University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Althea's Apartment.
Al.
Was ever Night like this? what Terrors have
I past? and, O! what Terrors yet surround me?
A loud deaf'ning Sound, that seem'd the Voice
Of a chased Multitude, or many Waters
Vex'd to a Storm, first spread thro' all the Camp;
Then Shrieks and Cries and Yellings of Despair;
Mix'd with the Shouts of Victory and Joy.
Sure Sleep has left all Eyes, as well as mine.
Fate is at work; I sink beneath my Fears.
Since I have known a Danger worse than Death
My Courage has forsook me.
Enter Aranthes.
Ha! who comes
At this late Hour? Protect me righteous Heaven!

Ar.
Why, my Althea! dost thou fly thy Father?

Al.
Sure 'tis his Voice! O gracious Heaven! it is,
It is my Father.—Most unlook'd for Joy!

Ar.
Do I once more behold thee, my Althea!

Al.
To whose bless'd Bounty do we owe this Meeting?

Ar.
Thou dearest earthly Bliss, this Moment's our's,
No Matter how attain'd; I have thee now
In my fond Arms, and wou'd indulge my Joy,
Nor think how soon 'twill end. Why shou'd poor Mortals,
To trouble born, anticipate their Pains?

Al.
I can't conceal my Fears: If you again
Must leave me here, the Sun in all its Course,
Sees not a Wretch so lost as poor Althea.

Ar.
Alas! why will you urge me to disclose
What wou'd, tho' I were silent, soon be known.
The wrathful Sultan has pronounc'd our Death.
Yes, I am come to die with thee, my Child!

Al.
Then we shall part no more.
My Soul's at Peace—Forgive, O righteous Heaven!
My weak Distrust of thy Almighty Power,
Thy Kindness and Protection. O my Father!
I wish'd t'have died alone; yet at your Death,
I must not, dare not murmur or complain;
Since Heaven with you permits me to descend,
Pure and unspotted to the peaceful Grave.

Ar.
Heroick Maid! O most exalted Virtue.

[Aside, Weeping.
Al.
Why do you hide your Face, why turn you from me?
Be not surpriz'd, nor charge me with Unkindness.
There is my dearest Father! one Calamity,
Tho' sure but one, by far more dreadful
Ev'n than thy Death—O speak, speak to me, Sir!

Ar.
Good Heav'n! my Joy's too great;—I cannot speak.
Tears must relieve me, or my Heart will burst.
I thank thee, Heaven! I have not liv'd in vain.
This happy Hour o'erpays an Age of Sorrow.
My Child! my Life! my Soul! my dear Althea!
Thy bright Example fires my Emulation;
Thou hast the Start, but must not bear away
The Victor's Palm alone, and shame thy Father.
No, my Althea! to that bounteous Hand
Which made thee what thou art, and made thee mine,
Without the least Reluctance, I'll resign thee.—
And see the Tryal comes.

Enter K. Aga and Mutes.
Aga.
Forgive, fair Princess, a devoted Slave,
(Kneeling.
Who knows no Will, but his imperial Lord's;
No Merit, but Obedience. Cou'd my Tears
Have mov'd the Sultan, I had been excused
This fatal Visit.

Al.
Kisler Aga, rise;
Spite of thy Office, thou hast a human Soul.
What are thy Master's Orders? Art thou come
A second Time to my Deliv'rance?

Aga.
If
Death, sudden, violent and immature,
Be a Deliverance; you will soon be free.

Al.
To Minds prepar'd, Death strip'd of all its Terrors,
In any Form, at any Hour is welcome.

Aga.
Whether the Sultan, raging for the Loss
Of his lov'd Daughter, thinks that other's Pain,
In the same Kind, wou'd mitigate his own;
Or from some other Cause, I cannot say;
But he has order'd that the Lady first
Shou'd suffer Death, her Father being present.—
I see you're mov'd.

Ar.
I am:—But 'tis with Scorn
Of your proud Master's Impotence and Malice.
Alas! I'm not to learn my Child is mortal.

Aga.
These eager Blood Hounds growl at my Delay,
And will, perhaps, accuse me to the Sultan.

Al.
Obey the Tyrant, let them do their Office.

Aga.
I must; but Heaven can tell with what Reluctance.
The only Favour in my Power to grant,
Is the sad Choice of dying by the Bowstring,
The fatal Poynard, or this pois'nous Draught.

Al.
Give me the Bowl. Death, this Way seems less frightful,
Than from the Hands of rude and barbarous Men.

Ar.
Farewell, my Child!

Al.
Assist me with your Prayers.

Ar.
My Prayers have been incessant as thy own,
And both are heard—Fear not—thy Crown's prepar'd;
And Heav'n, with all its Glories, lies before thee:
Millions of Angels wait to guard the Passage;
Thou can'st not miss thy way.

Al.
Shou'd Heav'n preserve you?—
Shou'd you live to see him?—commend me to
My Lord—Tell him, that I die his—That Heaven,
Which calls me now, is only lov'd beyond him.—
That I'm not lost—That we shall meet again.—
Bid him not grieve.—

[Allarm.
Enter Scanderbeg, &c.
He flies to Althea.
Scan.
Away you sacrilegious Slaves—She lives—
I have her warm and panting in my Arms—
Lift up thy Eyes, dearer to mine than Light—
O let me hear the Musick of thy Voice,
Lest I shou'd doubt I come too late to save thee,
And Discord seize my Soul.

Al.
Surprize is dumb.
So sudden a Transition who can bear?
My Thoughts were all just reconcil'd to Death,
But thou hast call'd them back. The Love of Life,
That seem'd extinguish'd in me, now returns.
O! if there is a Happiness on Earth,
Here I must find it, here and only here.

Scan.
Aranthes too!—he lives!—Consummate Joy!

Ar.
And lives by thee, thou glorious happy Youth
O let me press thee in my longing Arms—
My Child too!—My Althea!—

Al.
O my Father!

Ar.
Compleat Felicity!

Al.
O dangerous Bliss! (Weeps)


Scan.
Why weeps my Life?

Al.
Some have their Portion here:
Flatt'ring Prosperity has ruin'd Thousands,
Whom Death with all its Terrors cou'd not shake.

Scan.
Thy pious Fears shall guard us from that Danger.

Al.
Is not the Glory of both Worlds too much
For frail, imperfect Mortals to expect?

Scan.
Our Happiness, tho' great, is far from perfect;
Since she, the fair unfortunate Hellena,
To whom next Heav'n we owe it, is no more.
I cannot blame your Tears; this is no time
To tell the mournful Tale, that must when e'er,
Remember'd, make me sad, tho' crown'd with Victory,
And in thy Arms. Croia, reliev'd, expects us:
My grateful Subjects will for thy Deliv'rance
Express more Joy, than that their Foes are fled.

Enter Paulinus, and the Sultan, Prisoner.
Pau.
Hail glorious King! Your Conquest is compleat;
Behold Ambitious Amurath your Captive.

Scan.
Take off his Chains.

Am.
What Pageantry is this?

Scan.
Sound a Retreat; since none resist, let War,
And Slaughter cease. It grieves my Soul to think
The Crimes of One shou'd cost Mankind so dear.

Pau.
Sir, how will you dispose the cruel Tyrant?

Scan.
Give him his Liberty, and leave him here
Till he shall think it proper to retire.
Such of his Subjects as attend him now,
Or shall repair hither to do him Service,
Shall all be safe. His lovely, virtuous Daughter,
Worthy a better Race and happier Fate,
Preserv'd my Life.

Am.
Dogs! Slaves! will none dispatch me?
Must I hear this yet be compell'd to live?

Scan.
Unhappy Man! how will he bear the rest?
When Justice strikes let guilty Mortals tremble
And all revere her Power, but none insult
The miserable. Her impartial Sword
Scorns to assist Man 's selfish, low Revenge:
T'avoid her Anger let us shun the Thought.
Be witness, Heaven! I pity and forgive him.

[Exeunt Scan. Aran. & Althea.
Am.
Can this be true! Am I cast down from that
Majestick Height, where like an earthly God,
For more than half an Age, I sate enthron'd,
To the abhor'd Condition of a Slave?
A pardon'd Slave! What! live to be forgiven!
And all this brought upon me by Hellena!
Shou'd our Prophet return to Earth and swear it
I'd tell him to his Face that he was perjured.
Hell wants the Power and Heaven wou'd never curse
To that Degree a doating, fond, old Man.—
What make my Child! my loving, gentle Child!
The Instrument and Author of my Ruin!

Enter Visier Officers and Amasie.
Vis.
Beg them to halt; blast not a Parent's Eye
With such a Sight.

Am.
What Sight? but 'tis no Matter;
There's nothing left for me to hope or fear.

Vis.
A mourning Troop of Christians from their Camp
In solemn Pomp's arriv'd; who, bath'd in Tears,
(What En'my cou'd refrain?) attend a Chariot,
That bears Hellena bleeding, pale and dead.

Am.
False Mahomet! [Swoons.


Off.
Our Royal Master's dead!

Vis.
No! he revives; Alas! he's not so happy!

Am.
I saw Amasie.

Vis.
Here the Traytor stands,
By Scanderbeg committed to your Mercy.

Am.
Hellena did prevent me.—

Am.
Damn'd Apostate!
I've heard enough and have no time to lose.—
See him impal'd alive; we'll let him know
As much of Hell as can be known on Earth,
[Exit Amasie.
And go from Pain to Pain.
Where is my Son?

Vis.
Fled towards Andrianople.

Am.
He doth well:
Death has o'ertook me here. Lord of so many
Fair, spacious Kingdoms, in a hostile Land,
Oppress'd with Age, Misfortunes, Grief and Shame,
Amurath breaths his last; and leaves his Bones
To beg from Foes an ignominious Grave.
False or ungrateful Prophet! Have I spread
Fell Devastation over half the Globe,
To raise thy Crescent's Pale, uncertain Light,
Above the Christians glowing, Crimson Cross,
In hoary Age to be rewarded thus!—
When the Hungarian King had broke his Faith;
Distress'd, to his own Prophet I appeal'd,
A Stranger, and an Enemy; he did me Right;
Restor'd lost Vict'ry to my flying Troops,
And gave the perjur'd Monarch to my Sword.
But I have done—Cou'dst thou repent, there's nothing
In thy Power worth my Acceptance now.
Glory, to thee I've liv'd, but pining Grief
Robs thee of half the Honour of my Death.
Osmin, and you my other faithful Chiefs,
The poor Remains of all the mighty Host
I brought to this curs'd Siege, this Grave of my Renown,
If you return, and live to see my Son,
Bid him remember how his Father fell;
Bid him ne'er sheath the Sword,
Till my diminish'd Fame shine forth and blaze a new
In his Revenge-Revenge me-Oh! Revenge.

[Dies.
Vis.
Eclips'd and in a Storm our Sun is set:
And now, methinks, as when our Prophet fled,
Terror shou'd seize on each believing Heart.
Let some inform the King—This was his Fate;
'Tis ours to be left without a Guide.
Disperse, wander, away; our Shephard's lost.

Exeunt.