The Works of Lord Byron | Page 8

them or me?
_Myr._ My Lord--
_Sar._ My Lord!--my Life! why answerest thou so coldly? It is the
curse of kings to be so answered.
Rule thy own hours, thou rulest
mine--say, wouldst thou Accompany our guests, or charm away
The
moments from me?
_Myr._ The King's choice is mine.
_Sar._ I pray thee say not so: my chiefest joy 20 Is to contribute to
thine every wish.
I do not dare to breathe my own desire,
Lest it
should clash with thine; for thou art still
Too prompt to sacrifice thy
thoughts for others.
_Myr._ I would remain: I have no happiness
Save in beholding thine;
yet--
_Sar._ Yet! what YET?
Thy own sweet will shall be the only barrier

Which ever rises betwixt thee and me.
_Myr._ I think the present is the wonted hour
Of council; it were
better I retire. 30
_Sal._ (_comes forward and says_)
The Ionian slave says well: let her
retire.
_Sar._ Who answers? How now, brother?

_Sal._ The _Queen's_ brother, And your most faithful vassal, royal
Lord.
_Sar._ (_addressing his train_).
As I have said, let all dispose their
hours
Till midnight, when again we pray your presence.
[_The court retiring_. (_To_ MYRRHA,[c] _who is going_.)
Myrrha!
I thought _thou_ wouldst remain.
_Myr._ Great King,
Thou didst not say so.
_Sar._ But _thou_ looked'st it:
I know each glance of those Ionic
eyes,[d]
Which said thou wouldst not leave me.
_Myr._ Sire! your brother----
_Sal._ His _Consort's_ brother, minion of Ionia! 40 How darest _thou_
name _me_ and not blush?
_Sar._ Not blush!
Thou hast no more eyes than heart to make her
crimson
Like to the dying day on Caucasus,
Where sunset tints the
snow with rosy shadows,
And then reproach her with thine own cold
blindness,
Which will not see it. What! in tears, my Myrrha?
_Sal._ Let them flow on; she weeps for more than one,
And is herself
the cause of bitterer tears.
_Sar._ Curséd be he who caused those tears to flow!
_Sal._ Curse not thyself--millions do that already. 50
_Sar._ Thou dost forget thee: make me not remember
I am a
monarch.
_Sal._ Would thou couldst!
_Myr._ My sovereign,
I pray, and thou, too, Prince, permit my

absence.
_Sar._ Since it must be so, and this churl has checked
Thy gentle
spirit, go; but recollect
That we must forthwith meet: I had rather lose

An empire than thy presence. [_Exit_ MYRRHA.
_Sal._ It may be,
Thou wilt lose both--and both for ever!
_Sar._ Brother!
I can at least command myself, who listen
To
language such as this: yet urge me not 60 Beyond my easy nature.
_Sal._ 'Tis beyond
That easy--far too easy--idle nature,
Which I
would urge thee. O that I could rouse thee!
Though 'twere against
myself.
_Sar._ By the god Baal!
The man would make me tyrant.
_Sal._ So thou art.
Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that
Of
blood and chains? The despotism of vice,
The weakness and the
wickedness of luxury,
The negligence, the apathy, the evils
Of
sensual sloth--produce ten thousand tyrants, 70 Whose delegated
cruelty surpasses
The worst acts of one energetic master,
However
harsh and hard in his own bearing.
The false and fond examples of
thy lusts
Corrupt no less than they oppress, and sap
In the same
moment all thy pageant power
And those who should sustain it; so
that whether
A foreign foe invade, or civil broil
Distract within,
both will alike prove fatal:
The first thy subjects have no heart to
conquer; 80 The last they rather would assist than vanquish.
_Sar._ Why, what makes thee the mouth-piece of the people?
_Sal._ Forgiveness of the Queen, my sister wrongs;
A natural love
unto my infant nephews;
Faith to the King, a faith he may need
shortly,
In more than words; respect for Nimrod's line;
Also,
another thing thou knowest not.

_Sar._ What's that?
_Sal._ To thee an unknown word.
_Sar._ Yet speak it; I love to learn.
_Sal._ Virtue.
_Sar._ Not know the word!
Never was word yet rung so in my ears--
90
Worse than the rabble's shout, or splitting trumpet:
I've heard thy
sister talk of nothing else.
_Sal._ To change the irksome theme, then, hear of vice.
_Sar._ From whom?
_Sal._ Even from the winds, if thou couldst listen Unto the echoes of
the Nation's voice.
_Sar._ Come, I'm indulgent, as thou knowest, patient,
As thou hast
often proved--speak out, what moves thee?
_Sal._ Thy peril.
_Sar._ Say on.
_Sal._ Thus, then: all the nations, For they are many, whom thy father
left
In heritage, are loud in wrath against thee. 100
_Sar._ 'Gainst _me!!_ What would the slaves?
_Sal._ A king.
_Sar._ And what Am I then?
_Sal._ In their eyes a nothing; but
In mine a man who might be
something still.

_Sar._ The