Iphigenia. 
The well-intention’d counsel troubles me: 
His offer studiously I’ve sought to shun.

                   Arkas. 

Thy duty and thy interest calmly weigh. 
Since the king lost his son, he trusts but few,
Nor those as formerly.  Each noble’s son
He views with jealous eye as his successor;
He dreads a solitary, helpless age,
Or rash rebellion, or untimely death. 
A Scythian studies not the rules of speech,
And least of all the king.  He who is used
To act and to command, knows not the art,
From far, with subtle tact, to guide discourse
Through many windings to its destin’d goal. 
Do not embarrass him with shy reserve
And studied misconception:  graciously,
And with submission, meet the royal wish.

Iphigenia. 
Shall I then speed the doom that threatens me?

Arkas. 
His gracious offer canst thou call a threat?

Iphigenia. 
’Tis the most terrible of all to me.

Arkas. 
For his affection grant him confidence.

Iphigenia. 
If he will first redeem my soul from fear.

Arkas. 
Why dost thou hide from him thy origin?

Iphigenia. 
A priestess secrecy doth well become.

                   Arkas. 

Nought to our monarch should a secret be;
And, though he doth not seek to fathom thine,
His noble nature feels, ay, deeply feels,
That studiously thou hid’st thyself from him.

Iphigenia. 
Displeasure doth he harbour ’gainst me, then?

                   Arkas. 

Almost it seems so.  True, he speaks not of thee. 
But casual words have taught me that the wish
To call thee his hath firmly seiz’d his soul;
Oh, do not leave the monarch to himself! 
Lest his displeasure, rip’ning in his breast,
Should work thee woe, so with repentance thou
Too late my faithful counsel shalt recall.

                 Iphigenia. 

How! doth the monarch purpose what no man
Of noble mind, who loves his honest name,
Whose bosom reverence for the gods restrains,
Would ever think of?  Will he force employ
To tear me from this consecrated fane? 
Then will I call the gods, and chiefly thee,
Diana, goddess resolute, to aid me;
Thyself a virgin, thou’lt a virgin shield,
And succour to thy priestess gladly yield.

                   Arkas. 

Be tranquil!  Passion, and youth’s fiery blood
Impel not Thoas rashly to commit
A deed so lawless.  In his present mood,
I fear from him another harsh resolve,
Which (for his soul is steadfast and unmov’d,)
He then will execute without delay. 
Therefore I pray thee, canst thou grant no more,
At least be grateful—­give thy confidence.