VOLTAIRE: 60+ Works in One Volume - Philosophical Writings, Novels, Historical Works, Poetry, Plays & Letters. Вольтер

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VOLTAIRE: 60+ Works in One Volume - Philosophical Writings, Novels, Historical Works, Poetry, Plays & Letters - Вольтер

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style="font-size:15px;">       My doubts are vanished, and I yield to thee;

       To thy advice, and to a mother’s tears;

       To my son’s danger, to my own hard fate;

       Which dooms me yet perhaps to greater ills

       Than I have suffered. Go thou to my mother;

       When night shall throw her sable mantle o’er

       This seat of guilt, let some one give me notice

       That all is ready; since it must be done,

       I am prepared.

      SCENE V.

       Table of Contents

      mariamne, varus, eliza.

      varus.

       I come, great queen, to know

       Your last commands; which, as the law of heaven.

       Shall be revered: say, must this arm avenge thee?

       Speak, and ’tis done: command, and I obey.

      mariamne.

       Varus, I’m much indebted to thy goodness,

       And, but my sorrows plead their own excuse,

       Should not be thus importunate; I know

       Thou lovest to help the wretched, therefore ask

       Thy generous aid: whilst Herod’s doubtful fate

       Hung in the balance, and he knew not which

       Awaited him, a prison or a throne,

       I did solicit Varus in his favor;

       Spite of his cruelties, against my peace,

       Against my interest, I performed my duty.

       Now Mariamne for herself implores

       Thy kind protection; begs thee to preserve

       From most inhuman laws, her hapless sons,

       The poor remains of Syria’s royal race.

       Long since I should have left these guilty walls,

       And asked the senate for some safe retreat;

       But whilst the sword of war filled half the world

       With blood and slaughter, ’twas in vain to seek

       For refuge in the scene of wild destruction:

       Augustus now hath given the nations peace,

       And spread his bounties o’er the face of nature:

       After the toils of hateful war, resolved

       To make the world, which he had conquered, happy:

       He sits supreme o’er tributary kings,

       And takes the poor and injured to his care:

       Who has so fair a title to his justice,

       As my unhappy, my defenceless children?

       Brought by their weeping mother from afar

       To ask his succor; he will shelter them,

       His generous hand will wipe off all our tears.

       I shall not ask him to revenge my cause,

       Or punish my proud foes; it is enough

       If my loved children, formed by his example,

       And by his justice taught, true Romans soon,

       Shall learn to rule of those who rule mankind.

       A mother’s comfort, and her children’s safety,

       Depend on thee: my woes will vanish all

       If thou wilt hear me; and thy noble heart

       Hath ever been the friend of injured virtue:

       To thee I owe my life: assist me now,

       Remove me, Varus, from this fatal palace;

       Grant my benighted steps a friendly guide

       To Sidon’s ports, where now thy vessels lie.

       Not answer me! what means that look of sorrow?

       Why art thou silent? O! too well I see

       Thou wilt not hear the voice of wretchedness.

      varus.

       It is not so: I hear, and will obey thee:

       My guards shall follow thee to Rome: dispose

       Of them, of me; my heart, my life is thine.

       Flee from the tyrant, break the fatal tie;

       ’Tis punishment enough to be forsaken

       By Mariamne: never shall he behold thee;

       Thanks to his own injustice; and I feel

       Too well there cannot be a fate more cruel.

       Forgive me, but the thought of losing thee

       Hath drawn the fatal secret from my breast;

       I own my crime: but, spite of all my weakness,

       Know, my respect is equal to my love:

       Varus but wishes to protect thy virtue,

       But to avenge thy injuries, and die.

      mariamne.

       I hoped the great preserver of my life

       Would prove the guardian of my honor too;

       And to his pity only thought I owed

       His kind assistance; ne’er did I expect

       That he, of all men, should increase my sorrows;

       Or that, to crown the woes of Mariamne,

       I should be forced to tremble at thy goodness,

       And blush for every favor I received:

       Yet, think not, Varus, that thy passion, thus

       Declared, shall rob thee of my gratitude:

      

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