MITHRIDATES' King of Pontus, A TRAGEDY: Acted at the Theatre Royal, By their majesty's Servants.  
Written by NAT. LEE.  
High motus animorum atque haec certamina tanta,  
Pulveris exigui jactu compressa quiescent.  Virgil. Georg. l. 4. 
Licenced March 28 1678. ROGER L'ESTRANGE.  
LONDON: Printed by R. E. for James Magnes and Rich. Bentley, in Russel-street in Covent-Garden, near the Piazza's 1678.   

To the Right Honourable CHARLES, Earl of DORSET & MIDDLESEX, One of the Gentlemen of His MAJESTY'S BEDCHAMBER, etc.  
My Lord,  
When I call to mind what I have observed of your Wit and Judgement, the truest and most impartial I ever knew, my thoughts of writing after my loose manner to your Lordship are a little dashed, and the meanest of 'em has the sense to tell me, I ought to be as curious and correct in a Dedication to one Man, as in that of a Play to a whole Nation. There is no doubt a Transport in every Poet who writes an Epistle, but for the most part they are dazzled with the Eminence of their Patrons, and at best we can but call it an Awful Delight. But I profess, what those to whom I am disagreeable, will impute to want of Modesty, I make this Tragedy an Offering to your Lordship with as much freedom, pleasure, and perfect satisfaction, as ever Mithridates received when he found himself in the Arms of his Fairest Mistress. You stand Equal with the Greatest, and your Quality should cause a Dread in the hardiest Writers: But on the other hand, there is such an innate sweetness of temper, such a most remarkable goodness in all your Actions, a Character peculiar to you more than any man alive, that the meanest, modestest of Poets may approach you. Methinks I feel a sort of cheerful springing Pride, when I see your Lordship stand forth to this last Birth, which sure if I had ever any lovely, is much the Fairest Child. Happy Fortune must attend it, and Heaven and Earth be pleased where you approve. I accost you, my Lord, without Formality, and would appear before the severest Judge in the plainest Garb, or rather nakedness of thought; as some, and those not of the least courage, go to the most bloody Test of valour, all unarmed. An over-care in things of this nature does often turn to affectation, and what was meant a Guard, proves an Encumbrance: We may stiff'n our imaginations with making 'em too quaint; and polish, till we are nothing else but gloss: I am infinitely pleased, to be as plain as I can, nor care I how it pleases others, though I am sure it does, that I have laid this Play at your Lordship's feet. All my Acquaintance that wish me well applaud my choice; for I may safely affirm by the judgement of the Town, without being censured for a Dauber, there's not a man whom all men love but you, you are beheld in all the Company you Honour, as if you were the Genius of that Prince who was called the Delight of Mankind, and are adored with all the love and admiration which e'er the Noble Titus found in Rome. Ziphares is an imperfect Figure of yourself; I cast him in your Mould, and fashioned him as well as my weak Fancy could, to that Perfection the Court so universally allows you: When I designed to draw him for the Ladies, endearing, soft, and passionately loving, I thought on you, and found the way to Charm 'em. And 'tis most certain, he who obliges those Fair Critics to be of his Party, has the surest Cards that ever Poet played: I cannot but own the Honours they have done me, and entreat your Lordship to secure 'em my Friends. There is yet a greater Honour I would beg of your Lordship, and so important, I cannot name it without apprehension: Mithridates being in your hands, desires to be laid at the Feet of the Queen. Her Majesty, who is the Sublimest Goodness, and most merciful Virtue that ever blessed a Land, has been pleased to grace him with her Presence, and promised it again with such particular praises, the effects of her pure Bounty, that should he not express his Gratitude almost to adoration, he would deserve another Fate, when he is next represented, than what he has hitherto received.  
I have endeavoured in this Tragedy to mix Shakespeare with Fletcher; the thoughts of the former, for Majesty and true Roman Greatness, and the softness and passionate expressions of the latter, which makes up half the Beauties, are never to be matched: How have I then endeavoured to be like 'em? O faint Resemblance! As Pizarro says of the Mexicans,  
— And those who now remain,  
Appear but as the Shadows of the Slain.  
It may be objected, I broke the Scenes in the beginning of the Third and Fifth Acts; those who are so nicely curious to be offended at this oversight, may for their satisfaction leave 'em out, and the Play will be entire. I apply myself to your Lordship, as Montaign does to his Reader in his Chapter of Books; I will, says he, love the Man that shall trace me! For I have many times found fault with an Expression, as I pretended was in a Play of my own, and had it damned by no indifferent Critics, though the immortal Shakespeare will not blush to own it. But I am confident your Lordship will find me out, and I desire to be so found a Refiner on those admirable Writers; the Ground is theirs, and all that serves to make a rich Embroidery! I hope the World will do me the Justice to think, I have disguised it into another fashion more suitable to the Age we live in; for if I could persuade myself there were nothing of mine extraordinary in the Play, I would not have dedicated it to the best of Men.  
— Mediocribus esse Poetis,  
Non dii non homines non concessere column.  
Here you must give me leave to tell the World, that Pillars and Altars too ought to be raised to your Lordship, if the greatest Genius of Poetry deserves 'em: Your thoughts in some select Poems I have seen, are rich and new, as the Golden American World, your Expressions justly strong, your words Emphatical, as chosen men for an Enterprise of Glory: As it was observed of the Army of Alexander the Great, every Soldier looked like a Commander, and every Commander like an Alexander; so in your admirable Draughts, all things are so excellent, we know not where to fix; we stand on Hills of so vast a breadth, that the Valleys are not seen; it looks like Heaven all about us, and Fancy is lost in the infinite Beauty of the Prospect: Your Writing dazzles with clearness and Majesty; you draw, like Holbin, without Shadows.  
— Qui Genus humanum ingenio superavit & omnes  
Praestrinxit stellas, exortus uti Aetherius Sol.  
Your Images are so great, we look like Dwarfs beneath you; and then so lively represented, though of dead, low Objects, animated by your Genius,  
— Credas simulacra moveri  
Ferrea, cognatoque viros spirare metallo.  
What e'er you stamp is Royal, other Pretenders to satire but file and wash, they live by the Clipping of your Wit, and dip their Silver in your Bath, to make it pass for Gold. Self-preservation bids me say no more of your Lordship's Poetry, lest I damn my own, who aim at nothing so much as the Honour of being thought by your Lordship,  
My Lord, Your most Humble, Obedient, and Devoted Servant, NAT. LEE.   

MITHRIDATES, King of Pontus.  

ACT I. SCENE I.  The outer-part of the Temple of the Sun. A noise of Music and tuning Voices is heard. Enter Pharnaces, Pelopidas. Phar. 
TO Night, to Night, this fatal Moment, now  
Our dreadful Father's Nuptials are preparing,  
And I must lose bright Monima for ever.  
Ambition too is barred, Sceptres and Crowns,  
And all the golden Quarries now are lost.  
Zphares, O Ziphares! happy Brother,  
Thou hast dislodged me by thy late Exploits,  
And now usurpest my Father's Breast alone.  
Cursed be the Power that blessed thee on thy way  
To overthrow Triarius; cursed the Stars  
That glittered round thy Head, when by thy Arm  
So many Tribunes and Centurions fell,  
As made Rome groan, and broke Lucullus heart.  Pelop. 
Hear me, my lord—  Phar. 
This Morning, on a Mountain  
Above the Clouds, his Triumph was performed  
And I assisted at the Sacrifice.  
Why gave I not this Body to the Flames,  
To be devoured among the tortured Slaves,  
Rather than lived to see his Conquest Crowned?  
I saw it; O, Pelopidas, these Eyes  
Saw Mithridates, with a Torch, give Fire  
To the vast Pile, which like a Pyramid  
Stood high upon the Hill, as that on Earth.  Pelop. 
Will you but give me leave?  Phar. 
I saw the blaze  
Of his immortal Honour, heard the shout  
Of all the Court, which did torment the Air  
To that degree, that Birds fell round us dead;  
And that thin Region, where we scarce could live  
When first we did ascend, became so fat  
With the rich Steam of Blood and boiling Gold  
And flowing Gums, that we were forced remove:  
Nay, I believe, the glutted Gods themselves  
Were almost choked, with the prodigious Odours.  Pelop. 
Yet have you done?  Phar. 
To the green Neptune then,  
Because at Sea old Archelaus had  
Been Conqueror with my Brother, in their Names  
An Offering was decreed; a Chariot all  
With Emeralds set, and filled with Coral Tridents,  
Was with a hundred Horses, wild as Wind,  
From off the top of that most dismal place  
Plunged to the bottom of the slimy Deep.  Pelop. 
Let me entreat you call your Reason home,  
And listen to your faithful Servant's Counsel:  
You cannot hate your Brother more to Death,  
Than I his Friend, the General Archelaus.  
‛ Has got the start of me in the King's favour;  
And tho, without being vain, I think myself  
The better Soldier, he by Polities  
Has pushed me from the Dignities I bore:  
The Lion's outed by the Fox.  Phar. 
But with full cry  
Let us unkennel him; rather rebel,  
Than bear it thus: 'tis mine, 'tis thy concern:  
Nor let the Name of King, or Father, awe us.  
A Mistress, and a Throne! most specious Titles.  
The God of Battle rages in my Breast;  
And as at Delphos, when the glorious Fury  
Kindles the Blood of the Prophetic Maid,  
The bounded Deity does shoot her out,  
Draws every Nerve thin as a Spider's Thread,  
And beats the skin out like expanded Gold:  
So, with the meditation of the Work  
Which my Soul bears, I swell almost to bursting.  Pelop. 
In all the many changes of my Life  
I have not known one equal yet to yours;  
At other times so moderate, so true  
A Sovereign o'er yourself, you seemed to want  
Those Passions for your Slaves who Lord it now.  Phar. 
I'm hushed if thou hast aught of comfort, speak.  Pelop. 
This Night your Father has decreed to Marry  
The Daughter of Palemon.  Phar. 
What can hinder?  Pelop. 
Nothing; yet mark: my Brother Tryphon is  
Highpriest o'th' Sun, whom all the rest obey:  
Him have I wrought, that when the Nuptial Rites  
Begin, some strange presages shall fall out,  
Disorders unexpected, to foreshow  
The Gods are much offended at the Marriage.  
How this may work with one of mighty Faith  
In holy Fables, one of various humour,  
Whom every day new Beauties set on Fire,  
Be you the Judge.  Phar. 
Methinks it has a Face;  
But yet there's wanting what I could have wished:  
Had it been Janus-like, backed with another:  
When Mithridates frighted from his Queen,  
Warned by false Oracles, should have retired  
Perplexed, yet struggling with the pangs of Love;  
Then to have laid a Beauty to his longing,  
Some fair unknown, proud of her gaudy Bloom,  
T' have quenched his thirsty wishes, that had been  
A Masterpiece! But let him Marry her,  
Sure Death shall wait upon his laughing Hymen;  
And when the God has given her to his Arms,  
Fate with unerring force shall part 'em ever.  Pelop. 
Yet raging? 'Tis as you have said, and more!  
More than excelling Mischief could invent,  
That is not best. We have already raised him;  
Andravar, my Lieutenant General,  
Scorned by your Brother, whom he therefore hates,  
First formed the Plot: Old Archelaus' Daughter,  
The fair Semandra, Mistress to Ziphares,  
Is destined to be made your Father's Prey.  Phar. 
Excellent Engine! now thou workest indeed;  
Thou hast hit the Vein, the Life-blood of his Heart:  
I cannot see aught in the extent of Art,  
Or Nature, that can mend it. O Ziphares,  
Still Conquer; rise with Triumphs, high as Heaven,  
So such a Bolt as this be sure to wait thee.  Enter Andravar. 
But see the brave Lieutenant! come to my Arms,  
And tell me, shall Semandra be the King's?  Andr. 
I think, my Lord, that I may safely swear it.  Phar. 
Thy bluntness merits praise, and says, thou'rt fit  
To serve my best revenge, Love, or Ambition.  Andr. 
Great Mithridates, whom I well have studied,  
Tho he has weathered forty Winter Fields,  
Yet rises in his vigour, ventures more,  
Nor feels decay of strength; none Learned as he  
In Nature's Garden; whence to his Constitution  
Most excellent, he adds such helps by Art,  
That by his looks he might be thought Immortal.  
The World, too, knows he is as Amorous now  
As when the first Sighs heaved his youthful Breast,  
And his first Tears bedewed the Shrines of Love.  Phar. 
The Consequence?  Andr. 
He often has been pleased  
To make me honoured with his private thoughts;  
Whereon my General and I agreed,  
Knowing your love to Monima,  
And hatred to your Brother, with one blow  
To drive the business that should Crown your wishes.  
Therefore I daily filled your Father's Ears  
With praises of Semandra, raised his wonder,  
Described her dress, and each particular grace;  
Her Eyes, her Hands, her Lips, with all their beauties;  
And have so fired him, that there only wants  
A view to perfect all; and that will be  
To Night.  Phar. 
How know'st thou that?  Andr. 
I learned it all  
From a She-slave that waits upon Semandra,  
Who told me that Ziphares, with consent  
Of Archelaus, would beg her of the King,  
When he this Night should Monima Espouse.  [Soft Music. 
Nor doubt, but when he once has seen Semandra,  
The Charms of his new Queen will vanish. Hark,  
The sacred Music sounds!— The King and Queen are coming.  Enter Archilaus, Ziphares, Semandra. 
See, your Brother, Semandra and her Father.  Phar. 
O my labouring Breast! how hopes and fears  
Toss my wracked Heart, like a poor Bark, about!  
But soon the Calm will come, or I must perish in the Tempest.  Exeunt Phar. Pelop. and Andr. Ziph. 
By Heaven, my Love, thou dost distract my Soul;  
There's not a Tear that falls from those dear Eyes  
But makes my Heart weep Blood— O my Father!  
All is not well: I found her in the Morning,  
Not like a Bride, with all her Maids about her,  
Half-smiling, now half-serious with her thoughts,  
Of what must come; nor warm, nor bright, nor blushing;  
But, Oh the Gods! I found her on the Floor,  
In all the storm of grief, yet beautiful,  
Sighing such breath of sorrow, that her Lips  
Which late appeared like buds, were now o'erblown,  
Pouring forth tears at such a slavish rate,  
That, were the World on Fire, they might have drowned  
The wrath of Heaven, and quenched the mighty ruin.  Arch. 
Nothing, my Lord— 'tis all but Virgin's fear:  
Marriage to Maids is like a War to Men,  
The Battle causes fear; but the sweet hopes  
Of winning at the last still draws 'em on.  Sem. 
Alas, my Lord!  [Weep. Ziph. 
What, but alas? no more? when by the Hand  
I led her to the Temple, thus she sighed,  
And hung upon me. If thou truly lov'st me,  
If I may credit my Semandra's tears,  
Think 'em not drops of Chance like other womens',  
The Wether of their Souls, The Crystal bubbles  
Which they can make at will; Oh satisfy  
The longings of my breast, and tell thy sorrows.  Sem. 
That I do love you, Oh all you Host of Heaven,  
Be Witness? that you are dear to me,  
Dearer than Day to one whom sight must leave,  
Dearer than Life to one that fears to die;  
O thou bright Power be Judge whom we adore,  
Be Witness of my Truth, be Witness of my Love!  
But yet I fear—  Ziph. 
That fear, give me that fear, Semandra;  
Produce it in the ugliest form it has,  
If aught that is deformed can come from thee.  Sem. 
I shall, my Lord; since you are pleased to hear me,  
Uunfold my doubts, the cause of all my Tears.  
First then, I must complain of my hard Stars,  
That did not dart kind Lustre on my Birth;  
For though at present, while your young Blood boils,  
Your Reason cannot get the Rein of Passion,  
Yet it will come, when long possession cloys you,  
Than you will think what Queens you might have had,  
With Kingdoms for their Dower; perhaps you may  
Prove so unkind, to tell me of it too;  
Or, if you should not, yet your Eyes would speak—  [Weep. 
Enough to break the heart of poor Semandra.  Ziph. 
Why dost thou stab me with the tenderness  
Of thy false fears, and melt me into mourning?  
'Tis most unseasonable on our Wedding-day  
To be seen thus: I know thou canst not doubt me.  
No, thou most lovely of the fairer kind,  
Think not a Crown can ever change my Virtue.  
Ah, who would leave the warmth of this loved Bosom  
For the cold cares which black Ambition brings?  Sem. 
Spite of illboding Dreams, unlucky Omens,  
You must, you shall, you ought to be believed.  
And, if I weep again, it is for joy  
That I this Night shall be your happy Bride.  Ziph. 
Oh Mithridates, mighty as thou art,  
Before whose Throne Princes stand dumb as Death,  
With folded Arms, and their Eyes fixed to Earth;  
Dishonour brand me, if I would not choose  
A private Life with her whom my Soul loves,  
Rather than live like thee, with all thy Titles,  
The King of Kings, without her.  Arch. 
Pray, my Lord,  
Defer till Midnight these strong Ecstasies,  
Fate yet may put a bar betwixt our hopes,  
And then the loss wilt be more hardly born.  The Scene draws, discovering the inner part of the Temple. Mithridates' holding Monima by the Hand; his Queens, Concubines, Sons and Daughters attending. Three Roman Captains, L. Cassius, Q. Opius, and Manius Aquilius bound in Gold Chains, with many other Slaves standing at distance. Mith. 
Not yet, O Rome, great Tyrant of the World,  
Hast thou subdued the Asian Emperor.  
In thy despite I hold my glory still,  
Still tread upon the Necks of conquered Kings,  
Still make thy Consuls tremble at my Name;  
And, in one mightiest Word to sum up all,  
A Word which, like a Charm, might raise the Ghosts  
Of Pyrrhus, and the experienced Hannibal  
To envy, and be dazzled at my deeds;  
A Word, a Name, that comprehends all Honours,  
All Titles, Riches, Power, all Majesty,  
In spite of Rome, I'm Mithridates still.  Aquil. 
The Nations must confess, that Alexander  
Could not more dreadful to the East appear,  
Than you: even Rome would buy her peace with joy,  
Could you at reasonable rates afford  
Your Royal Friendship, though by your command,  
Most dreadful to Italian Memory,  
In one dark Day, damned in the Book of Fate,  
A hundred thousand murdered Romans fell.  Mith. 
Darest thou, fomenter of these Wars, to talk?  
Thou, purple Source of all these bloody streams,  
Which have for more than thirty years o'erflowed  
The Asian Banks, and died Euphrates red?  
Darest thou, Commissioner in chief, to put  
The Earth in Arms, and set the World on flame,  
Once think of Peace? Now, by the Fire-robed God,  
Thou shalt have punishment that fits thy Crimes.  Aquil. 
The bravest must submit when Fortune frowns.  Mith. 
Desire of Wealth, the Lust of shining Dirt,  
And Palace Plunder, caused thee with Armed Legions  
T' invade a King, whose Father was Rome's Friend.  
But, by the asserted Justice of my Cause,  
The help of Heaven, and of my own Right-hand,  
I conquered thee, and thou art now my Slave.  
Guards, straight convey him to the Marketplace,  
Take off his wealthy Chains, and melt 'em down;  
Then, for a terrible Example to  
All sordid Wretches, Souls made up of Avarice,  
Pour down his Throat the rich dissolved Mass,  
And gorge his Entrails with the burning Gold.  Mon. 
Not, my dear Lord, upon your Nuptial Day.  Mith. 
On any Day, my Queen, to do a Justice  
Which all the Gods, and all good Men must like.  
For Lucius Cassius, and for Quintus Opius,  
A milder Destiny's in store. Away with him.  
And now proceed we to the sacred Rites.  Aquil. 
Yet, ere you join, hear me, proud Emperor,  
Hear what the Fates have put into my breast:  
I see my Death, by Roman Arms, revenged;  
And what Lucullus had so well begun,  
Pompey shall end; Pompey, thy glory's ruin.  
This hour that gives me Death, shall be the last  
Of all thy quiet: swift domestic jars  
Shall overtake thee; thou shalt add more blood  
To that already shed from thy own Bowels:  
And when at last subdued in all thy Wars,  
Spoiled of thy Queens, thy Sons and Daughters slain,  
Thou seek'st some corner of thy conquered Empire  
To hide thy abandoned Head in; then the load  
Of all thy woes shall come, one whom thou lest  
Shalt fear, long nourished in thy impious breast,  
Shall stab thee to the heart, and end thy days.  
That this, all this, and more may light upon thee,  
I pray the Gods; and so the Furies seize thee.  Mith. 
Away, to Death with the Prophetic Fool.  [Ex. Guards with Aquilius. 
Tryphon, begin, and let the Altar smoke  
With such rich Victims, to the well-pleased Gods,  
That they may smile from Heaven, and give us joy.  Here follows the Entertainment: after which, the King and Queen return from the Altar to sit in state. An Image of Victory descends with two Crowns in her hands; but on a sudden the Engines break, and cast the Image forward on the Stage with such violence that they dash in pieces. Mithridates' starting up. Mith. 
Ha! whence? how fell this out? Now, by my Arms,  
Our Nuptials are not pleasing to the Gods;  
'Tis for some fault of mine, O Monima,  
That Heaven denies thy beauties to my bosom:  
Thus, when we did approach the hallowed Vault,  
A Prophesying Priest, with startup Hair,  
With rolling Eyes, and Nostrils wide as Mouths,  
Stopped us i'th' way, and said we were no Match.  
As well the noblest Savage of the Field  
Might tamely couple with a fearful Ewe,  
Tigers engender with the timorous Deer,  
Wild muddy Boars defile the cleanly Ermine,  
Or Vultures sort with Doves, as I with thee.  
'Tis a cross thought, and much disturbs me here.  Mon. 
Command me die, ere give your Majesty  
Cause of the least disturbance, O, my Lord!  
Think you that I would lie within your Arms  
To hear you sigh, and give me Tears for Love?  
Or think you, 'tis to Empire I aspire?  
Rather dismiss me from your Breast, the Haven  
Where I had hoarded all my happiness,  
And cast me out to a wide Sea of weeping.  Mith. 
How e'er the Powers above shall deal with me,  
Racking my heart with what they have set down,  
Thou art our Queen.  Mon. 
O, 'tis an empty Name,  
A senseless sound, except I am your Love:  
I find, I find that I am lost for ever.  
I have but slept, charmed with a golden Dream,  
And now am waked to beggary again.  
Why did you take me from my Father's Wing?  
Who, though a petty Prince, was yet a World  
Of warmth to me; why did you tempt me forth  
With burning Love, and the bright Comet Power?  Mith. 
Fright not thy tender heart with false suspicions;  
I will be ever thine: But give me leave  
A little to digest with serious thoughts,  
The anger of the heavens'— Andravar.  Andr. 
My Lord?  Phar. 
They whisper, General.  [Too Pelop. Ziph. coming forward. 
Stars, by your leave;  
Ill Omens may the guilty tremble at,  
Make every accident a Prodigy,  
And Monsters frame where Nature never erred;  
May the feared Conscience start at falling Meteors,  
And call the schreme of every hooting Owl,  
Or croaking Raven, Fate's most dreadful Voice:  
For me, I laugh at 'em, should now the Heaven  
Flame with a thousand Fires, ne'er seen before,  
And Thunder beat the Winds from every corner,  
Not for the Calm of all the Universe  
Would I put off my Joys a moment longer.  
Stand back, my Love; and, when I call, come forth:  
A minute makes us blessed, or wretched ever.  [Comes to the middle of the Stage, and kneels. Mith. 
Is there in all the space of our wide Empire  
Ought of that most inestimable value  
To make Ziphares kneel?  Ziph. 
There is, my Lord,  
Thus to adore you.  Mith. 
O, Celestial Powers!  
Mark me your Subject out for all misfortunes,  
The Curses of the Roman Manius fall  
Heavy upon me; Fortune's giddy Wheel,  
Which we have fixed with our Majestic weight,  
Turn round with me, when I deny him aught  
That he can ask with Honour: Rise, my Son.  Ziph. rising. 
Since on the great Request which I shall make  
The peace or trouble of my Life depends,  
The torment or the pleasure of my Soul,  
Eternal griefs, or everlasting joys,  
I would recall to your remembrance, Sir,  
The toils and hardships which my early Valour  
Has undergone, the many Fields I'have fought,  
And Conquered too; and as of old the Romans  
Who sought the Consulship, made bare their breasts,  
Laced with long Scars, and studded o'er with Thrusts,  
The Noble Wardrobe of the Scarlet War;  
I would, with bolder mention of my deeds,  
Display my Wounds to move your Royal Favour,  
And offer, to the blood which I have shed,  
All my heart holds for sealing of your promise.  Mith. 
O, hadst thou fought so poorly as thou speak'st  
Thy Actions, all the Laurels which lie green  
Upon thee, straight would wither, and be dust.  
To mention but thy last, thy last of Wars,  
Which even the breath of Majesty makes vile,  
So much below thy Valour is all Language—  Ziph. 
The glory of that Battle is your own.  Mith. 
To thee we owe the day, our life and Empire;  
When six Centurions bore me from my Saddle,  
And laid me grovelling, for the violent Horse  
To tread my Soul out; how did my brave Ziphares  
Break through their walls of Steel, leap o'er the Ramparts  
Of the dead bodies that had fenced me in,  
On his own Courser mounting me to life.  
Pious even in the mouth of Slaughter, while  
On foot himself, he with his Battle-axe  
Bore down the Legions, drove whole Troops before him,  
And brought their Eagles drooping from the Field!  
Demand, I say, ask me most Royally,  
I will be lavish to thy vast Ambition,  
And Crown thy wishes like a giving God.  Ziph. 
In thankfulness I bend me to the Earth,  
Once more fall prostrate to your Majesty,  
And pray the Gods to give you length of days.  
Come forth, come forth, my Fairest; break, my Day;  
Appear, and Charm, dazzle the whole Assembly.  [Semandra comes forward. Mith. 
A wonder! Ha!  Ziph. 
She is, my Lord, the Boast,  
The lovely Chance-work, Masterpiece of Nature,  
Who blushed to see what her own hands had made;  
As if, mistaking Moulds, she unawares  
Had cast Semandra in a Form Divine.  Sem. 
These praises, breathed from any Lips but yours,  
Lord of my life, and Idol of my love,  
Would make me sink with shame, or scorn the Flatterer;  
But as they come from you, from that loved Mouth,  
The tender Off rings of your fond Desires,  
I take 'em all, and die upon the sound:  
To the driven Air my flying Soul is fastened;  
Each word, each syllable you spoke is mine;  
Yes, I am fair, a Queen, a Goddess, any thing  
That my dear Lord is pleased to have me be.  Mith. 
She talks—  Ziph. 
And with so good à Grace,  
That nothing but her Wit can Charm beyond it,  
Late in the Camp I languished with a Fever,  
And sure had died, but for this fair Physician;  
Who in the midst of all my fiery pains,  
When Art was at a loss, and I lay gasping,  
Would quite beguile my sufferings with her Songs,  
Her welcome Pity, and her soft Endearments:  
Now, laying her chaste Cheek, cold with her Tears,  
To mine, she would abate the raging fire;  
Now, with warm sighs kindle my fading spirits,  
And when I fainted with a Kiss recall me.  Mith. 
By Heaven she weeps, and I could drink the Dew.  Phar. 
He takes the poison, fast as I could wish.  Pelop. 
And Prince Ziphares forces her upon him.  Arch. 
Hold, you have gone too far; speak to the purpose.  Ziph. 
Ambition therefore was not my Request;  
In Colchis or in Bosphorus to Reign:  
Leave to my Brothers all your Empire; and  
To me, this only Beauty for Reward.  Mith. 
Reward! Wert thou on Mithridates' Throne,  
Possessed of all his Kingdoms, were thine eye  
Like his who guides the day, and thou couldst call  
In all thy Journeys what thou sawst thy own;  
Her eyes would match thy lustre: all thy glories  
Would be but shadows, when this Face appeared.  Ziph. 
They would, my Lord.  Mith. 
They would, my Lord! Yet more;  
By all my Royalties, a God might wed her,  
And be a gainer by the beauteous Bride.  Ziph. 
Such as she is—  Mith. 
Not Heaven itself can mend her.  
Had I as many Tongues as I have Languages,  
Skilled in all Speeches of the babbling World,  
And could at once speak to as many Nations,  
With such a grace as might make Athens blush.  
By Mercury, and by the Father of  
The Muses, I should never speak Semandra.  Mon. 
O, he is gone! his vowed fidelity  
Is gazed away!  Mith. 
Tell me her Birth, Ziphares:  
She must be more than Royal.  Ziph. 
Fate, thy worst:  
Let me be dumb for ever from this moment.  Arch. 
In me your Majesty may please to read  
Her Father: what I want in Dignity,  
Be pleased to fill up with my Services.  Mith. 
Thy Daughter!  Arch. 
Yes, my gracious Lord, my Daughter.  Mith. 
O pity that so fair a Star should be  
The Child of Night; that such a stream of Crystal  
Should have her Spring so muddy!  
Thou diest, thou saucy old ambitious Dotard,  
Who dar'st to match thy Lees of blood with ours,  
And daub the Throne of the Immortal Cyrus.  Ziph. 
Hold, hold, most awful, give Ziphares death,  
Impale me, burn me, bury me alive,  
But do not wrong this innocent old man;  
These hairs, which were made Silver in your service,  
O the good Gods! whom fear could never shake,  
Your bitter words have caused to tremble: see,  
With the disgrace, he weeps; his Springs of life  
Which had been dry for fifty years, this last  
Affront has watered:  
Oh my poor Father!  Mith. 
Ha! that Name again,  
Thou art no more my Son. For thee, Semandra,  
Thou shalt attend our Queen; to Court, my Fair,  
Where I must learn you to forget Ziphares,  
And match you equal to your birth.  Sem. 
My Lord— Ziphares— Father.  Mith. 
Look not back.  
Conduct the Queen, Pharnaces. O, Semandra!  
'Tis to your Tears I sacrifice my Justice;  
To them, your Father's life I'll not deny,  
Who, for Ambition, did deserve to die.  Exeunt all but Ziphares and Archelaus. Arch. 
Dotard! and saucy! nay, the Lees of blood!  
Now, by the Gods, 'tis sprightly as his own:  
O, 'tis too much to bear. Forgive me, Prince;  
It breaks the very neck of Loyalty:  
Perhaps, he Whores my Daughter too. But first,  
Rather than see him wear my glories Spoils,  
Thou, my good Sword, that has so oft been drawn,  
And died thyself in Roman bowels, to  
The very Guard, for this ungrateful King,  
Be faithful to me, as thou still hast been,  
And pierce the heart of thy dishonoured Master.  Ziph. 
Oh, Archelaus! Oh, my kinder Father!  
If you are stirred thus at an angry word,  
What should I be; I who am lost indeed,  
I who am stunned, I who sustained the stroke  
Of all the anger of the Fates at once?  
Semandra, O my Love!  Arch. 
Restrain your grief,  
As I my rage, and let us think apace.  
Tho for my Daughter's Virtue I would stake  
My Immortal part, my Fame so dearly bought.  
Yet force, which he may use, will have its way:  
Consider that.  Ziph. 
Consider! how should I  
Consider, who grow mad with crowding thoughts;  
Where every one endeavouring to be foremost  
Stops up the passage, and will choke my Reason?  Arch. 
Once more speak humbly to him,  
Perhaps, 'tis but a sudden short-lived fit,  
A gust of Passion that may soon blow over:  
But if you find it rooted in his heart,  
Eat your way through him, to your happiness;  
Or perish, like your Brother Mithridates.  Ziph. 
By Heaven, I think it greatest happiness  
Never to have been born; and next to that,  
To die: for who that wears his flesh can bear  
The curse of Accidents, a Change like mine?  
I who, some moment's past, would not have changed  
Condition, with the blessed Gods themselves;  
Now, in all probability, am lost,  
And stand upon the very brink of ruin.  Arch. 
Your Destiny's uncertain; Fate, as yet,  
Holds the Scale doubtful: let us haste to Court,  
Where we shall learn which way the Balance falls.  Ziph. 
Not half an hour ago, methought secure  
I hugged myself, and almost could have wept  
In mere compassion to th' hard-fated World,  
Thinking how much my state was happier.  Arch. 
Yet all the while you did not spy the danger  
Which crept invisible, and undermined you.  Ziph. 
Alas, I did not; without fear I stood:  
Like one who, on the Beach, descries from far  
A labouring Bark, with which the Billows war;  
Pities its state, wishing the Tempest gone,  
But views not the near Sea come rolling on:  
So did with me my unseen Fortune play,  
Till the Waves came, and washed me quite away.  [Exeunt.   


ACT II. SCENE I.  Enter Pharnaces, and Pelopidas. Phar. 
I'LL hear no more; get me a hundred Horse  
To be our Guard, I'll bear her hence to night,  
And Ravish her, by all the fire that acts  
This fearless frame, I will. Declare the difference?  
Is not the Blood of Queens and Princesses  
Like other womens'? Souls alike infused;  
Their Banquets richer, and the Drinks they taste  
The very Spirits of the Purple Vine?  
Yet we must think 'em cold as candid Ice,  
Not a thought starting, free from warm desires,  
As the bleak Girl upon the Mountain's top,  
Covered with Snow, beaten with constant Winds,  
That feeds on Herbs and Roots, and drinks the Dew.  Pelop. 
What, would you have her fall like mellow Fruit  
Whom yet no Sun has shone upon, no warmth  
To ripen? 'bate a little of this fire.  Phar. 
Pelopidas, I oft have told you, that  
She knew my love, before she saw my Father;  
For in the Plunder I first lighted on her:  
Tho afterwards he took my beauteous spoil,  
As now he does my Brother's. I alleged,  
As late I led her weeping to her Chamber,  
My constant passion, and his breach of faith,  
All that a love most violent could put  
Into a Lover's mouth, like mine; but she unmoved,  
Insensible replied, the King, 'twas possible,  
At last might kill her with his cruelty;  
Yet to the utmost moment of her life  
She would adore him with such spotless love,  
Such most Romantic faith, and such a deal  
Of whining grief, that in a rage I flung  
Away, and left her talking to herself.  Pelop. 
And do you think this haughtiness will carry't?  
He that will win a most exalted Beauty,  
Must bend his Soul low, as he bows his Body,  
Watch every Glance, obey her ere she speaks,  
Cast up his eyes at each affected word,  
And swear-Besides her Honour, Sir, her Honour,  
Obliges her to stand a while at distance.  Phar. 
'tis almost empty; Honour, Courtship, all  
But gaudy Nonsense. O, Pelopidas,  
Rather than buy my Pleasure with such baseness,  
I'd be a Brute: Now, by my Life; methinks,  
The happier Creature, cast before thy eyes;  
The generous Horse, lose in a Flowery Lawn,  
With choice of Pasture, and of Crystal Brooks,  
And all his cheerful Mistresses about him,  
The white, the brown, the black, the shining bay,  
And every dappled Female of the Field;  
Now, by the Gods, for aught we know, as Man  
Thinks him a Beast, Man seems a Beast to him.  Pelop. 
Be more considerate, less rash and hot;  
I have thought of an Expedient to gain her.  Phar. 
Thou art my better Genius, and shalt flourish,  
When Archelaus, like a blasted Tree,  
Lies rotting to the ground.  Pelop. 
Did Mithridates  
Know of your Love to Monima?  Phar. 
He did:  
As publicly I showed it as Ziphares:  
Yet he, who like the Hesperian Dragon, thinks  
The Golden Fruit of Beauty all his own,  
Flew at me as a Thief, who, while he slept,  
Had stolen his Prize, and made me pay it back;  
Or swore my life should be the fatal forfeit.  Pelop. 
'Tis as I could have wished: thus then, the King,  
Whose Heart Semandra kindles into Flame,  
Cools every hour to his newmarryed Bride,  
And will not Bed her till the Coronation.  
A mere put off, wading in deep disgust,  
And wishing for pretence to part for ever.  Phar. 
Which he shall have; this Head of thine has thought it.  Pelop. 
ay, and the needful Andravar,  
Who feels the Pulse of his Affection,  
Will swear boldly,  
As Witnesses who had both seen and heard  
The jealous Monima enraged with Love,  
But more for what her vast Ambition lost,  
Strove to revive the passion that you bore her;  
But you most generously opposed her Charms,  
Which with unwillingness you shall confess,  
And beg your fiery Father to forgive her.  Phar. 
Pithy, and short; thou art the Soul of Counsel.  Pelop. 
The very breaking of the business, throws  
Her into Prison; where, while I guard the door,  
Your Highness may, with as much ease, perform  
Your pleasure, as your faithful servant thought it.  Phar. 
In thanks, the vilest fawning lying Slave  
Would speak thee fairer than Pharnaces shall;  
But let my deeds be grateful to my Soldier.  Enter Andravar. 
What news, my Andravar?  Andr. 
Your Guardian-spirit  
Now lays about him, and invisibly  
Acts wonders for you, madding all the Court:  
Semandra weeping, and your Father burning;  
Monima, like a Widow'd-Turtle, mourning;  
Old Archelaus pushing on his Fate,  
And Amorous Ziphares, led by love,  
To tumble from the top of all his hopes.  
Defiance from the Roman Consul Glabrio,  
I sent, and the third Pontic War renewed.  
But Love so rocks your Father's drowsy brain,  
That all the Trumpets of the thundering Legions  
Can scarce awake him. See where he comes!  Enter Mithridates attended. 
His haughty courage scarce submitting to  
The weight which presses him; but, striking out.  Mith. 
She must be mine, this admirable Creature,  
Her Charms are now inevitable grown;  
And, while I seem to fright her from my Son,  
I talk, and gaze, and dote, to my undoing.  
See her no more; lose her with weighty thoughts,  
And drown her in the Ocean of thy Power:  
In vain I strive with cares to keep her down,  
In vain does business sink her to the bottom;  
This Bladder Love still bears her up again.  Phar. 
Like a caught Lion, raging in the snare,  
He plunges in his passion, spends his force,  
And struggles with the Toil that holds him faster.  Mith. 
See her no more— and live! Impossible.  
As well I might bid Meteors keep their lustre,  
When all the shining Exhalation's spent  
That fed their short-lived glory.  Enter Monima. Mon. 
O Mithridates! O my cruel Lord!  
I come with all the violence of grief,  
To take my last farewell.  Mith. 
What means the Queen?  Mon. 
The Queen! O mockery of State!  
Pageant of Greatness! wondered at a while,  
But straight neglected like a common thing.  
I come, my Lord, to beg (O heavens'!) your leave,  
Your Royal Licence, to retire from Court;  
And, since my Father by your bounty Reigns  
At Ephesus, I there would go to mourn,  
And languish out my wretched Life's remain.  Mith. 
Why will you add new troubles to my Bosom,  
Already burdened with the Wrath of Heaven,  
By your unnecessary grief?  Mon. 
From Earth, I fear,  
And not from Heaven, those Cloudy Cares are drawn.  Mith. 
No matter whence; they're dangerous to partake:  
The tender Face of Beauty cannot bear 'em;  
For, if from Earth they come, their Damp will stifle;  
And, if from Heaven, their Influence is blasting.  Mon. 
Were you but kind, my Lord, as once you were,  
What blasting could I fear? what dangers, dressed  
In all the horrors of most dreadful Death?  
But you are pleased that I should not complain.  Andr. 
Semandra, by your Majesty's appointment,  
Attends without.  Mith. 
Fair Monima, retire:  
You will oblige me by a confidence  
I cannot be, but yours; affairs of State  
Now take me from you.  Mon. 
Say, the affairs of Love.  
I would, my Royal Lord, but cannot blame you;  
I feel a Spirit within me, which calls up  
All that is Woman wronged, and bids me chide:  
But you are Mithridates, that dear man  
Whom my Soul loves; else, were you all the Kings,  
All Worlds, all Gods, I could let loose upon you,  
For those deep injuries which I must suffer;  
Could, like the fighting Winds, disturb all Nature  
With venting of my wrongs; but I am hushed  
As a spent Wave, and all my fiery Powers  
Are quenched, when I but look upon your Eyes,  
Where, like a Star in water, I appear  
A pretty sight, but of no Influence,  
And am at best but now a shining Sorrow.  [Exit, led by Pharnaces. Mith. 
O Love! if that the Face of such Affection,  
Such modest Sweetness, and such humble Virtue,  
As my Queen bears, fix not my wandering Heart;  
Break, break thy Bow, and burn thy useless Arrows:  
By Heaven, her kindness strikes my troubled Soul.  Enter Semandra with Andravar attending. 
But see, she's lost again, Semandra comes,  
Who drowns like blushing Noon her paler dawn,  
And shows like Summer to the Infant Spring.  
Semandra, what, still weeping? will not all  
The Wealth which the Sun sees throughout the East  
Dry up your Tears? methinks, an Empire might  
Suffice for any loss. I give you all my Power;  
And, with it, such a heart, as nought but Love  
Could bow: I throw it bleeding at your Feet.  
Behold, behold, Semandra, while I blush,  
The great effects of your Commanding Beauty.  Sem. 
Were you yet greater than you are, which scarce  
The Gods can make you; though no bounds but Heaven  
Did limit your large Sway; though in your person all  
The Graces met that ever Man adorned,  
The Blush of Rising Youth, the Conquering Eyes,  
The Noble Smiles, and those most passionate Beauties,  
Which drew my Heart to Idolise your Son;  
I could not love you.  Mith. 
Oh, unmerciful!  Sem. 
You said, my Lord, but now,  
You blushed to think of your degraded Power;  
How then ought I to blush? ay, who should be  
The daily Curse of your repining Subjects?  
ay, who am bound by Oaths and solemn Vows  
To love Ziphares? By my Father's Order,  
And by the tenderest Inclination too.  Mith. 
You strike me dead.  Sem. 
Oh, do but think, my Lord,  
How would Mankind, when they shall read my Story,  
Tear all the Rolls, or throw 'em to the Flames!  
How would the weeping Maids curse my remembrance,  
Should I for pride of Power, a Golden Promise,  
A gaudy Nothing, prove ingrateful perjured!  
Leave all the goodness of the Earth to languish,  
And break for ever with his matchless Virtue!  Mith. 
You have said; and I confess it to be Heavenly:  
I know, and till I saw your Eyes, I loved  
The Virtue of my Son; I lodged him near  
My Heart, and set him down my Successor:  
But now, Oh hear, and wonder at your Power,  
Spite of his Noble Acts, though to his Arm  
I owe my Life, though Justice speaks so loud,  
And the soft Tongue of Nature pleads so well,  
I hate him more than I did ever love him.  Sem. 
Alas! would I had died when first you saw me.  Mith. 
Had he conspired my Death, usurped my Throne,  
Perhaps I might have doomed him to be slain,  
Yet sure I should have wept to see him die;  
But now, since he must Ravish that loved Gem,  
I prize above the World, tearing you from me,  
Giving me twenty Deaths, and cutting through  
My very Soul, should I my Empire give  
To buy his Fate, I'd think it vastly sold.  Sem. 
Then blasted be the Form that charmed your Eyes.  
His Fate! Oh, Gods! then you design his Death,  
To reap the Bloody Harvest of his Life,  
And, Atreus-like, to feed on your own Bowels?  
But know, Proud Monarch, there are Powers who see  
And punish Crimes like yours: Nor can I doubt  
But they will save from your most Impious Rage  
My poor loved Lord, the Innocent Ziphares.  [Weep. Mith. 
Those Waters more enrage my Jealous Flame,  
And those heaved Sighs but spread my Anger's Wings;  
Your Fatal Kindness hastens on his Death;  
And that untimely Doom which I forbore  
To execute, seems necessary now:  
You give him all your Stock of richest Love,  
Your Tears, your longing Looks, your Smiles, your Groans,  
And over-bless him with your lavish kindness;  
But niggardly to me you will not spare  
A pitying Glance, one Pearly drop, to Ransom  
The Soul of this despairing Mithridates.  
Andravar, go, and bear the Prince to Prison.  Sem. 
Stay, Andravar; the King has called you back:  
See, he repents: Nay, I must hold you then,  
And, if you stir, you take Semandra with you.  
O, Mithridates! O ungrateful Prince!  
What was it you did order? But behold,  
His Eyes are fixed upon the ground, he blushes  
To think he could so monstrously Decree  
To murder the sweet hopes of all his Kingdoms,  
The Gods be praised for this Serene Repentance:  
Yet, with the fright, I fear I shall not sleep  
Till Death does close my Eyes.  Mith. 
O rise, Semandra!  Sem. 
Never, I never will.  
Oh all you pitying Powers, will not my cries  
And piercing Woes move you to melt his Soul?  
Can you be deaf? Oh Cruel Mithridates!  
Did you but know the workings you have made,  
The heavy plight, the panting Passions here,  
If you had but a Grain of all that World  
Of Love, you swore you once had for Semandra,  
You could not see me thus: Misery distracts  
My Reason; should you turn to a new rage,  
(Which I must fear, unless you Vow to save him)  
I could not bear it; you should see me fall  
Cold, pale, and with my Death's Convulsions grasping  
Your watered feet, but never more rise.  Mith. 
Give me your Beauteous Hand; I swear upon it,  
By all those Powers we worship, by ourselves,  
When e'er Ziphares dies, Semandra kills him:  
She shall alone have Power to give him Death,  
Or to recall his most untimely Fate.  Enter Ziphares and Archelaus. 
Thus dearly do I buy the Red Impression  
Which my Lips make; but take it, take it from me:  
My Blood boils up again, my Spirits kindle,  
That lovely Brand has lent my wishes flame,  
And I am lost again in vast desire.  Ziph. 
Semandra! live I once to see thee more,  
Tho in my Father's Arms? 'Tis Heaven, to gaze  
On thy assaulted Honour; thus to see thee;  
Thus tempted from me with the Charms of Empire,  
Yet not consenting! No, I'll not think the World,  
Laid at thy Feet,  
Could win thy Faith!  
Yet, O dread Sir, forgive me:  
If that my boding Heart suspects you more,  
Then all that Heaven could send down great and charming,  
Or Hell could raise up horrid to destroy me.  Mith. 
O Glory!  Arch. 
O, consider, Sir, on that;  
Think how the Romans will despise your Wars,  
If Love now drive you— Speak, my Lord: he yields.  Ziph. 
Oh, Royal Sir, or if the Name of Father  
Can move you more, by that I will Conjure you;  
By all the Charms of Stratonice's Eyes,  
When first they drew you to adore their lustre;  
By all the Pains you gave her when she bore me;  
By all the Obedience I have paid you long,  
And by the Blood I yet intent to lose  
In your behalf: oh grant me my Semandra.  Sem. 
Even by the Passion my unhappy Beauty  
First kindled in you, but I hope is dying,  
Give me Ziphares, give him to my Longings.  Mith. 
'Tis done; the Conquest is at last obtained,  
And Manly Virtue Lords it o'er my Passion:  
It shall be so; away, thou feeble God,  
I banish thee my Bosom, hence I say;  
Be gone, or I will tear the Strings that hold thee,  
And stab thee in my Heart. The Wars come on;  
By Heaven, I'll drown thy laughing Deity  
In Blood, and drive thee with my brandished Sword  
To Rome, I will, yes, to the Capitol;  
There to resume thy Godhead once again,  
And vaunt thy Majesty without control;  
But never Reign in Mithridates Soul.  Arch. 
O wonderful effect of highest Virtue!  
O Conquest, which deserves more Triumphs than  
A hundred Victories in Battle gained.  Ziph. 
You must, you shall be now the Lord of Rome;  
Her Fate shall bow beneath your Awful Sceptre.  
O let me not enjoy the Life you promised,  
The vast possession of the rich Semandra,  
If I strike not Rome's Eagles to the Earth,  
Take the Imperial Standard, Chase their Legions,  
And bring in Triumph all their Leaders bound.  Mith. 
Andravar, haste, Proclaim throughout the City  
My Son Ziphares General against the Romans.  [Exit Andravar. 
Come to my Breast once more, my dearest Son;  
In spite of Love, thou art again my Child:  
Thus, with a Father's bowels, I receive thee,  
Thus melting o'er thee with the tenderest Nature,  
I pray the Gods to Crown thy Youth with glory.  Ziph. 
Oh Happiness! Oh Joy! Oh blessed Tears!  
Reward this Goodness, Heaven; for Poor Ziphares  
Is now so lost, he knows not what to say.  
Let me devour your hands with Filial dearness:  
Were my whole Life to come one heap of Troubles,  
The pleasure of this moment would suffice,  
And sweeten all my griefs with its remembrance.  Sem. 
Oh happy hour! if I not set thee down,  
The whitest that the Eye of Time e'er saw,  
Let me ne'er smile when I remember thee,  
Nor even in wishes offer at a Joy.  [Shouting within. Mith. 
Hark! with loud Cries the Soldiers send their joys:  
Go then, with the best Blessings I can give thee,  
Conduct my cheerful Subjects to the Field;  
Take all the sighing Virgins wishes with thee:  
Subdue the Consul, and receive Semandra.  Ziph. 
O do not doubt me, my most Royal Lord;  
If now I Conquer not, thus helped, thus promised,  
Thus praised, encouraged, and thus over-blest,  
I am the Mark, for all  
The Synod of the Gods to shoot their Fires at.  Mith. 
Semandra, veil your Beauties from my eyes;  
I would not trust their Influence, though I thank  
The Powers above, so strongly Reigns my Virtue,  
I think I might, and fear not a relapse:  
In an Apartment, proper for your grief,  
You shall be placed, till yours and my Ziphares  
Return in Triumph; where no eyes shall see  
Your private walks, nor mark your secret sorrow:  
I thus divide you, that your meeting may  
Be yet more grateful. Haste, my Son, to Battle:  
Be short in parting, for there is no end  
Of Lovers Farewells. The Powers above preserve you.  [Exit Mith. with Pelop. and Andra. Ziph. 
Farewell Semandra; O, if my Father should  
Fall back from Virtue, 'tis an impious thought,  
Yet I must ask you; could you in my absence,  
Solicited by Power and Charming Empire  
And threatened too by death, forget your Vows?  
Could you, I say, abandon poor Ziphares,  
Who midst of Wounds and Death would think on you;  
And, whatsoever Calamity should come,  
Would keep his love sacred to his Semandra,  
Like Balm, to heal the heaviest misfortune?  Sem. 
Your cruel question tears my very Soul:  
Ah, can you doubt me, Prince? A Faith, like mine,  
The softest Passion that e'er Woman wept;  
But as resolved as ever man could boast:  
Alas, why will you then suspect my Truth?  
Yet, since it shows the fearfulness of Love,  
'Tis just I should endeavour to convince you:  
Make bare your Sword, my Noble Father, draw.  Arch. 
What wouldst thou now?  Sem. 
I swear upon it. Oh,  
Be witness, Heaven, and all avenging Powers,  
Of the true love I give the Prince Ziphares:  
When I in thought forsake my plighted Faith,  
Much less in act, for Empire change my love;  
May this keen Sword by my own Father's hand  
Be guided to my Heart, rip Veins and Arteries,  
And cut my faithless limbs from this hacked body,  
To feed the ravenous Birds, and Beasts of prey.  Arch. 
Now, by my Sword, 'twas a good hearty wish;  
And, if thou play'st him false, this faithful hand  
As heartily shall make thy wishes good.  Ziph. 
O hear mine too. If e'er I fail in aught  
That Love requires in strictest, nicest kind;  
May I not only be proclaimed a Coward,  
But be in deed that most detested thing.  
May I, in this most glorious War I make,  
Be beaten basely, even by Glabrio's Slaves,  
And for a punishment lose both these eyes;  
Yet live, and never more behold Semandra.  [Trumpets. Arch. 
Come, no more wishing; Hark, the Trumpets call.  Sem. 
Preserve him, Gods, preserve his Innocence;  
The Noblest Image of your perfect selves:  
Farewell; I'm lost in Tears. Where are you, Sir?  Arch. 
He's gone. Away, my Lord, you'll never part.  Ziph. 
I go; but must turn back for one last look:  
Remember, O remember, dear Semandra,  
That on thy Virtue all my Fortune hangs,  
Semandra is the business of the War,  
Semandra makes the Fight, draws every Sword:  
Semandra sounds the Trumpets; gives the Word.  
So the Moon Charms her watery World below;  
Wakes the still Seas, and makes 'em Ebb and Flow.  Exeunt.   


ACT III. SCENE I.  The Field. Enter Ziphares bloody, with Soldiers. Ziph. 
ARe these, are these the Masters of the World?  
O my brave Friends, how have you fought to day!  
You fought, as if you all had Mistresses,  
Who from some Battlement beheld your Valour,  
And from your Arms expected all their Fortune:  
Oh, had you heard 'em clap their tender hands,  
Beat their white Breasts, and rend the wondering heavens'  
With their shrill cries, you could not have done more;  
Your looks were Basilisks to Roman Blood,  
Your very Breath was as the furious North,  
And drove the Legions, like the Chaff, before you.  
Nor was I idle; witness the wounds I feel,  
Tho Glabrio, at distance, shunned the force  
Of my far-darted Javelin, yet it struck  
A Tribune down, and did not useless fall.  
What more remains, but that we haste to meet  
Victorious Archelaus, plunder their Tents,  
And loaded with the Laurel we have won,  
March to Synope, shouting all the way,  
Long live the King of Kings, great Mithridates?  Enter Archelaus, attended. Arch. 
O Prince! thou Life, thou Soul of all the Army,  
To whose dear hand thrice I did owe my life,  
When thrice this day my Horse was killed beneath me;  
O Renowned day! this one day of thy Valour  
Has drowned in dark Oblivion all my Wars:  
Like Time itself thy Glory shall run on,  
While mine, my fifty Iron-years of battle,  
Lies smeered in dust, and moulder into Ashe s.  Ziph. 
Yes, Father, now I could grow proud of Conquest,  
Since it must give your Daughter to my Arms.  
Methought to day, when I had given the word,  
Semandra, Victory declared herself  
ere yet a Death by any hand was given:  
Even now my blood more heats my youthful veins,  
My Cheeks grow redder, with the expectation  
Of Love's dear promised joys, than when I strove  
In flame of fight, with all my toil upon me,  
To cut my way, and win the famous Field.  Arch. 
Grant me, you Gods, before the hand of Death  
Comes, like Eternal Night with her dark Wing,  
To bar the comfortable light for ever  
From these my aged eyes; O let me see  
A Grandchild of my Princes Sacred Blood,  
To call him mine, to feel him in my Arms,  
To hear his innocent talk, and see him smile,  
While I tell Stories of his Father's Valour,  
Which he in time must learn to imitate:  
Grant me but this, you Gods, and make an end,  
Soon as you please, of this old happy man.  Ziph. 
I feel a gladness lightning in my breast,  
The kindled joy disperses quickly through me,  
And says, ere yet the setting-Sun has quenched  
His Love in his cold Mistress Bed,  
Semandra shall be mine; even all Semandra:  
The thought is Ecstasy! these Arms shall hold her  
Fast to my throbbing Breast; these ravished eyes  
Gaze till they're blind, with looking on her Blushes;  
These stifling Lips shall smother all her Smiles,  
And follow her with such pursuit of Kisses,  
That even our Souls shall lose themselves in pleasure.  Arch. 
First, send a Flying Messenger, with news  
Of our great Victory.  Ziph. 
Ziphares self  
Must be the Harbinger of his own joy:  
I'll go, with the best-mounted Cavalry,  
While you behind conduct, on easy March,  
The wearied Army. Once more let me lock  
My Father thus.  Arch. 
My heart bodes happiness.  Ziph. 
'Twere sin to doubt, since Fortune had no hand  
In what our Swords by dint of Valour won:  
She to the Brave was ever a cursed Foe;  
But I at last have bound her to my Chariot,  
By Conquering Virtue to be dragged along;  
And while her broken Wheel is proudly born,  
She shall be forced our Triumph to adorn.  Exeunt severally.  

SCENE II.  The Palace-Garden. Enter Pharnaces and Andravar. Andr. 
THen there is hope, my Lord, th' unsettled King  
May yet relapse, and fall to Love again?  Phar. 
'Tis certain that the end will Crown our wishes.  
Late, as I pried about Semandra's Gardens,  
Mad that our Plot aground, so ploughed to bear,  
Should yield no Fruit, still thoughtful how to work him,  
And watching for some accident, to fit  
Our purpose, and redeem the last design,  
I chanced to spy the fair Semandra sleeping;  
But, in that posture, she appeared so lovely,  
Bold as I am, she Charmed me into wonder:  
But straight thy General came to rescue me,  
Who took the hint immediately, and went  
To see the King.  Andr. 
I guess the good design,  
To draw him on to see our beauteous Foe.  Phar. 
You have it; and 'tis more than half effected.  
I saw 'em walk: Pelopidas, by his action,  
I know did kindle him with wondrous praise,  
But once to view the bright Semandra sleeping;  
But the King stopped, as if he feared to go;  
Then side-long glanced, and sighed, and walked again,  
Rubbing his hand upon his Face, to hide  
The rising Blushes: but, behold 'em here!  Enter Mithridates, Pelopidas. Mith. 
What are her Charms to me?  Pelop. 
'Tis true, they are not;  
And yet, methinks, the sight might draw down Jove—  
Yet, I'd not ask you, for the World, to see her;  
But that I think you 're Master of your promise:  
I thought your Godlike frame, your strength of mind  
Not to be shook, therefore I wooed you, Sir,  
In Curiosity, to see a Wonder;  
But, if you doubt yourself.  Mith. 
I think I need not:  
I think my Virtue is resolved; but yet,  
I fear, and therefore I will go no farther.  Pelop. 
'Tis well resolved; and yet, methinks, 'twould raise  
Your pity, more than love, to see the tears  
Force through her snowy lids their melting course,  
To lodge themselves on her red murmuring lips  
That talk such mournful things; when straight, a gale  
Of starting sighs carries those Pearls away,  
As Dews, by Winds, are wafted from the Flowers.  Mith. 
'Tis wondrous pitiful; by Heaven, it is!  
I feel her sorrow working here; it calls  
Fire to my breast, and water to my eyes,  
And, if I durst.  Pelop. 
If you the least suspect  
Your temper, if the smallest Breath of Love  
But stir your heart; let me Conjure you, Sir,  
Not to go on: the dazzling manner will  
Disturb your quiet, and confound your Reason.  Mith. 
'Twill be as well, though I believe no Power  
Can change my Virtue, yet 'twill be as well  
If you relate exactly what you saw.  Pelop. 
Behold her then upon a Flowery Bank,  
With her soft sorrows lulled into a slumber,  
The Summer's heat had, to her natural blush,  
Added a brighter, and more tempting red;  
The Beauties of her Neck and naked Breasts,  
Lifted by inward starts, did rise and fall  
With motion that might put a Soul in Statues:  
The matchless whiteness of her folded Arms,  
That seemed t' embrace the Body whence they grew,  
Fixed me to gaze o'er all that Field of Love;  
While to my ravished eyes officious winds,  
Waving her Robes, displayed such handsome Limbs,  
As Artists would in Polished Marble give  
The Wanton Goddess, when supinely laid  
She Charms her Gallant God to new enjoyment.  Mith. 
Something there is stirs mightily my Breast;  
'Tis Pity, sure, it can be only Pity:  
Who knows, but that her multiplying fears,  
And cruel griefs, in time, may give her death?  
'Twere most Inhuman therefore not to go,  
And comfort her, with praises of Ziphares:  
I'll tell her how he Conquers, how he comes  
Triumphant from the Consul's overthrow,  
To take the Noble Wreaths he has deserved,  
Embraces from her Arms; Circles more rich  
Than all the Crowns my fruitless Valour won.  
Yet, stay; I will not speak of him: 'twere rude  
To break her rest; I'll see her, when she wakes.  Pelop. 
Then you dare trust your heart?  Mith. 
'Tis sure I dare:  
By Heaven, my Friends, I dare: I feel such strong  
Collected Manly Virtue, that I'll on.  Pelop. 
Oh, sacred Sir, turn back: if, Conquered by  
Her Beauties, you should love again, I know  
Pelopidas must bear the blame of all;  
Therefore, my Lord.  Mith. 
Away; by Heaven, I'll go.  Pelop. 
Oh, 'tis impossible, if once you loved  
But you must certainly relapse:  
Therefore your fearful Servant kneels and begs  
You would turn back: Alas, he's conscious now  
What a gross fault his foolish tongue committed,  
By tempting unawares your Reason forth.  Mith. 
I'll see her; yes, it is resolved, I'll see her,  
With all that World of Charms thou hast described;  
Therefore arise, and lead the way.  Pelop. 
Alas,  
My Lord, I fear you; but it is your pleasure,  
And I'm your Slave.  Mith. 
Reply not; but obey.  [Exeunt Mith. Pelop. Phar. 
I feel a pleasant expectation breeding;  
His starts, his stops: by Mars, he loves her still:  
Join then the much prevailing circumstance,  
Of Time, and Place; the absence of my Brother,  
To make Guilt bold; the loneness of her Mansion:  
Both strong Incentives to a violent Lover.  Andr. 
Then Love has blessed you on the other hand,  
Since, by our subtle practices, we brought  
Monima to disgrace; with whom you may  
Divert, till we have gained our full Revenge.  
I have the guard of her.  Phar. 
I'm glad thou hast.  
Then, to complete the ruin of Ziphares,  
I hear his Mother, fearful of th' Event  
Of this long War, and loving him as life,  
With Pompey holds private Intelligence,  
And has, to Rome, given all those Castles up,  
Which she had charge of, to preserve her Son.  Andr. 
This, when occasion calls, I'll aggravate,  
To mad your Father more. But see, the General!  Enter Pelopidas. Pelop. 
He's gone; he's ruined; quite transported with  
The Ecstasy of Love: I left him kneeling  
Close to her side, winding about his Heart  
Such Nets of Beauty, as must hold him fast;  
Therefore, when he approaches us for comfort,  
Showing his griefs, and seeking shroud for guilt,  
Let us encourage, to our utmost power,  
What e'er his Violent Love dares put in act.  Enter Mithridates. Mith. 
Torment of heart! Oh, feeble Virtue! hence,  
I blow thee from the Palace, to the Cottage;  
To build in Hearts of Hinds, bless their rude hands  
With thy lean recompense of endless labour:  
For me, since I have burst th' ungrateful Chain  
That held me to thee like a shackled Slave,  
I will enjoy what ere the Gods have given,  
And surfeit on the Beauties of Semandra.  
Oh, my dear Son, my best, my own Pharnaces;  
By Heaven, thou never didst oppose my pleasure,  
As does Ziphares: but I'll cast him out,  
That Bosom-Wolf, who laps my dearest blood,  
And lodge thee there; thou wilt not rack me thus.  Phar. 
The Gods forbid. But why, Sir, will you bear it?  Pelop. 
I could not think you loved her at this rate;  
Therefore I hope forgotten Virtue yielded  
To bolder pleasures, and you quenched your fires.  Mith. 
Drawn by resistless Love, I put one knee  
To Earth, and gently bowing down my head,  
First took at distance the sweet-wafted breath;  
Which blew my flames to such a raging height,  
That straight I fell upon her Balmy Lips,  
And glued my own so fiercely, that she waked:  
And, starting up, soon vanished from my sight,  
Leaving me dumb, pale, languishing, and dying,  
Rent with her Charms, distracted with the rage  
Of my desires, and torn with cruel Love.  Pelop. 
Why stopped you there? I would have followed her  
Into her inmost Closet; pardon me,  
If I prove passionate to see you thus:  
Better a million of such slight-souled things  
Were ravished, massacred, than Mithridates  
Suffer one moments care.  Phar. 
I have no patience.  
By your great Glory, 'twas not Nobly done:  
I'th' midst of groans, and cries, and gushing tears,  
I would have ravished her;— your Royal Hand,  
Locked in her Amber-Hair, should then have forced her;  
Who knows, but opposition mounts the joy?  
Like that Athenian Tyrant, who ne'er took  
His Barge for pleasure, but in highest Storms;  
Then would he stand like Neptune on his Deck,  
And laugh to see the Dolphins back the billows.  Andr. 
Say but the word, I'll fetch her from the Altar  
To your embraces: never did I see  
So strange an alteration; your fierce eye,  
Which, like the Sun at Noon, none could behold  
But with a snatch of light, and then be dazzled:  
Now, like a cold and drowsy Winter-star,  
Bears a bleak brightness. O decay of lustre!  Mith. 
I am not as I was.— Ha! whence this noise?  [Shout within. Ex. Pelop. and Andra. Phar. 
My Lord, this Passion has unmanned you quite:  
Forgetful of the glorious Fields you won,  
You lose your dear bought Honours in a day,  
And sell your Fame to your ambitious Son.  
The Coward Glabrio, whom by flying Agents  
I hear, in divers Skirmishes he vanquished,  
Has swelled him so, and blown him to that height,  
He rides upon the shoulders of his Army:  
They heave him, as he were a God, in Air,  
And dance before him, shouting in their Songs,  
You are their Saturn, but the Prince their Jove,  
All that their waning Faith can give Ambition;  
And he too laughs, to hear the thundering Titles.  Mith. 
And, for a recompense, shall I bestow  
Upon this Traitor, all I love on Earth?  
No, my Pharnaces, I have marked him dead,  
If that Semandra's loss can bring his ruin:  
Not but the thought I go with shows me just  
To what she shall appear: the Noble wile  
Kills by her seeming Infidelity.  
Monima too must perish for dishonour;  
But rather to make way for my new Love,  
And fix the giddy People on my side.  [Shouts again. 
Again these shouts?  Phar. 
I guess Ziphares comes.  Mith. 
Down, struggling Nature;  
Die, die, thou Ravisher of my Repose;  
Be strangled in me all remorse, all thoughts  
Of pity; yet I will be calmly cruel,  
Nor shall he find the depth of my Revenge.  Enter Andravar. Andr. 
Your Son has Conquered, mightiest of Kings;  
But by a way so infamously base,  
I fear my doom will scarce be less than death  
For the relation.  Mith. 
Monstrous may it be;  
For I so hate him now, I wish for Crimes  
Of deepest grain, for colour to his Fate.  Andr. 
His Royal Mother, the False Stratonice,  
To whom you gave in Custody Inora,  
The strongest, richest Fort of all the East,  
ere he with Glabrio joined, to Rome did yield  
That wondrous mass of treasure, with her Honour.  Mith. 
Cursed State of Monarchs! Let the judging World  
Now weigh our pleasures, with our mightier troubles,  
And find us happier than the rest of men!  
False Beauty, thou shalt die, thou bane of greatness;  
Or, if I cannot reach thy fickle being,  
I'll punish thee by ruining Ziphares.  Andr. 
This have I learned by frequent Messengers,  
Who warrant with their lives, how by consent  
Glabrio but skirmished with the Prince your Son,  
And was by Stratonice bribed before.  Mith. 
Plots, Treasons, horrid black Conspiracies!  
Mother and Son, Oh Parricides! combine;  
But if you scape me, may I sleep my Reign out.  Enter Pelopidas. 
What says Pelopidas? What of Ziphares?  
Bring'st thou more matter for my Curses? Speak.  Pelop. 
He comes, my Lord, and with a Port so proud,  
As if he had subdued the spacious World,  
And all Synope's Streets are filled with such  
A glut of People, you would think some God  
Had conquered in their Cause, and they thus ranked  
That he might make his entrance on their heads:  
While from the Scaffolds, Windows, tops of Houses,  
Are cast such gaudy showers of Garlands down,  
That even the Crowd appear like Conquerors,  
And the whole City seems like one vast Meadow,  
Set all with Flowers, as a clear Heaven with Stars.  Mith. 
Ungrateful Slaves! by Mars, when I returned,  
Worn with the hardship of a ten-years War,  
My Army's heavy-gaited, bruised and hacked,  
With cutting Roman lives;  
They ne'er received me with a pomp like this.  Pelop. 
Nay, as I heard, ere he the City entered,  
Your Subjects lined the ways for many furlongs;  
The very Trees bore men: and, as our God,  
When from the Portal of the East he dawns,  
Beholds a thousand Birds upon the boughs,  
To welcome him with all their warbling throats,  
And prune their feathers in his Golden Beams;  
So did your Subjects, in their gaudy'st trim,  
Upon the pendant branches, speak his praise.  
Mothers, who covered all the banks beneath,  
Did rob their crying Infants of the breast,  
Pointing Ziphares out to make 'em smile;  
And climbing Boys stood on their Father's shoulders,  
Answering their shouting Sires with tender cries,  
To make the Consort up of general joy.  Mith. 
What, will you bear your part too? Oh the Gods!  
He is transported with the ample Theme,  
And plays the Orator! Plagues rot thy Tongue,  
And blasted be the Lungs that breathed his welcome,  
Perish the Bodies that went forth to meet him,  
A prey for Worms, to stink in hollow ground.  
O, Viper! Villain! not content to take  
My Love, but Life! wilt thou unthrone me too?  
Shall Mithridates live to be deposed;  
A Stale, the Image of what once he was;  
The very Ghost of his departed Greatness;  
A thing for Slaves to be familiar with,  
To gape, to nod, and sleep in my scorned face?  
Awake, awake, thou sluggard Majesty,  
Rouse thee to Act; though all the Elements,  
Tho Heaven and Hell, Subjects and Sons conspire,  
With Fate thy Empire's fall; oppose their will:  
Dare to the last, and be a Monarch still.  [Exit. Pelop. 
What think you now?  Phar. 
I think, for my Revenge,  
For any act that witty horror asks,  
Thou art an Instrument so black and fit,  
The Furies joined in Council could not match thee.  
But see, Ziphares comes: with what a Train  
Of Priests! nay, than the God must be Adored.  The Scene being drawn, represents Ziphares' Triumph, which is a Street full of Pageants, crowded with People, who from the Windows fling down Garlands: others dance before him, while the Priests sing, Ziphares resting under a Canopy of State. Ziph. 
Enough, my Friends, my Noble Countrymen,  
I am indebted to your Bounties ever;  
But let me now Conjure you, cease the noise  
Of your loud thanks, lest we disturb the King:  
We're near the Palace, and my boding heart  
Says he interprets rudely this our Triumph  
Which you, against my will, have forced upon me;  
Therefore Ziphares begs you to retire:  
By the small Victories my Arms have gained,  
If you have any Love, as much you show,  
Let me entreat you all, by that affection,  
Even now, upon this instant, to disband.  All. 
Long live our King, and Noble Prince Ziphares.  [Exeunt shouting. Phar. 
Welcome, Ziphares, welcome to Synope;  
Still, when Fate calls thee forth, may'st thou return,  
Thus swelled, thus Lord Triumphant o'er the Romans.  Ziph. 
Had I subdued the World, I should detest  
The Title of Triumpher, and scarce think  
That man my friend who praises at your rate.  Pelop. 
Had not the Monster multitude received you Sir,  
With such a monstrous State, methinks,  
Like Hercules, you should have slain the Hydra.  Andr. 
Heard you but Sir, how, with hundred mouths,  
It worshipped, as you were already Crowned:  
Long live our King, the Noble Prince Ziphares?  Ziph. 
What, Villains! Ha! Gods, have I flesh and bear it?  
Pharnaces, off; by my just wrath they die.  [Exeunt Pel. and Andr. Phar. 
The King! remember how this Rage will sound.  Ziph. 
O the cursed Traitors! Brother, beware of 'em:  
How e'er they crouch at present to your Fortune,  
For I perceive your favour warmed the Snakes  
To stir, they have no sense of gratitude:  
I found 'em base, and therefore did discard 'em;  
For which, the Slaves have sworn me mortal hate;  
But if I live I'll crush 'em.  Phar. 
You'll to the King?  Ziph. 
I will. Methinks this meeting was unlucky;  
My heart misgives me more, and higher beats  
With this last heat, than all the toil of War:  
Perhaps, they move the King; but sure not much:  
Or if they do, though our great Father frowns,  
One smile, one tear of joy from my Semandra  
Will wash the anger of the Gods away.  [Exit. Phar. 
Go, and the welcome that I wish attend thee.  
Of all my Elder Brothers, he remains  
To cross my hopes, and bar me from the Crown:  
Whom yet I doubt not, by my Engines help,  
To burst in sunder, and then gild my Brows.  
Methinks I should become the Golden-Hoop  
That circles in one quarter of the Globe:  
I have it just; my Sceptre waving thus,  
The starting Princes run to clear my way.  Enter Mithridates, Semandra, Pelopidas, Andravar, Guards. 
But hold, my Father comes, with sad Semandra!  
Weep on; while I go laugh my cares away  
With Monima, who must or yield or die.  [Exit. Mith. 
Has not the Traitor won my Subjects hearts?  
Has not his Mother basely too, betrayed me?  
Has he not dared to Triumph without leave?  
Which, when my faithfullest worthiest Councillors  
Rebuked him for, with mild and gentle Language,  
He redned with proud anger, drew his Sword;  
Then, like a monstrous Parricide, came on  
Here, to my Palace, Heading the wild Crowd,  
So through the Bodies of my Friends to pass,  
Till with his barbarous hand he reached my Bosom.  Sem. 
'Tis false; 'tis all most horrid Perjury;  
And the cursed spotted Souls of these vile Traitors  
Shall burn for this beneath: I know they hate  
The Gallant Prince, and now conspire against him;  
With words, made up with all the blasts of Hell  
They strike your sacred Ears, bewitch your Senses,  
And with those Spells that foulest Treason hatched,  
Stagger your Royal Reason. O yet hear me!  Mith. 
From what I have decreed, no Charm, no Power,  
No Eloquence; not Mercy's self, adorned  
In all Semandra's Beauties, in her tears,  
Prostrate upon the Earth, and hanging on  
My knees, nay dying with her grief, shall move me.  Sem. 
I now believe you are not to be moved;  
Therefore with my undaunted Innocence,  
I stand to hear the Doom you have decreed.  Mith. 
If when Ziphares, at your first appearance,  
Runs to your Arms, fired with expected joys,  
You thrust him not away, and slight him strangely,  
With all the marks of the most proud disdain,  
That a most faithless and ambitious Woman  
Could show to gain the Empire of the World;  
He shall be stabbed, be murdered by my Guards,  
Before your eyes.  Sem. 
O, 'tis not possible,  
That you can mean the dreadful things you speak:  
You speak it but to try the poor Semandra.  Mith. 
Mark me most heedfully, for 'tis most true,  
And sooner shall a dooming God recall  
His Stygian Oath, than I renounce my Vow:  
He dies, I say, if you receive him not  
With all the coldness of a fair Apostate,  
Whose Chastity the poison of sweet Power  
Had brought to ruin, whose protested Faith  
The Charms of Empire had quite turned to Air.  Sem. 
Gods, do you hear the Tyrant?  Mith. 
Do you hear me?  
If to your words, which must make plain your falsehood,  
Your looks should give the Lie, by amorous glances,  
And languish, for Lovers eyes will talk;  
Or, as you speak your hate, mixed sighs arise,  
Or faltering speech, or any other mark,  
To show that you are forced to what you say;  
Then, from the place where I shall stand concealed,  
I'll give the Signal to my waiting Guards,  
Who in a moment shall destroy your Lover,  
When all your tears and sighs shall not recall him.  Sem. 
I'll die, I'll die, ten thousands deaths I'll die,  
Rather than meet him thus: what, after all  
The dreadful Imprecations that I made him,  
And swore upon my Father's Sword, a Faith,  
A spotless Love, for ever to endure;  
Shall I abjure my Oaths, and to his face  
Protest a falsehood, and belie my heart?  Miih. 
Take your own course; I have sworn.  Sem. 
O Tyranny!  
What, shall I meet him after all his hardships,  
After the heats and colds, and smarting wounds,  
Which for my sake he patiently endured,  
Still cheering up himself, that after all  
The blood he lost, he should enjoy Semandra,  
His gentle Mistress one day should reward him,  
For the long mischiefs of a cruel War?  Mith. 
I have not leisure now to hear complaints:  
Either resolve t' obey, and speedily,  
Or you and I must never see him more.  Sem. 
Stay, Royal Sir, come back: ne'er see him more!  
And if I die, rather than see him thus,  
Will you not save his life?  Mith. 
Your death, Semandra!  
The very mention hastens on his fate.  Sem. 
Alas, alas! I fear, if I but look  
As if I knew him not, or had forgot him,  
So nice and tender is his love,  
So soft his disposition, 'twill be fatal.  Mith. 
Then, you resolve his death?  Sem. 
It cannot be.  
No, I will see him, though I must be cruel;  
But bate a little of your Imposition:  
An unkind word will kill the poor Ziphares,  
As sure as all the hate which you enjoin me.  Enter Ismenes. Isme. 
The Prince Ziphares begs admittance of Your Majesty.  Mith. 
You must retire, Semandra.  Sem. 
O Torment! O the Racks of Love distressed  
Like mine! of Passion at a loss like mine!  
Help me, you Gods, or I shall faint with bearing.  [Exit. Mith. 
Call in the Prince.— What, Nature yet again?  
I charge thee trouble my repose no more.  Enter Ziphares. Ziph. 
'Tis well, you Powers that pry into our hearts,  
Well have I lost my dearest blood in battle,  
Since once again I see my Royal Father.  Mith. 
Ziphares, rise; I hear you have fought well,  
Too well perhaps for Mithridates' peace:  
You Triumphed too, I hear.  Ziph. 
Alas, my Lord,  
I fear Pelopidas and Andravar  
Have been too busy with your Ear.  
By my best hopes, by your most Sacred Life,  
I would not Triumph till your Orders came;  
At least, they told me, that they came from you:  
If they were false,—  Mith. 
They were your Friends who brought  
Those Orders; therefore you are not in fault:  
Nor ought you share the Crimes of Stratonice.  Ziph. 
Of Stratonice! Ah, what has she done?  
Ah, Sir, what Villain has tradueed my Mother?  
Give me to know—  Mith. 
Perhaps you 're ignorant:  
Would I had been so too; but to the purpose.  
I promised, when the Consul was o'ercome,  
To give Semandra to you:— Seem not sad,  
You love your Father well; but, Prince, I know  
Your Passion for Semandra is the highest:  
I'll send her to you, if you please retain her.  [Exit. Ziph. 
Is this then thy reward, unnecessary Virtue?  
Why do we wear thee thus, to our undoing?  
O, inauspicious Stars! thy Father hates thee,  
Because thou art too good! went it not so?  
I fought too well! His eye disdained me too,  
And held my High Desert at hateful distance:  
But, let it be, there's satisfaction still  
In Innocence: and conscious Glory tells me,  
My Griefs shall fly, like Clouds, before Semandra.  Enter Semandra. 
But see, the Sun that drives 'em! O my Star!  
Thou Day, that gild'st my little World of comfort,  
Give me thy warmth; let me, upon thy Bosom,  
Breath all my Victories. Alas, the King,  
My cruel Father,— Ha! what now, Semandra?  
Not fly into my arms! O all you Powers  
That Nursed our tender Loves, she turns away!  
Hast thou too caught the coldness of my Father?  
Clear me, you Gods, and fix my Understanding  
To this one view, left I mistake all measure,  
And run to madness. What, not look upon me?  
By Heaven, if thus, if thus I should behold thee,  
Tho in a Dream, 'twould make me wish to sleep for ever.  
O my dear Life! thou shalt not hide thy kindness;  
But to dissemble thus a moment longer,  
Would quite destroy the Passionate Ziphares.  
I'll force thy hand, thus, to my trembling lips.  Sem. 
The kiss you ravish, Prince, is dangerous;  
And let me now Conjure you, by your Love,  
If you can love after what I enjoin you,  
Upon your life, offer the like no more.  
O Man me, Reason, with thy utmost force;  
Or Passion, with the dreadful starts it makes,  
Will soon Divorce my Soul from this weak Body.  
What hast thou said? and, Ah! what have I heard?  
Fair cruel faithless, for the blood I lost,  
Dost thou thus meet me? Raise thy eyes from Earth,  
And tell me, Have I, Ah, have I deserved  
This usage from my dear adored Semandra?  Sem. 
You deserve all things; but you must not ask  
My Love, unless you wish me most unhappy.  Ziph. 
O, you good Gods! is it then come to this?  
Shall I, shall I— but speak it once again,  
Unhappy! didst thou, couldst thou say unhappy?  Sem. 
I'd have you strive, my Lord, to love me less.  Ziph. 
If you would have it so, be witness, Heaven,  
If for your quiet you enjoin me this,  
I'll strive; but (oh!) 'tis most impossible:  
Ah, may I not presume to ask, if this  
The reason be why I should love you less,  
That the too happy King may love you more?—  
— Your silence does confirm Ziphares lost:  
And all that I could fear is come upon me.  
Ah, Barbarous King! I'll bear thy Bonds no longer;  
But cast off Duty, as thou hast all Love,  
Thou bloody Author of this wretched Being.  
Tyrant—  Sem. 
Take heed, Ziphares, how you wrong your Father:  
I've heard you give another Character,  
So different from this last, of Mithridates,  
Methinks you scarce appear the same Ziphares  
Whom once I knew.  Ziph. 
It is most sure I do not;  
But, to convince me more, quite to complete  
The cruel sum of all my desperate woes,  
And sink me ever; what, Madam, have you heard  
Me say? or, rather, what is't you would say  
In ill-time praised, of this inhuman Father?  Sem. 
Have I not heard you speak the tenderest things,  
How, but for some few faults, so small, that scarce  
The Eye of Envy or of Hate could find'em,  
He would be perfect as the Gods themselves;  
A King so awful, that the Romans feared him,  
A King so merciful, Barbarians loved him?  
A King—  Ziph. 
No more; I am confirmed: she's lost:  
The King! she's gone; the Beauty of the Earth,  
All that in Woman could be Virtue called  
Is lost.  
Corrupted are her Noble Faculties,  
The temper of her Soul is quite infected:  
Inconstancy, the Plague that first or last  
Taints the whole Sex, the catching Court-disease,  
Has spotted all her white, her Virgin Beauties.  Sem. 
You think me false— Ah, 'tis but just you should!  
But, Prince, I swear, I am not what you think me;  
Yet never can be yours.  Ziph. 
O confusion!  
Never! O horror? never can be yours!  
Thou tearest my heart! call back those dreadful words;  
Tho thou art going, yet thou art not gone:  
Ah, e'er it be too late, behold me gasping.  
Come to my Arms; Oh, leave me not for ever:  
Fall on my Bosom, I'll forget thy weakness;  
Try to deceive myself with specious Reasons,  
Never upbraid thee that thou once wert false,  
But with my tears wash all thy stains away. (Counsel;  Sem. 
Since tears (O help me Heaven!) are vain, take, take my  
Cheer your sad heart, and grieve, Oh grieve no more!  Ziph. 
Then thou art lost? resolved upon my ruin?  Sem. 
Your life's too precious: I resolve against it!  
Not for ten thousand Worlds— What was I saying?  [Aside. 
What shall I say? Live, live, thou lost Ziphares.  Ziph. 
No, thou perfidious Maid, thou wretched Beauty,  
Ziphares loves thee still; so well he loves thee,  
That he will die, to rid thee of a torment.  
Where are thy Vows? O think upon thy Father,  
How this will cut him, this thy cruel Change,  
And break his aged heart: or, ere he dies,  
Think, if his kindled rage should execute  
What he has sworn, to hack thy beauteous Limbs,  
Tear thy false flesh into a thousand pieces.  Sem. 
If that were all my fear!—  Ziph. 
What, hardened! Oh my Stars!  
So quickly perfect in the cursed Trade?  
I shall go mad with the Imagination.  
O heart! though Heaven had opened the pregnant Clouds,  
And teemed, with all the never-erring Gods,  
To swear on Earth Semandra had been false,  
Semandra had been false to her Ziphares,  
I would not have believed.  Sem. 
I cannot hear this grief, nor must I cure it.  
Farewell— O Prince— Instruct me, Heaven to save him.  Aside. Ziph. 
Stay thee; there's something, ere we part for ever,  
That I would speak: if I could make it way.  Sem. 
Speak then, and speak the mournful'st things you can,  
To break both hearts.  Ziph. 
Thou hast undone me; like a Silver-Frost,  
Thou com'st upon the Flower of all my Youth,  
To nip the tender Bud, and blast my Glory:  
Yet I will live, Semandra, I will live,  
To save thee from thy Father's cruel rage;  
For, wicked as thou art, with grief, I feel  
My Soul looks after thee, and seeks thy safety.  Sem. 
I shall not hold; I feel the climbing grief:  
My eyes grow full, and I shall give him Death.  Aside. Ziph. 
Farewell. Thus, kneeling at thy feet, I pour  
These parting tears; and sure, the happy King,  
In pity will allow this dying Kiss,  
Which my cold lips print on thy faithless hand.  
Oh, all my Vows, for ever here I leave you;  
And, since we never, never must behold  
Each other more, I'll breath'em once again:  
Farewell, Semandra. O, thou'lt never find,  
In all thy search of Love, a heart like mine.  
Once more, Farewell for ever, false Semandra.  
What? yet again thy name? will my Charmed tongue  
Sound nothing but Semandra? Oh, Semandra!  Exit. Enter Mithridates, with Priests. Sem. 
The cruel Task is done; and I can hold  
No longer!—  
Come back Semandra, Empire, Empire calls thee,  
Open thy eyes to meet thy coming glory!  
O barbarous Prince, may I not die in quiet?  Mith. 
Talk not of dying,  
See this Holy Man—  Sem. 
Holy, Profane,  
All things are now alike to my distraction.  Mith. 
He instantly shall join your hand with mine.  Sem. 
What means the Tyrant?  Mith. 
You are now our Queen.  Sem. 
First let me seek a Dragon in his Den;  
Embrace an Aspic, curl with Basilisks,  
ere I give up this Body, this poor Beauty  
To any but my Lord, the wronged Ziphares.  Mith. 
I guess you would not, by your free consent;  
But I shall force, if you refuse to yield:  
This moment I will take you in my Chariot,  
Straight to the Temple, and in public Wed you;  
Tho you refuse to join in Ceremony,  
Instead of sacred words venting loud Curses,  
'T will not avail; for when the Mysteries done,  
I'll bear you back, and as my Queen enjoy you.  Sem. 
I will be dragged; die stifled, with my grief.  Mith. 
You have the Will, but not the Power to die.  Sem. 
None! is there none? no pitying God awake?  
And are your Priests Confederate in my ruin?  
They sure will tell you of your Tyranny,  
And fear too much the anger of the heavens',  
To force a helpless Virgin: they will speak  
Your Crimes abroad; will you not, Holy Men?  Mith. 
Let me but hear the Holiest of 'em cross me,  
By Heaven, he shall go Sacrifice beneath:  
Therefore away, Priest, forward to the Temple.  Sem. 
Help, help, you Gods.  Mith. 
All thought of help is vain.  
Give me your beauteous hand, and willingly,  
Or here are arms to bear you.  Sem. 
Let 'em be;  
Call all your Armies hither to your aid,  
I will not stir, nor give this trembling hand  
To gain an Empire: thus, to th' Earth, I'll grow  
One piece. O, root me here, some pitying God,  
And let me lose my being, to escape him.  Mith. 
Andravar, raise her gently from the ground:  [They take her in their arms. 
Take help, and bring her softly to my Chariot.  Sem. 
Stay, Mithridates; hear me but one word;  
One moments stay: even Malefactors are  
Allowed to speak before their Execution;  
And shall not I? ay, who am Innocent?  
'Tis not to thee, but to the Gods, I bow:  
Behold;— but see, from you, from you they take me:  
O save me thus by cruel men betrayed;  
Revenge yourselves, and right a Ravished Maid.    


ACT IV. SCENE I.  Mithridates' encompassed with the Ghosts of his Sons, who set Daggers to his Breast, and vanish. 
WHat Hoa! Pelopidas! why, Andravar!  
Haste to my help.  Enter Pelopidas, Andravar. Pelop. 
What would your Majesty?  Mith. 
I would, what I must ne'er expect on Earth,  
The Peace I had. Come nearer. Oh, my Friends!  
If Fate did ere foreshow a Doom in sleep,  
Mine is at hand. Last night, you well remember,  
I bore Semandra from the Thundering Gods,  
Who shook the deep Foundations of the Temple,  
With the reports of Wrath Divine; yet I,  
This desperate wretch, through streets of fire, did bear her  
Back, in a Swoon, to my most inward Closet:  
But there you left me; left me to the rage  
Of monstrous Love, which, in the midst of faintings,  
With Transports yet unheard-of, forced a Joy  
Whose momentary pleasures will heap on me  
Whole Worlds of Furies, Hells of endless horror.  Pelop. 
But, Sir, the Dream; that may divert your cares.  Mith. 
Divert 'em! rather let me gather all my courage  
To Bulwark in my Soul. O plant me round  
With your kind Bodies; blunt, if possible,  
heavens' whetted vengeance, while I tell the Vision.  
After the dreadful Ecstasy was over,  
The Ravished Maid, half-dead with shrieking prayers,  
Burst, at the last, from my relenting Arms,  
Ran to my Sword, of which when I disarmed her,  
She fled the Room, with cries like one distracted.  
Pressed with Remorse, I rested on my Couch,  
And slept; but oh, a Dream so full of terror,  
The pale, the trembling midnight Ravisher  
ne'er saw, when cold Lucretia's Mourning-Shadow  
His Curtains drew, and lashed him in the eyes  
With her bright Tresses, dabbled in her blood.  Pelop. 
I have heard of Dreams that have proved Ominous;  
But I could never fix my Faith on Fancies.  Mith. 
Methought, by Heavenly Order I was doomed  
To seek my Fate alive in th' other World:  
Streight, like a Feather, I was borne by Winds,  
To a steep Promontory's top, from whence  
I saw the very Mouth of Opening Hell;  
Shooting so fast through the void Caves of night,  
I had not time to ponder of my passage.  
I shot the Lake of Oaths, where Fleeting Ghosts,  
Whose Bodies were unburied, begged for wastage:  
Then was I thrown down the Infernal Courts,  
Infinite fathom, till I soared again  
To the bright Heavenly Plains, the happy Fields.  Andr. 
I wonder, that the brittle thread of thought  
Should hold in such a maze!  Mith. 
Oh, now it comes.  
After that Heavenly Sounds had Charmed my Ears,  
Methought I saw the Spirits of my Sons,  
Slain by my jealousy of their Ambition,  
Who shrieked, He's come! our cruel Father's come!  
Arm, arm, they cried, through all th' enameled Grove:  
Streight had their cries alarmed the wounded Host  
Of all those Romans, massacred in Asia:  
I heard the empty clank of their thin Arms,  
And tender voices cried, Lead, Pompey, lead.  
Straight they came on, with Chariots, Horse and Foot.  
When I had leisure to discern their Chief,  
Methought that Pompey was my Son Ziphares;  
Who cast his dreadful Pile, and pierced my heart:  
Then such a din of Death, Swords, Spears and Javelins,  
Clattered about me, that I waked with terror,  
And found myself extended on the Floor.  Enter Pharnaces. Phar. 
Arm, arm, Great Mithridates, the big War  
Comes with vast leaps, bounding o'er all the East,  
Which crouches to the Torrent: Pompey comes;  
Pompey the Great, saluted Emperor,  
And, for some years, destined to govern all  
Th' Italian Armies, with such full Commission,  
As yet was never granted to a Roman.  
Pompey, so young, so soft, in shining Courts,  
That all the Roman Ladies languish for him:  
Pompey, so fierce in Camps, so brave in Fields,  
The very Boys, like Cupid's, dressed in Arms,  
Clap their young harnessed thighs, and strut to Battle:  
Pompey, Rome's Darling, and Fame's Eldest Son,  
Proclaims with Mithridates' mortal War.  Mith. 
Were all well here, what force, what Roman Arms,  
What General, marching at the Head of Millions,  
Could daunt the bold, the forward Mithridates?  
But here, Pharnaces, in my guilty Bosom,  
The fatal Foe does undermine my quiet;  
Black Legions, are my thoughts; not Pompey, but  
Ziphares comes, with all his wrongs, for Arms,  
Like the Lieutenant of the Gods, against me:  
Semandra too, like bleeding Victory,  
Stands on his side, and cries out, Kill, kill, kill  
That cursed Parricide, that Ravisher.  
Oh Heaven, sustain me, or I shall go mad.  
My ugly guilt lies in my conscious face,  
And I am vanquished, slain with Bosom-war.  Phar. 
'Tis much beneath your Majesty, to alarms  
Yourself with fears.  Mith. 
Pharnaces, thou'rt ignorant!  
I tell thee, Boy, remorse and upstart fear  
Oppresses me, in spite of all my knowledge:  
Tho none of those that boast Philosophy  
Has made a deeper search in Nature's Womb  
Than I; (the midnight Moon has seen my watchings)  
I tell thee, none can name her infinite seeds  
Like me; nor better knows her sparks of light,  
Those Gems that shine in the blew-Ring of Heaven;  
None knows more Reasons for, or against yon first  
Bright Cause, can talk of accidents  
Above me: yet I tell thee, once again,  
There is a Thorn, called Conscience, makes its way  
Through all the Fence of Pleasure, fortified  
With reasons, that this ill seemed good to me,  
And stings thy guilty Father to the Soul.  Pelop. 
After the fierceness of uncommon pleasure,  
A sudden heaviness is natural.  Andr. 
Not but the fading Spirits will revive.  Mith. 
Never, oh never: nor did I enjoy  
Expected pleasure, though these hands did hold,  
All night, her panting Beauties to my breast;  
But, oh! what joy, what pleasure, what content,  
Could my griev'd-heart receive in ravished kindness!  
Her lips, which if Ziphares had been there,  
Would sure have shot their gleamy warmth at distance,  
Were cold to me, as Odours are in Frost:  
Her face, like weeping Marble, damped my flames;  
And, as I drew her trembling to my Arms,  
She fainted still, and wooed me with such wail,  
Such languish, and broken sighs, to leave her;  
That, had not more than monstrous appetite  
Transported me, the Rose had been unblasted.  Phar. 
You think of her too much: the Sex of Women,  
The ravished Beauties of the Earth together,  
Deserve not half the grief that clouds your Brow.  Pelop. 
Your Subjects want you, to defend their lives;  
Each Citizen, in Armour clad, defends  
His Household-gods, standing to guard his door,  
And cries, a Leader, let us to the Wars.  Mith. 
The Thunderbolt of Mithridates battle,  
That tore the Roman Banners, now is lost:  
My arm, my arm, even my right arm is lost.  
Nor will my Trumpets sound, without Ziphares:  
His Breath was as the Air, to all the Army;  
His Face was as the Sun, in depth of Winter;  
And made cold Cowards blush away their fears;  
But he is set, for ever set in sorrow.  Andr. 
Your Majesty is, of yourself, sufficient  
To Head your eager Troops; or brave Pharnaces  
Stands forth, to fill Ziphares empty place.  Pelop. 
Ziphares still your Royal Favour had,  
To improve himself in Arms, against the Romans;  
While, in inglorious Fields, Pharnaces strove  
Amongst Barbarians, to get a Name:  
And tho, perhaps, he greater pains employed,  
In rooting up such Rubbish of the Earth,  
Than th' other did in felling the tall Trees;  
Yet this was paid with Labour, that with Praise.  Mith. 
Peace, Villains; peace, conspiring Sycophants:  
Now, by the Gods, my eyes are half unsealed;  
But, if the thought that kindles in my breast  
Finds proper fuel to increase my fire,  
It shall consume you, Traitors; if I find  
(Which I begin to do) that you have played  
The Villain, Andravar, or thou Pelopidas,  
And laid Semandra's Beauty as a snare  
To catch Ziphares life, (Oh, all the Gods!)  
And ruin me, by placing of the Bait:  
Mark me, if ought of this, if any shadow  
Appear, that you conspired to betray me;  
I'll heap such horrors on your frighted Souls,  
That you shall call your Brother-Devils up,  
To snatch you hence, rather than stand my fury.  Pelop. 
Why should your Majesty suspect your Servants?  Mith. 
Because thou didst foment my fatal passion;  
And, when I view thee well, my Genius bids  
Beware of thee: though thy most subtle Devil  
Has wrought me still to listen to thy lies;  
Thou art, methinks, maliciously contrived,  
And haste, if ever yet a Villain had,  
The Face of a most subtle working Slave.  Andr. 
We have done nought, but what your Royal Word  
Did Warrant: if you loved, should we rebuke it?  
Or durst we think to quench a fire, which you  
Resolved should burn?  Mith. 
Yes, Traitors, yes; you ought,  
When you had seen me going, to have stopped me:  
My struggling Virtue might, with some assistance,  
Have cast the Venom of my Passion up;  
But, with your poisonous breath, you made it rage,  
Till I was fit to ruin poor Semandra.  Enter Semandra. 
But, oh! behold the Innocence I wronged!  Sem. 
What, dost thou start? Oh heavens'! Semandra frights him!  
Why, what a Monster than must I appear,  
Whose Form can shake the bloody Mithridates!  
'Tis sure, thou hast undone this helpless Creature,  [Weep. 
And turned to mortal paleness all her Beauties;  
Thou hast made her hate the Day which once adorned  
Her opening Sweets: how wretched hast thou made me!  
Yet, Oh my Soul, thou inward knowledge, speak,  
How much I hate this violated Shrine.  Mith. 
Wretched Semandra!  Sem. 
Dost thou pity me?  
Is the long Line of my Eternal grief  
Of such a Charming force, that it can fetch  
Tears from that Rock? Ah, most unheard-of sorrow!  
Dost thou repent? or are they but feigned tears?  
Whate'er they are, thou shouldst have thought before,  
The cruel consequence of this dark deed;  
When I was heaved in Air, and with my cries  
Pierced the deaf heavens', and called to thee for mercy,  
Then hadst thou thus dissolved, I should have blessed thee:  
But now, thy black Repentance comes too late.  
What, Ah! what satisfaction canst thou make?  Mith. 
Instruct me.  Sem. 
No: there is in Nature none;  
Since I can never be Ziphares Bride.  
For if thou shouldst consent to make us one,  
And Heaven should Warrant it; nay, though Ziphares  
Extravagantly should consent to take me,  
Ah, could I meet those dear, those faithful arms,  
Which yet, in sleep, ne'er touched a breast but mine,  
Thus wronged, and thus defiled, thus nothing left,  
Of his Semandra, but her spotless mind!  
This is too much to think. Ah, cruel King!  
Now I could curse, now I could tear myself,  
Now I could weep, as if 'twere possible  
To wash my stains out. Tell me, O you Powers,  
For I'll be calm, was I not worth your care?  
And why, you Gods, was Virtue made to suffer?  
Unless this World be but as fire, to purge  
Her dross, that she may mount, and be a Star.  
Were this but certain; Ah, there's nothing sure,  
But my irrevocable Fate: undone Semandra!—  
This, this is certain, Death with loss of Honour.  [Exit. Mith. 
Farewell, Semandra, thou most wronged of Women.  
But I'll this instant go to Monima,  
And if I find what I suspect; Pharnaces,  
I'll cut thee off, as an infectious limb:  
And, for those Villains, I shall quickly know  
The wrong she has had; whose accused Innocence  
If your foul words have sullied with black slander,  
Think not to scape, for should you ride on Charms,  
Take Winds to bear you, or the Lightning's speed,  
With panting horror to the brink of Hell,  
I'd sweep you from the Verge to flames beneath,  
And sink your Villainies with weighty death.  [Exit. Phar. 
First, sink yourself, your Crown and Love together.  
Pelopidas, this comes of your cool counsel:  
Had I been heard, Monima had been gone  
By this; enjoyed, and Crowned my Royal Bride,  
And we received, as Conquerors, by the Romans.  
Hast thou not heard how when Tygranes came,  
And cast his Diadem at Pompey's feet,  
He called him King, and raised him by that Name  
To sit as Equal to the Roman Consul?  
By all the Gods, I will not stay a moment,  
But take immediately my flight; except  
You swear to side with Rome; call Pompey hither,  
And haste with all the Forces we can make,  
To join his Army, and betray my Father.  Pelop. 
A sudden thought of lucky mischief comes;  
Old Archelaus is arrived, but left  
The laboured Army some few furlongs hence;  
You know the violent love the Soldiers bear  
The Prince your Brother; and we know too well,  
And so do all the murmuring Citizens,  
How cruelly your Father lately used him:  
But that great Mole, the Multitude, ne'er sees  
Who works their Prince, but still take all on trust;  
Therefore I instantly will spread amongst 'em,  
How Archelaus was Conspirator  
Against the Prince, and finding more advantage  
To have the King his Son in-law, by Letters  
Basely compelled his Daughter to the Marriage.  Phar. 
Millions to one but this will set 'em on  
To tear cursed Archelaus, like mad Dogs.  
Besides, I find, by frequent murmurs, how  
His Subjects are quite tired with length of War;  
And, but last night, I know no less than twelve,  
All Captains, who conspired to take the part  
Of Pompey, and entreated me to Head 'em.  Andr. 
Pursue the Treason, and be sure it cool not;  
While I, with Tryphon, hasten to the Army:  
A Priest will colour well our enterprise.  
There will we give out all that Treachery  
Can raise to fire 'em; how the King has doomed  
The Prince to death, having first ravished from him  
The Fair Semandra, for whose sake he dies.  Phar. 
While I immediately to Pompey send,  
Who comes, I hear, on hasty march, to fight  
Our Army, and besiege us in our Walls.  Pelop. 
Thus shall the Prince and I rule all within;  
And you, with the Highpriest my Brother, play  
Your Parts without.  Phar. 
I long to be in action:  
And sure Rome must, for the great overthrow,  
Give me my Father's Crowns; which gratitude  
Shall distribute to both your utmost wishes.  Pelop. 
We must not doubt your bounty.— But, away;  Enter Ziphares; with Ismenes, at distance. 
Your melancholy Brother may o'erhear us.  Ex. Phar. Pelop. Andr. Ziph. 
Oh, my hard Fate! why did I trust her ever?  
What Story is not full of Woman's falsehood!  
The Sex is all a Sea of wide destruction:  
We are the venturous Barks that leave our home,  
For those sure dangers which their smiles conceal:  
At first, they draw us in with flattering looks  
Of Summer-Calms, and a soft gale of Sighs:  
Sometimes, like Sirens, Charm us with their Songs,  
Dance on the Waves, and show their Golden Locks:  
But, when the Tempest comes, then, than they leave us,  
Or rather, help the new Calamity,  
And the whole Storm is one injurious Woman.  
The Lightning followed with a Thunderbolt  
Is Marblehearted Woman: all the Shelves  
The faithless Winds, blind Rocks, and sinking Sands,  
Are Women all; the wracks of wretched men.  
Prithee, Ismenes, while I lay me here,  
Charm me with some sad Song into a slumber.  

SONG; by Sir Car Scroop.  

1.  
ONe night, when all the Village slept,  
Myrtillo's sad despair,  
The wandering Shepherd waking kept,  
To tell the Woods his care.  
Be gone, said he, fond thought, be gone;  
Eyes, give your sorrows o'er:  
Why should you waste your tears for one  
That thinks on you no more?   

2.  
Yet all the Birds, the Flocks, and Powers,  
That dwell within this Grove,  
Can tell how many tender hours  
We here have passed in Love.  
Yon Stars above (my cruel Foes)  
Have heard how she has sworn  
A thousand times, that like to those,  
Her Flame should ever burn.   

3.  
But, since she's lost, Oh! let me have  
My wish, and quickly die:  
In this cold Bank I'll make a Grave,  
And there for ever lie.  
Sad Nightingales the Watch shall keep,  
And kindly here complain:  
Then down the Shepherd lay to sleep,  
But never waked again.    Enter Archelaus. Arch. 
How now, Ismenes? Prithee, gentle Boy,  
Instruct me where to find thy Royal Master.  
What, dost thou weep? I charge thee bring me to him.  Isme. 
See there, my Lord.  Arch. 
Bless me, you Heavenly Powers,  
Upon the Earth! It cannot be thy Master.  
Is that a posture for a Conqueror?  
He who so bravely beat the Romans back?  
A General, and Triumpher? Haste, and show me.  Isme. 
By Heaven, it's true, my Lord; there lies the Prince.  Arch. 
Something my heart presaged, when, having left  
The Army, I came posting to the Court,  
And scarce received a welcome from my Friends:  
They said the Prince had Triumphed, but I saw  
Not the least tract of such a Glory left,  
No glimmering twilight of so full an Honour.  
There has been foul play, and I'll find it out.  Ziph. 
Away, Semandra; cruel Woman, leave me.  Arch. 
Ha! goes it there? Ziphares, Prince, arise.  Ziph. 
Ha! who is there? old Archelaus?  Arch. 
Why  
Do I not see you in a Chariot,  
With all the Pride of Asia's brightest Gems?  
Why mount you not the Throne which you deserve,  
The Lords of Colchis waiting as your Slaves?  
Give me some reason why I see you thus.  Ziph. 
Alas, he had no hand in her revolt,  
Nor knows not yet, perhaps, how she has used me:  
Why do I seem thus strange then?— Oh, Archelaus,  
(For I must never call thee Father more)  
Pardon my faulty carriage.  Arch. 
Forbear these strict embraces,  
Your tears, your hanging on my Bosom thus;  
Your sighs reduce my Age to sobbing Childhood,  
And make an Infant of your poor Old Man.  Ziph. 
Did I not say I never more must call  
Thee Father?  Arch. 
Yes, you did.  Ziph. 
Fond, foolish sorrow!  
Thou art, thoushalt, thou must be still my Father,  
My Brother, Sister, Mistress, all, my Friend;  
For all but thou have left me: no kind eye  
Pities the sufferings of abused Ziphares;  
They fly, all fly from my infectious Fortune.  Arch. 
Nay, good dear Prince, stand up; you smother all  
Your words with groans: dry up this womanish grief,  
And speak, dear Sir, declare the cursed cause,  
The baleful Spring, the Source of all this mischief.  Ziph. 
Woven you believe it? scarce can I myself,  
Oh heavens', and oh you ever-burning Lights,  
Who have beheld at midnight from your Orbs  
Our flames, that kindled bright and chaste as yours,  
Which of you all, which most malignant Star,  
Show me that envious Fire that crossed our loves,  
That I may curse him from his fatal Sphere.  Arch. 
Name it, I say, the ground of all this trouble;  
I feel a warm revenge run through my blood,  
As if I had put off some forty year:  
Methinks I stand as fit to fight the Cause  
Of Friendship now, as than I could my Love's.  
But speak.  Ziph. 
Thy Daughter.  Arch. 
Well, I guessed Fate wounded there.  Ziph. 
Semandra, my most fair, dear, gentle Mistress.  Arch. 
If she be false, she is no longer fair.  Ziph. 
That sweet protesting Creature, that pure whiteness,  
Where I so deep had writ my Vows in blood,  
Is taken from me.  Arch. 
By her own consent?  Ziph. 
Most certain. That Eternal Bond of Oaths,  
Committed to her keeping, now is canceled:  
Even her fair Hand, the Seal of all my Love,  
Her Hand has given her faithless Heart away.  Arch. 
Then, she is false? you know her to be so?  Ziph. 
False, false, as waters, winds, or wandering fires:  
She is more false than Woman can believe.  Arch. 
The opening of her treachery, come, how was't?  
Particular revenge would know particulars.  
At first, I guessed she did receive you kindly.  Ziph. 
Quite contrary, as if she ne'er had seen me;  
Quite altered, quite estranged, reserved and cold,  
With all the coyness of a base-born Beauty,  
Made proud with Power: not one tender look;  
The very Accent of her Voice was changed,  
Nor was she to be known, but by her Beauty,  
Nought else could speak her to my Sense the same,  
O nothing but the Face of my Semandra.  Arch. 
When my keen Sword shall glitter in her eyes,  
Doubt not, but I shall make her know you well;  
And, though you never grace her with your favour,  
For she is now unworthy your embraces,  
Yet I will bring the Traitress to your knees.  Ziph. 
Can it be  
Thou shouldst be ignorant, she's passed the giving?  Arch. 
I have not met the news, which your swollen eyes  
Appear so big with.  Ziph. 
Here I am lost again;  
Here all my courage, which has born the blow  
Of sternest War, shrinks like a beaten Coward:  
Here, I confess, my Piety gives way,  
I could fall out with the forgetful Gods,  
And curse the cruel Author of my Being.  
No, Tyrant, no, thou bloody Parent, think not  
That I will bear it longer; I'll forget,  
Like thee, all nature, all remorse, all pity,  
And snatch her from thee, wedded as you are.  Arch. 
What, Wedded! Married!  Ziph. 
Wedded, Married, Bedded;  
He has enjoyed her, rifled that fair Casket  
Where all the riches of my life were laid:  
Yes, yes, you Gods, I saw 'em pass along,  
Pass to the Temple, through the crowded Streets,  
Saw 'em come back, darted my wishing eyes  
At her false Face, with such accusing glances,  
She fainted in the Chariot; yes, I saw her  
Sink pale, and dying down; but there I lost her,  
And left her to the Revels of the Night,  
To be enjoyed, even this last night enjoyed.  Arch. 
By all the Honours which she has dishonoured,  
She shall not live another.  Ziph. 
Oh my Father!  
Could you but guests the pains that I endured,  
Oh all the subtlest fits of sharpest sickness,  
Were nothing to the torments which I bore:  
I timed even their disrobing kisses, smiles,  
The first embraces, and the racking joy,  
But there methought Fancy itself was stopped,  
It could no more. The limit of my life  
Was found, the end of all my joys on Earth.  Arch. 
She dies; not Destiny shall save her from me:  
As she has sworn, and as she has forsworn,  
I'll draw my Sword, bathed in her dearest blood,  
From forth her Heartstrings, while the rank red Weeds  
Cling to my reeking Blade: or would you more?  
I am grown up to your anger.  Ziph. 
General, hold:  
I have been Impious in my vented rage;  
For which, oh pardon me, my Royal Father,  
And you most injured Powers, whom I offended:  
And, oh, whatever shall become of me,  
Forgive the fair, the false, the loved Semandra.  
If while I live thou mark her gentle Limbs  
With the least wound, it ends Ziphares life:  
Or if thou hurt her after I am dead,  
Thou'lt raise my Ashes up in Arms against thee.  Isme. 
My Lord, the Queen Semandra's coming hither.  Ziph. 
sayst thou?  Isme. 
The Queen— But see, she enters.  Ziph, 
Ha!  Enter Semandra. Sem. 
Oh Ziphares! Oh Prince! Oh thou most wronged!  Ziph. 
How can this be? Madam, you ought at least  
To have sent me word; for now, instead of Songs,  
I can present you nothing but my tears,  
A beating heart, and groans that will not suit  
With your most happy state, your blessed condition.  Sem. 
Ah, did you rightly understand my sufferings,  
You would not wound a bleeding, dying Creature:  
But I'll endure yet more. When I am dead,  
And 'tis too late, you'll murmur to yourself,  
At least I might have heard what the poor Wretch  
Could say.  Arch. 
Oh Siren! but I will be hushed.  [Aside. Ziph. 
What canst thou say, if I resolve to hear thee?  
Thou wilt but tear the wounds which thou hast made.  
This Visit was most cruel: why com'st thou then;  
For fear I should forget thee? Merciless Woman!  Arch. 
Yet let us hear her, Prince; let's hear the Sorceress;  
That when sure Vengeance overtakes her Crimes,  
She may have nought to answer.  Sem. 
The good Gods  
Reward that Voice of Mercy, First then, my Lord.  Ziph. 
No; I'll be gone: Fly, Archelaus, fly,  
She has a Tongue that can undo the World.  
She eyes me, just as when she first inflamed me,  
Such were her looks, so melting was her language,  
Such false soft sighs, and such deluding tears,  
When from her lips I took the luscious poison,  
When with that pleasing perjured breath avowing,  
Her whispers trembled through these credulous ears,  
And told the story of my utter ruin.  Arch. 
Nay, 'tis impossible to clear herself;  
And it was Impudence to offer at it:  
Therefore, thou shameless Offspring of my Blood,  
I'll cut thee from me; thus, with all thy Crimes,  
Die, as thou didst desire.  Half-drawing: stopped by Ziph. Ziph. 
Hold thy hand;  
I charge thee touch her not.  Arch. 
By Heaven, she dies:  
I may dispose my own; she shall not live.  Ziph. 
By all the Gods, she shall, while I have breath:  
And, if thou drawest, I'll guard her life with mine.  
I should be loath to lift my Arm 'gainst thee  
Of all Mankind; but, were my Father here  
Resolved to give her Death, I would oppose him.  Sem. 
Draw then, and sheathe your weapons in my breast,  
In cursed Semandra's Heart; but for the World,  
Oh Father, do not wound the Prince Ziphares:  
And, oh Ziphares, do not hurt my Father!  
Upon my knees, I beg you to be calm,  
And hear me thus.  Ziph. 
Oh rise! false, as thou art,  
Thou once wert Empress of my Soul, and I  
Still drag thy Chains: Speak then, Semandra, speak;  
For I'm so dozed, so weary with complaining,  
That I could stand and listen to the Winds,  
And think that Women talked: observe the Rain,  
And think that Women wept; or in the Clouds  
Behold Semandra's Form, still fleeting from me.  
But, speak: I lose my Senses with my Woes.  Arch. 
He has saved thy life; come, make a handsome lie  
In recompense.  Sem. 
I will be short, as true.  
When you were gone to Wars, the King relapsed;  
How prompted, Heaven best knows: and when with Conquest  
You came from Battle, he with dreadful threats  
Compelled me to receive you in that manner.  Ziph. 
Ah, cruel Creature! what, what Menaces,  
What fear of death, could so have made Ziphares  
Receive Semandra?  Sem. 
Not Racks, nor all the Tortures  
Which Hell combined could put into the hearts  
Of bloodiest Tyrant, should have forced me to't,  
But, oh! your life, which he with deepest Oaths  
Had sworn to take, unless I seemed to scorn you;  
That dashed my Spirits, baffled all the daring  
Of my defenceless heart: there I confess  
The Woman worked; I trembled and agreed  
To see you so, rather than lose you ever.  Arch. 
Now, by my Arms, she has come off with wonder!  Sem. 
And think, my Lord, reflect upon yourself;  
I dare believe so dearly once you loved me,  
That were you certain I should lose my life,  
Unless you used me in that very manner,  
I know you would constrain your flame awhile,  
And seem as cold, and as reserved as I.  Ziph. 
Oh heart! oh bleeding Love! but speak, Semandra,  
For there is wondrous Reason, mighty Sense  
In what you say: and I could hear you ever.  Sem. 
When you were gone, the cruel King came in,  
And, without stop, proposed the fatal Marriage,  
Which being denied, he forced me to the Temple.  
Yet, at the Altar, I denied my hand,  
Invoked the Gods with the most violent sorrow,  
Tears, sighs, and swound; cursed the frighted Priests,  
Struck down the Censors, and like one distracted  
I mangled my own flesh; but all in vain:  
I was supposed his Queen, and so enjoyed.  Ziph. 
Then still thy heart, thy heart was mine, Semandra?  Sem. 
It was, it is, for ever shall be yours.  Ziph. 
Oh, at thy feet, let me for ever lie,  
Thus hang upon thy knees with dying grasps,  
Thou most wronged Innocence, abused Semandra.  Sem. 
Oh, my dear Lord, you shall not kneel without me.  Ziph. 
Thou art not false then!  Sem. 
Could you think me so?  
False to my Life, my Soul, my All I have!  Ziph. 
I did; I thought thee false, and I deserve  
To die, for wronging thy most matchless Faith:  
For thou art true, constant as pining Turtles,  
Constant, as Courage to the Brave in Battle,  
Constant as Martyrs, burning for the Gods.  Arch. 
What Changes drive business of the World!  
Come, no more weeping: rise,  
Think on the King, if he should take you thus.  Ziph. 
Oh rise, Semandra; what, what are we doing?  
Why, Archelaus, why didst thou cut me off  
The moment's pleasure which my thoughts were forming?  
Thy cruel breath quite broke the brittle Glass  
Of my short life, and stopped the running Sand.  
What shall we do, Semandra?  Sem. 
Part, and die.  Ziph. 
Die, 'tis resolved; but how? that, that must be  
My future care: and with that thought I leave thee.  
Go then, thou Setting-star; take from these eyes,  
(These eyes, that if they see thee, will be wishing)  
O take those languishing pale fires away,  
And leave me to the wide, dark Den of Death!  Sem. 
Something within me sobs to my boding heart;  
Semandra ne'er shall see Ziphares more.  Ziph. 
Away then; part, for ever part, Semandra:  
Let me alone sustain those ravenous Fates,  
Which, like two famished Tigers, are gone out,  
And have us in the Wind. Death come upon me;  
Night, and the bloodi'st deed of darkness, end me.  
But, oh, for thee, for thee, if thou must die,  
I beg of Heaven this last, this only favour,  
To give thy life a painless dissolution:  
Oh, may those ravished Beauties fall to Earth  
Gently, as withered Roses leave their Stalks:  
May Death be mild to thee, as Love was cruel;  
Calm, as the Spirits in a Trance decay:  
And soft, as those who sleep their Souls away.  [Exeunt.   


ACT V. SCENE I.  Pelopidas, Andravar, Priest, encompassed with Romans. Pelop. 
ROmans, who send your Laws far as the Sun  
His Beams, and whom the Universe beholds  
With joy, yet dreads your anger as the Gods,  
Why move you to the ruin of this Tyrant,  
To the sure death of bloody Mithridates,  
As if you feared, or cared not he should die?  
Can you suspect an Ambush? or that we  
Should dare betray you, yielding thus our persons,  
Our Lives, our Prince himself into your hands?  Andr. 
This man, to whom the servile Priests bow down,  
Who wears a Crown in honour of his place,  
And sacred worth, abandons all his glories  
T' attest the truth of what we have declared.  Enter Pharnaces. 
But see, the fierce, the brave, the Great Pharnaces  
Comes on to meet you; waves his Royalties:  
Therefore, O mighty Romans, give him Audience.  Phar. 
That I am rough, and of an untaught Spirit,  
All the East knows; I ever scorned those Slaves  
With whom I have been bred; and when my Father  
Ordered Barbarian Princes for my Masters,  
In Arts and Arms, I spurned 'em from my presence;  
And rather chose, since Rome might not instruct me,  
Nature in all my Actions for my Guide.  
Hence could I brook more hardly the fierce mind  
Of our Inhuman Parent Mithridates.  
My Eldest Brother's Fate did kindle first  
My fiery Soul to a most swift revenge;  
For when the State of Bosphorus demanded  
That Prince for King, he bound the gallant Youth  
In Golden Chains, and doomed him to be slain:  
Two more were by his boundless fury strangled;  
And even the last but me, the brave Ziphares,  
Last night was murdered in the Tyrant's Palace:  
In whose sad cause, the Squadrons which he led  
Of late so valiantly against you Romans,  
Attend some furlongs hence to join your Banners.  
If this be true, not to recount the Slaughters  
Of all his Queens and poisoned Concubines,  
I think the World (Rome I should first have named)  
Will little censure this so just revolt.  
If you suspect me false, behold Pharnaces,  
ne'er yet detained, but free as roving Lions  
That swept at will like Winds in Deserts wild;  
Behold him, with these Noble Hostages,  
Your Prisoner to be bound the Slave of Rome.  Rom. 
Capt. Lead us on to Victory.  Omnes. 
To Victory.  Phar. 
On them, you Race of Heaven, you Seed of Gods;  
And to Immortalize Pharnaces Name,  
Plant me, like Thunder breaking from this Cloud,  
Foremost, while all the rattling Engines follow.  
Monima, whom this Tyrant ravished from me,  
I hear is fled to Pompey: her I ask,  
For my reward, with half his spreading Empire.  
But I waste words; let's act, and then make claim.  
And O remember, when we storm the Town,  
Remember that most horrid Massacre  
Of Asia; whet on that your blunted Spirits,  
Till with the motion Lightning edge your Souls  
To mow off hoary Heads, hurl Infants puling  
From the lugged breast, kill in the very Womb:  
To Beauties cries be deaf, make all Synope  
But one vast Grave, to hold the infinite bodies  
Which we must shovel in; and when you see  
The Head of Mithridates in this hand,  
Then think who ever dared for Rome like me,  
Or bought an Empire at a price so dreadful:  
Then yield the Beauty I so much desire,  
And all those Crowns to which my thoughts aspire.  [Exeunt.  

SCENE II.  Enter Ziphares, Archelaus. Ziph. 
'TIs late; the gathering Clouds, like meeting Armies,  
Come on apace, and Mortals now must die,  
Till the bright Ruler of the rising Day  
Creates 'em new: the wakeful Bird of Night  
Claps her dark wings to th' Windows of the dying.  
General, Good-night.  Arch. 
Sir, I'll not leave you yet.  
I do not like the dusky boding Eve.  
Well I remember, Sir, how you and I  
Have often on the Watch in Winter walked,  
Clad in cold Armour, round the sleeping Camp,  
Till covered o'er from head to foot with Snow,  
The Sentinels have started at our march,  
And thought us Ghosts stalking in Winding-sheets:  
And do you think I cannot watch you now,  
Thus covered, and beneath this bounteous Roof?  
Sleep, Sir; I'll guard you from suspected danger.  Ziph. 
Danger! there's none; no shadow of a harm:  
Dear General, you'll oblige me to retire:  
We'll meet to morrow with the earliest dawn;  
I'm troubled now, and heavy; in the morning,  
Soon as you please, you shall have entrance here;  
And then, I trust the bounteous Gods, you'll find  
A wondrous alteration. Sleep may Charm  
My talking griefs, and hush 'em fast for ever.  Arch. 
'Tis that I fear.— I tell you there are Deaths  
Brooding this night abroad. A Recluse Priest,  
Surprised with mortal sickness, was this Evening,  
As he himself desired, ta'en from his Bed,  
And carried to the Closet of the King:  
Where, after some close conference, he expired.  
Immediately your Father Orders gave  
For doubling all his Guards, and went in fury  
To Monima's Apartment, where 'twas said  
Pharnaces had been gone a while before.  Ziph. 
I ever thought that Brother most ambitious;  
But what is this to me?  Arch. 
What followed does  
Concern both you and me, and all the East;  
For straight, when the sick Priest had breathed his last,  
The sacred Oil, which for a hundred years  
Supplied the Sun behind the Golden Veil,  
Went out, and all the mystic lights were quenched:  
Strange doleful Voices shrilly echoed through  
The darkened Fane; the Monuments did open,  
And all the Marble Tombs, like Sponges squeezed,  
Spouted big Sweat: the Curtain was consumed  
With wondrous flame; and every shining Altar  
Dissolved to yellow puddle, which anon  
A flash of thirsty Lightning quite licked up.  
While through the Streets your murdered Brothers rode,  
Arcathias, Mithridates, and Machares,  
And madded all the schreaming multitude.  
Is not this strange?  Ziph. 
The God's reproach my slackness.  [Aside. 
'Tis strange! most wondrous strange! Once more I pray thee  
By all our Friendship, leave me to myself.  Arch. 
Ah, Prince, you cannot hide  
Your purpose, from your narrow-searching Friend:  
I find it, by the sinking of your Spirits,  
Your hollow speech, deep muse, eager looks,  
Whose fatal longings quite devour their objects,  
You have decreed, by all the Gods you have,  
This night to end your Noble Life.  Ziph, 
Away.  
I never thought thee troublesome till now.  Arch. 
I care not; spite of all that you can do,  
I'll stay, and weep you into gentleness:  
Your faithful Soldier, this old doting Fool  
Shall be more troublesome than one that's wiser.  
By Heaven, you shall not hurt your precious life.  
I'll stay and wait you, wake here till I die;  
Follow you, as a fond and fearful Father  
Would watch a desperate Child.  Ziph. 
I'll tell thee then,  
Since thou wilt tear the Secret from my breast,  
And dive into the bottom of my Soul,  
This night must end me: make not a reply;  
'Tis fixed as fast and sure as are my woes.  
Didst thou but know what 'tis to love like me,  
And to be so beloved; O Archelaus!  
Yet to be past all hope of happiness,  
Of ever tasting those desired Beauties,  
Of any dawn, lest glimpse, or spark of comfort,  
Didst thou not hate me much, even thou wouldst kill me.  Arch. 
If that my death, (for that indeed's but little)  
Cannot once move you from this dreadful deed,  
Yet, Prince, your Country, which must fall without you,  
Your bleeding Country must obtain at least  
That you would live to free her from her Foes;  
Your Glory calls, your sinking Father begs,  
That you would save your Country from the Romans.  Ziph. 
Much I indeed have got by Conquering Rome!  
And to much purpose lost my dearest blood!  
Much have my wounds deserved; and Heaven can tell  
How Nobly I have been rewarded for 'em!  
I tell thee, Archelaus, I have sworn,  
Were I to live, I would not fight again:  
The World should neither better be, nor worse  
For me. But I waste time; and to convince thee,  
Since thou wilt have the trouble to behold  
My death, I bid thee now farewell for ever.  Arch. 
Hold, Sir.  Ziph. 
I will; and talk as calmly to thee  
As any dying Roman of 'em all:  
I have considered well of what I do,  
And I will perish with as little noise  
As Fate could wish that would not be accused.  Arch. 
I'll follow you.  Ziph. 
I would entreat thee not;  
Thou hast no sorrows that are past the sufferance:  
And sure my flying Soul will hang her wing,  
When she shall feel thy weighty death upon her.  
O, Archelaus, leave me to my Fate;  
If thou must see me fall, I charge thee live,  
At least so long to tell Semandra of me:  
Bear her some Token of my ill-stared Love,  
Which Empire could not win to live without her.  
Dip in the blood which trickles from my heart  
Thy Handkerchief, and bid her keep it for me,  
As a Remembrance now and then to mourn me:  
Swear to do this.  Arch. 
This I will do; and, mark me, cruel Prince,  
If thus thou violate that Royal Frame,  
Tearing the gallant Spirit from his Mansion,  
I swear by what I tremble at, thy death,  
I'll double all thy wounds upon Semandra.  Ziph. 
Ha!  Arch. 
I'll tear her piecemeal, and so hack her limbs,  
Thou shalt not know her in the other World.  Ziph. 
Oh torture: dear, good Archelaus, hold;  
I know thou canst not mean such cruelty.  
Why dost thou rack me thus, with thoughts in death  
That are much heavier even than death itself?  
Why dost thou make my eyes thus swim in tears?  
I charge thee, do not hurt her; for the sake  
Of all the Gods, be gentle to my Love:  
I beg for mercy to the soft Semandra.  
Alas, if she deserved, as she is faultless,  
She could not bear the wounds which we can bear.  Arch. 
Give me your promise then that you will live:  
Live but this night, or I have sworn her death.  Ziph. 
Thou hast found the means to Charm me into life,  
And keep me on the Rack; but no more threats  
Against Semandra: 'twas unkindly done,  
And I grow angry at my Fates delay.  Arch. 
Why will you be thus froward? Live to night;  
Be careful of yourself but till the Morn:  
Methinks there may be wonders wrought e'er then.  Ziph. 
O Archelaus! 'tis impossible:  
Had she been Ravished by another Man,  
I could have cleared her with the Villains Blood;  
But by my Father touched, what Miracle  
Can work me into hope? Heaven here is Bankrupt;  
The wondering Gods blush at their want of power,  
And, quite abashed, confess they cannot help me.  Arch. 
Sure, by you lifted Torches, I discern  
Your Father moving this way.  Ziph. 
Ha! my Father!  
How my flesh trembles! I could do a deed  
Would make us both run mad. Draw, Archelaus.  
Yet stay: what Devil starts thus in my blood,  
And turns my Reason to this maze of folly?  
No; let us suffer more, if possible:  
Yet I will shun his Presence. Oh you Powers,  
Is that a Crime? answer me if it be,  
And I will meet him, though his sight should blast me.  [Exeunt as Mithridates, Captain of the Guards, and Attendants enter. Mith. 
Betrayed! and by my Son! given up a Prey  
For the Insulting Romans to devour!  
Pharnaces is the Traitor, that Pharnaces  
Who was t' inherit all that space of Empire  
Which Fortune gave to this unhappy King!  
O Friends, when from the Palace-gate we sallied,  
And drove the bold Assailants through the City,  
The Impious Boy Charged as I foremost road,  
And braved my Fury with his Beaver up;  
But, Oh the Gods, I who before had crimsoned  
My Arms with Blood of Rebels, I who moved  
With Whirlwinds swiftness still on every side,  
And tossed like Leaves the weightiest Foes about me,  
Now stood, as if Gorgonian Charms had fixed me:  
Nor know I more.  Capt. 
Your Sword, Great Sir, when you  
A while had gazed on that Audacious Prince,  
Fell from your hand, your mighty Spirit left you;  
And as some famous piece of Antick-work,  
When the sunk Props and wasted Beams decay,  
Staggers and nods before the ruin comes:  
So waved your Royal Fabric ere it fell;  
And, as our Arms received you, cursed Pharnaces,  
Born by Ambition to a murder new;  
Offered a wound, and 'twas with great expense  
Of lives, we bore your Body to the Palace.  Mith. 
My Senses blaze; my last I know is come;  
My last of hours: 'tis wondrous horrid! now  
My lawless love, and boundless power reproach me.  
But I will think no more on't. Come, my Friends,  
Let's meet these Romans, and my Rebel-Son;  
Let's kill till we are weary, then lie down  
And rest for ever: O 'tis Noble Ruin!  
Creatures of vilest make, upon disgust  
With Knives or Cords set lose their Coward Souls;  
But we will live in spite to grieve the World,  
While life will last, or any Spirits hold.  
O that, like Serpents hewn, we still might move,  
Our Limbs lopped off, and kill with every parcel!  Enter Semandra. Sem. 
'Tis done; my Ruin is at last revenged,  
And cruel Mithridates is no more:  
That famous wicked man shall kill no more:  
Fallen is the Murderer, he shall love no more  
Another's right; shall Ravish now no more.  Mith. 
O horror! snatch me, Furies, from her presence:  
Gape wide, O Earth, and swallow me alive.  Sem. 
I go before, and never shall we meet  
On Earth again, inhuman Mithridates;  
Yet I rejoice not, be my Witness Heaven,  
At those Calamities that come upon thee:  
But think 'em just, and with a dread reflection  
Behold thy Fate, and wonder at the Gods.  
Not but thy Son, my Love, my lost Ziphares,  
And I, in lamentable Shapes, made up  
By Death's own hand, will tell 'em all thy Story.  
For ever thus, thou Ravisher of Honour,  
I leave thee to the Vultures of thy Conscience,  
To all the Stings Ambition feels in death,  
Or Lust, the Rape committed. O, you Powers  
Make firm my hand, for an Exploit, to Crown  
My Life, whose business shall be quickly done.  [Exit. Mith. 
Away, to Arms, to Arms; plunge deep in blood:  
Be quick to die. Were all the Roman Piles,  
And Scythian Darts, and Parthia's poisoned Arrows,  
Shot through this Body, her words would be more.  
I'll not endure 't; rush to the fatal War:  
I would be drunk with Death, and steaming Slaughter,  
To stupefy the sense of inward torment.  
Haste then, and wallow in the murdering Field,  
Through all the Avenues to battle fly:  
They who have lived in blood, in blood must die.  [Exeunt. Trumpets. Enter Pelopidas, Andravar, their Swords drawn, with a Lamp. Pelop. 
Yonder he Sallies, furious for Destructions,  
And now full scope is given to act our business,  
And end the sad Ziphares.  Andr. 
I am glad  
The chance is fallen to us: to death, nay more,  
To Hell I hate him, and to have him slain  
By any hand but mine, would pall the Murder.  Pelop. 
The Palace now is drawn  
Of all the glittering Host that twinkled here,  
Following their King, to shoot the Gulf of Ruin:  
And it was ordered well, by Prince Pharnaces,  
While with the Romans he dispatched his Father,  
That we should kill his drooping Brother. Ha!  
I hear some tread! your Lamp must wink awhile.  Enter Ziphares. Ziph. 
Oh, 'tis too much; I never shall sleep more.  
How loud the Voice of Fate sounds everywhere!  
Trumpets and Drums! yet old Archelaus,  
With grief and watching spent, in spite of all  
Those Tides of Care that swelled erewhile so high,  
Lies like a Child that brauled himself asleep.  
Ismenes too, that wept to see me mourn,  
Falls on his breast, and nods his tears away:  
So sleeps the Sea-boy on the Cloudy Mast,  
Safe, as a drowsy Tryton, rocked with Storms,  
While tossing Princes wake on Beds of Down.  Pelop. 
'Tis he; prepare.  Andr. 
Both perish, if he escape.  Ziph. 
This darkness fills my breast with horror: now,  
Now I may do the deed; which done, all's sure:  
It shall be so, and thus I will deceive him.  
But then he kills Semandra. Whence this light?  
Swords! Vizors! what Assassinate's are these?  
Would they were more; for ruin is my wish:  
Yet I disdain to fall by Villains hands.  [Beats 'em off. Enter Semandra, with a Dagger in her hand. Sem. 
Where do I wander in the dismal Shades  
Of this black night? there's not a Soul beneath  
Who died as I must do, for fatal Love,  
Knows better all the gloomy Arbours there,  
Than I each Chamber in this House of Death.  
'Twas here the Godlike Prince did woo me first,  
Sighed his first Vows, and wept me into passion:  
Where shall I find him, that most perfect Soul?  
Whose whiteness will to after-ages answer  
For all the spotted loves of perjured men.  
Meet him I must, and run into his arms;  
But with a Roman blow, which first shall drive  
This Poniard to my heart: then, rush upon him,  
Then clasp him close, then he'll believe me true.  Enter Ziphares. Ziph. 
This way the Cowards fly; this way the noise goes,  
I think thou hast it there, and canst not scape me.  Sem. 
I thank the Gods, I shall not. Let me kiss  
The hand that kills me. Oh too gracious Heaven!  
Semandra now is happy.  Ziph. 
Semandra! what;  
What sayst thou? Speak again, thou dismal voice.  Sem. 
Oh, that I could see your face before I die:  
Those eyes, where I would look my Soul away.  Ziph. 
Awake; what ho, Ismenes! haste, a light!  
Haste hither, Father, Archelaus, haste!  
My heart bodes ruin, we are all undone.  Enter Archelaus, and Ismenes with a Light. 
Oh, Father, either I am Charmed, or here  
Semandra lies, slain by this dreadful hand.  Arch. 
Our Guardian-spirits shield us, 'tis my Daughter.  Ziph. 
Cursed Fate! malicious Stars! you now have drained  
Yourselves of all your poisonous influence;  
Even the last baleful drop is shed upon me.  Sem. 
Give me thy hand most matchless of thy kind;  
O join us, Father, join us thus in death:  
Now thou art mine; and we'll be wedded too  
In th' other World; our Souls shall there be mixed:  
Who knows, but there our joys may be complete?  
A happy Father, thou; and I, perhaps,  
The smiling Mother of some little Gods.  Ziph. 
Oh Archelaus, if thou lov'st her memory,  
Fly to the King, and let him understand  
The truth of all: if he be pleased to hear her,  
Entreat him haste, the pangs of death are on her.  Arch. 
I will, if tears will let me, find the way:  
And, by your leave, these Weapons shall be mine.  Ziph. 
That I expected. Ha! she faints, Ismenes,  
Run to my Closet, haste, where thou wilt find  
A Golden Vial of rich Juice, to bring the Spirits  
Back to their Seat: go, pour it in a Bowl  
With speed, to save her.  [Exit Ismenes. 
Hast thou not a word,  
A syllable, fair Soul? Speak, speak, Semandra.  
I feel a trembling warmth about thy heart:  
It pants.  Sem. 
As Cowards do before a Battle.  
Oh, the Great March is sounded.  Ziph. 
Stay thee one moment,  Ismenes reenters, with a Bole. 
And I will lead thee on. Away, Ismenes;  
Watch thou the King's approach, and bring me word.  Exit Ism. 
Here, seest thou this, my Love? look up, Semandra,  
Thou dying Spark, glimmer a little while;  
Behold this Cordial, this sure warmth at heart,  
This faithful Offering of Eternal Love.  Sem. 
Wither, oh where? Death's Mist comes fast upon me.  
What is't you drink?  Ziph. 
A Draught which makes me thine;  
The powerful Cordial which my Father gave me,  
A Noble Compound of his fatal skill:  
He charged me, when I could not live with Honour,  
To taste it, and be free.  Sem. 
Methinks your Voice is faint  
As distant Echoes; and I am now far off:  
Alas, I know not where.  [Dies. Ziph. 
I'll fold thee thus,  
And Mithridates shall not part us now:  
Fan thus the dying flame with my last breath.  
She's out: the damp of Death has quenched her quite:  
These spicy-doors, her lips, are shut, close locked,  
Which never gale of life shall open more.  
I come. Oh Father! Oh thou true Physician!  
Thou workest me Nobly now; and oh 'tis welcome!  
Thy Drugs are quick; once more, O Love! I come,  
Thou most of Life in Death. Ambition, Fame:  
'Tis empty all; and nothing but a Name.  [Dies. Archelaus, Mithridates supported bleeding: Pharnaces, Pelopidas, Andravar, bound. Arch. 
Behold, behold my Lord, how I'm rewarded  
For faithful service, for the numerous scars  
Which in your Cause have marked my aged body!  
My Daughter's slain. Ha! let me never rise,  
If that the brave Ziphares be not killed!  
Was this the Cordial, wicked Boy, thou brought'st him?  Mith. 
Blame not the guiltless, for by me he's poisoned:  
By this inhuman Tyrant, Monster, Parricide;  
By me the Drugs were mixed, and doled about  
To my unhappy Children, left surprised,  
They should be born to Rome for Royal Slaves.  Arch. 
Dead! art thou dead, O lovely Royal Plant,  
Blown down by gusty Heaven, in all thy bloom!  
My hour is come; and thus I follow thee.  Mith. 
Hold him. What means the frantic General?  
Disarm, and bring him hither. Kneel, O kneel,  
Before these Bodies.  Arch. 
What would you, sacred Sir?  Mith. 
Swear, swear to live.  
I have a Royal Race of Little Ones:  
Live, I Conjure thee, to defend those Infants  
From Roman Rage; entreat Victorious Pompey,  
And he'll be gentle to 'em: Swear to live.  Arch. 
I swear; but after that——  Mith. 
Rise, and no more.  
My blood leaks fast; and the great heavy lading,  
My Soul will quickly sink; therefore revenge:  
Yes, you pale figures, you most precious forms,  
Who, where you walk, for sure you tread the Stars,  
Shame brightest Gods, and add new light to Heaven,  
First, in most dreadful manner, will I give  
Those Traitor's lives, who drew me to your ruin.  
Hence, burn the Slaves; the cursed Pelopidas,  
And Villain Andravar: away with 'em.  
For thee— (but sure I shall disdain to name thee)  
The Palace yet is ours.  Arch. 
But cannot long  
Be so: Pompey the Great is entered;  
And those who took your part, are all revolted.  Mith. 
Away then; bear him to the middle Turret,  
Whose Brazenhead rises above the rest,  
In sight of Pompey, throw him from the top,  
And give his most aspiring life an end.  Phar. 
I know thou canst not long outlive me, Tyrant.  
Accursed be Fortune, which too forward bore me  
To be thy Prey; and rot the hand that seized me:  
Yet, when my Ghost is from this body dashed,  
If such a Goblin as a Ghost there be,  
I'll rise, and wing the midway Air to wait thee;  
Hurled shalt thou be, as Saturn was by Jove,  
And flag beneath me, while I reign above.  Mith. 
O General, behold, and wonder with me,  
How swiftly Fate can make, or unmake Kings!  
How empty is Death's Pomp, compared with Life!  
Where now are all the busy Officers,  
The supple Courtiers, and big Men of War,  
That bustled here, and made a little World?  
Revolted all: Support me, for I go.  
My Soul is on the Beach, and straight must launch  
Into th' Abyss of the black Sea of death,  
Where Furies stand upon the smoky Rocks,  
Prepared to meet one greater than themselves.  
Here, lay me bleeding by these murdered Lovers;  
And, oh! when I am dead, let Sorrow stalk  
In sacred silence to my gaping Tomb.  
Forget that ever Mithridates was;  
No tongue relate the deeds this Hand has done,  
Let thought be still, or work beneath the ground!  
But oh he's come, cold Tyrant I obey,  
And hug thy Dart that bears my Life away.  [Dies.  
FINIS.   

Epilogue, by Mr. Dryden.  

you've seen a Pair of faithful Lovers die:  
And much you care; for, most of you will cry,  
'Twas a just Judgement on their Constancy.  
For, Heaven be thanked, we live in such an Age  
When no man dies for Love, but on the Stage:  
And even those Martyrs are but rare in Plays;  
A cursed sign how much true Faith decays.  
Love is no more a violent desire;  
'Tis a mere Metaphor, a painted Fire.  
In all our Sex, the name examined well,  
Is Pride, to gain; and Vanity to tell:  
In Woman, 'tis of subtle interest made,  
Curse on the Punk that made it first a Trade!  
She first did Wits Prerogative remove,  
And made a Fool presume to prate of Love.  
Let Honour and Preferment go for Gold;  
But glorious Beauty is not to be sold:  
Or, if it be, 'tis at a rate so high,  
That nothing but adoring it should buy.  
Yet the rich Cullies may their boasting spare;  
They purchase but sophisticated Ware.  
'Tis Prodigality that buys deceit;  
Where both the Giver, and the Taker cheat.  
Men but refine on the old Half-Crown way:  
And Women fight, like Swizzers, for their Pay.    

Prologue, by Mr. Lee.  

NOt careful Leaders, when the Trumpets call  
Their Martial Squadrons on, to stand or fall,  
Tossed with more doubts, than careful Poets are  
When venturous Wit for Sally does prepare;  
When Humming Voices bid the Play begin,  
And the last flourish calls the Prologue in.  
Here you, like dreadful Warriors, judging sit;  
And, in full Council, try all Writers Wit.  
To some for Sense Renowned, our Author's bow;  
And what you Doom, for a just Fate allow:  
But sure far less such Judge's Poets dread,  
Than those Raw Blades who will not let 'em Plead,  
But, ere they can be heard, cry, shoot 'em dead.  
These Pirates, they both Arms and Wits debase;  
Who Fields and Poems, with their Spleen, disgrace,  
Poets and Warriors both should have in Chase:  
These Libelers who noblest Fights despise,  
Yet, when a Pan but flashes, shut their Eyes.  
They who write Lampoons, vilely get a Name  
By other's Infamy, and live in shame;  
Fifes, Whifflers, and the silly'st Sense, not fit  
To be the Powder-Monkeys of true Wit:  
Mimies, like Apes, what's ill, for head they cover,  
And live upon the Vermin of a Lover:  
Nauseous to all, like Pills, by Fortune hurled,  
And coated o'er with Gold, to Purge the World.  
Neglecting these, and rusting to your aid,  
To Beauty our last Vows, like yours, are made:  
Beauty, which still adorns the opening List,  
Which Caesar's Heart vouchsafes not to resist:  
To that alone devoted is this day;  
For, by the Poet, I was bid to say,  
In the first draught, 'twas meant the Ladies Play.    

Persons Represented; By Mithridates, King of Pontus. Mr. Mohun. 

Ziphares,  
Pharnaces,   his Sons. 

M. Hart.  
M. Goodman.   Archelaus, General under Ziphares. M. Griffin. 

Pelopidas,  
Andravar,   two Courtiers. 

M. Wintershul.  
M powel.   Aquilius, a Roman Captive. M. Clark. Another Roman Officer. M. Wiltshire. Ismenes, Page to Ziphares.  Monima, Contracted to Mithridates. Mrs. Corbett. Semandra, Daughter to Archelaus. Mrs. Boutel. Priests, and Attendants, Mutes.   
Scene Synope.