Who will avow her own Authority.
Artax. Ha! from the Queen! She durft
impoffible!
'Tis Sacrilege! 'tis Treafon! 'tis Damnation!
Am I not Artaxerxes? Born to Empire,
The next Degree to Gods. O thou bright San!
That roll'it above, the Object of our Worship,
Canft thou behold, and not avenge thy Race?
Thy injur'd Race? If I could ought admit
Unworthy of thy great Original,
Let me be doom'd to fall this Villain's Slave;
If not! Why am I made the Scorn of Wretches
So much below me, that they hardly share
The common Privilege of Kind, but are
Mem. See where the Mafter Villain ftands! Unmoy'd And harden'd in Impiety, he laughs
At the fictitious Juftice of the Gods,
And thinks their Thunder has not Wings to reach him.
But know the Joy thy Triumph brings is short;
My Fate, (if the Gods govern) or at least
My Mind's beyond thy reach, and fcorns thy Malice.
Mirz. Dull valiant Fool, thy Ruin is the least,
The moft ignoble Triumph of my Wit.
Cleander's Blood asks for substantial Vengeance,
And when the Thought that labours in my Breaft
Appears in Action, thou shalt know the Cause
Why I remain to view thy hated Face,
That blafts me with its Prefence; thou fhalt know it,
And curfe thy felf, curfe the ill-omen'd Day
That gave thee Birth, renouncing all the Gods;
Thy felf of them renounc'd, fhalt fink to Hell
In bittereft Pangs, and mingle with the Furies.
Mem. Unhallow'd Dog, thou ly'ft! The utmoft Force
Of all thy ftudy'd Malice cannot move me;
And if the Gods in tryal of my Vertue,
Can yield my Life up to thy Hangman's Mercy;
I'll fhew thee with what eafe the Brave and Honeft
Can put off Life, till thou fhalt damn thy Arts,
Thy wretched Arts, and Impotence of Malice.
E 3
Mirz. Reft well affur'd, thou fhalt have Cause to try The Philofophick Force of paffive Vertue.
Artax. O Death to Greatnefs! Can we fall fo low, To be the flavifh Objects of his Mirth? Shall my juft Rage and violated Honour Play the Buffoon, and minifter to Laughter?
Down, down, my fwelling Heart, hide thy Refentments, Nor prostitute the ruffled Majefty
Of injur❜d Princes to the gazing Crowd,
My Face fhall learn to cover the Emotion
My wounded Soul endures. Ha! my Ameftris ?
My Love! my Royal Bride! the Spoiler, Grief,
Defaces every Feature, like the Deluge
Tha: raz'd the Beauties of the firft Creation i
I cannot bear it: Villains, give me way!
He breaks from the Guard that holds him,
and catches hold of Ameftris.
Oh! let me hold thee in my throbbing Bofom,
And strive to hide thy Sorrows from my fight,
I cannot fee thy Griefs; and yet I want
The Power to bring Relief.
Amef. Ah! No my Prince!
There are no Remedies for Ills like ours;
My helpless Sex by Nature ftands expos'd
To all the Wrongs and Injuries of Fortune;
Defenceless in my felf, you were my Refuge,
You are my Lord, to whom should I complain,
you cannot redrefs me? Were you not
The Honour, Joy, and Safety of Ameftris ?
For you alone I liv'd, with you alone
I could be happy, Oh my Artaxerxes!
One Influence guides our confenting Stars,
And still together we are blefs'd or curs'd.
Mirz. With a malignant Joy my Ears drink in,
Hear each harmonious Accent, every Glance
Goes to my Heart, and stirs alternate Motions
Of Heat and Cold; a lazy Pleasure now
Thrills all my Veins, anon Defire grows hot,
And my old Sinews fhrink before the Flame.
Artax. Go on! And charm me with thy Angel's Voice,
Sooth and affuage the Fury in my Breaft,
That urges me to unbecoming Paffion:
My Rage grows cool amidft thy foft Complainings;
And tho thou talk'ft of Woes, of Death and Ruin,
'Tis Heaven to hear thee.
Amef. Since this is all our wretched Confolation,
Let us indulge our Grief, till by long ufe
It grows habitual, and we lofe the Pain.
Here on the marble Pavement will we fit,
Thy Head upon my Breast; and if Remembrance
Of cruel Wrongs fhall vex thy noble Heart,
The Murmur of my Sighs fhall charm the Tumult,
And Fate fhall find us calm: Nor will the Gods,
Who here inhabit and behold our Sufferings,
Delay to end our Woes in Immortality,
Artax. Ha! fay't thou? Gods! Yes certain there are
Gods,
To whom my Youth with Reverence still has bow'd,
Whofe Care and Providence are Vertue's Guard;
Think then, my Fair, they have not made us great,
And like themselves, for miserable Ends.
Mirz. Gods might behold her, and forget their Wif-
dom.
But I delay too long. Orchanes, lend thy Ear.
Mirza whispers Orchanes, and Exit. Mem. My Children! you were still my Joy and Happiness:
Why am I made your Curfe? This hated Head,
To Death devoted, has involv'd your Innocence
In my Destruction.
[Guards lay hold on Artax. and Ameftris. Amef. Alas, my Father!
Artax. Barbarous Dogs! What mean you? Orch. Convey the Lady to Lord Mirza's Palace, 'Tis the Queen's Will the fhall be there confin'd.
Artax. Thou canst not mean fo damn'd a Villany! Thou dar'ft not! fhalt not part us! Fate cannot do it! Mem. Curfed Old-Age, why have I liv'd to fee this? Orch. Force 'em afunder.
Art. Hew off my Limbs, ye Dogs! I will not loofe 'em
Oh Devils! Death and Furies! my Wife! my
Orchanes and one Party of the Guards force Artaxerxes and Memnon off one way, and the other Party bears Ameftris another.
Mirg. This was most noble Mischief! it ftung home "Twas Luxury of Vengeance'twas not ill
To keep aloof; thefe boisterous Beafts have Paws,
And might have fcratch'd: The Wife fhould not allow
A poffibility to Fortune's Malice.
Now to the reft; this Prince! this Husband! dies:
To-morrow's Dawn brings his and Memnon's Fate.
This Night let 'em despair, and ban, and rage,
And to the wooden Deities within
Tell frantick Tales: my Hours fhall pafs more pleasingly
If Love (which yet I know not) can give Pleasure.
Love! What is Love? the Paffion of a Boy,
That spends his time in Laziness and Sonnets:
Luft is the Appetite of Man; and fhall
Be fated, till it loath the cloying Banquet.
The Wife by human Frailty are
To tafte thefe Pleafures, but not dwell upon 'em
They mar and dull the Faculty of Thinking:
One Night I fafely may indulge in Riot,
'Tis politick Lewdnefs, and affifts my Vengeance;
I will grow young, and furfeit on her Charms,
Her lufcious Sweets; then rifing from her Arms,
The nauseous, momentary Joy forget,
And be my felf again; again be Wife and Great.
Shall keep Mankind in Order, if Religion
And publick Faith be violated? 'Tis an Injury
That beards both Gods and Men, and dares their Juftice.
Clean. The fearful Crowd already take th' Alarm,
Break off their folemn Sports, their Songs and Dances,
And wildly in tumultuous Confort join ;
Mischief and Danger fits in ev'ry Face,
And while they dread the Anger of the Gods,
The Wife who know th' Effects of popular Fury,
From them expect that Vengeance which they fear.
Artab. The facred Power of Majefty, which should
Forbid, owns and protects the Violence;
It must not, fhall not be: Who fteals a Crown
By Arts like these, wears it unworthily.
Clean. The Queen your Mother, Sir! fhe will expect
You should approve that Act her Power has done.
Artab. I'll meet her as I ought, and show my felf
Worthy the noble Rivalship of Empire.
Enter the Queen, Mirza, and Attendants.
Qu. My Son, I come to joy you of a Crown
And Glory certain now; your Fate at length,
Has mafter'd that malignant Influence
With which it ftruggl'd long: You are a King,
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