Queen.

Soft is thy nature, but, alas! Edessa,

Thy heart's a stranger to a mother's sorrows,

To see the pride of all her wishes blasted;

Thy fancy cannot paint the storm of grief,

Despair and anguish, which my breast has known.

Oh! show'r, ye Gods, your torments on Arsaces,

Curs'd be the morn which dawn'd upon his birth.

Edessa.

Edessa.

Yet, I intreat[Pg 38]—

[Pg 38]

Queen.

Queen.

Away! for I will curse—

Oh! may he never know a father's fondness,

Or know it to his sorrow, may his hopes

Of joy be cut like mine, and his short life

Be one continu'd tempest; if he lives,

Let him be curs'd with jealousy and fear,

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