Arsaces: It is too much; my heart was not prepared Against this cruel stroke: thou knowest, my soul Prefers thee to the empire of the world: What was the object of that fame in arms I held so dear, of all my victories? All my ambition hoped for was at last To merit thee: Sémiramis, thou knowest, Was dear to both; thy tongue unites with mine To praise her; she was still the guardian god That cherished and protected us; as such We both revered her with that pious zeal And chaste regard which mortals bear to heaven: Judge of my spotless faith by my surprise At the queen’s choice, and mark the precipice It leads us to, thence learn our future fate.

Azema: I know it.

Arsaces: Learn, that neither thou nor empire Were destined for Arsaces; know, that son Whom I must serve, the child of Ninus, he Who must inherit here—

Azema: Well; what of him?

Arsaces: That Ninias, he who from his cradle lit The torch of Hymen with thee, who was born My rival and my master—

Azema: Ninias!

Arsaces: Lives; And will be with us soon.

Azema: Ha! then the queen—

Arsaces: Even to this day deceived, laments his death.

Azema: Ninias alive!

Arsaces: It is a secret yet Within the temple, and she knows it not.

Azema: But Ninus crowns thee, and his widow’s thine.

Arsaces: Ay, but his son was born for Azema; He is my king, so says the oracle, And I must serve him.