University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

—A Room.
Zamor and Ibrahim.
Zamor.
Ibrahim, what from my Mussulmen; all ready
To aid me in this dangerous enterprize?

Ibrah.
My lord, I've tried their firm fidelity
They all exclaim'd, “Long live the noble Zamor,
Death to Abdallah.” When the fight was ended,
That made them victors o'er those christian robbers,
I ask'd the legion, who should be their king?
With loud acclaim they shouted, “noble Zamor;”
I charg'd them to be silent, lest the armies
Around, might hear and stop the rising treason;
Still they exclaim'd, “Health to the hero Zamor!
Death to Abdallah!” Then our conquering armies,
Fir'd by the sound, exclaim'd through all their legions,
In ceaseless shouts, “Down with the haughty tyrant!
Long live the hero, he, who never trembles,
Nor fears! who always leads us on to glory!”

Zamor.
Then I have nought to fear, the armies all
Are on my side; I'm king, my Ibrahim!
I soon will show them, I can rule as well,
And fill the throne as nobly as Abdallah.
Ibrahim, thou faithful servant! thou shalt be
Next to the throne, the leader of my armies,
Director of my councils, and my friend;
My friend and last resort when danger calls.
But yesterday, the proud, unfeeling tyrant
Disgrac'd me, who had ever been his faithful
And trusty servant, who had dar'd my life
And shed my blood to free him from destruction.
There see these scars, these noble hero scars!
These I received while fighting for Abdallah;
But still, the dotard, in a fit of passion,
Could dare disgrace me; I will ne'er forgive him,
The tyrant dies to glut my gnawing vengeance.
I've triumph'd o'er him twice, I drove him on
To murder his Alzira, whom he lov'd
With all the tenderness, a parent can:
And in the battle, at the very moment,
When victory decided for our arms,
I aim'd a deadly blow and slew Almanzor;
Foe mix'd with foe, then aided my design,
None saw me strike, all thought a Spaniard slew him;
I came and told the king, Alonzo's brother
Had shed the precious blood of dear Almanzor.

Ibrah.
Thou liest like Satan! would that I could be
But half as wicked as thou art, my Zamor;
Thou sham'st the very fiends, thou'rt so abandon'd.

Zamor.
Zamor will never start at trifles, Ibrahim!
Some monstrous crime, that makes a murderer tremble,
Is all I ever deign to meddle with.
Let the assassin boast him of his deeds
Of death, done at the darkest hour of midnight,
Zamor shall boast of deeper, darker crimes.
I never merely stab, I torture first;
To see one die, that gives my eyes no pleasure;
But first to raise his fondest expectations
Of happiness, and then to blast them all;
That is the way I feast my soul with rapture.
I slew Alonzo in this torturing way;
I told him, I would free him from his dungeon,
I rais'd his expectations to the highest
And most extatic pitch; then at the moment,
When he was all on tiptoe to be free,
I drew my glittering poniard; Oh, how pale
And sunk he look'd! I just prepar'd to strike
His throbbing bosom, when some fiend infus'd
A sudden desperation in his heart;
Then I disdain'd to kill the whining boy,
But gave him to the vile assassin's dagger.

Ibrah.
Thou art a murderer on a noble scale;
Thou tortur'st, then destroy'st; the hellish savage,
Who tears his burning captive limb from limb,
Would be, my lord, a fit companion for thee.

Zamor.
Yes, I'm a savage, Ibrahim, complete
In all the wickedness, in all the hard,
Unfeeling cruelty, and all the cunning,
That mark a savage of the fellest stamp:
But I am brave, I lead my armies on
To victory and conquest, and that makes me
The soldier's friend, aye, and the people's friend.
Come, let us go and strike the final blow,
Go and dispatch the tyrant in his chamber.