Page:Works of Voltaire Volume 16.djvu/194

172 Thou hast heard, My royal mistress, to what desperate height The clamorous people carry their resentment; Our dying Thebans from his punishment Expect their safety. Old men, women, children, United by misfortunes, breathe forth vengeance; Pronounce him guilty, and cry out that heaven Demands his blood: canst thou resist the torrent, Defend, or save him?

Yes: I will defend him; Even though Thebes should lift the murderous hand Against her queen, beneath her smoking walls To crush Jocaste, ne'er would I betray Such injured innocence; but still I fear The tongue of slander: well thou knowest my heart Once sighed for Philoctetes; now, Ægina, Will they not say I sacrifice to him My fame, my gods, my country, and my husband? Will they not say Jocaste loves him still?

Calm thy vain fears; thy passion had no witness But me, and never

Thinkest thou that a princess Can e'er conceal her hatred or her love? O no! on every side the eager eyes Of courtiers look upon us: through the veil Of feigned respect, with subtle treachery They search our hearts, and trace out every weakness. Naught can escape their sharp malignant sight;