_
Preserve
thine own.
Byron
_Sar. _ Glory! what's that?
_Myr. _ Ask of the Gods thy fathers.
_Sar. _ They cannot answer; when the priests speak for them,
'Tis for some small addition to the temple.
_Myr. _ Look to the annals of thine Empire's founders.
_Sar. _ They are so blotted o'er with blood, I cannot.
But what wouldst have? the Empire _has been_ founded.
I cannot go on multiplying empires. 550
_Myr.
_ Preserve thine own.
_Sar. _ At least, I will enjoy it.
Come, Myrrha, let us go on to the Euphrates:
The hour invites, the galley is prepared,
And the pavilion, decked for our return,
In fit adornment for the evening banquet,
Shall blaze with beauty and with light, until
It seems unto the stars which are above us
Itself an opposite star; and we will sit
Crowned with fresh flowers like----
_Myr. _ Victims.
_Sar. _ No, like sovereigns,
The Shepherd Kings of patriarchal times, 560
Who knew no brighter gems than summer wreaths,[h]
And none but tearless triumphs. Let us on.
_Enter_ PANIA.
_Pan. _ May the King live for ever!
_Sar. _ Not an hour
Longer than he can love. How my soul hates
This language, which makes life itself a lie,
Flattering dust with eternity. [i] Well, Pania!
Be brief.
