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Whose keen remembrance raises horrid forms,

Shapes that in spite of nature shock their souls

With dreadful anguish: but thy gentle bosom,

Where innocence beams light and gayety,

Can never know a fear, now shining joy

Shall gild the pleasing scene.

. Alas! this joy

I fear is like a sudden flame shot from

Th' expiring taper, darkness will ensue,

And double night I dread enclose us round.

Anxiety does yet disturb my breast,

And frightful apprehension shakes my soul.

. How shall I thank you, ye bright glorious beings!

Shall I in humble adoration bow,

Or fill the earth with your resounding praise?

No, this I leave to noisy hypocrites,

A Mortal's tongue disgraces such a theme;

But heav'n delights where silent gratitude

Mounts each aspiring thought to its bright throne,

Nor leaves to language aught; words may indeed

From man to man their sev'ral wants express,

Heav'n asks the purer incense of the heart.

. I 'll to the King, ere he retires to rest,

Nor will I leave him 'til I 've gain'd your freedom;

His love will surely not deny me this.

. 'T was a moving scene, e'en my rough nature

Was nighly melted.

. Hence coward pity—

What is joy to them, to me is torture.

Now am I rack'd with pains that far exceed

Those agonies, which fabling Priests relate,

The damn'd endure: The shock of hopeless Love,

Unblest with any views to sooth ambition,

Rob me of all my reas'ning faculties.

Arsaces gains Evanthe, fills the throne,

While I am doom'd to foul obscurity,

To pine and grieve neglected.

. My noble Prince,

Would it not be a master-piece, indeed,

To make this very bliss their greatest ill,

And damn them in the very folds of joy?

. This I will try, and stretch my utmost art,

Unknown is yet the means— We 'll think on that—

Success may follow if you'll lend your aid.

. The storm still rages— I must to the King,

And know what further orders ere he sleeps:

Soon I 'll return, and speak my mind more fully.

. Haste, Lysias, haste, to aid me with thy council;

For without thee, all my designs will prove

Like night and chaos, darkness and confusion;

But to thy word shall light and order spring.—

Let coward Schoolmen talk of Virtue's rules,

And preach the vain Philosophy of fools;

Court eager their obscurity, afraid

To taste a joy, and in some gloomy shade

Dream o'er their lives, while in a mournful strain

They sing of happiness they never gain.

But form'd for nobler purposes I come,

To gain a crown, or else a glorious tomb.

. Talk not of sleep to me, the God of Rest

Disdains to visit where disorder reigns;

Not beds of down, nor music's softest strains,

Can charm him when 't is anarchy within.

He flies with eager haste the mind disturb'd,

And sheds his blessings where the soul's in peace.

. Yet, hear me, Madam!