Oroes: [Giving him the letter.] Behold this paper here, Too faithful witness of her guilt, then say If yet a doubt remains.

Arsaces: Haste, give it me, And clear them all. [He reads.] Ha! “Ninus to Phradates: I die by poison, guard my Ninias well, Defend him from his foes: my guilty wife—”

Oroes: Needest thou more proof? this witness came from thee. He had not finished; death, thou seest, broke off The imperfect scroll, and stopped his feeble hand; Phradates hath unfolded all the rest, Read this, and learn the whole. [Gives him another paper.] It is enough That Ninus hath commanded thee, he guides Thy steps, and leads thee to the throne, but says He must have blood.

Arsaces: [After reading the paper.] O day of miracles, And you, ye dreadful oracles from hell, Dark as the tomb which I must visit, how Shall I unveil your secret purposes, When he who is to make the sacrifice Knows not his victim! Who shall guide my choice? I tremble at it.

Oroes: Tremble for the guilty. Amidst the horrors that oppress thy soul, The gods will guide thee; deem not thou thyself A common mortal, from the race of men Thou art distinguished, set apart by heaven, And noted by its signature divine, Walk thou secure, though night conceals thy fate, The gods of thy great ancestors employ thee But as their instrument. What right hast thou To litigate their power, and to oppose Thy masters? Saved from death, as thou hast been, Be thankful still; complain not, but adore.

SCENE III.

Arsaces, Mitranes.

Arsaces: I cannot reconcile this strange event: Sémiramis my mother! can it be?

Mitranes: [Entering in haste.] My lord, the people in this hour of terror Demand their king: permit me first to hail thee The husband of Sémiramis, and lord Of Babylon: the queen is hasting hither In search of thee; I bless the happy hour That gave her to thee: ha! not answer me! Despair is in thy looks, thy lips are closed In dreadful silence, thou art pale with terror, And thy whole frame’s disordered: what has passed? What have they said?

Arsaces: I’ll fly to Azema:

Mitranes: Amazing! can it be Arsaces? fly A queen’s embraces; scorn her proffered love; Insult her choice; the royal hand that spurned Kings for thy sake! thus are her hopes betrayed?

Arsaces: Gods! ’tis Sémiramis herself; O Ninus, Now let thy tomb in its dark bosom hide Her crimes, and me!

SCENE IV.

Sémiramis, Arsaces.