 | Mustapha |  |
SCENE IV.
Rustan.We are not yet secure.
Fond nature may return, and baffle all
Our labour'd schemes.—Ambition! deadly tyrant!
Inexorable master! what alarms,
What anxious hours, what agonies of heart,
Are the sure portion of thy gaudy slaves?
Cruel condition! Could the toiling hind,
The shivering beggar, whom no roof receives,
Wet with the mountain shower, and crouching low
Beneath the naked cliff, his only home;
Could he but read the statesman's secret breast,
But see the horrors there, the wounds, the stabs,
From furious passions and avenging guilt:
He would not change his rags and wretchedness,
For gilded domes and greatness!
| Mustapha | |