University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Rustan, Mufti.
Rustan.
Guide of the faithful, oracle of truth,
Sage Mufti, hail and welcome!

Mufti.
Noble Rustan,
Be peace and benediction on the head
Of him, the wise and valiant, who supports
Th' imperial throne of earth's most potent Prince!

Rustan.
In happy hour you come. But sure, my Lord,
You travel'd on the spur.

Mufti.
By duty wing'd:
True, I have glow'd beneath the noon-day beam,
And shiver'd in the midnight's dewy shade,
Unresting from the Porte. Such prompt dispatch
Great Roxolana's mandate had enjoin'd.
Inform me then what service she requires,
Whom I but live to serve.

Rustan.
Indeed you owe,
And I no less, all duty to her Highness.
I need not to your grateful thought recall,
How warm her love for our unerring law!
How liberal to its sages! Fir'd her self
With zeal for holy things, that zeal in others
Is title to her favour: and inspir'd
Her powerful mediation with the Sultan,
Great Solyman, who rais'd your worth on high
To that prime station where it shines unenvy'd.

Mufti.
Let her command me, Vizir. My obedience,
As most implicite, shall be most sincere.

Rustan.
Observe me then: and when your ear hath heard
Th' important tale, let caution lock it up
Deep in the darkest silence of your breast,
From all but heaven.

Mufti.
Have I not liv'd in courts?
Been present where I would not trust a thought,
In whisper, even to things inanimate?

Rustan.
Th' attempt she meditates is arduous, great,
Involves her dearest happiness, her life;
Perhaps the lives of all she deigns to love.
Know then—the news will strike thee with amaze—
She holds Prince Mustapha her deadly foe.

Mufti.
Ha! say'st thou?—Mustapha! the favourite son
Of our redoubted Lord! his eldest hope!
Sole pledge the fair Circassian left his fondness!
How will she root him from a father's love,
Who holds him dear for virtues that renown,
And dignify himself? The Prince has fought
His battels with success: and is sustain'd
By troops that know his worth; that idolize
His fame and fortune.

Rustan.
Thou hast summ'd his crimes,
These are, with reason are the mighty object
Of Roxolana's hate. But wouldst thou know,
How she may drive him from his father's bosom?
This boasted courage she admires! exalts!
With all th' insidious artfulness of praise:
And will applaud the stripling into ruin.

Mufti.
Nay, trust a woman for ingenious ill.
Such foes indeed most surely aim their blow,
Who praise to wound, and honour to destroy.

Rustan.

Mufti.
True, my Lord.
Custom, the deity of half mankind,
All-powerful o'er the soul, on whom opinion
Waits with obsequious blindness, hath made sacred
Such dreadful deeds; and bids our eastern world
Hold them in venerable estimation.
This, to your purpos'd vengeance, may give sanction:
But what will give success? The Prince, my Lord—
I tell it, with reluctance, of a foe—
By every title, by each filial tie,
Deserves, and largely shares, his father's love.

Rustan.

Mufti.
Now, by the Prophet's tomb,
The happy news is gladness to my soul.
I hate the stripling—

Rustan.
Hark! The Sultan's voice—
He leaves his couch. I must attend him here.
You, hasten to th' apartment of the Empress.
Be wise, be secret: what she gives in order,
Obey without reserve.
The daily form
Of solemn salutation now begins;
Fram'd to remind him what a Monarch is,
And what he once must be.

SCENE II.

The back Scene opening, discovers the Sultan's pavilion: he sitting; Officers and Slaves around him.
First Officer,
behind the throne.
The fragrant health
Of morning when it shines; the gentle calm
Of evening when its dewy shades descend,
Repose on Solyman; and make his breast
A paradise of sweets. To him, the King
Of Kings, the Lord of west and east, belong
Justice and mercy; to chastise all vice,
And to reward all virtue.

Second Officer
on the left.
Yet this Prince,
This first of Monarchs, mighty, and renown'd,
Shall die! shall die! shall die!

Third Officer
on the right.
Praise be to him
Who lives for ever.

Solyman
rising.
Leave me.

SCENE III.

Solyman, Rustan.
Solyman.
What a Scene
Of solemn mockery is all human grandeur!
Thus worship'd, thus exalted by the breath
Of adulation, are my passions sooth'd?
My secret pangs assuag'd? The peasant-hind,
Who drives his camel o'er the burning waste,
With heat and hunger smote, knows happier days,
And sounder nights than I.

Rustan.
He seems disturb'd.

Solyman.
My couch is grown a bed of thorns: my sleeps,
That should repair frail nature, weigh her down
With visionary terrors. This sad dream,
Not such as fancy in her shadowy workings
Amusive raises and destroys at will,
Was on my brain with deep impressure struck:
It seem'd the hand of some night-hovering power,
That meant to warn me—Rustan!

Rustan.
Health, my Lord,
And ever-growing honors! Dares your slave,
Your truest servant, ask what care invades
His Sovereign's peace of mind?

Solyman.
Vizir, I blush
To think illusions of the dark have power
To move me thus—Yet, wherefore, night by night,
Am I thus visited with horrid shapes
And omens of impending ill?

Rustan.
Grant, heaven,
That in such warnings be not shadow'd forth—
Pardon my zeal—th' unwelcome truths that oft
Alarm our ears, of dark and deep designs,
Thro' all those bounds where Mustapha presides.

Solyman.
Ha! Vizir—whither wouldst thou lead my thought?

Rustan.
I know the perilous niceness of this theme;
'Tis cloath'd with death: and I am as a man
Who walks the summit of a fearful cliff,
Each motion hazards falling: And that fall
Is fate inevitable.

Solyman.
Thou art safe.
When duty speaks, its very error claims
Not only pardon: it deserves applause.

Rustan.
What may not youth, my Lord, impetuous youth,
By factious armies heated and inflam'd,
By strong ambition feaver'd into phrenzy,
Presume to dare? Impatient of controul,
'Twould spurn at heav'n itself, would scale the throne
Of him, the Sacred Power, who gave it being.

Solyman.
Thou hast arrous'd my soul. And if I doubt
I will prevent.—That were a tyrant's baseness;
Who kills—because he fears.—Away such thoughts.
Nor can this be. I have approv'd him faithful.
He still reveres the monarch in the father:
And love of one preserves him just to both.

Rustan.
So may it ever be. And you deserve
His most devoted service. For his sake,
You broke thro' all the rules of royal custom,
That buries in the dark seraglio's round,
And keeps at cautious distance, son or brother,
From knowledge and employment.

Solyman.
True: my heart
Disdain'd those narrow forms which low suspicion,
Th' inglorious policy of mean-soul'd men,
Had render'd reverend to our barbarous world:
Beheld with scorn by wiser nations round us,
Whom reason and discernment have enlarg'd
With nobler views, and polish'd into honor.

Rustan.
A zeal well meant, tho' indiscreet, the King
Will sure forgive.—But does this son approve
The breach of ancient custom—in each instance?
There may be novelties—

Solyman.
What wouldst thou say?

Rustan.
E'er since the time inhuman Tamerlane,
In Bajazet's insulted Queen, dishonour'd
The majesty of empire, future Sultans
Have shunn'd the marriage-tie.

Solyman.
Solyman has not:
Superior to that cowardice of pride,
Which made it a state-maxim—But say, who,
What slave of mine so lightly holds his life
As but to murmur at it?

Rustan.
All good subjects
Applaud your act with duteous veneration.
Fair Roxolana even adorns the name,
The honor'd name she wears. The Prince too, Sir,
Is valiant, noble, rich in manly virtues,
And with these virtues, loyal—But his pride—

Solyman.
His pride!—away—he does not, dares not blame—
Confusion!—blame!—He must approve my act.
Reason inspir'd, and honor boasts it done.
She merits more than pomp and power can give:
Even all that love in his unbounded fondness,
Inventive to bestow with taste and grace,
Can find to crown the idol of his vow.—
I lose my self in fondness—Say, I wish
A moment's converse with her.—Stay. Thy letters,
What say they of my son: Will he obey
My order? Does he come to vindicate
His question'd loyalty?

Rustan.
To all but that
My letters speak at large, and high extoll
His gentle manners, popular behavior,
And equal use of delegated sway.

Solyman.
My mandate was express and absolute:
And I expect him here, ere yonder orb
Has measur'd half its course—But should he fail—
That popular behavior, priz'd so high,
May cost him dear!—My Roxolana comes.
I would be left alone.

SCENE IV.

Roxolana, Solyman.
Roxolana.
Alas, my Lord,
Thro' those severe regards you dart around you,
Methinks I read some discontented thought.
Ah should it point on me!

Solyman.
My Roxolana!
That fear is vain, is cruel to us both.
No anger, no distaste can dwell with love,
With love like ours, ennobled into friendship,
That, while it sooths, invigorates the heart:
Union of wishes, harmony of wills,
Blended and lost in one consenting interest,
One undivided happiness, beyond
The solitary, joyless pride of power,
That dazzles, not delights—A heart like mine
O'erflows its bounds, unheeding—I but meant
To pour into thy faithful breast the cares
That break upon my peace.

Roxolana.
Give me them all:
And I will charm them to repose, or share
Their sharpest pangs.

Solyman.
A swarm of gloomy fears
Is waken'd here!

Roxolana.
What fears, my gracious Lord?

Solyman.
Now, Roxolana, speak as in the sight
Of that stern Angel who explores the grave,
And calls departed souls to strict confession.

Roxolana.
What do I hear?

Solyman.
My favour'd Mustapha,
So grac'd and so distinguish'd by my fondness,
Feels he for me that love a son should feel
For such a parent?

Roxolana.
Whence that doubt, my Lord?

Solyman.
Ask thy own heart. Has not thy love for me
Alarm'd thee to suspicions of his conduct?

Roxolana.
What can a father wish, he not performs?
When your just vengeance sends him forth to war,
Great in your power and glorious by your fame,
He hurls the dreadful thunder: then returns
Submissive to your nod, alike resign'd,
Commanding or obeying. You the while,
To give this brave and boundless spirit scope,
Remain, my Lord, unactive in the shade,
Obscuring your renown; that his may rise
And shine, to dazzle your admiring subjects,
Who bless his brightness, dwell upon his sight,
And hail their future Lord!

Solyman.
Ha! heard I right?
Thou sayst I have been unactive—cruel truth!
The world has ceas'd to tremble at my name.
Once, Afric, Asia, Europe, fled before it.
The Persian lost a kingdom to my arms:
I humbled Egypt; crush'd its daring rebels.
Proud Rhodes, defended by the chosen boast
Of Christian chiefs, sustain'd not my assault.
I shook the distant Danube with my thunder:
Struck terror to the heart of its bold ruler.
My threatning war hung o'er his capital,
A gather'd tempest; waiting but my nod
To burst in ruin on it.—Yes—this was.
But now perdition!

Roxolana.
Moderate, my Lord,
This rising transport.

Solyman.
'Tis a coward's vaunting:
And valour blushes at it.—Roxolana!
What am I now?—Sunk, lost in sloth and silence?
While Mustapha has reign'd for Solyman!
Poor and debasing!—Kings who cease to act,
Cease to be Kings.

Roxolana.
Yet Mustapha's renown
Is yours, my Lord. The name of Solyman
Bore terror in it, conquer'd where he fought not:
And, as the victory, the praise was yours.

Solyman.
Thy virtuous tenderness for me deceives thee.
I see my fatal error, feel my danger.
We may oblige our children into foes,
Even till they hate as deep as we have lov'd.

Roxolana.
But then proceed, my Lord, by wary steps.
Observe him, if he leagues with men who screen
Their hate to you, their disappointed pride,
Behind the specious mask of public zeal.
Mark if the winning softness of his manners
Be native or assum'd: Humility
Is oft disguis'd ambition. Note the means
By which he slides into the vulgar bosom;
Feign'd pity for their sufferings, hinted hopes
Of better times. But chief remark the arts
He puts in use to court the soldiers' love;
A coarse simplicity of taste and life,
In their hard fare, gross wit, and blunt demeanor,
Their fellow and companion. Mischief oft,
And murderous treason lurk beneath such plainness.

Solyman.
O wretchedness of royalty! what thorns
Weave their sharp points with empire's gaudy robe!
Now by my father's soul, thou hast heard more—
I read it in that look—more than thy softness
Dares trust mine ear with—

SCENE V.

Solyman, Roxolana, Rustan.
Solyman.
Rustan!—whence this haste?

Rustan.
My Lord, the Prince approaches—

Solyman.
Ha! what say'st thou?

Rustan.
And enters now thy camp.

Solyman.
'Tis well.—The troops
How greet they his arrival?

Rustan.
With mad haste
They pour by thousands o'er the tented plain,
And swarm around him. 'Tis all wonder, fondness,
Each passion, every folly, of the vulgar
Expressing heart-felt joy.

Solyman.
Indeed!

Rustan.
And hark!
That universal shout speaks loud their transport.

Solyman.
Again!—the traitors!

Roxolana.
What attendance brings he?

Rustan.
Achmet will tell your Highness.

Solyman.
Bid him enter.

SCENE VI.

Solyman, Roxolana, Rustan,
Achmet.
Prince Mustapha—

Solyman.
Is come!

Achmet.
And by your slave,
Implores admission to your royal presence.

Solyman.
I sent thee to Amasia, to his province:
Say how he was employ'd.

Achmet.
As a Prince should be:
In all the nobler cares of peaceful sway,
That make the ruler lov'd, the people happy.

Solyman.
Didst thou remark how he receiv'd my order?
How look'd he? what reply'd he?

Achmet.
With submission
He kiss'd th' imperial signet: then dismiss'd
His numerous court; on each with instance pressing
Inviolable duty to their Sovereign.

Solyman.
This more: with what attendance is he guarded?

Achmet.
With only those who wait about his person,
And one fair slave.

Solyman.
Enough.—A croud of thoughts,
Doubting, discordant, tumult in my breast,
Unsettling my resolves—What should I think?—
Suspicion may enquire, but must not judge.—
'Tis now devotion's hour: invoke we then,
To guide our councils, that unerring Mind,
Whose goodness guards the majesty of Kings;
Whose justice each dark thought to judgment brings.