Azema: To thee, Arsaces, this great empire owes Its lustre, I my liberty and life. When vanquished Scythia, thirsting for revenge, From its wild desert rushed indignant forth, And bore down all before it; when my father, Oppressed by numbers, fell, and left me there A hapless slave; then, armed with thunder, thou, Piercing their dark retreats, didst break my chains, And give me ample vengeance on my foes. Thou wert my great deliverer, Arsaces, And in return I give thee all my heart; I will be thine, and only thine; but O! Our fatal passion will destroy us both: Thy generous heart, too open and sincere, Believed that gallant deeds, and fair renown In arms, would gain thee honors in a court; And, fearless of success, thou bringest with thee A hero’s fierceness and a lover’s heart. Assur is incensed: alas! thou dost not know him: He is too powerful for us; he rules all At Babylon; and much, I fear, abuses His fatal influence o’er Sémiramis: He is thy great inexorable—rival.

Arsaces: Ha! does he love thee?

Azema: No; that savage mind, Subtle and dark, a foe to every virtue, Insensible to love and every charm But those ambition boasts, could never feel A real passion for me: but he knows That Azema is descended from the race Of our Assyrian kings, and soon may claim My right of empire here, as next the throne; And therefore means to blend his interest here With mine, and gain the sceptre for himself: But if the youth whom Ninus had decreed, Even from my infant years, to be my husband, The son of great Sémiramis, and heir Of Babylon, were living now, and here Would offer me his heart and half his empire, By love I swear, and by thy precious self, Ninias should sue in vain, and see me quit A throne with him for banishment with thee. Even Scythia’s bleak inhospitable plains Would yield a sweet asylum to our love; For they would echo my Arsaces’ name, And sound his praise; those barren wilds, where first Our passion grew, would be to me a court, Nor should I cast a thought on Babylon. But much I fear this subtle statesman means To carry his resentment further still: I’ve searched his soul, and know the blackness of it: Or I mistake, or guilt sits lightly on him; Already he is jealous of thy glory, He fears, and hates thee.