Myr. OH, Jove! Bal. Then all is over. Sal. That is false. | |
Hew down the slave who says so, if a soldier. | |
Myr. Spare himhes none: a mere court butterfly, | |
That flutters in the pageant of a monarch. | |
Sal. Let him live on, then. Myr. So wilt thou, I trust. | 5 |
Sal. I fain would live this hour out, and the event, | |
But doubt it. Wherefore did ye bear me here? | |
Sol. By the kings order. When the javelin struck you, | |
You fell and fainted: twas his strict command | |
To bear you to this hall. Sal. Twas not ill done: | 10 |
For seeming slain in that cold dizzy trance, | |
The sight might shake our soldiersbuttis vain, | |
I feel it ebbing! Myr. Let me see the wound; | |
I am not quite skilless: in my native land | |
Tis part of our instruction. War being constant, | 15 |
We are nerved to look on such things. Sol. Best extract | |
The javelin. Myr. Hold! no, no, it cannot be. | |
Sal. I am sped, then! Myr. With the blood that fast must follow | |
The extracted weapon, I do fear thy life. | |
Sal. And I not death. Where was the king when you | 20 |
Conveyd me from the spot where I was stricken? | |
Sol. Upon the same ground, and encouraging | |
With voice and gesture the dispirited troops | |
Who had seen you fall, and falterd back. Sal. Whom heard ye | |
Named next to the command? Sol. I did not hear. | 25 |
Sal. Fly, then, and tell him, twas my last request | |
That Zames take my post until the junction, | |
So hoped for, yet delayd, of Ofratanes, | |
Satrap of Susa. Leave me here: our troops | |
Are not so numerous as to spare your absence. | 30 |
Sol. But prince Sal. Hence, I say! Heres a courtier and | |
A woman, the best chamber company. | |
As you would not permit me to expire | |
Upon the field, Ill have no idle soldiers | |
About my sick couch. Hence! and do my bidding! [Exeunt the Soldiers. | 35 |
Myr. Gallant and glorious spirit! must the earth | |
So soon resign thee? Sal. Gentle Myrrha, tis | |
The end I would have chosen had I saved | |
The monarch or the monarchy by this; | |
As tis, I have not outlived them. Myr. You wax paler. | 40 |
Sal. Your hand; this broken weapon but prolongs | |
My pangs, without sustaining life enough, | |
To make me useful: I would draw it forth, | |
And my life with it, could I but hear how | |
The fight goes.
Enter SARDANAPALUS and Soldiers. Sar. My best brother! Sal. And the battle | 45 |
Is lost? | |
Sar. (despondingly.) You see me here. Sal. Id rather see you thus![He draws out the weapon from the wound, and dies. | |
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