The thunderbolt of Mithridates' battle
That tore the Roman banners, now 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.

Ziphares is completely deceived by the constrained behaviour of Semandra on his return, and her marriage with his father, (the circumstances of which are not known to him,) into a conviction of her inconstancy.

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 Syrens, charm us with their songs,
Dance on the wave, and shew their golden locks :
But when the tempest comes, then, then they leave us,
Or rather help the new calamity,

And the whole storm is one injurious woman.
The lightning, follow'd with a thunder-bolt,

Is marble-hearted woman: all the shelves,

The faithless winds, blind rocks, and sinking sands,
Are women all; the wracks of wretched men.

Archilaus, the father of Semandra, is deceived also, and while he is vowing a bloody vengeance upon her, and Ziphares is remonstrating with him, and declaring that his own death shall promptly follow any violence offered to her, Semandra herself joins them, and the following scene ensues:

Sem. Oh Ziphares! Oh Prince! O thou most wrong'd!
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 blest 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,

poor wretch

And 'tis too late, you'll murmur to yourself,
At least I might have heard what the
Could say.

Arch. O, syren! but I will be hush'd.

[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 comest 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,

Ziph. O 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 doz'd, so weary with complaining,
That I could stand and listen to the winds,

And think that woman talk'd; observe the rain,....
And think that woman 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 sav'd thy life; come, make a handsome lie In recompense.

Sem. I will be short as true."

Her tale is told with great simplicity; but we must leap to the conclusion of the scene:

"Ziph. 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 the 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, Archilaus, 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 stopt the running sand.
What shall we do, Semandra?

Sem. Part, and die.

Ziph. Die, 'tis resolv'd; 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 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 famish'd tygers, are gone out,
And have us in the wind. Death, come upon me;
Night and the bloodiest 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 ravish'd beauties fall to earth,
Gently, as wither'd 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."

There is an interesting scene between Ziphares and Archilaus; in which the latter, suspecting the prince's design to destroy himself during the night, refuses to leave him, and at length succeeds in ascertaining and preventing his purpose. We e can only spare room for a few speeches.-It commences

thus:

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 them 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 walk'd,

Clad in cold armour, round the sleeping camp,
"Till, cover'd o'er from head to foot with snow,
The centinels have started at our march,
And thought us ghosts stalking in winding-sheets:
And do you think I cannot watch you now,
Thus cover'd, and beneath this bounteous roof?
Sleep, sir; I'll guard you from suspected danger."

Ziphares assures him there is no danger, and intreats to be left to himself, The faithful old soldier then deals more plainly with him:

"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 musings, 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."

In justice to Monima, the tender and gentle Monima, we cannot quit this play without giving her reply to Mithridates, who still affected to regard their nuptials as only suspended, when, to pursue his designs on Semandra, he requests her absence under pretence of public business.

"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 wrong'd, 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 hush'd
As a spent wave, and all my fiery powers
Are quench'd, 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."

Little can be said for Cæsar Borgia. Villanies and murders are most wantonly and revoltingly accumulated in it. There is no relief. We seem to be invited to a Pandemonian revel, where the dagger is your only carving knife, and goblets of poison are the only drink that circulates. A withering curse is a common salutation. Machiavel is the master plotter, and he is represented as particularly addicted to such figures of speech.

"Now by your wrongs, that turn my heart to steel,
Well could I curse away a winter's night,
Though standing naked on a mountain's top,
And think it but a minute spent in sport."

In a calmer mood, he philosophizes thus:
"The dead are only happy, and the dying:
The dead are still, and lasting slumbers hold 'em;
He who is near his death but turns about,
Shuffles awhile to make his pillow easy,

Then slips into his shroud, and rests for ever."

The speech which follows this, even though it has the disadvantage of reminding us of Hermia and Helena, is, notwithstanding, beautiful :

"In their non-age

A sympathy unusual join'd their loves;
They pair'd like turtles, still together drank,
Together eat, nor quarrell'd for the choice:
Like twining streams both from one fountain fell,
And as they ran still mingled smiles and tears:
But oh, when time had swell'd their currents high,
This boundless world, this ocean, did divide 'em,
And now for ever they have lost each other."

Borgia, when about to fight his junior brother, Palante, thus laments their disparity:

"O that I had

Some one renown'd and winter'd as myself
T'encounter like an oak the rooting storm.
But thou art weak, and to the earth wilt bend,
With

my least blast, thy head of blossoms down."

Their combat was for Bellamira; who, though devotedly attached to the younger, is compelled to marry the elder brother. Her effort to allay his jealousy, and his delight at the