 | Abra-Mule : Or, Love and Empire |  |
45
Abra and Zaida. Imperial Robes lying on the Table.
Abr.
Sure, my dear Zaida, such ill Planets rul'd
My Birth, that 'tis above the Pow'r of Fortune
To make me happy.—
Why was I singled out from all my Sex
To be this gaudy Wretch? to be advanc'd
To this great Empire? when so many Millions
Would be transported with those envy'd Honours
Which she has heedlesly misplac'd on me.
For all this Grandeur serves but to refine
My Woes, and dignifie my great Misfortunes:
These sparkling Gems, and Chains of Orient Pearl,
This glitt'ring Gold, and these gay costly Robes
Serve only to enrich and gild my Mis'ries;
And make me wretched with more Pomp and Splendor.
Zaid.
Be comforted, dear Madam: Time perhaps
Will reconcile you to Imperial Greatness,
And make these heavy Robes of State sit easie.
Enter the Kisler Aga, and Pyrrhus in Disguise.
But see the Kisler comes, your kind Assister;
Perhaps he brings you Comfort from your Lord—
Ah! no—He comes attended with a Slave;
I fear some fatal Message from the Sultan.
[The Kisler comes forward.
Abr.
Ah! Sir, what Tidings now? Tell me, what Hope?
How is my Lord?
Pyr.
Embracing her.]
Beyond Expression bless'd,
While thus he clasps the most elab'rate Pattern
Of Human Excellence—Thou all Perfection—
My Life—My Soul—
Abr.
O!—
[Swoons.
Zaid.
She faints.—
Pyr.
Stand off; my Love will prove the best Physician:
The warmth of glowing Kisses shall infuse
Fresh Spirits, and renew the sprightly Motion
Of her unactive Pulses—Speak, my Love,
46
Wake from thy Trance, lift up thy heavy Lids,
And bless me with the Lustre of thy Eyes.
Abr.
'Tis he himself, my Dear, my only Lord—
And now the Conflict of tumultuous Passions,
Which quite o'erpower'd my Soul, and bore me from my self,
Is sunk into a Calm—Doubt, Hope, and Fear
Are vanish'd, and have wholly left my Breast
To fierce transporting Joy—Too well I know
The Lines of that ador'd Majestick Face
To be deceiv'd; nor can the Pow'r of Art
Disguise thee from my Love.—
Pyr.
Thou kindest, faithfullest of all thy Sex;
I almost fear'd that this vile servile Dress,
And th'artificial Negro in thy Face,
Would hide me ev'n from thee; and make thee loath me,
Fly my Embraces, and disown my Arms.
And 'tis indeed prepost'rous, while I join
This grim Complexion with that charming Face;
Throw my black Arms about thy snowy Neck,
And sully thus its Whiteness—O my Love,
Suits this base Habit with those Royal Robes;
Or a great Empress with an abject Slave?
Abr.
Yet are our Souls well pair'd, and fit each other;
No matter for the Outside; and believe me
Thou charm'st me more, my Love, in this Disguise,
Than once thou did'st when deck'd in shining Armour,
And all the dreadful Gaiety of War,
Thou cam'st to pour thy Thunder on my Foes;
And Rescue me from those curs'd Ravishers.
Tho' then, when I beheld thy wond'rous Port,
Gen'rous Compassion mix'd with awful Majesty;
I in a Moment gaz'd my Soul away,
And languish'd, sigh'd, and dy'd upon the Object.
Pyr.
What was my Transport then? when first I saw thee
Trembling, and in Confusion, pale and redd'ning
By turns, when all thy Charms were in a hurry;
And the retreating and returning Blood
Surpriz'd me with Vicissitude of Beauty.
How did my Heart—But 'tis unutterable;
No Words of Rapture can express my Passion,
47
To think and ruminate on past Delights.
I may look backward then, forward I dare not;—
For 'tis a gloomy Prospect; and my Soul
Starts at the Horror—
Abr.
O—h.
Pyr.
Why do you sigh?
Abr.
Can you ask?
Pyr.
'Tis true indeed our Woes have made that Question
Impertinent—well—you may weep your Fill—
I'll not deny you your sad share of Grief;
It is your due, and 'twould be great Injustice
To bar you of your Right.—But speak, my Love.
Didst thou not say I rescu'd thee?
Abr.
You did.
Pyr.
I rescu'd thee indeed—But oh!—for whom?
I have but won thee from less pow'rful Foes
To yield thee to a greater; and from him
How shall I rescue thee?—
Abr.
Some kind Pow'r instruct you.
Pyr.
No, they have still been deaf to all my Pray'rs;
Cross'd my Designs, and frown'd upon my Love.
I am as weak and helpless as thy self;
And all that I can do is now to join
My Tears with thine, to sob upon thy Breast;
And vent my Sorrows in unmanly Wailing.
Abr.
Since then 'tis doom'd that we must part for ever—
Pyr.
Ha! Part for ever! Let me think on that!—
Eternal Separation!—Racking Thought!
'Tis not to be endur'd—Can I bear this?
To lose thee now, when I've so long pursu'd thee
Through the dark Mazes of uncertain Chance?
When by long Custom, and an Age of Love
Thou'rt rooted and ingrafted in my Heart?
Or can I think with Patience that another
Rifles thy Charms, and dies—No, I'll not bear it,
But flie this very Moment to thy Rescue;
Tear off this slavish, this disgraceful Habit,
And put on Armour; lead my conqu'ring Troops
Against my Master; and by force of Arms
Compel th'injurious Tyrant to resign thee.
48
My Lord, you rave; your fierce, unbridled Passion
Transports you into Frenzy; else you would not
Talk with such Heat of Things impossible.
Pyr.
Ah! cruel Friend, why wouldst thou stop my Madness
With ill-tim'd Reason? While my Rage was hot
I was insensible of my Misfortunes;
But now I'm cool my festring Sorrows smart,
And I'm relaps'd into a Coward—Oh
Bear me, my Love, support me on thy Bosom;
Or I shall sink beneath my pond'rous Woes,
And at thy Feet expire.—
Abr.
Alas! my Lord, if your great martial Spirit
Be quite unmann'd, and melted into Softness;
How shall a poor weak Woman's tender Soul
Bear up beneath the pressing weight of Sorrow?
Your Torments all are trebled in my Breast;
And I have far more need of you to prop
My sinking Body—Oh!—My boding Heart
Tells me, my Lord, these are our last Embraces,
And we shall never, never meet again.
Pyr.
Then—to prevent it—We will never part—
This is my fix'd and final Resolution.
Abr.
What means my Love?
Pyr.
Mean?—Canst thou ask the Question?—
Thou wouldst not have me leave thee.—
Abr.
Not leave me?
Pyr.
No.
Abr.
You shall, you must.
Pyr.
Is't possible?
Do I hear this from thee?
Abr.
Alas!—He raves—
Call home your Thoughts, my Lord; think where you are:
You die, if you're discover'd.
Pyr.
Death is certain,
Whether I stay or no—For canst thou think
I will survive that Hour (Oh! Hold my Brain!—)
Which yields thy Beauties to the Sultan's Bed?
Oh! never—Death then either way is certain—
But by the desp'rate Choice which now I make,
The few remaining Minutes of my Life
Shall all be spent in gazing on thy Charms,
49
The Sultan will be absent; this (tho' short)
Is better than an Age of vulgar Life.
Thus shall I manage to the best Advantage
Each precious Moment—Ev'n in Death's last Pangs
My closing Eyes shall view thee; and my Ears
Drink in the Musick of thy charming Accent:
Thy dear, lov'd Name shall cool upon my Lips
The last; or die unfinish'd on my Tongue.
Abr.
Nay, then indeed I am compleatly wretched;
Since I am forc'd to beg in vain for that
Which, if obtain'd, is worse than Death—O fly,
Fly, my dear Lord—Since your own Life is valu'd
At nothing by you, let my Danger wake you;
Think how you can endure to see me die.
Pyr.
I know the Sultan's Love will save thy Life;
He'd sooner stab himself than thee—Too well
I know thy Pow'r to apprehend that Danger.
Abr.
What shall I do to save him?—Yet in pity
To me, consider what I must endure
To see thee in thy last convulsive Agonies;
Strangled by impious Hands before my Face,
Gasping for Life, and sobbing out thy Soul—
Oh! Horror!—Dismal Image!—Speak you, Sir—
[To the Kisler.
Persuade him from this Frenzy—Sure you will,
Unless, like him, you too have lost your Senses;
Quite doz'd and stupify'd with our Misfortunes.
Kisl.
My Lord, you must comply; and let our Pray'rs
Divert you from this desp'rate Resolution.
For tho' that Fair One may be safe, your self
And Friend must both inevitably perish.
Pyr.
My Friend?—Oh! whither have my Thoughts been wand'ring,
That I should be regardless of thy Safety?
That Thought indeed has broke my firm Resolves—
And now I go—It cannot, will not be—
My Soul is quite unable to command
My Body, or my Body to obey—
Go? Leave such Excellence?—No; rather banish
All Reason, common Sense, and be a Villain;
Be any thing, do, suffer any thing,
50
What? Be a Villain?—Insupportable—
O pardon me, my Friend—And lest I should
Relapse again, sound Villain in my Ears.—
Yes—I am conquer'd now—I'd sooner suffer
Death, Fire, Racks, Wheels, Impalements, ev'n the Pangs
Of losing her; nay, after that, of Life,
Than wrong my Friend—And lest impetuous Passion
Again should blind my Reason, I will go
This Minute—Yet—once more—one last Embrace—
And then—farewel—for ever—
[Just as he is going off
Enter Mahomet attended.
Mah.
Ha! so familiar! clasp'd in their Embraces!
Just as I was inform'd—But is it possible?
Is this my choicest Fav'rite?—Art thou Pyrrhus?
Pyr.
Sultan, I am.
Mah.
Prodigious Insolence!—
Presum'st thou then to brave me to my Face,
And thus avow thy black Ingratitude?
Dost thou not blush?—But thou dost well to skreen
Thy Impudence with Ethiopian Night;
That black Complexion suits thy guilty Mind,
And th'ignominious Habit of a Slave
Becomes thee well—A Gen'ral's warlike Dress
Disguis'd thee most—This is thy proper Garb,
And well befits thy base, degen'rate Soul.
Pyr.
How canst thou brand me with that hateful Vice
Which I disdain to name? Me who have prop'd
Thy sinking Throne, and crown'd thy Arms with Conquest.
Ev'n by this Act for which thou now upbraid'st me,
I wrong thee not; for know the beauteous Abra
Has long been mine before she saw thy Court.
Mah.
Thine, Villain, thine? That lovely Creature thine?
By what—But I'll not parly with my Slave;
Away to Death with that audacious Traytor;
Whose unexampled Boldness so amaz'd me,
That I'd almost forgot I was a Monarch.
Quick, instantly, dispatch—I will not hear him.
Abr.
O spare him, save him, spare your Heroe's Life;
His Love—
51
Dar'st thou, Ungrateful, intercede?
Did not thy Charms protect thee, thou shou'dst bleed.
But tho' thy Beauty fires me, yet I hate thee;
And know, 'tis more love of my self than thee,
That saves thee from my Fury.
Abr.
Barb'rous Tyrant—
O pardon, Sir, that heedless, rash Expression—
You are all that's Good, Majestick, Great, and Noble;
I will embrace and kiss your Royal Feet,
Do any thing to save his precious Life.
Mah.
Fool that thou art by this fond Intercession
To wing his Fate—Why, for thy sake he dies:
Nor can'st thou study more effectually
To plead against him, than by pleading for him.
Abr.
Will nothing mollifie that flinty Heart?
Unless you instantly reverse his Sentence;
No Promises nor Threats, no Racks nor Crowns
Shall urge me to comply with your Desires.
But if—
Mah.
Speak on, for I can listen now.
Pyr.
I charge thee hold; I bar that fatal Compact—
Think'st thou to save my Life by this Compliance?
No, no, my Love—The thought of that will end me
Sooner than his Commands; then thou wilt be
My Murd'ress, and my dying Breath shall curse thee.
Mah.
Confusion!—How he trifles with my Fury!
Away, ye Villains, bear him to his Death;
And let that hellish Slave, his base Accomplice,
[Points to the Kisler.
The Abetter of his Treasons, share his Fate.
Off, Traitress—
Abr.
Yes, I'll leave thee, Tyrant, Monster;
[Rising, drops a Letter.
Shun thy loath'd Sight, and fly from the most hated
To the most lov'd of Men—O my dear Lord!
Thus will I grow for ever to thy Breast,
And die with thee; his Rage shall never part us.
Mah.
Give me a Dagger—I'll defer no longer
My just Revenge—No, Serpents, I'll not part you;
But join you closer, nail you to each other—
52
[Just going to stab'em, spies the Letter.
'Tis that detested Villain's Character—
Curse on your Kindness—Ha! Another Rival!
Another Rival mention'd in this Letter—
Where will my Tortures end? But yet 'twas lucky
I stab'd 'em not before I spy'd this Paper;
Then had this unknown Traitor 'scap'd my Vengeance.
Abr.
So he shall still for me; I'll ne'er discover him.
Mah.
Why, dost thou love him too?—
Abr.
No—He's of all Mankind, except thy self,
The greatest Object of my Scorn and Hate;
But I will shelter him from thy Revenge,
To make him instrumental to my own.
Mah.
I understand thee not, thou talk'st in Riddles—
What e'er thou mean'st, I scorn thy foolish Threats.
But I shall yet unfold this Mystery;
Since she persists so obstinate, speak thou;
[To Pyr.
Thou wilt not sure protect thy hated Rival.
Pyr.
Yes, since I can no more be injur'd by him,
I'll shield him from thy Fury—My great Soul
Disdains to stoop to such a mean Revenge.
Nor will I stain my Honour at my Death,
By such a base and cowardly Impeachment.
Mah.
So resolute?—Yet we shall find a way—
Let him be rack'd, 'till he reveal this Secret.
Pyr.
The Rack? How I despise thy feeble Menaces!
I thought thou had'st known me better, than to think
That Torments can unhinge my Resolution.
Abr.
O Cruelty!—I cannot bear that Thought—
Your other Rival is—
Pyr.
O hold—
Thou may'st perhaps repent this rash Discov'ry—
Besides, I know and see it in his Eyes,
His Rage is now so high, that this Impeachment
From thee, or any other but my self,
Will not prevent the Torments he has threaten'd.
Mah.
Thou counsell'st well; I take thee at thy Word;
Nothing shall do it, but thy own Confession,
Which, spight of thee, Racks shall at last extort.
53
He has no sense of Manly Bravery,
But thinks all Souls as little as his own.
Mah.
I thank thee—Thou dost well to rail away
My foolish Qualms of Love which curb'd my Vengeance;
And let my Fury loose to blast you both.
Again at their Embraces—Oh Distraction!
Guards seize 'em both, and drag 'em both to Death—
Come back, ye Slaves, he dies that touches her;
Where is thy Fury now?
Abr.
Why think'st thou, Tyrant,
To gain my Favour by thy foolish Mercy?
My Death had pleas'd me more.
Mah.
I know it, Sorc'ress;
Therefore thou shalt not die—No, I've resolv'd
At once to satiate my Revenge, and Love.
Tear 'em asunder, and then bear her hence.
Abr.
Farewel, my Love; when thy great Soul has left
Thy tortur'd Body, stay a Moment for me,
Hover a while in this inferior Region;
I shall o'ertake thee soon—Then we'll defie
This haughty Tyrant's Rage, and mount together.
[Exit.
Mah.
Guards, execute your Orders on those Slaves—
Pyr.
Without Reluctance I embrace my Doom;
But should indeed deserve the odious Brand
Of foul Ingratitude, should I conceal
Your Danger; for you're still my Royal Master,
Tho' Love has made this fatal Breach between us.
Be careful of your Safety—I suspect
Some form'd Design against your Government;
And still (ev'n since I've known you for my Rival)
Have labour'd to prevent it. Think not this
A base Submission to prolong my Life;
I would not now accept of such a Favour.
Mah.
'Tis false—But think not thou shalt thus disarm
My Vengeance—Guards, do as you first were order'd;
Let him, as I commanded, bear the Rack;
He well deserves it, if for nothing else,
Yet for his saucy Love—His Crime's the same
With his who Rivall'd the great Thunderer:
Therefore it is but just his Punishment
Should be the same which that rash Fool endur'd.
54
As lasting too; like that, this bold Ixion
Should suffer in a Circle of fresh Woe;
A Round of still returning Torment feel,
And groan out Ages on the racking Wheel.
[Exit.
Pyr.
See her no more! O harsh Decree of Fate!
And then to think what will become of her,
Left to a Tyrant's Rage—That's double Torture.—
Offic.
My Lord, we must obey the Sultan's Order,
By leading you to Death.
Pyr.
Ha! well remember'd!
My Soul was so entirely taken up
With Thought of her, that lost in Contemplation,
I swear I had forgot I was to die—
Nor is it strange—I've more than dy'd already,
Have born a far more cruel Separation
Than that of Soul and Body—O my Torment!—
O haste, and bear me to the Rack for ease.
Offic.
Your Mightiness must share a milder Fate.
[To the Kisler.
Pyr.
My Friend to die?—Then once more I'm a Coward—
This weight of Woe falls heavier on my Soul,
Than all I yet have suffer'd—O my Friend,
Am I the curst Occasion of thy Death?
Have I betray'd thy Innocence to Ruin?
The Tortures of a thousand Wheels and Engines
Are Downy Beds of Ease, and soft Repose,
To that Soul-racking Thought.
Kisl.
My Lord, you wrong me,
While you with such Concern resent my Death.
Your Sorrow calls me Coward—but unjustly—
I have a Soul that scorns the fear of dying.
Pyr.
O wond'rous Courage!
But still I'm curst the more, by being the ruin
Of so much Worth—I could, without regret,
In my own Person die a thousand Deaths;
But thus to die in thee is insupportable.
Offic.
My Lords, we must dispatch; for all those Bassas,
Whose Heads the raging Multitude demanded,
Must suffer with you.
Pyr.
Ha! not bear the Rack?
55
No, my Lord.
Pyr.
No, 'tis not just they should—I am their Gen'ral,
And by superior Eminence demand
A larger share of Fate—Nor is it fit
They should aspire to rival me in Death.
Come on—I'll strip off this vile, less'ning Habit,
And deck my self with all the Pomp of War:
Then, as it is my Duty, head my Soldiers
To this our last, but far most glorious Conflict.
Methinks I'm more at Ease, now Death approaches;
Secure of any future Separation
From her I love—
We soon shall meet, never to part again—
In that my Hopes are center'd; and by that
Imagination wound so high, that now
My Soul, intent on Paradise and her,
Ev'n on the Rack it's Firmness shall maintain;
All wrapt in Thought, and negligent of Pain.
[Exeunt.
| Abra-Mule : Or, Love and Empire | |