[Pg 30]

Gotarzes.

Gotarzes.

The spacious streets, which lead up to the Temple,

Are strew'd with flow'rs; each, with frantic joy,

His garland forms, and throws it in the way.

What pleasure, Phraates, must swell his bosom,

To see the prostrate nation all around him,

And know he's made them happy! to hear them

Tease the Gods, to show'r their blessings on him!

Happy Arsaces! fain I'd imitate

Thy matchless worth, and be a shining joy!

Phraates.

Phraates.

Hark! what a shout was that which pierc'd the skies!

It seem'd as tho' all Nature's beings join'd,

To hail thy glorious Brother.

Gotarzes.

Gotarzes.

Happy Parthia!

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