Osman An Historical Tragedy |
 | 1. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. | SCENE VIII. |
| 9. |
| 2. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 3. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 4. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
| 8. |
| 9. |
| 10. |
| 5. |
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
 | Osman |  |
15
SCENE VIII.
Camp at Choczim.Mirza and Phesalie.
MIRZA.
Propound no Comfort to my tortur'd Mind;
'Twere endless to engage in such a Task—
Observ'd you not the affected Complaisance
He forc'd upon himself? “Madam, you're welcome—
“No Happiness subsists without Allay—
“Your Messenger informs—Iv'e lost my Son—
“I'm sorry for it—but we all are mortal—
“You'll make your Entry with me to the Porte”—
'Twere endless to engage in such a Task—
Observ'd you not the affected Complaisance
He forc'd upon himself? “Madam, you're welcome—
“No Happiness subsists without Allay—
“Your Messenger informs—Iv'e lost my Son—
“I'm sorry for it—but we all are mortal—
“You'll make your Entry with me to the Porte”—
I had prepar'd a Thousand tender Things,
To 'suage th'expected Sorrow for his Son,
And raise Affection in his Breast for me.
To 'suage th'expected Sorrow for his Son,
And raise Affection in his Breast for me.
I languish'd—look'd—oft I essay'd to speak,
But turning from me with contemptuous Air,
He gave Command a Chiaoux should attend,
On some Dispatch, I know not what, and left me.
But turning from me with contemptuous Air,
He gave Command a Chiaoux should attend,
On some Dispatch, I know not what, and left me.
16
My Queen, you injure Osman by these Thoughts;
He's just arriv'd from the Fatigues of War;
A busy World engrosses all his Care—
It's plain, 'tis not Neglect makes him indifferent;
For had his Mind been vacant from Engagements,
No doubt his Son had forc'd some Sorrow from him.
MIRZA.
Alas! my Son—Thence, thence my Source of Woe—
Had he but liv'd!—
Had he but liv'd!—
Some fresh Amour m'engage my Osman's Heart,
And send me wretched, childless to the Grave—
Our only Hopes are built upon an Heir—
They're gone—they're vanished—Mirza is now
Despis'd, neglected, and the Queen's no more.
And send me wretched, childless to the Grave—
Our only Hopes are built upon an Heir—
They're gone—they're vanished—Mirza is now
Despis'd, neglected, and the Queen's no more.
PHESALIE.
Madam, you're young, and may have many Sons
T'engage our Sov'reign's Heart by stronger Ties.
MIRZA.
Name that no more, dear Phesalie; my Grief
Would then exceed its present Limits far—
O! could I live to see my eldest Hope
Secure his Sceptre by a Brother's Blood!—
The captious Soldiery are so imperious,
That while a Branch remains o'th'Ott'man Stem,
To fill his Place, no King can sit secure:
For tho' they durst not quite dam up the Spring,
They dread not to divert it from its Course.
Would then exceed its present Limits far—
O! could I live to see my eldest Hope
Secure his Sceptre by a Brother's Blood!—
The captious Soldiery are so imperious,
17
To fill his Place, no King can sit secure:
For tho' they durst not quite dam up the Spring,
They dread not to divert it from its Course.
Which Way soe'er I turn, I meet Distress—
Unhappy childless—lost, if more than one.
Unhappy childless—lost, if more than one.
PHESALIE.
'Tis true, your Majesty with Danger treads
The Ice-glaz'd Path of slipp'ry Greatness:
But Custom, reaching out her friendly Hand,
Sould reconcile to Reasons of the State:
Nor ought we sorrow, till th'Event arrives.
Might I presume to advise your Highness,
It should be to shake off this Heaviness—
Resume the gay, the bright, the sparkling Mirza;
(The Charms which first subdu'd the Sultan's Heart)
They may rekindle Osman's waining Love;
Still make you Mother of his first-born Son,
And spite of your Dejection, Valida .
MIRZA.
I know you love me—I will be advis'd:
Our Prophet aid me—Yet, I know not why,
18
Which, maugre my Resolves, bodes ill Success.
[Exeunt.
| Osman | |