University of Virginia Library

SCENE II.

Enter Saladine, Achmet, Solyman, Mauro, &c.
Saladine.
Lords, Princes, Brother-Soldiers of the Field,
Whose Valour long has held our Scepter fast,
Tho' often shaken by the Wind of War,
And rushing Tempests of confed'rate Kings.

Mauro.
For this the West and Southern Standards join,
For this the proud imperial Eagle stoops
Patient of Friendship by the Lillies Side,
The Northern Lion wont at home to range,
Now loosen'd and enlarg'd by Richard's Arm
In Jewry roars, and shakes the Eastern Skies.
Him most, him first of these confed'rate Kings
Our Armies dread, and tremble to behold.
While strong of Arm he shakes the well-pois'd Spear,
Fear flies and warns the Nations to retire,
Death wings the Shaft from his unerring Bow.
But, when provok'd to near Approach, he wields
The two-edg'd Battle-Axe with forceful Sway;
Heaps fall on Heaps, Destruction sits and smiles
O'er the mix'd Carnage, till his fatal Hand
From Hill to Hill th'unsated Vulture drives.

Saladine.
Mean Time, what Number of our Slaves remain?
'Tis fit we show the Price of Christian Blood,
By pouring it, like Water, on the Earth.

Achmet.
We count six hundred Slaves of either Sex.

Saladine.
Count them no more, but as a Number perish'd—
They shall be try'd—They boast of wond'rous Faith,
That mocks Destruction, and embraces Death
Like a fond Mistress, or far-sought Friend.
Achmet, the Charge be yours to see their Deaths,
And tell how many of these glorious Saints
Rejoice in Misery, and smile in Flames.

Achmet.
Torture shall prove ingenious in their Woes,
Some groan on Earth beneath the pointed Wood
With upward Cry to Heaven, who will not hear
The bloody Sword shall parcel piecemeal Death,
Limb follow Limb, and last of all the Eye,
When it has wept its Fellow-Organs, drop
The last sad Tear suck'd up by burning Brands.

Mauro.
How bloody are these Converts in their Rage!
I'ad rather trust a hungry Lioness,
With all my Children, than a new-made Convert.

Achmet.
Curse on that Richard.

Saladine.
Curse him not,
He is a King; and in that awful Name,
Wherever nam'd, attendant Strength and Power
Call for the ready Debt of fairest Speech,
Of favourite Wishes, and the Tongue of Blessing.
Let Guilt that fears the Shadow of a Spy,
Curse Kings at Midnight when the Moon is sick;
Let damn'd Rebellion, hid in cavern'd Rocks,
Gnawing her fretful Form to Blisters, send
To roaring Seas her idle Imprecations.
Tho' he were more my Foe than Richard is,
I would not curse the Man I must admire.