The Works of Lord Byron | Page 8

is mine.
_Sar._ I pray thee say not so: my chiefest joy 20 Is to contribute to thine every wish.?I do not dare to breathe my own desire,?Lest it should clash with thine; for thou art still?Too prompt to sacrifice thy thoughts for others.
_Myr._ I would remain: I have no happiness?Save in beholding thine; yet--
_Sar._ Yet! what YET??Thy own sweet will shall be the only barrier?Which ever rises betwixt thee and me.
_Myr._ I think the present is the wonted hour?Of council; it were better I retire. 30
_Sal._ (_comes forward and says_)?The Ionian slave says well: let her retire.
_Sar._ Who answers? How now, brother?
_Sal._ The _Queen's_ brother, And your most faithful vassal, royal Lord.
_Sar._ (_addressing his train_).?As I have said, let all dispose their hours?Till midnight, when again we pray your presence.
[_The court retiring_. (_To_ MYRRHA,[c] _who is going_.)?Myrrha! I thought _thou_ wouldst remain.
_Myr._ Great King,?Thou didst not say so.
_Sar._ But _thou_ looked'st it:?I know each glance of those Ionic eyes,[d]?Which said thou wouldst not leave me.
_Myr._ Sire! your brother----
_Sal._ His _Consort's_ brother, minion of Ionia! 40 How darest _thou_ name _me_ and not blush?
_Sar._ Not blush!?Thou hast no more eyes than heart to make her crimson?Like to the dying day on Caucasus,?Where sunset tints the snow with rosy shadows,?And then reproach her with thine own cold blindness,?Which will not see it. What! in tears, my Myrrha?
_Sal._ Let them flow on; she weeps for more than one,?And is herself the cause of bitterer tears.
_Sar._ Curséd be he who caused those tears to flow!
_Sal._ Curse not thyself--millions do that already. 50
_Sar._ Thou dost forget thee: make me not remember?I am a monarch.
_Sal._ Would thou couldst!
_Myr._ My sovereign,?I pray, and thou, too, Prince, permit my absence.
_Sar._ Since it must be so, and this churl has checked?Thy gentle spirit, go; but recollect?That we must forthwith meet: I had rather lose?An empire than thy presence. [_Exit_ MYRRHA.
_Sal._ It may be,?Thou wilt lose both--and both for ever!
_Sar._ Brother!?I can at least command myself, who listen?To language such as this: yet urge me not 60 Beyond my easy nature.
_Sal._ 'Tis beyond?That easy--far too easy--idle nature,?Which I would urge thee. O that I could rouse thee!?Though 'twere against myself.
_Sar._ By the god Baal!?The man would make me tyrant.
_Sal._ So thou art.?Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that?Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice,?The weakness and the wickedness of luxury,?The negligence, the apathy, the evils?Of sensual sloth--produce ten thousand tyrants, 70 Whose delegated cruelty surpasses?The worst acts of one energetic master,?However harsh and hard in his own bearing.?The false and fond examples of thy lusts?Corrupt no less than they oppress, and sap?In the same moment all thy pageant power?And those who should sustain it; so that whether?A foreign foe invade, or civil broil?Distract within, both will alike prove fatal:?The first thy subjects have no heart to conquer; 80 The last they rather would assist than vanquish.
_Sar._ Why, what makes thee the mouth-piece of the people?
_Sal._ Forgiveness of the Queen, my sister wrongs;?A natural love unto my infant nephews;?Faith to the King, a faith he may need shortly,?In more than words; respect for Nimrod's line;?Also, another thing thou knowest not.
_Sar._ What's that?
_Sal._ To thee an unknown word.
_Sar._ Yet speak it; I love to learn.
_Sal._ Virtue.
_Sar._ Not know the word!
Never was word yet rung so in my ears-- 90
Worse than the rabble's shout, or splitting trumpet:?I've heard thy sister talk of nothing else.
_Sal._ To change the irksome theme, then, hear of vice.
_Sar._ From whom?
_Sal._ Even from the winds, if thou couldst listen Unto the echoes of the Nation's voice.
_Sar._ Come, I'm indulgent, as thou knowest, patient,?As thou hast often proved--speak out, what moves thee?
_Sal._ Thy peril.
_Sar._ Say on.
_Sal._ Thus, then: all the nations, For they are many, whom thy father left?In heritage, are loud in wrath against thee. 100
_Sar._ 'Gainst _me!!_ What would the slaves?
_Sal._ A king.
_Sar._ And what Am I then?
_Sal._ In their eyes a nothing; but?In mine a man who might be something still.
_Sar._ The railing drunkards! why, what would they have? Have they not peace and plenty?
_Sal._ Of the first?More than is glorious: of the last, far less?Than the King recks of.
_Sar._ Whose then is the crime,?But the false satraps, who provide no better?
_Sal._ And somewhat in the Monarch who ne'er looks?Beyond his palace walls, or if he stirs 110 Beyond them, 'tis but to some mountain palace,?Till summer heats wear down. O glorious Baal!?Who built up this vast empire, and wert made?A God, or at the least shinest like a God?Through the long