Mustapha A Tragedy |
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3. | SCENE III. |
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Mustapha | ||
SCENE III.
Mustapha, Achmet.Mustapha.
Oh friend!
Achmet.
Perdition on the doubling traitor!
Was it by arts like these he rose to greatness?
To envy'd power? How low beneath all scorn
This court-dissimulation sinks mankind!
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Fly, Achmet, to Emira; greet her from me
With love's most sacred vows—But smooth this news
With all the kind deceit, the virtuous falshood,
That friendship bids us use, to save from anguish
The tender bosom of the fair we love.
Mustapha | ||