No, let me taste the bitterness of sorrow,

For I am reconcil'd to wretchedness.

The Gods have empty'd all their mighty store,

Of hoarded Ills, upon my whiten'd age;

Now death—but, oh! I court coy death in vain,

Like a cold maid, he scorns my fond complaining.

'Tis thou, insulting Prince, 'tis thou hast dragg'd

My soul, just rising, down again to earth,

And clogg'd her wings with dull mortality,

A hateful bondage! Why—

Arsaces.

Arsaces.

A moment hear me[Pg 55]—

[Pg 55]

Bethas.

Bethas.

Why dost thou, like an angry vengeful ghost,

Glide hither to disturb this peaceful gloom?

What, dost thou envy me my miseries,

My chains and flinty pavement, where I oft

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