Hear me, my Lord, O, not on this bright day,

Let not this day of joy blush with his blood.

Nor count his steady loyalty a crime,

But give him life, Arsaces humbly asks it,

And may you e'er be serv'd with honest hearts.

King.

King.

Well, be it so; hence, bear him to his dungeon;

Lysias, we here commit him to thy charge.

Bethas.

Bethas.

Welcome my dungeon, but more welcome death.

Trust not too much, vain Monarch, to your pow'r,

Know fortune places all her choicest gifts

On ticklish heights, they shake with ev'ry breeze,

And oft some rude wind hurls them to the ground.

Jove's thunder strikes the lofty palaces,[Pg 46]

[Pg 46]

While the low cottage, in humility,

Securely stands, and sees the mighty ruin.

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