Chapter 35

_He enters with a Letter in his Hand open--with Attendants_.

_Ther_. Be gone, I’ll read the Letter o’er again, [_Exeunt Attendants_. And here impress thy Cruelty, and see what that will do To set me free. _Ther_. reads the Letter-- _Finding it impossible to obey your unkind Commands, I am fled, and do resolve never to marry that_ Barbarian, _whose Crimes are only known to me; no, nor any other that cannot bring me his Head; whereto sollicite_ Artabazes, _and_ Ismenes, if they will obey_. Cleomena.

If I consult my Reason and my Courage, They say I should not love this cruel Maid. But oh, my Reason, you’re weak to counsel; I’ll think of nothing else but dying for her, Since ‘tis my Life she asks, and here demands it. But ‘tis in vain to arm my happy Rivals, For I my self can more devoutly serve you. ’.is I will pierce this unaccepted Heart, Whose Flames are found so criminal--

_Enter_ Lysander.

_Lys_. Sir, there’s without a Youth that desires admittance.

_Ther_. From whom comes he?

_Lys_. He would not tell me that, but has a Letter, Which he’ll deliver only to your Highness.

_Ther_. Bring him in, it may be from _Amintas_.

_Enter_ Cleomena _drest like a Country-Shepherd, comes bowing to him, gives him a Note_.

_Ther_. reads to himself-- Guard thee well, _Thersander_; for thou shalt die by the Hand that brings thee this.

[_She stabs him; he falls into_ Lysander’s _Arms_.

_Cleo_. Here’s to thee, dear _Clemanthis_--

_Lys_. Help, Treason, help--

_Ther_. Ah, lovely Youth, who taught thee so much cruelty? And why that Language with that angry Blow?

_Cleo_. Behold this Face, and then inform thy self. [_Discovers her self_.

_Ther_. ‘Tis _Cleomena_! oh ye Gods, I thank ye! It is her Hand that wounds me, And I’ll receive my Death with perfect Joy, If I may be permitted but to kiss That blessed Hand that sent it.

_Enter_ King _and Guards_.

_King. Thersander_ murder’d! oh, inhumane Deed! Drag the Traitor to a Dungeon, till we have Invented unheard of Tortures to destroy him by-- [_The Guards seize_ Cleo. _and_ Sem. _who was just entring_. My Wounds are deep as thine, my dear _Thersander_; Oh, fatal Day, wherein one fatal Stroke. Has laid the Hopes of _Scythia_ in his Tomb!

_The Guards go to carry_ Cleo. _and_ Sem. Ther. _calls ‘em back_.

_Ther_. Oh, stay, and do not bear so rudely off Treasures you cannot value. --Sir,--do not treat her as my Murderer, But as my Sovereign Deity-- Instead of Fetters, give her Crowns and Scepters; And let her be conducted into Dacia, With all the Triumphs of a Conqueror. For me, no other Glory I desire, Than at her Feet thus willingly to expire.

[_Goes to throw himself at her Feet, they prevent it and go off_.