y themselves,
But often are deceiv'd; yet Parthia breeds not
Virtue much like thine, the barb'rous clime teems
With nought else but villains vers'd in ill.

ARSACES.

Dissimulation never mark'd my looks,
Nor flatt'ring deceit e'er taught my tongue,
The tale of falsehood, to disguise my thoughts:
To Virtue, and her fair companion, Truth,
I've ever bow'd, their holy precepts kept,
And scann'd by them the actions of my life.
Suspicion surely ne'er disturbs the brave,
They never know the fears of doubting thoughts;
But free, as are the altars of the Gods,
From ev'ry hand receive the sacrifice.

SCENE VII.

_ARSACES, BETHAS, EVANTHE and CLEONE._

EVANTHE.

Heav'ns! what a gloom hangs round this dreadful place,
Fit habitation for the guilty mind!
Oh! if such terrors wait the innocent,
Which tread these vaults, what must the impious feel,
Who've all their crimes to stare them in the face?

BETHAS.

Immortal Gods! is this reality?
Or mere illusion? am I blest at last,
Or is it to torment me that you've rais'd
This semblance of Evanthe to my eyes?
It is! it is! 'tis she!--

ARSACES.

Ha!--what means this?--
She faints! she faints! life has forsook its seat,
Pale Death usurps its place--Evanthe, Oh!
Awake to life!--Love and Arsaces call!--

BETHAS.

Off--give her to my arms, my warm embrace
Shall melt Death's icy chains.

CLEONE.

She lives! she lives!--
See, on her cheeks the rosy glow returns.

ARSACES.

O joy! O joy! her op'ning eyes, again,
Break, like the morning sun, a better day.

BETHAS.

Evanthe!--

EVANTHE.

Oh! my Father!--

ARSACES.

Ha!--her Father!

BETHAS.

Heav'n thou art kind at last, and this indeed
Is recompense for all the ills I've past;
For all the sorrows which my heart has known,
Each wakeful night, and ev'ry day of anguish.
This, this has sweet'n'd all my bitter cup,
And gave me once again to taste of joy,
Joy which has long been stranger to this bosom.
Hence--hence disgrace--off, ignominy off--
But one embrace--I ask but one embrace,
And 'tis deny'd.

EVANTHE.

Oh, yes, around thy neck
I'll fold my longing arms, thy softer fetters,
Thus press thee to my happy breast, and kiss
Away those tears that stain thy aged cheeks.

BETHAS.

Oh! 'tis too much! it is too much! ye Gods!
Life's at her utmost stretch, and bursting near
With heart