ACT III. SCENE I. A Camp.
Artaxerxes, Lysimachus.
Arta.
ANd they have them put off with such disgrace,
As if their pow'rs they never durst outface.
Seleuchus and Nearchus could not brook
Such high contempts, but has their side forsook.
Lysim.
How ere to day Fate gave their Arms success,
It made no future conquests ore by lease:
No, they will find the next ensuing war,
Shall bring their triumphs to the last despair.
Arta,
Yes, our Assurance of those friends is such,
That from their Arms we may expect it much.
For their resentments swell them up so high,
They are resolv'd to conquer or to die.
And who dare Fate, but seldom vanquish'd are;
They prove Victorious through their brave despair.
Lysim.
Lysimachus, my Lord, can never doubt
The Victory, since you're to lead us out.