'Cause it did right the wrong'd Zorannes here

[Steps to him and opens the box of poison, ZORANNES falls.

Sleep, sleep for ever, and forgotten too,
All but thy ills, which may succeeding time
Remember, as the seaman does his marks,
To know what to avoid; may at thy name
All good men start, and bad too; may it prove
Infection to the air, that people dying of it
May help to curse thee for me.

[Turns to the body of ARIASPES.

Could I but call thee back as easily now;
But that's a subject for our tears, not hopes!
There is no piecing tulips to their stalks,
When they are once divorc'd by a rude hand;
All we can do is to preserve in water
A little life, and give by courteous art
What scanted nature wants commission for,
That thou shalt have; for to thy memory
Such tribute of moist sorrow I will pay,
And that so purified by love, that on thy grave
Nothing shall grow but violets and primroses,
Of which two, some shall be

Of the mysterious number, so that lovers shall
Come thither not as to a tomb, but to an oracle.

[She knocks and raises the court.

Enter Ladies and Courtiers, as out of their beds.

Queen. Come! Come! help me to weep myself away, And melt into a grave, for life is but

Repentance' nurse, and will conspire with memory,

To make my hours my tortures.

Ori. What scene of sorrow's this? Both dead?

Queen. Dead? ay! and 'tis but half death's triumphs this,

The king and prince lie somewhere, just

Such empty trunks as these.

Ori. The prince?

Then in grief's burthen I must bear a part.

Sem. The noble Ariaspes - valiant Ziriff too.

Queen. Weep'st thou for him, fond prodigal? dost know

On whom thou spend'st thy tears? this is the man

To whom we owe our ills! the false Zorannes.

[Weeps.

Enter PASITHAS, surveys the bodies, finds his master.

Disguis'd, not lost; but kept alive by some

Incensed power to punish Persia thus:

pay

He would have kill'd me too, but heav'n was just,
And furnish'd me with means, to make him
This score of villany, ere he could do more.
Pas. Were you his murderer then?

[PASITHAS runs at her, stabs her, and flies.

Ori. Ah me! the queen.

[Rubs her till she comes to herself.

Sem. How do you, madam?

Queen. Well-but I was better, and shall

[Dies.

Sem. Oh! she is gone for ever.

Enter Lords in their night-gowns, ORSAMES, and PHILAN.

Orsa. What have we here?

A churchyard? nothing but silence, and graves?

Ori. Oh! here has been, my lords,

The blackest night the Persian world e'er knew,
The king and prince are not themselves exempt
From this arrest; but pale and cold, as these,
Have measur'd out their lengths.

Lord. Impossible! which way?

Sem. Of that we are as ignorant as you : For while the queen was telling of the story,

An unknown villain here has hurt her so,

That like a sickly taper, she but made
One flash, and so expir'd.

Enter tearing in PASITHAS.

Phi. Here he is, but no confession.

Orsa. Torture must force him then!
Though 'twill indeed but weakly satisfy,
To know, now they are dead, how they did die.
Phi. Come take the bodies up, and let us all
Go drown ourselves in tears, this massacre
Has left so torn a state, that 'twill be policy,
As well as debt, to weep
till we are blind;
For who would see the miseries behind?

[Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

OUR play is done, and yours doth now begin; What different fancies people now are in! How strange and odd a mingle it would make, If, ere they rise, 'twere possible to take

All votes

But as when an authentic watch is shown,
Each man winds up, and rectifies his own,
So in our very judgments; first there sits
A grave grand jury on it of town-wits,
And they give up their verdict; then again
The other jury of the court comes in

(And that's of life and death) for each man sees
That oft condemns, what th' other jury frees:
Some three days hence, the ladies of the town
Will come to have a judgment of their own,
And after them, their servants; then the city,
For that is modest, and is still last witty.
"Twill be a week at least yet ere they have
Resolv'd to let it live, or give't a grave :

Such difficulty there is to unite
Opinion; or bring it to be right.

EPILOGUE FOR THE COURT.

SIR,

That the abusing of your ear's a crime,
Above th' excuse any six lines in rhyme
Can make, the poet knows: I am but sent
T' intreat he may not be a precedent;
For he does think that in this place there be
Many have done't as much and more than he;
But here's, he says, the difference of the fates,
He begs a pardon after't, they estates.