dissolv'd in ecstacy
On fond Evanthe's bosom, he will pause,
One moment from his joys, to bless the deed.

QUEEN.

What means this tumult in my breast? from whence
Proceeds this sudden change? my heart beats high,
And soft compassion makes me less than woman:
I'll search no more for what I fear to know.

ARSACES.

Why drops the dagger from thy trembling hand?
Oh! yet be kind--

QUEEN.

No: now I'd have thee live,
Since it is happiness to die: 'Tis pain
That I would give thee, thus I bid thee live;
Yes, I would have thee a whole age a dying,
And smile to see thy ling'ring agonies.
All day I'd watch thee, mark each heighten'd pang,
While springing joy should swell my panting bosom;
This I would have--But should this dagger give
Thy soul the liberty it fondly wishes,
'Twould soar aloft, and mock my faint revenge.

ARSACES.

This mildness shews most foul, thy anger lovely.
Think that 'twas I who blasted thy fond hope,
Vonones now lies number'd with the dead,
And all your joys are buried in his grave;
My hand untimely pluck'd the precious flow'r,
Before its shining beauties were display'd.

QUEEN.

O Woman! Woman! where's thy resolution?
Where's thy revenge? Where's all thy hopes of vengeance?
Giv'n to the winds--Ha! is it pity?--No--
I fear it wears another softer name.
I'll think no more, but rush to my revenge,
In spite of foolish fear, or woman's softness;
Be steady now my soul to thy resolves.
Yes, thou shalt die, thus, on thy breast, I write
Thy instant doom--ha!--ye Gods!

[_QUEEN starts, as, in great fright, at hearing something._

ARSACES.

Why this pause?
Why dost thou idly stand like imag'd vengeance,
With harmless terrors threatning on thy brow,
With lifted arm, yet canst not strike the blow?

QUEEN.

It surely was the Echo to my fears,
The whistling wind, perhaps, which mimick'd voice;
But thrice methought it loudly cry'd, "Forbear."
Imagination hence--I'll heed thee not--

[_Ghost of ARTABANUS rises._

Save me--oh!--save me--ye eternal pow'rs!--
See!--see it comes, surrounded with dread terrors--
Hence--hence! nor blast me with that horrid sight--
Throw off that shape, and search th' infernal rounds
For horrid forms, there's none can shock like thine.

GHOST.

No; I will ever wear this form, thus e'er
Appear before thee; glare upon thee thus,
'Til despera