Sardanapalus (Act 4)

Myr. (sola, gazing). I have stolen upon his rest, if rest it be,
Which thus convulses slumber: shall I wake him?
No, he seems calmer. Oh, thou God of Quiet!
Whose reign is o'er sealed eyelids and soft dreams,
Or deep, deep sleep, so as to be unfathomed,
Look like thy brother, Death,[23]—so still, so stirless—
For then we are happiest, as it may be, we
Are happiest of all within the realm
Of thy stern, silent, and unwakening Twin.

Again he moves—again the play of pain
Shoots o'er his features, as the sudden gust
Crisps the reluctant lake that lay so calm[ac]
Beneath the mountain shadow; or the blast
Ruffles the autumn leaves, that drooping cling
Faintly and motionless to their loved boughs.
I must awake him—yet not yet; who knows
From what I rouse him? It seems pain; but if
I quicken him to heavier pain? The fever
Of this tumultuous night, the grief too of
His wound, though slight, may cause all this, and shake
Me more to see than him to suffer. No:
Let Nature use her own maternal means,[76]
And I await to second, not disturb her.

Sar. (awakening). Not so—although he multiplied the stars,
And gave them to me as a realm to share
From you and with you! I would not so purchase
The empire of Eternity. Hence—hence—
Old Hunter of the earliest brutes! and ye,[ad]
Who hunted fellow-creatures as if brutes!
Once bloody mortals—and now bloodier idols,
If your priests lie not! And thou, ghastly Beldame!
Dripping with dusky gore, and trampling on
The carcasses of Inde—away! away!
Where am I? Where the spectres? Where—No—that
Is no false phantom: I should know it 'midst
All that the dead dare gloomily raise up
From their black gulf to daunt the living. Myrrha!

Myr. Alas! thou art pale, and on thy brow the drops
Gather like night dew. My beloved, hush—
Calm thee. Thy speech seems of another world,
And thou art lord of this. Be of good cheer;
All will go well.
Sar.‍Thy hand—so—'tis thy hand;
'Tis flesh; grasp—clasp—yet closer, till I feel
Myself that which I was.

Myr.‍At least know me
For what I am, and ever must be—thine.
Sar. I know it now. I know this life again.
Ah, Myrrha! I have been where we shall be.

Myr. My lord!
Sar.‍I've been i' the grave—where worms are lords
And kings are——But I did not deem it so;
I thought 'twas nothing.

Myr.‍So it is; except
Unto the timid, who anticipate
That which may never be.
Sar.‍Oh, Myrrha! if
Sleep shows such things, what may not Death disclose?

Myr. I know no evil Death can show, which Life
Has not already shown to those who live[77]
Embodied longest. If there be indeed
A shore where Mind survives, 'twill be as Mind
All unincorporate: or if there flits
A shadow of this cumbrous clog of clay.
Which stalks, methinks, between our souls and heaven,
And fetters us to earth—at least the phantom,
Whate'er it have to fear, will not fear Death.
Sar. I fear it not; but I have felt—have seen—
A legion of the dead.

Myr.‍And so have I.
The dust we tread upon was once alive,
And wretched. But proceed: what hast thou seen?
Speak it, 'twill lighten thy dimmed mind.
Sar.‍Methought——

Myr. Yet pause, thou art tired—in pain—exhausted; all
Which can impair both strength and spirit: seek
Rather to sleep again.
Sar.‍Not now—I would not
Dream; though I know it now to be a dream
What I have dreamt:—and canst thou bear to hear it?

Myr. I can bear all things, dreams of life or death,
Which I participate with you in semblance
Or full reality.
Sar.‍And this looked real,
I tell you: after that these eyes were open,
I saw them in their flight—for then they fled.

Myr. Say on.
Sar.‍I saw, that is, I dreamed myself
Here—here—even where we are, guests as we were,
Myself a host that deemed himself but guest,
Willing to equal all in social freedom;
But, on my right hand and my left, instead
Of thee and Zames, and our customed meeting,
Was ranged on my left hand a haughty, dark,
And deadly face; I could not recognise it,
Yet I had seen it, though I knew not where:
The features were a Giant's, and the eye
Was still, yet lighted; his long locks curled down
On his vast bust, whence a huge quiver rose
With shaft-heads feathered from the eagle's wing,[78]
That peeped up bristling through his serpent hair.[ae]
I invited him to fill the cup which stood
Between us, but he answered not; I filled it;
He took it not, but stared upon me, till
I trembled at the fixed glare of his eye:
I frowned upon him as a king should frown;
He frowned not in his turn, but looked upon me
With the same aspect, which appalled me more,
Because it changed not; and I turned for refuge
To milder guests, and sought them on the right,
Where thou wert wont to be. But——[He pauses.

Myr.‍What instead?
Sar. In thy own chair—thy own place in the banquet—
I sought thy sweet face in the circle—but
Instead—a grey-haired, withered, bloody-eyed,
And bloody-handed, ghastly, ghostly thing,
Female in garb, and crowned upon the brow,
Furrowed with years, yet sneering with the passion
Of vengeance, leering too with that of lust,
Sate:—my veins curdled.[24]

Myr.‍Is this all?
Sar.‍Upon
Her right hand—her lank, bird-like, right hand—stood
A goblet, bubbling o'er with blood; and on
Her left, another, filled with—what I saw not,
But turned from it and her. But all along
The table sate a range of crownéd wretches,
Of various aspects, but of one expression.

Myr. And felt you not this a mere vision?
Sar.‍No:
It was so palpable, I could have touched them.
I turned from one face to another, in
The hope to find at last one which I knew
Ere I saw theirs: but no—all turned upon me,
And stared, but neither ate nor drank, but stared,[79]
Till I grew stone, as they seemed half to be,
Yet breathing stone, for I felt life in them,
And life in me: there was a horrid kind
Of sympathy between us, as if they
Had lost a part of death to come to me,
And I the half of life to sit by them.
We were in an existence all apart
From heaven or earth——And rather let me see
Death all than such a being!

Myr.‍And the end?
Sar. At last I sate, marble, as they, when rose
The Hunter and the Crone; and smiling on me—
Yes, the enlarged but noble aspect of
The Hunter smiled upon me—I should say,
His lips, for his eyes moved not—and the woman's
Thin lips relaxed to something like a smile.
Both rose, and the crowned figures on each hand
Rose also, as if aping their chief shades—
Mere mimics even in death—but I sate still:
A desperate courage crept through every limb,
And at the last I feared them not, but laughed
Full in their phantom faces. But then—then
The Hunter laid his hand on mine: I took it,
And grasped it—but it melted from my own;
While he too vanished, and left nothing but
The memory of a hero, for he looked so.

Myr. And was: the ancestor of heroes, too,
And thine no less.
Sar.‍Aye, Myrrha, but the woman,
The female who remained, she flew upon me,
And burnt my lips up with her noisome kisses;
And, flinging down the goblets on each hand,
Methought their poisons flowed around us, till
Each formed a hideous river. Still she clung;
The other phantoms, like a row of statues,
Stood dull as in our temples, but she still
Embraced me, while I shrunk from her, as if,
In lieu of her remote descendant, I
Had been the son who slew her for her incest.[25][80]
Then—then—a chaos of all loathsome things
Thronged thick and shapeless: I was dead, yet feeling—
Buried, and raised again—consumed by worms,
Purged by the flames, and withered in the air!
I can fix nothing further of my thoughts,
Save that I longed for thee, and sought for thee,
In all these agonies,—and woke and found thee.

Myr. So shalt thou find me ever at thy side,
Here and hereafter, if the last may be.
But think not of these things—the mere creations
Of late events, acting upon a frame
Unused by toil, yet over-wrought by toil—
Such as might try the sternest.
Sar.‍I am better.
Now that I see thee once more, what was seen
Seems nothing.
Enter Salemenes.

Sal.‍Is the king so soon awake?
Sar. Yes, brother, and I would I had not slept;
For all the predecessors of our line
Rose up, methought, to drag me down to them.
My father was amongst them, too; but he,
I know not why, kept from me, leaving me
Between the hunter-founder of our race,
And her, the homicide and husband-killer,
Whom you call glorious.
Sal.‍So I term you also,
Now you have shown a spirit like to hers.
By day-break I propose that we set forth,
And charge once more the rebel crew, who still
Keep gathering head, repulsed, but not quite quelled.
Sar. How wears the night?
Sal.‍There yet remain some hours
Of darkness: use them for your further rest.
Sar. No, not to-night, if 'tis not gone: methought
I passed hours in that vision.

Myr.‍Scarcely one;
I watched by you: it was a heavy hour,
But an hour only.[81]
Sar.‍Let us then hold council;
To-morrow we set forth.
Sal.‍But ere that time,
I had a grace to seek.
Sar.‍'Tis granted.
Sal.‍Hear it
Ere you reply too readily; and 'tis
For your ear only.

Myr.‍Prince, I take my leave.
[Exit Myrrha.
Sal. That slave deserves her freedom.
Sar.‍Freedom only!
That slave deserves to share a throne.
Sal.‍Your patience—
'Tis not yet vacant, and 'tis of its partner
I come to speak with you.
Sar.‍How! of the Queen?
Sal. Even so. I judged it fitting for their safety,
That, ere the dawn, she sets forth with her children
For Paphlagonia, where our kinsman Cotta[26]
Governs; and there, at all events, secure
My nephews and your sons their lives, and with them
Their just pretensions to the crown in case——
Sar. I perish—as is probable: well thought—
Let them set forth with a sure escort.
Sal.‍That
Is all provided, and the galley ready
To drop down the Euphrates; but ere they
Depart, will you not see——
Sar.‍My sons? It may
Unman my heart, and the poor boys will weep;
And what can I reply to comfort them,
Save with some hollow hopes, and ill-worn smiles?
You know I cannot feign.
Sal.‍But you can feel!
At least, I trust so: in a word, the Queen
Requests to see you ere you part—for ever.
Sar. Unto what end? what purpose? I will grant
Aught—all that she can ask—but such a meeting.[82]
Sal. You know, or ought to know, enough of women,
Since you have studied them so steadily[af],
That what they ask in aught that touches on
The heart, is dearer to their feelings or
Their fancy, than the whole external world.
I think as you do of my sister's wish;
But 'twas her wish—she is my sister—you
Her husband—will you grant it?
Sar.‍'Twill be useless:
But let her come.
Sal.‍I go. [Exit Salemenes.
Sar.‍We have lived asunder
Too long to meet again—and now to meet!
Have I not cares enow, and pangs enow,
To bear alone, that we must mingle sorrows,
Who have ceased to mingle love?
Re-enter Salemenes and Zarina.

Sal.‍My sister! Courage:
Shame not our blood with trembling, but remember
From whence we sprung. The Queen is present, Sire.
Zar. I pray thee, brother, leave me.
Sal.‍Since you ask it.

Zar. Alone with him! How many a year has passed[27],
Though we are still so young, since we have met,
Which I have worn in widowhood of heart.
He loved me not: yet he seems little changed—
Changed to me only—would the change were mutual!
He speaks not—scarce regards me—not a word,
Nor look—yet he was soft of voice and aspect,
Indifferent, not austere. My Lord![83]
Sar.‍Zarina!
Zar. No, not Zarina—do not say Zarina.
That tone—That word—annihilate long years,
And things which make them longer.
Sar.‍'Tis too late
To think of these past dreams. Let's not reproach—
That is, reproach me not—for the last time——
Zar. And first, I ne'er reproached you.
Sar.‍'Tis most true;
And that reproof comes heavier on my heart
Than——But our hearts are not in our own power.
Zar. Nor hands; but I gave both.
Sar.‍Your brother said
It was your will to see me, ere you went
From Nineveh with——(He hesitates.)
Zar.‍Our children: it is true.
I wish to thank you that you have not divided
My heart from all that's left it now to love—
Those who are yours and mine, who look like you,
And look upon me as you looked upon me
Once——but they have not changed.
Sar.‍Nor ever will.
I fain would have them dutiful.
Zar.‍I cherish
Those infants, not alone from the blind love
Of a fond mother, but as a fond woman.
They are now the only tie between us.
Sar.‍Deem not
I have not done you justice: rather make them
Resemble your own line than their own Sire.
I trust them with you—to you: fit them for
A throne, or, if that be denied——You have heard
Of this night's tumults?
Zar.‍I had half forgotten,
And could have welcomed any grief save yours,
Which gave me to behold your face again.
Sar. The throne—I say it not in fear—but 'tis
In peril: they perhaps may never mount it:
But let them not for this lose sight of it.
I will dare all things to bequeath it them;
But if I fail, then they must win it back[84]
Bravely—and, won, wear it wisely, not as I[ag]
Have wasted down my royalty.
Zar.‍They ne'er
Shall know from me of aught but what may honour
Their father's memory.
Sar.‍Rather let them hear
The truth from you than from a trampling world.
If they be in adversity, they'll learn
Too soon the scorn of crowds for crownless Princes,
And find that all their father's sins are theirs.
My boys!—I could have borne it were I childless.
Zar. Oh! do not say so—do not poison all
My peace left, by unwishing that thou wert
A father. If thou conquerest, they shall reign,
And honour him who saved the realm for them,
So little cared for as his own; and if——
Sar. 'Tis lost, all Earth will cry out, "thank your father!"
And they will swell the echo with a curse.
Zar. That they shall never do; but rather honour
The name of him, who, dying like a king,
In his last hours did more for his own memory
Than many monarchs in a length of days,
Which date the flight of time, but make no annals.
Sar. Our annals draw perchance unto their close;
But at the least, whate'er the past, their end
Shall be like their beginning—memorable.
Zar. Yet, be not rash—be careful of your life,
Live but for those who love.
Sar.‍And who are they?
A slave, who loves from passion—I'll not say
Ambition—she has seen thrones shake, and loves;
A few friends who have revelled till we are
As one, for they are nothing if I fall;
A brother I have injured—children whom
I have neglected, and a spouse——
Zar.‍Who loves.
Sar. And pardons?
Zar.‍I have never thought of this,
And cannot pardon till I have condemned.[85]
Sar. My wife!
Zar.‍Now blessings on thee for that word!
I never thought to hear it more—from thee.
Sar. Oh! thou wilt hear it from my subjects. Yes—
These slaves whom I have nurtured, pampered, fed,
And swoln with peace, and gorged with plenty, till
They reign themselves—all monarchs in their mansions—
Now swarm forth in rebellion, and demand
His death, who made their lives a jubilee;
While the few upon whom I have no claim
Are faithful! This is true, yet monstrous.
Zar.‍'Tis
Perhaps too natural; for benefits
Turn poison in bad minds.
Sar.‍And good ones make
Good out of evil. Happier than the bee,
Which hives not but from wholesome flowers.
Zar.‍Then reap
The honey, nor inquire whence 'tis derived.
Be satisfied—you are not all abandoned.
Sar. My life insures me that. How long, bethink you,
Were not I yet a king, should I be mortal;
That is, where mortals are, not where they must be?
Zar. I know not. But yet live for my—that is,
Your children's sake!
Sar.‍My gentle, wronged Zarina!
I am the very slave of Circumstance
And Impulse—borne away with every breath!
Misplaced upon the throne—misplaced in life.
I know not what I could have been, but feel
I am not what I should be—let it end.
But take this with thee: if I was not formed
To prize a love like thine, a mind like thine,
Nor dote even on thy beauty—as I've doted
On lesser charms, for no cause save that such
Devotion was a duty, and I hated
All that looked like a chain for me or others
(This even Rebellion must avouch); yet hear
These words, perhaps among my last—that none
E'er valued more thy virtues, though he knew not
To profit by them—as the miner lights[86]
Upon a vein of virgin ore, discovering
That which avails him nothing: he hath found it,
But 'tis not his—but some superior's, who
Placed him to dig, but not divide the wealth
Which sparkles at his feet; nor dare he lift
Nor poise it, but must grovel on, upturning
The sullen earth.
Zar.‍Oh! if thou hast at length
Discovered that my love is worth esteem,
I ask no more—but let us hence together,
And I—let me say we—shall yet be happy.
Assyria is not all the earth—we'll find
A world out of our own—and be more blessed
Than I have ever been, or thou, with all
An empire to indulge thee.
Enter Salemenes.

Sal.‍I must part ye—
The moments, which must not be lost, are passing.
Zar. Inhuman brother! wilt thou thus weigh out
Instants so high and blest?
Sal.‍Blest!
Zar.‍He hath been
So gentle with me, that I cannot think
Of quitting.
Sal.‍So—this feminine farewell
Ends as such partings end, in no departure.
I thought as much, and yielded against all
My better bodings. But it must not be.
Zar. Not be?
Sal.‍Remain, and perish——
Zar.‍With my husband——
Sal. And children.
Zar.‍Alas!
Sal.‍Hear me, sister, like
My sister:—all's prepared to make your safety
Certain, and of the boys too, our last hopes;
'Tis not a single question of mere feeling,
Though that were much—but 'tis a point of state:
The rebels would do more to seize upon[87]
The offspring of their sovereign, and so crush——
Zar. Ah! do not name it.
Sal.‍Well, then, mark me: when
They are safe beyond the Median's grasp, the rebels
Have missed their chief aim—the extinction of
The line of Nimrod. Though the present King
Fall, his sons live—for victory and vengeance.
Zar. But could not I remain, alone?
Sal.‍What! leave
Your children, with two parents and yet orphans—
In a strange land—so young, so distant?
Zar.‍No—
My heart will break.
Sal.‍Now you know all—decide.
Sar. Zarina, he hath spoken well, and we
Must yield awhile to this necessity.
Remaining here, you may lose all; departing,
You save the better part of what is left,
To both of us, and to such loyal hearts
As yet beat in these kingdoms.
Sal.‍The time presses.
Sar. Go, then. If e'er we meet again, perhaps
I may be worthier of you—and, if not,
Remember that my faults, though not atoned for,
Are ended. Yet, I dread thy nature will
Grieve more above the blighted name and ashes
Which once were mightiest in Assyria—than——
But I grow womanish again, and must not;
I must learn sternness now. My sins have all
Been of the softer order——hide thy tears—
I do not bid thee not to shed them—'twere
Easier to stop Euphrates at its source
Than one tear of a true and tender heart—
But let me not behold them; they unman me
Here when I had remanned myself. My brother,
Lead her away.
Zar.‍Oh, God! I never shall
Behold him more!
Sal. (striving to conduct her).
Nay, sister, I must be obeyed.
Zar. I must remain—away! you shall not hold me.[88]
What, shall he die alone?—I live alone?
Sal. He shall not die alone; but lonely you
Have lived for years.
Zar.‍That's false! I knew he lived,
And lived upon his image—let me go!
Sal. (conducting her off the stage).
Nay, then, I must use some fraternal force,
Which you will pardon.
Zar.‍Never. Help me! Oh!
Sardanapalus, wilt thou thus behold me
Torn from thee?
Sal.‍Nay—then all is lost again,
If that this moment is not gained.
Zar.‍My brain turns—
My eyes fail—where is he? [She faints.
Sar. (advancing).‍No—set her down;
She's dead—and you have slain her.
Sal.‍'Tis the mere
Faintness of o'erwrought passion: in the air
She will recover. Pray, keep back.—[Aside.] I must
Avail myself of this sole moment to
Bear her to where her children are embarked,
I' the royal galley on the river.
[Salemenes bears her off.
Sar. (solus).‍This, too—
And this too must I suffer—I, who never
Inflicted purposely on human hearts
A voluntary pang! But that is false—
She loved me, and I loved her.—Fatal passion!
Why dost thou not expire at once in hearts
Which thou hast lighted up at once? Zarina![ah]
I must pay dearly for the desolation
Now brought upon thee. Had I never loved
But thee, I should have been an unopposed
Monarch of honouring nations. To what gulfs
A single deviation from the track
Of human duties leads even those who claim
The homage of mankind as their born due,
And find it, till they forfeit it themselves!
[89]
Enter Myrrha.

Sar. You here! Who called you?
Myr.‍No one—but I heard
Far off a voice of wail and lamentation,
And thought——
Sar.‍It forms no portion of your duties
To enter here till sought for.
Myr.‍Though I might,
Perhaps, recall some softer words of yours
(Although they too were chiding), which reproved me,
Because I ever dreaded to intrude;
Resisting my own wish and your injunction
To heed no time nor presence, but approach you
Uncalled for:—I retire.
Sar.‍Yet stay—being here.
I pray you pardon me: events have soured me
Till I wax peevish—heed it not: I shall
Soon be myself again.
Myr.‍I wait with patience,
What I shall see with pleasure.
Sar.‍Scarce a moment
Before your entrance in this hall, Zarina,
Queen of Assyria, departed hence.
Myr. Ah!
Sar.‍Wherefore do you start?
Myr.‍Did I do so?
Sar. 'Twas well you entered by another portal,
Else you had met. That pang at least is spared her!

Myr. I know to feel for her.
Sar.‍That is too much,
And beyond nature—'tis nor mutual[ai]
Nor possible. You cannot pity her,
Nor she aught but——
Myr.‍Despise the favourite slave?
Not more than I have ever scorned myself.
Sar. Scorned! what, to be the envy of your sex,
And lord it o'er the heart of the World's lord?
Myr. Were you the lord of twice ten thousand worlds—
As you are like to lose the one you swayed[90]—
I did abase myself as much in being
Your paramour, as though you were a peasant—
Nay, more, if that the peasant were a Greek.
Sar. You talk it well——
Myr.‍And truly.
Sar.‍In the hour
Of man's adversity all things grow daring
Against the falling; but as I am not
Quite fall'n, nor now disposed to bear reproaches,
Perhaps because I merit them too often,
Let us then part while peace is still between us.
Myr. Part!
Sar.‍Have not all past human beings parted,
And must not all the present one day part?
Myr. Why?
Sar.‍For your safety, which I will have looked to,
With a strong escort to your native land;
And such gifts, as, if you had not been all
A Queen, shall make your dowry worth a kingdom.
Myr. I pray you talk not thus.
Sar.‍The Queen is gone:
You need not shame to follow. I would fall
Alone—I seek no partners but in pleasure.
Myr. And I no pleasure but in parting not.
You shall not force me from you.
Sar.‍Think well of it—
It soon may be too late.
Myr.‍So let it be;
For then you cannot separate me from you.
Sar. And will not; but I thought you wished it.
Myr.‍I!
Sar. You spoke of your abasement.
Myr.‍And I feel it
Deeply—more deeply than all things but love.
Sar. Then fly from it.
Myr.‍'Twill not recall the past—
'Twill not restore my honour, nor my heart.
No—here I stand or fall. If that you conquer,
I live to joy in your great triumph: should
Your lot be different, I'll not weep, but share it.
You did not doubt me a few hours ago.[91]
Sar. Your courage never—nor your love till now;
And none could make me doubt it save yourself.
Those words——

Myr.‍Were words. I pray you, let the proofs
Be in the past acts you were pleased to praise
This very night, and in my further bearing,
Beside, wherever you are borne by fate.
Sar. I am content: and, trusting in my cause,
Think we may yet be victors and return
To peace—the only victory I covet.
To me war is no glory—conquest no
Renown. To be forced thus to uphold my right
Sits heavier on my heart than all the wrongs[aj]
These men would bow me down with. Never, never
Can I forget this night, even should I live
To add it to the memory of others.510
I thought to have made mine inoffensive rule
An era of sweet peace 'midst bloody annals,
A green spot amidst desert centuries,
On which the Future would turn back and smile,
And cultivate, or sigh when it could not
Recall Sardanapalus' golden reign.
I thought to have made my realm a paradise,
And every moon an epoch of new pleasures.
I took the rabble's shouts for love—the breath
Of friends for truth—the lips of woman for
My only guerdon—so they are, my Myrrha: [He kisses her.
Kiss me. Now let them take my realm and life!
They shall have both, but never thee!
Myr.‍No, never!
Man may despoil his brother man of all
That's great or glittering—kingdoms fall, hosts yield,
Friends fail—slaves fly—and all betray—and, more
Than all, the most indebted—but a heart
That loves without self-love! 'Tis here—now prove it.
[92]
Enter Salemenes.

Sal. I sought you—How! she here again?
Sar.‍Return not
Now to reproof: methinks your aspect speaks
Of higher matter than a woman's presence.
Sal. The only woman whom it much imports me
At such a moment now is safe in absence—
The Queen's embarked.
Sar.‍And well? say that much.
Sal.‍Yes.
Her transient weakness has passed o'er; at least,
It settled into tearless silence: her
Pale face and glittering eye, after a glance
Upon her sleeping children, were still fixed
Upon the palace towers as the swift galley
Stole down the hurrying stream beneath the starlight;
But she said nothing.
Sar.‍Would I felt no more
Than she has said!
Sal.‍'Tis now too late to feel.
Your feelings cannot cancel a sole pang:
To change them, my advices bring sure tidings
That the rebellious Medes and Chaldees, marshalled
By their two leaders, are already up
In arms again; and, serrying their ranks,
Prepare to attack: they have apparently
Been joined by other Satraps.
Sar.‍What! more rebels?
Let us be first, then.
Sal.‍That were hardly prudent
Now, though it was our first intention. If
By noon to-morrow we are joined by those
I've sent for by sure messengers, we shall be
In strength enough to venture an attack,
Aye, and pursuit too; but, till then, my voice
Is to await the onset.
Sar.‍I detest
That waiting; though it seems so safe to fight
Behind high walls, and hurl down foes into
Deep fosses, or behold them sprawl on spikes[93]
Strewed to receive them, still I like it not—
My soul seems lukewarm; but when I set on them,
Though they were piled on mountains, I would have
A pluck at them, or perish in hot blood!—
Let me then charge.
Sal.‍You talk like a young soldier.
Sar. I am no soldier, but a man: speak not
Of soldiership, I loathe the word, and those
Who pride themselves upon it; but direct me
Where I may pour upon them.
Sal.‍You must spare
To expose your life too hastily; 'tis not
Like mine or any other subject's breath:
The whole war turns upon it—with it; this
Alone creates it, kindles, and may quench it—
Prolong it—end it.
Sar.‍Then let us end both!
'Twere better thus, perhaps, than prolong either;
I'm sick of one, perchance of both.
[A trumpet sounds without.
Sal.‍Hark!
Sar.‍Let us
Reply, not listen.
Sal.‍And your wound!
Sar.‍'Tis bound—
'Tis healed—I had forgotten it. Away!
A leech's lancet would have scratched me deeper;[ak]
The slave that gave it might be well ashamed
To have struck so weakly.
Sal.‍Now, may none this hour
Strike with a better aim!
Sar.‍Aye, if we conquer;
But if not, they will only leave to me
A task they might have spared their king. Upon them!
[Trumpet sounds again.
Sal. I am with you.
Sar.‍Ho, my arms! again, my arms!