University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

Aspasia, Irene.
Irene.
Aspasia, yet pursue the sacred Theme;
Exhaust the Stores of pious Eloquence,
And teach me to repell the Sultan's Passion.
Still at Aspasia's Voice a sudden Rapture
Exalts my Soul, and fortifies my Heart.
The glitt'ring Vanities of empty Greatness,
The Hopes and Fears, the Joys and Pains of Life,
Dissolve in Air, and vanish into Nothing.

Aspasia.
Let nobler Hopes and juster Fears succeed,
And bar the Passes of Irene's Mind
Against returning Guilt.

Irene.
When thou art absent
Death rises to my View, with all his Terrors;
Then Visions horrid as a Murd'rer's Dreams
Chill my Resolves, and blast my blooming Virtue:
Stern Torture shakes his bloody Scourge before me,
And Anguish gnashes on the fatal Wheel.

Aspasia.
Since Fear predominates in every Thought,
And sways thy Breast with absolute Dominion,
Think on th' insulting Scorn, the conscious Pangs,
The future Miseries that wait th' Apostate;
So shall Timidity assist thy Reason,
And Wisdom into Virtue turn thy Frailty.

Irene.
Will not that Pow'r that form'd the Heart of Woman,
And wove the feeble Texture of her Nerves,
Forgive those Fears that shake the tender Frame?

Aspasia.
The Weakness we lament, our selves create,
Instructed from our infant Years to court
With counterfeited Fears the Aid of Man;
We learn to shudder at the rustling Breeze,
Start at the Light, and tremble in the Dark;
Till Affectation, rip'ning to Belief,
And Folly, frighted at her own Chimeras,
Habitual Cowardice usurps the Soul.

Irene.
Not all like thee can brave the Shocks of Fate,
Thy Soul by Nature great, enlarg'd by Knowledge,
Soars unencumber'd with our idle Cares,
And all Aspasia but her Beauty's Man.

Aspasia.
Each generous Sentiment is thine, Demetrius,
Whose Soul, perhaps, yet mindful of Aspasia,
Now hovers o'er this melancholy Shade,
Well pleas'd to find thy Precepts not forgotten.
O! could the Grave restore the pious Hero,
Soon would his Art or Valour set us free,
And bear us far from Servitude and Crimes.

Irene.
He yet may live.

Aspasia.
Alas! delusive Dream!
Too well I know him, his immod'rate Courage,
Th' impetuous Sallies of excessive Virtue,
Too strong for Love, have hurried him on Death.

SCENE II.

Aspasia, Irene, Cali, Abdalla.
Cali
to Abdalla, as they advance.
Behold our future Sultaness, Abdalla;—
Let artful Flatt'ry now, to lull Suspicion,
Glide through Irene to the Sultan's Ear.
Wouldst thou subdue th' obdurate Cannibal
To tender Friendship, praise him to his Mistress.
To Irene.
Well may those Eyes that view these heav'nly Charms,
Reject the Daughters of contending Kings;
For what are pompous Titles, proud Alliance,
Empire or Wealth, to Excellence like thine?

Abdalla.
Receive th' impatient Sultan to thy Arms;
And may a long Posterity of Monarchs,
The Pride and Terror of succeeding Days,
Rise from the happy Bed; and future Queens
Diffuse Irene's Beauty through the World.

Irene.
Can Mahomet's imperial Hand descend
To clasp a Slave? or, can a Soul like mine,
Unus'd to Power, and form'd for humbler Scenes,
Support the splendid Miseries of Greatness?

Cali.
No regal Pageant deck'd with casual Honours,
Scorn'd by his Subjects, trampled by his Foes;
No feeble Tyrant of a petty State
Courts thee to shake on a dependent Throne;
Born to command, as thou to charm Mankind,
The Sultan from himself derives his Greatness.
Observe, bright Maid, as his resistless Voice
Drives on the Tempest of destructive War,
How Nation after Nation falls before him.

Abdalla.
At his dread Name the distant Mountains shake
Their cloudy Summits, and the Sons of Fierceness,
That range unciviliz'd from Rock to Rock,
Distrust th' eternal Fortresses of Nature,
And wish their gloomy Caverns more obscure.

Aspasia.
Forbear this lavish Pomp of dreadful Praise;
The horrid Images of War and Slaughter
Renew our Sorrows, and awake our Fears.

Abdalla.
Cali, methinks yon waving Trees afford
A doubtful Glimpse of our approaching Friends;
Just as I mark'd them, they forsook the Shore,
And turn'd their hasty Steps towards the Garden.

Cali.
Conduct these Queens, Abdalla, to the Palace:
Such heav'nly Beauty form'd for Adoration,
The Pride of Monarchs, the Reward of Conquest;
Such Beauty must not shine to vulgar Eyes.

SCENE III.

Cali
solus.
How Heav'n in Scorn of human Arrogance,
Commits to trivial Chance the Fate of Nations!
While with incessant Thought laborious Man
Extends his mighty Schemes of Wealth and Pow'r,
And tow'rs and triumphs in ideal Greatness;
Some accidental Gust of Opposition
Blasts all the Beauties of his new Creation,
O'erturns the Fabrick of presumptuous Reason,
And whelms the swelling Architect beneath it.
Had not the Breeze untwin'd the meeting Boughs,
And through the parted Shade disclos'd the Greeks,
Th' important Hour had pass'd unheeded by,
In all the sweet Oblivion of Delight,
In all the Fopperies of meeting Lovers;
In Sighs and Tears, in Transports and Embraces,
In soft Complaints, and idle Protestations.

SCENE IV.

Cali, Demetrius, Leontius.
Cali.
Could Omens fright the Resolute and Wise,
Well might we fear impending Disappointments.

Leontius.
Your artful Suit, your Monarch's fierce Denial,
The cruel Doom of hapless Menodorus—

Demetrius.
And your new Charge, that dear, that heav'nly Maid.—

Leontius.
All this we know already from Abdalla.

Demetrius.
Such slight Defeats but animate the Brave
To stronger Efforts, and maturer Counsels.

Cali.
My Doom confirm'd establishes my Purpose,
Calmly he heard, till Amurath's Resumption
Rose to his Thought, and set his Soul on Fire:
When from his Lips the fatal Name burst out,
A sudden Pause th' imperfect Sense suspended,
Like the dread Stillness of condensing Storms.

Demetrius.
The loudest Cries of Nature urge us forward;
Despotick Rage pursues the Life of Cali;
His groaning Country claims Leontius' Aid;
And yet another Voice, forgive me Greece,
The pow'rful Voice of Love inflames Demetrius,
Each ling'ring Hour alarms me for Aspasia.

Cali.
What Passions reign among thy Crew, Leontius?
Does chearless Diffidence oppress their Hearts?
Or sprightly Hope exalt their kindling Spirits?
Do they with Pain repress the struggling Shout,
And listen eager to the rising Wind?

Leontius.
All there is Hope, and Gaiety, and Courage,
No cloudy Doubts, or languishing Delays;
Ere I could range them on the crowded Deck,
At once a hundred Voices thunder'd round me,
And every Voice was Liberty and Greece.

Demetrius.
Swift, let us rush upon the careless Tyrant,
Nor give him Leisure for another Crime.

Leontius.
Then let us now resolve, nor idly waste
Another Hour in dull Deliberation.

Cali.
But see, where destin'd to protract our Counsels,
Comes Mustapha.—Your Turkish Robes conceal you—
Retire with Speed, while I prepare to meet him
With artificial Smiles, and seeming Friendship.

SCENE V.

Cali and Mustapha.
Cali.
I see the Gloom that low'rs upon thy Brow,
These Days of Love and Pleasure charm not thee;
Too slow these gentle Constellations roll,
Thou long'st for Stars that frown on human Kind,
And scatter Discord from their baleful Beams.

Mustapha.
How blest art thou, still jocund and serene,
Beneath the Load of Business, and of Years.

Cali.
Sure by some wond'rous Sympathy of Souls,
My Heart still beats responsive to the Sultan's;
I share, by secret Instinct, all his Joys,
And feel no Sorrow while my Sov'reign smiles.

Mustapha.
The Sultan comes, impatient for his Love;
Conduct her hither, let no rude Intrusion
Molest these private Walks, or Care invade
These Hours assign'd to Pleasure and Irene.

SCENE VI.

Mahomet, Mustapha.
Mahomet.
Now, Mustapha, pursue thy Tale of Horror.
Has Treason's dire Infection reach'd my Palace?
Can Cali dare the Stroke of heav'nly Justice,
In the dark Precincts of the gaping Grave,
And load with Perjuries his parting Soul?
Was it for this, that sick'ning in Epirus,
My Father call'd me to his Couch of Death,
Join'd Cali's Hand to mine, and falt'ring cry'd,
Restrain the Fervour of impetuous Youth
With venerable Cali's faithful Counsels?
Are these the Counsels? This the Faith of Cali?
Were all our Favours lavish'd on a Villain?
Confest?—

Mustapha.
Confest by dying Menodorus.
In his last Agonies the gasping Coward,
Amidst the Tortures of the burning Steel,
Still fond of Life, groan'd out the dreadful Secret,
Held forth this fatal Scroll, then sunk to nothing.

Mahomet
, examining the Paper.
His Correspondence with our Foes of Greece!
His Hand! His Seal! The Secrets of my Soul
Conceal'd from all but him! All! all conspire
To banish Doubt, and brand him for a Villain.
Our Schemes for ever cross'd, our Mines discover'd,
Betray'd some Traytor lurking near my Bosom.
Oft have I rag'd, when their wide-wasting Cannon
Lay pointed at our Batt'ries yet unform'd,
And broke the meditated Lines of War.
Detested Cali too, with artful Wonder,
Would shake his wily Head, and closely whisper,
Beware of Mustapha, beware of Treason.

Mustapha.
The Faith of Mustapha disdains Suspicion;
But yet, great Emperor, beware of Treason;
Th' insidious Bassa fir'd by Disappointment—

Mahomet.
Shall feel the Vengeance of an injur'd King.
Go, seize him, load him with reproachful Chains;
Before th' assembled Troops proclaim his Crimes;
Then leave him stretch'd upon the ling'ring Rack,
Amidst the Camp to howl his Life away.

Mustapha.
Should we before the Troops proclaim his Crimes,
I dread his Arts of seeming Innocence,
His bland Address, and Sorcery of Tongue;
And should he fall unheard, by sudden Justice,
Th' adoring Soldiers would revenge their Idol.

Mahomet.
Cali, this Day with hypocritick Zeal,
Implor'd my Leave to visit Mecca's Temple;
Struck with the Wonder of a Statesman's Goodness,
I rais'd his Thoughts to more sublime Devotion.
Now let him go, pursu'd by silent Wrath,
Meet unexpected Daggers in his Way,
And in some distant Land obscurely die.

Mustapha.
There will his boundless Wealth, the Spoil of Asia,
Heap'd by your Father's ill-plac'd Bounties on him,
Disperse Rebellion through the Eastern World;
Bribe to his Cause and lift beneath his Banners
Arabia's roving Troops, the Sons of Swiftness,
And arm the Persian Heretick against thee;
There shall he waste thy Frontiers, check thy Conquests,
And though at length subdued, elude thy Vengeance.

Mahomet.
Elude my Vengeance? no—My Troops shall range
Th' eternal Snows that freeze beyond Meotis,
And Afric's torrid Sands in search of Cali.
Should the fierce North upon his frozen Wings
Bear him aloft above the wond'ring Clouds,
And seat him in the Pleiad's golden Chariots,
Thence should my Fury drag him down to Tortures;
Wherever Guilt can fly, Revenge can follow.

Mustapha.
Wilt thou dismiss the Savage from the Toils
Only to hunt him round the ravag'd World?

Mahomet.
Suspend his Sentence—Empire and Irene
Claim my divided Soul. This Wretch unworthy
To mix with nobler Cares, I'll throw aside
For idle Hours, and crush him at my Leisure.

Mustapha.
Let not th' unbounded Greatness of his Mind
Betray my King to negligence of Danger.
Perhaps the Clouds of dark Conspiracy
Now roll full fraught with Thunder o'er your Head.
Twice since the Morning rose I saw the Bassa,
Like a fell Adder swelling in a Brake,
Beneath the Covert of this verdant Arch
In private Conference; beside him stood
Two Men unknown, the Partners of his Bosom;
I mark'd them well, and trac'd in either Face
The gloomy Resolution, horrid Greatness,
And stern Composure of despairing Heroes;
And, to confirm my Thought, at sight of me,
As blasted by my Presence, they withdrew
With all the speed of Terror and of Guilt.

Mahomet.
The strong Emotions of my troubled Soul
Allow no pause for Art or for Contrivance;
And dark Perplexity distracts my Counsels.
Do thou resolve: For see Irene comes!
At her approach each ruder Gust of Thought
Sinks like the sighing of a Tempest spent,
And Gales of softer Passion fan my Bosom.

[Cali enters with Irene, and exit with Mustapha.

SCENE VII.

Mahomet, Irene.
Mahomet.
Wilt thou descend, fair Daughter of Perfection,
To hear my Vows, and give Mankind a Queen?
Ah! cease, Irene, cease those flowing Sorrows,
That melt a Heart, impregnable till now,
And turn thy Thoughts henceforth to Love and Empire.
How will the matchless Beauties of Irene,
Thus bright in Tears, thus amiable in Ruin,
With all the graceful Pride of Greatness heighten'd,
Amidst the Blaze of Jewels and of Gold,
Adorn a Throne, and dignify Dominion.

Irene.
Why all this glare of splendid Eloquence,
To paint the Pageantries of guilty State?
Must I for these renounce the Hope of Heav'n,
Immortal Crowns and fulness of Enjoyment?

Mahomet.
Vain Raptures all—For your inferiour Natures
Form'd to delight, and happy by delighting;
Heav'n has reserv'd no future Paradise,
But bids you rove the Paths of Bliss, secure
Of total Death and careless of Hereafter;
While Heav'n's high Minister, whose awful Volume
Records each Act, each Thought of sov'reign Man,
Surveys your Plays with inattentive Glance,
And leaves the lovely Trifler unregarded.

Irene.
Why then has Nature's vain Munificence
Profusely pour'd her Bounties upon Woman?
Whence then those Charms thy Tongue has deign'd to flatter,
That Air resistless and enchanting Blush,
Unless the beauteous Fabrick was design'd
A Habitation for a fairer Soul?

Mahomet.
Too high, bright Maid, thou rat'st exteriour Grace
Not always do the fairest Flow'rs diffuse
The richest Odours, nor the speckled Shells
Conceal the Gem; let female Arrogance
Observe the feather'd Wand'rers of the Sky,
With Purple varied and bedrop'd with Gold,
They prune the Wing, and spread the glossy Plumes,
Ordain'd, like you, to flutter and to shine,
And chear the weary Passenger with Musick.

Irene.
Mean as we are, this Tyrant of the World
Implores our Smiles, and trembles at our Feet:
Whence flow the Hopes and Fears, Despair and Rapture,
Whence all the Bliss and Agonies of Love?

Mahomet.
Why, when the Balm of Sleep descends on Man,
Do gay Delusions, wand'ring o'er the Brain,
Sooth the delighted Soul with empty Bliss?
To Want give Affluence? and to Slav'ry Freedom?
Such are Love's Joys, the Lenitives of Life,
A fancy'd Treasure, and a waking Dream.

Irene.
Then let me once, in honour of our Sex,
Assume the boastful Arrogance of Man.
Th' attractive Softness, and th' indearing Smile,
And pow'rful Glance, 'tis granted, are our own;
Nor has impartial Nature's frugal Hand
Exhausted all her nobler Gifts on you;
Do not we share the comprehensive Thought,
Th' enlivening Wit, the penetrating Reason?
Beats not the female Breast with gen'rous Passions,
The thirst of Empire, and the Love of Glory?

Mahomet.
Illustrious Maid, new Wonders fix me thine,
Thy Soul compleats the Triumphs of thy Face.
I thought, forgive my Fair, the noblest Aim,
The strongest Effort of a female Soul,
Was but to chuse the Graces of the Day;
To tune the Tongue, to teach the Eyes to roll,
Dispose the Colours of the flowing Robe,
And add new Roses to the faded Cheek.
Will it not charm a Mind like thine exalted,
To shine the Goddess of applauding Nations,
To scatter Happiness and Plenty round thee,
To bid the prostrate Captive rise and live,
To see new Cities tow'r at thy Command,
And blasted Kingdoms flourish at thy smile?

Irene.
Charm'd with the Thought of blessing human Kind,
Too calm I listen to the flatt'ring Sounds.

Mahomet.
O seize the Power to bless—Irene's Nod
Shall break the Fetters of the groaning Christian;
Greece, in her lovely Patroness secure,
Shall mourn no more her plunder'd Palaces.

Irene.
Forbear—O do not urge me to my Ruin!

Mahomet.
To State and Pow'r I court thee, not to Ruin:
Smile on my Wishes, and command the Globe.
Security shall spread her Shield before thee,
And Love infold thee with his downy Wings.
If Greatness please thee, mount th' imperial Seat;
If Pleasure charm thee, view this soft Retreat;
Here ev'ry Warbler of the Sky shall sing;
Here ev'ry Fragrance breathe of ev'ry Spring:
To deck these Bow'rs each Region shall combine,
And ev'n our Prophet's Gardens envy thine:
Empire and Love shall share the blissful Day,
And varied Life steal unperceiv'd away.