University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

SCENE Tamerlane's Camp.
Enter Moneses.
Mon.
The dreadful Business of the War is over,
And Slaughter, that, from yester Morn till Even,
With Giant Steps, past striding o'er the Field,
Besmear'd, and horrid with the Blood of Nations,
Now weary sits among the mangled Heaps,
And slumbers o'er her Prey; while from this Camp
The chearful Sounds of Victory, and Tamerlane,
Beat the high Arch of Heav'n; deciding Fate,
That crowns him with the Spoils of such a Day,
Has given it as an Earnest of the World,
That shortly shall be his.
[Enter Stratocles.
My Stratocles!
Most happily return'd; might I believe,
Thou bring'st me any Joy?

Str.
With my best Diligence,
This Night, I have enquired of what concerns you.
Scarce was the Sun, who shone upon the Horror
Of the past Day, sunk to the western Ocean,
When by permission from the Prince Axalla,
I mixt among the Tumult of the Warriors,
Returning from the Battle: here a Troop
Of hardy Parthians red with honst Wounds,
Confest the Conquest, they had well deserv'd:
There a dejected Crew of wretched Captives
Sore with unprofitable Hurts, and groaning
Under new Bondage, follow'd sadly after
The haughty Victor's heels; but that, which fully
Crown'd the Success of Tamerlane, was Bajazet,
Fall'n like the proud Archangel from the heigth,
Where once (even next to Majesty Divine)
Enthron'd he sat, down to the vile descent
And lowness of a Slave; but oh! to speak
The Rage, the Fierceness, and the Indignation!—
It bars all Words, and cuts description short.

Mon.
Then he is fall'n! that Comet, which, on high,
Portended Ruin; he has spent his Blaze,
And shall distract the World with Fears no more:
Sure it must bode me well, for oft my Soul
Has started into Tumult at his Name,
As if my Guardian Angel took th'Alarm,
At the approach of somewhat mortal to me:
But say, my Friend, what hear'st thou of Arpasia?
For there my Thoughts, my every Care is center'd.

Str.
Tho' on that purpose still I bent my Search,
Yet nothing certain could I gain, but this,
That in the Pillage of the Sultan's Tent,
Some Women were made Pris'ners, who this morning
VVere to be offer'd to the Emperors View;
Their Names, and Qualities, tho' oft enquiring,
I could not learn.

Mon.
Then must my Soul still labour
Beneath Uncertainty, and anxious doubt,
The Mind's worst State. The Tyrant's Ruin gives me
But a half-ease.

Str.
'Twas said, not far from hence
The Captives were to wait the Emperor's passage.

Mon.
Hast me to find the place. Oh! my Arpasia!
Shall we not meet? VVhy hangs my Heart thus heavy
Like Death within my Bosom? Oh! 'tis well,
The Joy of meeting pays the pangs of Absence,
Else who could bear it?
VVhen thy lov'd Sight shall bless my Eyes again,
Then I will own, I ought not to complain,
Since that sweet Hour is worth whole Years of Pain.

[Exeunt Moneses, and Stratocles.