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SCENE II.
Mustapha, Rustan, Achmet, Basha.Rustan.
May the Power we serve,
Most merciful and gracious, crown my Lord,
Thro' length of years, with brightness and renown!
To see your Highness here my soul has long,
Has warmly wish'd.
Mustapha.
Because—thou art my friend.
Rustan.
Heaven knows with what fond warmth my willing tongue,
Still prompted from the heart, has painted forth
Your matchless virtues; that exalted courage,
That generous prudence, rival of your courage,
Which aged warriors wonder at with envy!
But my applause is poor, and sinks beneath
The mighty subject: Fame herself is proud
To celebrate that hero, whose sole arm
Sustains the throne of godlike Solyman,
His glory and defence!
Mustapha.
Thou know'st me not.
He who can listen, pleas'd, to such applause,
Buys at a dearer rate than I dare purchase,
And pays for idle air with sense and virtue.
Art thou indeed my friend? then shew it nobly;
As man, by deeds like these thy tongue extols:
As subject, in true duty to thy Sovereign.
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What amiable modesty! The Sultan
Must needs, my Lord—
Mustapha.
Conclude this prefacing:
And to your business.
Rustan.
Sir, your Royal Father—
Mustapha.
Proceed.
Rustan.
'Tis only—
Mustapha.
What?
Rustan.
The Emperor orders
This Basha may receive your sword.
Mustapha.
My sword!
Rustan.
Such his command.
Mustapha.
And, as he knows this Rustan
My kindest advocate, my warmest friend,
The man who sounds my praise aloud to heaven,
He sends him on this errand!
Rustan.
Born to serve,
With absolute obedience to perform
My master's will, his faithful slave presumes not
To ask a reason for it.
Mustapha.
Heaven and earth!
My sword?
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What would your Highness have me say
In answer to this order?
Mustapha.
Take it, Vizir—
And tell my Lord and Father, that a son
Who loves his person, venerates his virtues.
Durst ne'er dispute his pleasure—nor does now.
Say, this good sword has truly been employ'd
Against his foes.—Achmet, it was the gift
With which his fondness grac'd my early hand!
Which I had hop'd to part with but in death!
Stay. If thou art a friend, add this one truth,
Add boldly—when his sacred will demands
The life he gave me; this unhappy son,
Suspected as he is, will yield that life
With equal resignation. Thou wilt say so?
Rustan.
By heaven, I will.
Mustapha.
So, in thy latest hour,
That heaven, who sees us both, deal with thy soul!
| Mustapha | |