 | Mustapha |  |
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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?
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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:
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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
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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—
| Mustapha | |