, which we think divine;
The Wife, who know 'em, know they are but Men,
Nay, fometimes weak ones too: the Crowd indeed,
Who kneel before the Image, not the God,
Worship the Deity their Hands have made.
The Name of Artaban will be as great
As that of Cyrus, when he fhall poffefs
(As fure he fhall) his Throne.
Mem. Ha! What means he?
This Villain Priest! But hold my Rage a little,
And learn Diffimulation; I'll try him further:
You talk in Riddles, when you name a Throne,
And Artaban; the Gods, who portion out
The Lots of Princes as of private Men,
Have put a Bar between his Hopes and Empire.
Mag. What Bar?
Mem. The beft, an elder Brother's Claim.
Mag. That's easily remov'd; the King their Father
On juft and weighty Reafons has decreed
His Scepter to the younger; add to this,
The joint Concurrence of our Perfian Lords,
Who only want your Voice to make it firm.
Mem. Can I, can they, can any honeft Hand,
Join in an Act like this? Is not the Elder
By Nature pointed out for Preference?
Is not his Right inroll'd amongst those Laws
Which keep the World's vaft Frame in beauteous Order? Ask thofe thou nam'ft but now, what made them Lords? What Titles had they had, if Merit only
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