keep your
thanksgivings
for Belus;
His offspring needs none.
His offspring needs none.
Byron
His lusts have made him mad.
Then must I save him,
Spite of himself.
_Sar. _ Please you to hear me, Satraps!
And chiefly thou, my priest, because I doubt thee
More than the soldier; and would doubt thee all
Wert thou not half a warrior: let us part
In peace--I'll not say pardon--which must be
Earned by the guilty; this I'll not pronounce ye, 280
Although upon this breath of mine depends
Your own; and, deadlier for ye, on my fears.
But fear not--for that I am soft, not fearful--
And so live on. Were I the thing some think me,
Your heads would now be dripping the last drops
Of their attainted gore from the high gates
Of this our palace, into the dry dust,
Their only portion of the coveted kingdom
They would be crowned to reign o'er--let that pass.
As I have said, I will not _deem_ ye guilty, 290
Nor _doom_ ye guiltless. Albeit better men
Than ye or I stand ready to arraign you;
And should I leave your fate to sterner judges,
And proofs of all kinds, I might sacrifice
Two men, who, whatsoe'er they now are, were
Once honest. Ye are free, sirs.
_Arb. _ Sire, this clemency----
_Bel. _ (_interrupting him_).
Is worthy of yourself; and, although innocent,
We thank----
_Sar. _ Priest!
keep your thanksgivings for Belus;
His offspring needs none.
_Bel. _ But being innocent----
_Sar. _ Be silent. --Guilt is loud. If ye are loyal, 300
Ye are injured men, and should be sad, not grateful.
_Bel. _ So we should be, were justice always done
By earthly power omnipotent; but Innocence
Must oft receive her right as a mere favour.
_Sar. _ That's a good sentence for a homily,
Though not for this occasion. Prithee keep it
To plead thy Sovereign's cause before his people.
_Bel. _ I trust there is no cause.
_Sar. _ No _cause_, perhaps;
But many causers:--if ye meet with such
In the exercise of your inquisitive function 310
On earth, or should you read of it in heaven
In some mysterious twinkle of the stars,
Which are your chronicles, I pray you note,
That there are worse things betwixt earth and heaven
Than him who ruleth many and slays none;
And, hating not himself, yet loves his fellows
Enough to spare even those who would not spare him
Were they once masters--but that's doubtful. Satraps!
Spite of himself.
_Sar. _ Please you to hear me, Satraps!
And chiefly thou, my priest, because I doubt thee
More than the soldier; and would doubt thee all
Wert thou not half a warrior: let us part
In peace--I'll not say pardon--which must be
Earned by the guilty; this I'll not pronounce ye, 280
Although upon this breath of mine depends
Your own; and, deadlier for ye, on my fears.
But fear not--for that I am soft, not fearful--
And so live on. Were I the thing some think me,
Your heads would now be dripping the last drops
Of their attainted gore from the high gates
Of this our palace, into the dry dust,
Their only portion of the coveted kingdom
They would be crowned to reign o'er--let that pass.
As I have said, I will not _deem_ ye guilty, 290
Nor _doom_ ye guiltless. Albeit better men
Than ye or I stand ready to arraign you;
And should I leave your fate to sterner judges,
And proofs of all kinds, I might sacrifice
Two men, who, whatsoe'er they now are, were
Once honest. Ye are free, sirs.
_Arb. _ Sire, this clemency----
_Bel. _ (_interrupting him_).
Is worthy of yourself; and, although innocent,
We thank----
_Sar. _ Priest!
keep your thanksgivings for Belus;
His offspring needs none.
_Bel. _ But being innocent----
_Sar. _ Be silent. --Guilt is loud. If ye are loyal, 300
Ye are injured men, and should be sad, not grateful.
_Bel. _ So we should be, were justice always done
By earthly power omnipotent; but Innocence
Must oft receive her right as a mere favour.
_Sar. _ That's a good sentence for a homily,
Though not for this occasion. Prithee keep it
To plead thy Sovereign's cause before his people.
_Bel. _ I trust there is no cause.
_Sar. _ No _cause_, perhaps;
But many causers:--if ye meet with such
In the exercise of your inquisitive function 310
On earth, or should you read of it in heaven
In some mysterious twinkle of the stars,
Which are your chronicles, I pray you note,
That there are worse things betwixt earth and heaven
Than him who ruleth many and slays none;
And, hating not himself, yet loves his fellows
Enough to spare even those who would not spare him
Were they once masters--but that's doubtful. Satraps!
