ACT I. SCENE I.

XIPHARES. ARBATES .

Xip. 'Tis true, Arbates, what all tongues relate,
Rome triumphs, and my father yields to fate:
He whose wide empire stretch'd from shore to shore,
The mighty Mithridates is no more.
Pompey, wide-scattering terror and affright,
Surpriz'd his prudence in the shades of night;
Through all his camp a sudden ruin spread,
And heap'd it round with mountains of the dead:
On broad Euphrates' bank the monarch lies — —
His diadem is fall'n the victor's prize.
Thus he whom Asia forty years beheld
Still rising nobler from each well-fought field,
Who bold aveng'd, high-rais'd on valour's wings,
The common cause of empire and of kings,
Dies, and behind him leaves, by fortune crost,
Two sons, alas! in mutual discords lost.
Arb. How, Prince! so soon does fell ambition move
To break the union of fraternal love?
Xip. Far, far such guilt be from Xiphares' breast,
Far such ambition, which the good defest;
Nor glory shines so tempting in my eye,
Nor rate I empire at a price so high;
True to the kindred honours of my name,
I recognize a brother's juster claim;
Nor further does my highest wish aspire,
Than those fair kingdoms left me by my sire;
The rest without regret I see become
His valour's purchase, or the gift of Rome.
Arb. The gift of Rome, say'st? can Pharnaces owe? — —
Can Mithridates' son? — —
Xip. Arbates, know,
In vain Pharnaces veils himself in art,
Long since become all Roman at the heart;
Lost to his father's glories, and his own,
He longs to mount a tributary throne:
Whilst I, more desperate from my father's fate,
Nourish within my breast immortal hate.
But yet, not all the rage that hatred breeds,
Not all the Jealousies ambition feeds,
Not all the glories Pontus' realms can boast,
Not these divide our wretched bosoms most.
Arb. What nearer care Xiphares' fear alarms?
Xip. Then hear astonish'd, friend; Monimia's charms,
Whom late our father honour'd with his vows,
And now Pharnaces with bold zeal pursues.
Arb. Monimia!
Xip. I love, nor longer will conceal
A flame which truth and honour bid reveal:
Nor duty further binds my tongue, since here
I now no rival but a brother fear:
Nor is this flame the passion of a day,
A sudden blaze that hastens to decay;
Long in my breast I pent the rising groan,
Told it in secret to my heart alone:
O could I faithful to its rage, express
Its first uneasiness, my last distress!
But lose not now the moments to disclose
The long, long story of my amorous woes. — —
Suffice it thee to know, that ere my sire
Beheld this beauteous object of desire,
I saw and felt the charmer in my heart,
And holy passion dignified the dart.
My father saw her too; nor sought to move
With vows that she and virtue could approve;
Haughty of sovereign rule, he hop'd to find
An easy conquest o'er a woman's mind:
But when he found in honour resolute,
She scorn'd indignant his imperious suit,
'Twas then he sent in Hymen's sacred name
His diadem, the pledge of purer flame.
Judge then, my friend, what agonizing smart,
Tore up my senses, and transfix'd my heart,
When first from fame the dreadful tale I heard,
The fair Monimia to his throne preferr'd;
And that Arbates with his beauteous prey
Shap'd for Nymphea's walls the destin'd way.
'Twas then, the more to aggravate my doom,
My mother listen'd to the arts of Rome:
Whether by her great zeal for me misled,
Or stung with rage for her deserted bed,
Betray'd to Pompey (impotent of mind)
The fort and treasures to her charge consign'd.
How dreadful did my mother's guilt appear!
Soon as the fatal tidings reach'd my ear,
No more I saw my rival in my sire,
My duty triumph'd o'er my fond desire;
Alone in the unhappy man survey'd
The father injur'd, and the king betray'd:
My mother saw me, prodigal of breath,
In every field encounter every death;
Keen to redeem the honours of my name,
Repair her wrongs, and disavow her shame.
Then the broad Euxine own'd my father's sway,
I made the raging Hellespont obey;
His happy vessels flew without controul,
Wherever winds could waft, or oceans roll.
My filial duty had attempted more,
Ev'n hop'd his rescue on Euphrates' shore;
Sudden I heard, amid the martial strife,
A hostile arm had cut his thread of life.
'Twas then, I own, amid my various woes,
Monimia dear to my remembrance rose:
I fear'd the furious king, the dire excess
Of amorous rage, and jealous tenderness:
Hither I flew, some mischief to prevent,
With all the speed presaging passion lent;
Nor less my fears sinister omens drew,
When in these walls Pharnaces struck my view
Pharnaces! still impetuous, haughty, bold,
Rash in design, in action uncontroul'd,
Solicits the fair queen, again renews
His interrupted hopes, and former vows,
Confirms his father's death, and longs to move
Her gentle bosom to more equal love.
I own indeed, whilst Mithridates reign'd,
My love was by parental law restrain'd,
Rever'd submissive his superior pow'r,
Who claim'd my duty from my natal hour:
Enfranchis'd by his death, it scorns to yield
To any other's hopes so dear a field.
Either Monimia adverse to my claim,
Rejects, ah, Heav'n forbid! my tender claim;
Or — but whatever danger's to be run,
'Tis by my death alone the prize is won.
'Tis thine to choose, which of the two to save,
Thy royal master's son, or Pompey's slave.
Proud of the Romans who espouse his cause,
Pharnaces proudly thinks to dictate laws;
But let him know, that here that very hour
My father died, I knew no rival pow'r.
The realms of Pontus own his sovereign sway,
Him Colchus and its provinces obey,
And Colchus' princes ever did maintain
The Bosphorus a part of their domain.
Arb. My lord, what pow'r I boast you justly claim,
My duty and affection are the same;
Arbates has but one plain point in view,
To honour and his royal master true:
Had Mithridates reign'd, nor force nor art
Had e'er seduc'd this faithful loyal heart;
Now by his death releas'd, my duteous care,
His royal will declar'd, awaits his heir:
The self-same zeal I to your succour bring,
With which I serv'd your father, and my king.
Had Heav'n Pharnaces' impious purpose sped,
I the first victim of his rage had bled;
Those walls so long his entrance which withstood,
Ere this had redden'd with my odions blood.
Go, to the blooming queen your suit approve,
And mould her gentle bosom to your love:
Affianc'd in my faith, dismiss your fear;
Either Arbates has no credit here,
Or else Pharnaces, by my arts o'ercome,
Elsewhere shall boast him of the aids of Rome.