_ And live
wretched!
Byron
_Myr. _ 'Tis the soldier's
Part to die _for_ his sovereign, and why not
The woman's with her lover?
_Pan. _ 'Tis most strange!
_Myr. _ But not so rare, my Pania, as thou think'st it.
In the mean time, live thou. --Farewell! the pile
Is ready.
_Pan. _ I should shame to leave my sovereign
With but a single female to partake
His death.
_Sar. _ Too many far have heralded
Me to the dust already. Get thee hence;
Enrich thee.
_Pan.
_ And live wretched!
_Sar. _ Think upon 380
Thy vow:--'tis sacred and irrevocable.
_Pan. _ Since it is so, farewell.
_Sar. _ Search well my chamber,
Feel no remorse at bearing off the gold;
Remember, what you leave you leave the slaves
Who slew me: and when you have borne away
All safe off to your boats, blow one long blast
Upon the trumpet as you quit the palace.
The river's brink is too remote, its stream
Too loud at present to permit the echo
To reach distinctly from its banks. Then fly,-- 390
And as you sail, turn back; but still keep on
Your way along the Euphrates: if you reach
The land of Paphlagonia, where the Queen
Is safe with my three sons in Cotta's court,
Say what you _saw_ at parting, and request
That she remember what I _said_ at one
Parting more mournful still.
_Pan. _ That royal hand!
Let me then once more press it to my lips;
And these poor soldiers who throng round you, and
Would fain die with you!
[_The Soldiers and_ PANIA _throng round him,
kissing his hand and the hem of his robe_.
_Sar. _ My best! my last friends!
