He sinks, yet bear him up--

VARDANES.

Curs'd be the multitude which o'erpow'r'd me,
And beat me to the ground, cover'd with wounds--
But, oh! 'tis done! my ebbing life is done--
I feel death's hand upon me--Yet, I die
Just as I wish, and daring for a crown,
Life without rule is my disdain; I scorn
To swell a haughty Brother's sneaking train,
To wait upon his ear with flatt'ring tales,
And court his smiles; come, death, in thy cold arms,
Let me forget Ambition's mighty toil,
And shun the triumphs of a hated Brother--
O! bear me off--Let not his eyes enjoy
My agonies--My sight grows dim with death. [_They bear him off._

SCENE (_the Last_).

_ARSACES, GOTARZES, BARZAPHERNES, and EVANTHE supported._

EVANTHE.

Lead me, oh! lead me, to my lov'd Arsaces.
Where is he?--

ARSACES.

Ha! what's this?--Just heav'ns!--my fears--

EVANTHE.

Arsaces, oh! thus circl'd in thy arms,
I die without a pang.

ARSACES.

Ha! die?--why stare ye,
Ye lifeless ghosts? Have none of ye a tongue
To tell me I'm undone?

GOTARZES.

Soon, my Brother,
Too soon, you'll know it by the sad effects;
And if my grief will yet permit my tongue
To do its office, thou shalt hear the tale.
Cleone, from the turret, view'd the battle,
And on Phraates fix'd her erring sight,
Thy brave unhappy friend she took for thee,
By his garb deceiv'd, which like to thine he wore.
Still with her eye she follow'd him, where e'er
He pierc'd the foe, and to Vardanes' sword
She saw him fall a hapless victim, then,
In agonies of grief, flew to Evanthe,
And told the dreadful tale--the fatal bowl
I saw--

ARSACES.

Be dumb, nor ever give again
Fear to the heart, with thy ill-boding voice.

EVANTHE.

Here, I'll rest, till death, on thy lov'd bosom,
Here let me sigh my--Oh! the poison works--

ARSACES.

Oh! horror!--

EVANTHE.

Cease--this sorrow pains me more
Than all the wringing agonies of death,
The dreadful parting of the soul from, this,
Its wedded clay--Ah! there--that pang shot thro'
My throbbing heart--

ARSACES.

Save her, ye Gods!--oh! save her!
And I will bribe ye with clouds of incense;
Such num'rous sacrifices, that your altars
Shall even sink beneath the mighty load.

EVANTHE.

When I am dead, dissolv'd to native dust,
Yet let me live in thy dear mem'ry--
One tear will not be much to give Evanth