University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

SCENE, the Inside of the Royal Tent.
Enter Axalla, Selima, and Women Attendants.
Ax.
Can there be ought in Love, beyond this Proof,
This wond'rous Proof, I give thee of my Faith?
To tear thee from my bleeding Bosom thus?
To rend the Strings of Life, to set thee free,
And yield thee to a cruel Father's Power,
Foe to my Hopes? what can'st thou pay me back,
What but thy self (thou Angel) for this Fondness?

Sel.
Thou dost upbraid me, Beggar as I am,
And urge me with my Poverty of Love.
Perhaps thou think'st, 'tis nothing for a Maid
To struggle thro' the Niceness of her Sex,
The Blushes, and the Fears, and own she loves:
Thou think'st, 'tis nothing for my artless Heart
To own my Weakness, and confess thy Triumph.

Ax.
Oh! yes, I own it; my charm'd Ears ne'er knew
A Sound of so much Rapture, so much Joy.
Not Voices, Instruments, not warbling Birds,
Not Winds, not murmuring Waters join'd in consort,
Not tuneful Nature, not th'according Spheres
Utter such Harmony, as when my Selima
With down cast Looks, and Blushes said,—I love—

Sel.
And yet thou say'st, I am a Niggard to thee:
I swear the Balance shall be held between us,
And Love be Judge, if after all the Tenderness,
Tears, and Confusion of my Virgin Soul,
Thou should'st complain of ought, Unjust Axalla!

Ax.
Why was I ever blest?—Why is Remembrance
Rich with a thousand pleasing Images
Of past Enjoyments, since 'tis but to plague me?
When thou art mine no more, what will it ease me
To think of all the Golden Minutes past,
To think, that thou wert kind, and I was happy:
But like an Angel fall'n from Bliss, to curse
My present State, and mourn the Heav'n I've lost.

Sel.
Hope better for us both; nor let thy Fears,
Like an unlucky Omen, cross my way.
My Father rough, and stormy in his Nature,
To me was always gentle, and, with Fondness
Paternal, ever met me with a Blessing.
Oft when Offence had stir'd him to such Fury,
That not grave Counsellors for Wisdom fam'd,
Nor hardy Captains that had fought his Battles,
Presum'd to speak, but struck with awful Dread,
Were hush'd as Death; yet has he smil'd on me,
Kis'd me, and bad me utter all my purpose;
Till, with my idle Prattle I had sooth'd him,
And won him from his Anger.

Ax.
Oh! I know,
Thou hast a Tongue to charm the wildest Tempers.
Herds would forget to graze, and Savage Beasts
Stand still, and lose their Fierceness, but to hear thee,
As if they had Reflection, and by Reason
Forsook a less Enjoyment for a greater.
But oh! when I revolve each Circumstance,
My Christian Faith, my Service closely bound
To Tamerlane my Master, and my Friend:
Tell me (my Charmer) if my Fears are vain.
Think what remains for me, if the fierce Sultan
Should doom thy Beauties to another's Bed.

Sel.
'Tis a sad Thought, but to appease thy Doubts,
Here, in the awful Sight of Heav'n, I vow,
No Pow'r shall e'er divide me from thy Love,
Ev'n Duty shall not force me to be false.
My cruel Stars may tear thee from my Arms,
But never from my Heart; and when the Maids
Shall yearly come with Garlands of fresh Flow'rs,
To mourn with pious Office o'er my Grave,
They shall sit sadly down, and weeping tell,
How well I lov'd, how much I suffer'd for thee,
And while they grieve my Fate, shall praise my Constancy.

Ax.
But see! the Sultan comes!—my beating Heart
Bounds with exulting Motion, Hope, and Fear,
Fight with alternate conquest in my Breast.
Oh! Can I give her from me? Yield her up?
Now mourn thou God of Love, since Honour triumphs,
And crowns his cruel Altars with thy Spoils.

Enter Bajazet.
Baj.
To have a nauseous Courtesy forc'd on me
Spight of my Will, by an insulting Foe,—
Ha! they would break the Fierceness of my Temper,
And make me supple for their slavish purpose:
Curse on their fauning Arts; from Heav'n it self
'would not, on such Terms, receive a Benefit,
But spurn it back upon the Giver's hand.

Sel.
My Lord; my Royal Father.

Selima comes forward and kneels to Bajazet.
Baj.
Ha! what art thou?
What heavenly Innocence? that in a Form
So known, so lov'd hast left thy Paradise,
For joyless Prison, for this place of Woe?
Art thou my Selima?

Sel.
Have you forgot me?
Alas! my Piety is then in vain;
Your Selima, your Daughter whom you lov'd,
The fondling once of her dear Father's Arms,
Is come to claim her share in his Misfortunes;
To wait, and tend him with obsequious Duty;
To sit, and weep for every Care he feels;
To help, to wear the tedious Minutes out,
To soften Bondage, and the loss of Empire.

Baj.
Now by our Prophet! If my wounded Mind
Could know a Thought of Peace, it would be now;
Ev'n from thy prating Infancy, thou wert
My Joy, my little Angel; smiling Comfort
Came with thee still to glad me: Now I'm curs'd
Ev'n in thee too; Reproach and Infamy
Attend the Christian Dog, to whom thou wert trusted:
To see thee here!—'twere better see thee dead.

Ax.
Thus Tamerlane to Royal Bajazet
With Kingly Greeting sends: Since with the brave,
(The bloody Bus'ness of the Fight once ended)
Stern Hate, and Opposition ought to cease;
Thy Queen already to thy Arms restor'd,
Receive this second Gift, thy beateous Daughter:
And if there be ought farther in thy Wish,
Demand with Honour, and obtain it freely.

Baj.
Bear back thy fulsom Greeting to thy Master,
Tell him, I'll none on't: Had he been a God,
All his Omnipotence could not restore
My Fame diminish'd, loss of Sacred Honour,
The Radiancy of Majesty eclips'd.
For ought besides, it is not worth my Care;
Thy Giver, and his Gifts are both beneath me.

Ax.
Enough of War the wounded Earth has known;
Weary at length, and wasted with destruction,
Sadly she rears her ruin'd Head, to shew
Her Cities humbled, and her Countries spoil'd,
And to her mighty Masters sues for Peace.
Oh! Sultan! by the Power Divine I swear!
With Joy I would resign the savage Trophies
In Blood and Battle gain'd, could I attone
The fatal Breach 'twixt thy self and Tamerlane;
And think a Soldier's Glory well bestow'd,
To buy Mankind a Peace.

Baj.
And what art thou?
That dost presume to mediate 'twixt the Rage
Of angry Kings?

Ax.
A Prince, born of the noblest,
And of a Soul that answers to that Birth,
That dares not but do well. Thou dost put on
A forc'd Forgetfulness, thus not to know me,
A Guest so lately to thy Court, then meeting
On gentler Terms,—

Sel.
Could ought efface the Merit
Of brave Axalla's Name, yet when your Daughter
Shall tell, how well, how nobly she was us'd;
How light this gallant Prince made all her Bondage;
Most sure the Royal Bajazet will own,
That Honour stands indebted to such Goodness,
Nor can a Monarch's Friendship more than pay it.

Baj.
Ha! Know'st thou that fond Girl?—Go—'tis not well—
And when thou could'st descend to take a Benefit
From a vile Christian, and thy Father's Foe,
Thou did'st an Act dishonest to thy Race;
Henceforth, unless thou mean'st to cancell all
My Share in thee, and write thy self a Bastard:
Dye, Starve, know any Evil, any Pain,
Rather than taste a Mercy from these Dogs.

Sel.
Alas! Axalla!

[weeping.
Ax.
Weep not lovely Maid;
I swear, one pearly Drop from those fair Eyes
Would overpay the Service of my Life;
One Sigh from thee has made a large amends
For all thy angry Father's Frowns, and Fierceness.

Baj.
Oh! my curs'd Fortune!—am I fall'n thus low?
Dishonour'd to my Face? thou Earth born thing,
Thou Clod! how hast thou dar'd to lift thy Eyes
Up to the Sacred Race of mighty Ottoman?
Whom Kings, whom ev'n our Prophet's holy Offspring
At distance have beheld; and what art thou?
What glorious Titles blazon out thy Birth?
Thou vile Obscurity! Ha!—say—thou base one.

Ax.
Thus challeng'd Virtue modest as she is
Stands up to do her self a common Justice,
To answer, and assert that inborn Merit,
That worth, which conscious to her self she feels.
Were Honour to be scar'd by long Descent,
From Ancestors Illustrious, I could vaunt
A Lineage of the greatest, and recount
Among my Fathers, Names of antient Story,
Heroes, and God-like Patriots, who subdu'd
The World by Arms, and Virtue, and being Romans
Scorn'd to be Kings; but that be their own Praise:
Nor will I borrow Merit from the Dead,
My self an Undeserver. I could prove
My Friendship such, as thou might'st deign t'accept
With Honour, when it comes with friendly Office,
To render back thy Crown, and former Greatness:
And yet ev'n this, ev'n all is poor, when Selima
With matchless worth weighs down the adverse Scale.

Baj.
To give me back what yesterday took from me,
Would be to give like Heaven, when having finish'd
This World, (the goodly Work of his Creation)
He bid his Favourite, Man, be Lord of all.
But this—

Ax.
Nor is this Gift beyond my Power;
Oft has the mighty Master of my Arms
Urg'd me, with large Ambition to demand
Crowns, and Dominions from his bounteous Pow'r:
'Tis true, I wav'd the Proffer, and have held it
The worthier Choice, to wait upon his Virtues,
To be the Friend and Partner of his Wars,
Than to be Asia's Lord: Nor wonder then,
If, in the Confidence of such a Friendship,
I promise boldly for the Royal Giver,
Thy Crown, and Empire.

Baj.
For our Daughter thus
Mean'st thou to barter? ha! I tell thee, Christian,
There is but one, one Dowry, thou canst give,
And I can ask, worthy my Daughter's Love.

Ax.
Oh! name the mighty Ransom, task my Power,
Let there be Danger, Difficulty, Death,
T'enhance the Price.

Baj.
I take thee at thy Word,
Bring me the Tartar's Head.

Ax.
Ha!

Baj.
Tamerlane's,
That Death, that deadly Poison to my Glory.

Ax.
Prodigious! Horrid!

Sel.
Lost! for ever lost!

Baj.
And could'st thou hope to bribe me with ought else?
With a vile Peace patch'd up on slavish Terms?
With tributary Kingship?—No—to merit
A Recompence from me, sate my Revenge.
The Tartar is my Bane, I cannot bear him;
One Heav'n and Earth can never hold us both;
Still shall we hate, and with defiance deadly
Keep Rage alive, till one be lost for ever;
As if two Suns should meet in the Meridian,
And strive in fiery Combat for the passage.
Weep'st thou fond Girl? Now as thy King, and Father,
I charge thee, drive this Slave from thy remembrance:
Hate shall be pious in thee; [Laying hold on her Hand.]
come, and join
To curse thy Father's Foes.

Sel.
Undone for ever!
Now Tyrant, Duty, art thou yet obey'd,
There is no more to give thee, O, Axalla.

[Bajazet leads out Selima, she looking back on Axalla.
Ax.
'Tis what I fear'd, Fool that I was t'obey:
The Coward Love, that could not bear her Frown,
Has wrought his own Undoing. Perhaps, ev'n now,
The Tyrant's Rage prevails upon her Fears.
Fiercely he storms, she weeps, and sighs, and trembles,
But swears at length, to think on me no more.
He bad me take her.—But oh! gracious Honour!
Upon what Terms? My Soul yet shudders at it,
And stands, but half recover'd of her Fright.
The Head of Tamerlane! monstrous Impiety!
Bleed, bleed to Death, my Heart, be Virtue's Martyr.
Oh, Emperor, I own I ought to give thee
Some nobler Mark, than dying, of my Faith.
Then let the Pains I feel my Friendship prove,
'Tis easier far to die, than cease to love.

[Exit Axalla.