University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Roxana, Atalida, Zatima, Zara.
Rox.
Atalida!
This Moment shall decide my Destiny.
My Mind has long been rack'd with doubtful Hope.
The Prince this Moment shall declare his Love;
To me declare.

Ata.
Roxana can you doubt it?
Haste and atchieve your glorious Work; oh raise
The godlike Youth to Liberty and Empire,
Now while the Day yet lives, to Morrow's Sun
His Liberty, his Life, may not be yours,
If haughty Amurat returns victorious,
Your Bajazet must bleed. Oh think on that.
Do not suspect his Heart; your eager Love
Is full of groundless Fears, I'll answer for him.

Roxa.
You then shall answer for him. Speak, Atalida,
Thinkst thou his Love sincere?

Ata.
Your generous Care,
What you have done, what you have Power to do,
His Danger and his Duty, all conspire
To fix his grateful Heart. Oh can you think,
Your bounteous Love will ever die within him?

Roxa.
Wou'd Heaven, for my Repose, I cou'd not think it!
Has Love once touch'd his Heart? How oft, my Friend,
Have I receiv'd from thee his tender Vows?
But when, assur'd and pleas'd, I saw the Prince
In secret; say, my dear Atalida,
Did he not seem all frozen? Cold Esteem
And distant Homage were the only Pledges
Of promis'd Love.—Where was that youthful Ardor,
With which you flatter'd my believing Heart?
I tell thee, e're I give him Life and Empire,
I shall require more ample Proofs of Love.

Ata.
What more can you require?

Roxa.
He shall espouse me.
This very Day I'll be his Queen, his Wife.

Ata.
His Wife!—Good Heav'n, how desperate is your Purpose!

Roxa.
I know our Empire's Laws are strong against me.
Proudly they speak, the Race of Ottoman
Shall ne'er be subject to the Bonds of Wedlock.
Tho' midst that Blaze of Beauty that attends him,
Our Sultan sometimes stoops to chuse a Fav'rite;
Yet still no Royal Honours grace her Bed:
The Slave receives a Master in her Arms.
And when her Youth hath strengthen'd with an Heir
The Throne of Mahomet, this empty Name
Of Sultaness is added.

Atal.
—Amurat
Disdain'd that you shou'd owe to ought but Love,
Your Titles. He has cloath'd them too with Power,
And made you Mistress of his Brother's Life.

Roxa.
Yet Amurat, bound down by Forms of Law,
Durst not crown all his Benefits with Marriage;
The only Blessing my Ambition courted.
This I expect from Bajazet: for him
My Heart, my Friends, my Soldiers, People, Mutes,
The Vizier, all are Traytors.

Ata.
Can you think
To save distressful Virtue is a Crime?

Roxa.
Will he refuse to break this odious Law?
Will he not join his Hand with mine in Wedlock?
Shou'd he once pause or trifle with my Passion,
That Moment, without thinking how I love,
Tho' Death, Despair attend me, I'll shake off
These fond Desires; and plunge him headlong down
The deep Abyss, that Dungeon of Distress,
From whence my Love has rais'd him. Go, Atalida,
Tell him, his Fate depends on his Compliance.

Ata.
I'll bring you his Resolves.

Roxa.
No, no, your Tongue
Expounds what he ne'er means. I'll see the Prince:
Tell him that Interview, that Point of Time,
Shall make us bless'd or wretched both for ever.