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