In with thy scorn for this outbraves thy own!

(Turns away, folding her chained hands on her breast, and
stands as if she would speak no more)

Hus. You make no suit for mercy?

Sem. (Turning to him) What! from thee?
Who kill your captives ere your tent is struck,
Nor spare a guard to drive them from the field?

Hus. I grant what I would ask--death before serfdom!
You'd keep them for your dogs and slaves!

Sem. And when
Am I to die? Why breach thy custom now?

Hus. We like your spirit, but push not so far,
Or we shall break the bounds we've set ourselves.
Have you not found us gracious to your rank?
You look not like a prisoner!

Sem. No thanks
For that! This robe and crown, these chains of gold
Are compliments that Husak pays himself,
Proclaiming him a royal victory,
Though not a royal victor!

Hus. What! Dar'st fling
Into my face that the Armenian kings
Rule unanointed? Dost think that I would sue
To Nineveh or Babylon for leave
To take my kingly emblems from their hands?
But thou--thou shalt owe thine to me! I wear
No proud insignia of the gods, and yet
My hands shall strip and clothe thee as I will!

(Tears off her robe and crown)

Khos. Father!

Hus. By sun and moon--

Khos. O, sir--

Hus. Her pride
Insults my mercy, but I'll keep my word.
Take these. (Gives him the robe and crown)
Now, woman, learn that Husak--ay,
Husak, the Fierce, can pity fallen glory!
Stand forth, my son! Look, captive, on this prince!
A man not made to sue to less than gods!
Make him thy husband-king, and from his hands
Receive thy purple and remount thy throne!

(All are astonished. Khosrove shrinks back in shame, which
Semiramis misunderstands)

Sem. Methinks this lover makes no ardent suit,
King Husak! Why, the sun has not twice set
Since he did swear me dearer than my crown,
And now the crown's too much if my poor self
Mus