University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

Zamti, Idamè.
Idamè.
O thou, whom next to Heaven I revere,
Mortal more great and noble in my eyes,
Than all the Conqu'rors, men have rais'd to Gods;
The horror of our fate too well you know:
Our doom is fixt, and our last hour is come.

Zamti.
I know it.

Idamè.
Twice you've try'd with vain attempt
To save the offspring of our hapless Kings.

Zamti.
Ah! think of it no more: all hope is lost.
Fail not in the performance of your duty,
I die in peace.

Idamè.
What fate attends my son?
Forgive this thought, that flows from my despair;
Forgive my sighs, and think but of my courage.

Zamti.
Our Kings are dead, our Country is enslav'd.
To die, is happiness: lament not me,
But, O bewail the wretches doom'd to live.

Idamè.
They mean you, Zamti, a most shameful death.

Zamti.
Well, let it come. I wait their savage orders.
They dally with my miseries too long.

Idamè.
Attend me, Zamti. Cannot we then die
Without a tyrant's order? At the altar
The ox is sacrific'd; the criminal,
Like a vile slave, is dragg'd to punishment;
But the great, Zamti, their own fate determine,
Nor from a haughty master wait their death.
Why, why attend the hour of death from him?
Man was not born for such a base dependance.
No, copy rather the brave constancy
Of our intrepid neighbours. They support
The rights of nature, live while free, but die
Rather than suffer slav'ry or dishonour.
To live disgrac'd is bitter to their souls,
Nor dread they ought so much as infamy.
The noble Japonese ne'er meanly waits
A haughty Ruler's voice to speak his death.
We have instructed those brave Islanders.
Nor let us blush to learn their virtues too;
To learn like them to die.

Zamti.
O matchless woman!
I praise thy constancy, and sure such woes
May warrant this transgression of our Laws.
I had already form'd this noble purpose;
But without arms, slaves, victims, and alone,
There are no means of death but from our Tyrants.

Idamè
, drawing a dagger.
Slaves! victims!—There—take this—with me be free;
Strike and deliver us.

Zamti.
O Heaven! with thee?

Idamè.
Yes, tear this breast, this heart they would dishonour.
My feeble arm, still traitor to its purpose,
Could not with steady aim direct the blow.
Do thou with nobler firmness guide its point,
And greatly sacrifice a faithful wife;
Then, cover'd with her blood, beside her fall.
In my last moments I'll embrace my husband,
And Gengis shall with jealousy behold us.

Zamti.
Yes, Idamè, thy virtues stand the trial,
And thou display'st the warmest marks of love.
Thrice-worthy wife, this last farewell receive—
The dagger now,—and turn thine eyes aside.

Idamè
, giving him the dagger.
There—now strike here: nay, pause not, nor delay.

Zamti.
I cannot do't.

Idamè.
You must.

Zamti.
O horror!

Idamè.
Strike:
Strike here, then turn the poinard on yourself.

Zamti.
Then copy me.

Idamè
, seizing his arm.
Here, Zamti, here—