I come not here an Object to affright,
Or to molest, but add to your Delight.
Behold a Prince expiring in your View,
Whose Life's a Burthen to himself, and you.
Fate and the King all other Means deny
To set you free, but that Constantius die.
A Roman Arm had play'd a Roman's part,
But 'tis prevented by my breaking Heart:
I thank you, Gods, nor think my Doom severe,
Resigning Life, on any Terms, for her.
Urg. What cruel Destiny on Beauty waits,
When on one Face depend so many Fates?
Confin'd by Honour to relieve but One,
Unhappy Men by Thousands are undone,
Con. Make Room, ye Decii, whose devoted Breath
Secur'd your Country's Happiness by Death;
I come a Sacrifice no less renown'd,
The Cause as glorious, and as sure the Wound.
Thy Reign be gentle in that beauteous Breast.
Tho' thy malignant Beams, with deadly Force,
Have scorch'd my Joys, and in their baneful Course
Wither'd each Plant, and dry'd up ev'ry Source;
Ah! to Oriana shine less fatal bright,
Cherish her Heart, and nourish her Delight,
