Volume Ii Part 45 (1/2)

_Ther_. reads to himself-- Guard thee well, _Thersander_; for thou shalt die by the Hand that brings thee this.

[_She stabs him; he falls into_ Lysander's _Arms_.

_Cleo_. Here's to thee, dear _Clemanthis_--

_Lys_. Help, Treason, help--

_Ther_. Ah, lovely Youth, who taught thee so much cruelty?

And why that Language with that angry Blow?

_Cleo_. Behold this Face, and then inform thy self.

[_Discovers her self_.

_Ther_. 'Tis _Cleomena_! oh ye G.o.ds, I thank ye!

It is her Hand that wounds me, And I'll receive my Death with perfect Joy, If I may be permitted but to kiss That blessed Hand that sent it.

_Enter_ King _and Guards_.

_King. Thersander_ murder'd! oh, inhumane Deed!

Drag the Traitor to a Dungeon, till we have Invented unheard of Tortures to destroy him by-- [_The Guards seize_ Cleo. _and_ Sem. _who was just entring_.

My Wounds are deep as thine, my dear _Thersander_; Oh, fatal Day, wherein one fatal Stroke.

Has laid the Hopes of _Scythia_ in his Tomb!

_The Guards go to carry_ Cleo. _and_ Sem.

Ther. _calls 'em back_.

_Ther_. Oh, stay, and do not bear so rudely off Treasures you cannot value.

--Sir,--do not treat her as my Murderer, But as my Sovereign Deity-- Instead of Fetters, give her Crowns and Scepters; And let her be conducted into Dacia, With all the Triumphs of a Conqueror.

For me, no other Glory I desire, Than at her Feet thus willingly to expire.

[_Goes to throw himself at her Feet, they prevent it and go off_.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

_A Council-Table: The_ King of Scythia _seated on a Throne, Officers, Attendants, Guards_.

_King_. Bring the fair Prisoner forth, and let's examine What Reasons could inspire her with this Cruelty; --How beautiful she is! [_Gazes on her_.

_Enter_ Cleomena _in Fetters_, Lysander, _with Guards_.

_Cleo_. Thy Silence seems to license me to speak, And tell thee, King, that now our Faults are equal; My Father thou hast kill'd, and I thy Son; This will suffice to tell thee who I am.

--Now take my Life, since I have taken his, And thou shalt see I neither will implore Thy needless Clemency by any Word or Sign: But if my Birth or s.e.x can merit ought, Suffer me not to languish any longer Under these shameful Irons.

[_With scorn_.

_King_. Cruel as Fair, 'tis with too much injustice Thou say'st our Crimes are equal: For thou hast kill'd a Prince that did adore thee; And I depriv'd thy Father of his Life, When he a.s.saulted mine in open Field, And so, as cannot leave a stain on thee, Or give thee Cause to say I've done thee wrong, But if I had, wherefore (oh, cruel Maid) Didst thou not spare that Heart that dy'd for thee, And bend thy Rage against thy Father's Foe?