The Prince of Parthia
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Scene V
Evanthe and CleoneEvantheMy Cleone —Welcome thou partner of my joys and sorrows.CleoneOh! yonder terror triumphs uncontroul'd,And glutton death seems never satisfy'd.Each soft sensation lost in thoughtless rage,And breast to breast, oppos'd in furious war,The fiery Chiefs receive the vengeful steel.O'er lifeless heaps of men the soldiers climbStill eager for the combat, while the groundMade slipp'ry by the gushing streams of goreIs treach'rous to their feet. – Oh! horrid sight! —Too much for me to stand, my life was chill'd,As from the turret I beheld the fight,It forc'd me to retire.EvantheWhat of Arsaces?CleoneI saw him active in the battle, now,Like light'ning, piercing thro' the thickest foe,Then scorning to disgrace his sword in lowPlebeian blood – loud for Vardanes call'd —To meet him singly, and decide the war.EvantheSave him, ye Gods! – oh! all my soul is fear —Fly, fly Cleone, to the tow'r again,See how fate turns the ballance; and pursueArsaces with thine eye; mark ev'ry blow,Observe if some bold villain dares to urgeHis sword presumptuous at my Hero's breast.Haste, my Cleone, haste, to ease my fears.Scene VI
Evanthe [alone]Ah! – what a cruel torment is suspense!My anxious soul is torn 'twixt love and fear,Scarce can I please me with one fancied blissWhich kind imagination forms, but reason,Proud, surly reason, snatches the vain joy,And gives me up again to sad distress.Yet I can die, and should Arsaces fallThis fatal draught shall ease me of my sorrows.Scene VII
Cleone [alone]Oh! horror! horror! horror! – cruel Gods! —I saw him fall – I did – pierc'd thro' with wounds —Curs'd! curs'd Vardanes! – hear'd the gen'ral cry,Which burst, as tho' all nature had dissolv'd.Hark! how they shout! the noise seems coming this way.Scene VIII
Arsaces, Gotarzes, Barzaphernes and Officers, with Vardanes and Lysias, prisonersArsacesThanks to the ruling pow'rs who blest our arms,Prepare the sacrifices to the Gods,And grateful songs of tributary praise. —Gotarzes, fly, my Brother, find Evanthe,And bring the lovely mourner to my arms.GotarzesYes, I'll obey you, with a willing speed.[Exit Gotarzes.ArsacesThou, Lysias, from yon tow'r's aspiring heightBe hurl'd to death, thy impious hands are stain'dWith royal blood – Let the traitor's bodyBe giv'n to hungry dogs.LysiasWelcome, grim death! —I've fed thy maw with Kings, and lack no moreRevenge – Now, do thy duty, Officer.OfficerYea, and would lead all traitors gladly thus, —The boon of their deserts.Scene IX
Arsaces, Vardanes, BarzaphernesArsacesBut for Vardanes,The Brother's name forgot —VardanesYou need no more,I know the rest – Ah! death is near, my woundsPermit me not to live – my breath grows short,Curs'd be Phraates' arm which stop'd my sword,Ere it had reach'd thy proud exulting heart.But the wretch paid dear for his presuming;A just reward. —ArsacesHe sinks, yet bear him up —VardanesCurs'd be the multitude which o'erpow'r'd me,And beat me to the ground, cover'd with wounds —But, oh! 'tis done! my ebbing life is done —I feel death's hand upon me – Yet, I dieJust as I wish, and daring for a crown,Life without rule is my disdain; I scornTo swell a haughty Brother's sneaking train,To wait upon his ear with flatt'ring tales,And court his smiles; come, death, in thy cold arms,Let me forget Ambition's mighty toil,And shun the triumphs of a hated Brother —O! bear me off – Let not his eyes enjoyMy agonies – My sight grows dim with death.[They bear him off.Scene (the Last)
Arsaces, Gotarzes, Barzaphernes, and Evanthe supportedEvantheLead me, oh! lead me, to my lov'd Arsaces.Where is he? —ArsacesHa! what's this? – Just heav'ns! – my fears —EvantheArsaces, oh! thus circl'd in thy arms,I die without a pang.ArsacesHa! die? – why stare ye,Ye lifeless ghosts? Have none of ye a tongueTo tell me I'm undone?GotarzesSoon, my Brother,Too soon, you'll know it by the sad effects;And if my grief will yet permit my tongueTo do its office, thou shalt hear the tale.Cleone, from the turret, view'd the battle,And on Phraates fix'd her erring sight,Thy brave unhappy friend she took for thee,By his garb deceiv'd, which like to thine he wore.Still with her eye she follow'd him, where e'erHe pierc'd the foe, and to Vardanes' swordShe saw him fall a hapless victim, then,In agonies of grief, flew to Evanthe,And told the dreadful tale – the fatal bowlI saw —ArsacesBe dumb, nor ever give againFear to the heart, with thy ill-boding voice.EvantheHere, I'll rest, till death, on thy lov'd bosom,Here let me sigh my – Oh! the poison works —ArsacesOh! horror! —EvantheCease – this sorrow pains me moreThan all the wringing agonies of death,The dreadful parting of the soul from, this,Its wedded clay – Ah! there – that pang shot thro'My throbbing heart —ArsacesSave her, ye Gods! – oh! save her!And I will bribe ye with clouds of incense;Such num'rous sacrifices, that your altarsShall even sink beneath the mighty load.EvantheWhen I am dead, dissolv'd to native dust,Yet let me live in thy dear mem'ry —One tear will not be much to give Evanthe.ArsacesMy eyes shall e'er two running fountains be,And wet thy urn with overflowing tears,Joy ne'er again within my breast shall findA residence – Oh! speak, once more —EvantheLife's just out —My Father – Oh! protect his honour'd age,And give him shelter from the storms of fate,He's long been fortune's sport – Support me – Ah! —I can no more – my glass is spent – farewell —Forever – Arsaces! – Oh![Dies.ArsacesStay, oh! stay,Or take me with thee – dead! she's cold and dead!Her eyes are clos'd, and all my joys are flown —Now burst ye elements, from your restraint,Let order cease, and chaos be again.Break! break, tough heart! – oh! torture – life dissolve —Why stand ye idle? Have I not one friendTo kindly free me from this pain? One blow,One friendly blow would give me ease.BarzaphernesThe GodsForefend! – Pardon me, Royal Sir, if IDare, seemingly disloyal, seize your sword,Despair may urge you far —ArsacesHa! traitors! rebels! —Hoary rev'rend Villain! what, disarm me?Give me my sword – what, stand ye by, and seeYour Prince insulted? Are ye rebels all? —BarzaphernesBe calm, my gracious Lord!GotarzesOh! my lov'd Brother!ArsacesGotarzes too! all! all! conspir'd against me?Still, are ye all resolv'd that I must live,And feel the momentary pangs of death? —Ha! – this, shall make a passage for my soul —[Snatches Barzaphernes' sword.Out, out vile cares, from your distress'd abode —[Stabs himself.BarzaphernesOh! ye eternal Gods!GotarzesDistraction! heav'ns!I shall run mad —ArsacesAh! 'tis in vain to grieve —The steel has done its part, and I'm at rest. —Gotarzes, wear my crown, and be thou blest,Cherish, Barzaphernes, my trusty chief —I faint, oh! lay me by Evanthe's side —Still wedded in our deaths – Bethas —BarzaphernesDespair,My Lord, has broke his heart, I saw him stretch'd,Along the flinty pavement, in his gaol —Cold, lifeless —ArsacesHe's happy then – had he heardThis tale, he'd – Ah! Evanthe chides my soul,For ling'ring here so long – another pangAnd all the world, adieu – oh! adieu! —[Dies.GotarzesOh!Fix me, heav'n, immoveable, a statue,And free me from o'erwhelming tides of grief.BarzaphernesOh! my lov'd Prince, I soon shall follow thee;Thy laurel'd glories whither are they fled? —Would I had died before this fatal day! —Triumphant garlands pride my soul no more,No more the lofty voice of war can charm —And why then am I here? Thus then —[Offers to stab himself.GotarzesAh! hold,Nor rashly urge the blow – think of me, andLive – My heart is wrung with streaming anguish,Tore with the smarting pangs of woe, yet, will IDare to live, and stem misfortune's billows.Live then, and be the guardian of my youth,And lead me on thro' virtue's rugged path.BarzaphernesO, glorious youth, thy words have rous'd theDrooping genius of my soul; thus, let meClasp thee, in my aged arms; yes, I will live —Live, to support thee in thy kingly rights,And when thou 'rt firmly fix'd, my task's perform'd,My honourable task – Then I'll retire,Petition gracious heav'n to bless my work,And in the silent grave forget my cares.GotarzesNow, to the Temple, let us onward move,And strive t' appease the angry pow'rs above.Fate yet may have some ills reserv'd in store,Continu'd curses, to torment us more.Tho', in their district, Monarchs rule alone,Jove sways the mighty Monarch on his throne:Nor can the shining honours which they wear,Purchase one joy, or save them from one care.Finis1
A notice appeared in the Pennsylvania Gazette, December 19, 1749. See Scharf and Westcott's "History of Philadelphia" for references to Godfrey, Sr. Therein is given a picture of his house in Germantown, Pa. Barlow mentions him in his "Columbiad." A monument to his memory was erected in Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia, 1843. Note that David Rittenhouse, an American dramatist who translated, from the German, "Lucy Sampson; or, The Unhappy Heiress" (1789), was likewise a mathematical genius.
2
Accounts of Dr. Smith are to be found in Henry Simpson's "Eminent Philadelphians"; Scharf & Westcott's "History of Philadelphia," ii, 1126. Dr. Smith's "Life and Correspondence," by Horace Wemyss Smith, was issued in 2 vols., 1879.
3
Visitors to Wilmington, N.C., will be taken to Old St. James's Church-yard, where Godfrey lies buried.
4
Juvenile Poems/on/Various Subjects./With the/Prince of Parthia,/A/Tragedy,/By the Late/Mr. Thomas Godfrey, Junr./of Philadelphia./To which is prefixed,/Some Account of the Author and his Writings./Poeta nascitur non fit. Hor./Philadelphia,/Printed by Henry Miller, in Second-Street./M DCC LXV.
5
The Tigris.