University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

OSMAN, and ORASMIN.
OSMAN.
Orasmin ! this Alarm was false, and groundless;
Lewis, no longer, turns his Arms, on Me:
The French, grown weary, by a Length of Woes,
Wish not, as once, to quit their fruitful Plains,
And famish, on Arabia's desart Sands.
Their Ships, 'tis true, have spread the Syrian Seas;
And Lewis, hovering, o'er the Coast of Cyprus,
Alarms the Fears of Asia;—But, I've learnt,
That, steering wide, from our unmenac'd Ports,
He points his Thunder, at th'Egyptian Shore.
There, let him war, and waste my Enemies;
Their mutual Conflict will but fix my Throne.—
Release those Christians—I restore their Freedom;
'Twill please their Master, nor can weaken Me:
Transport 'em, at my Cost, to find their King;
I wish, to have him know me: Carry thither,
This Lusignan, whom, tell him, I restore,
Because I cannot fear his Fame in Arms;
But love him, for his Virtue, and his Blood.
Tell him, my Father having conquer'd, twice,
Condemn'd him to perpetual Chains; but I
Have set him free, that I might triumph, more.

ORASMIN.
The Christians gain an Army, in His Name.

OSMAN.
I cannot fear a Sound—

ORASMIN.
But, Sir—shou'd Lewis—

OSMAN.
Tell Lewis, and the World—it shall be so:
Zara propos'd it, and my Heart approves:
Thy Statesman's Reason is too dull, for Love!
Why wilt thou force me, to confess it all?
Tho' I, to Lewis, send back Lusignan,
I give him but to Zara—I have griev'd her;
And ow'd her the Atonement of this Joy.
Thy false Advices, which, but now, misled
My Anger, to confine those helpless Christians,
Gave her a Pain, I feel, for Her, and Me:
But I talk on, and waste the smiling Moments.
For one long Hour, I, yet, defer my Nuptials;
But, 'tis not lost, that Hour! 'twill all be Hers!
She wou'd employ it, in a Conference,
With that Nerestan, whom thou know'st—That Christian!

ORASMIN.
And have you, Sir, indulg'd that strange Desire?

OSMAN.
What mean'st thou? they were Infant Slaves, together:
Friends should part, kind, who are to meet no more;
When Zara asks, I will refuse her nothing.
Restraint was never made for those, we love;
Down, with these Rigours, of the proud Seraglio;
I hate its Laws—where blind Austerity
Sinks Virtue, to Necessity.—My Blood
Disclaims your Asian Jealousy;—I hold
The fierce, free, Plainness, of my Scythian Ancestors;
Their open Confidence, their honest Hate,
Their Love, unfearing, and their Anger, told.
Go—the good Christian waits—conduct him to her;
Zara expects thee—What she wills, obey.
[Exit Osman.

ORASMIN.
Ho! Christian! enter—wait, a Moment, here;
Enter Nerestan.
Zara will, soon, approach—I go, to find her.
[Exit Orasmin.

NERESTAN.
In what a State, in what a Place, I leave her!
O, Faith! O, Father! O! my poor, lost Sister!
She's here!—
Enter Zara.
Thank Heaven, it is not, then, unlawful,
To see you, yet, once more, my lovely Sister!
Not All so happy!—We, who met, but now,
Shall never meet again—for Lusignan—
We shall be Orphans, still, and want a Father.

ZARA.
Forbid it, Heaven!

NERESTAN.
His last, sad Hour's at Hand.—
That Flow of Joy, which follow'd our Discovery,
Too strong, and sudden, for his Age's Weakness,
Wasting his Spirits, dry'd the Source of Life,
And Nature yields him up, to Time's Demand:
Shall he not die, in Peace?—Oh! let no Doubt
Disturb his parting Moments, with Distrust;
Let me, when I return, to close his Eyes,
Compose his Mind's Impatience, too, and tell him,
You are confirm'd a Christian.—

ZARA.
O! may his Soul enjoy, in Earth, and Heaven,
Eternal Rest! nor let one Thought, one Sigh,
One bold Complaint, of mine, recall his Cares!
But, You have injur'd me, who, still, can doubt.—
What! am I not your Sister? and shall You
Refuse me Credit? You suppose me light?
You, who shou'd judge my Honour, by your own!
Shall You distrust a Truth, I dar'd avow,
And stamp Apostate, on a Sister's Heart!

NERESTAN.
Ah! do not misconceive me!—if I err'd,
Affection, not Distrust, misled my Fear;
Your Will may be a Christian, yet, not You:
There is a sacred Mark—a Sign, of Faith,
A Pledge, of Promise, that must firm your Claim;
Wash you from Guilt, and open Heaven, before you:
Swear, swear, by all the Woes, we All have borne,
By all the martyr'd Saints, who call you Daughter;
That you consent, this Day, to seal your Faith,
By that mysterious Rite, which waits your Call.

ZARA.
I swear, by Heaven, and all its holy Host,
Its Saints, its Martyrs, its attesting Angels,
And the dread Presence of its living Author,
To have no Faith, but yours;—to die, a Christian!
Now, tell me, what this mystick Faith requires?

NERESTAN.
To hate the Happiness of Osman's Throne,
And love that God, who, thro' this Maze of Woes,
Has brought us All, unhoping, thus, together;
For me—I am a Soldier, uninstructed,
Nor daring to instruct, tho' strong in Faith:
But I will bring th'Ambassador of Heaven,
To clear your Views, and lift you to your God:
Be it your Task, to gain Admission for him.—
But where? from whom?—Oh! thou Immortal Power!
Whence can we hope it, in this curs'd Seraglio?
Who is this Slave of Osman?—Yes, this Slave!
Does she not boast the Blood of Twenty Kings?
Is not her Race the same, with That, of Lewis?
Is she not Lusignan's unhappy Daughter?
A Christian? and my Sister?—yet, a Slave!
A willing Slave!—I dare not speak, more plainly.

ZARA.
Cruel! go on—Alas! you know not Me!
At once, a Stranger, to my secret Fate,
My Pains, my Fears, my Wishes, and my Power:
I am—I will be, Christian—will receive
This holy Priest, with his mysterious Blessing;
I will nor do, nor suffer, aught, unworthy
Myself, my Father, or my Father's Race.—
But, tell me—nor be tender, on this Point;
What Punishment your Christian Laws decree,
For an unhappy Wretch, who, to herself,
Unknown, and, all abandon'd, by the World,
Lost, and enslav'd, has, in her Sovereign Master,
Found a Protector, Generous, as Great,
Has touch'd his Heart, and giv'n him, all her own?

NERESTAN.
The Punishment of such a Slave, shou'd be
Death, in This World—and Pain, in That to come.

ZARA.
I am that Slave—strike here—and save my Shame:

NERESTAN.
Destruction to my Hopes!—Can it be you?

ZARA.
It is—ador'd by Osman, I adore him:
This Hour, the Nuptial Rites will make us, One.

NERESTAN.
What! marry Osman!—Let the World grow dark;
That the extinguish'd Sun may hide thy Shame!
Cou'd it be thus, it were no Crime to kill thee.

ZARA.
Strike, strike—I love him—yes, by Heav'n! I love him.

NERESTAN.
Death is thy Due—but not thy Due, from Me:
Yet, were the Honour of our House no Bar—
My Father's Fame, and the too gentle Laws
Of that Religion, which thou hast disgrac'd—
Did not the God, thou quit'st, hold back my Arms,
Not there—I cou'd not, there;—but, by my Soul,
I wou'd rush, desp'rate, to the Sultan's Breast,
And plunge my Sword, in his proud Heart, who damns thee.
Oh! Shame! Shame! Shame! at such a Time, as this!
When Lewis, that Awak'ner of the World,
Beneath the lifted Cross, makes Egypt pale,
And draws the Sword of Heaven, to spread our Faith!
Now, to submit to see my Sister, doom'd
A Bosom Slave, to Him, whose Tyrant Heart
But measures Glory, by the Christian's Woe!
Yes—I will dare acquaint our Father with it;—
Departing Lusignan may live, so long,
As just, to hear, thy Shame, and die, to 'scape it.

ZARA.
Stay—my too angry Brother,—stay—perhaps,
Zara has Resolution, great, as Thine:
'Tis cruel—and unkind!—Thy Words are Crimes;
My Weakness but Misfortune! Dost thou suffer?
I suffer more;—Oh! wou'd to Heaven, this Blood
Of Twenty boasted Kings, wou'd stop, at once,
And stagnate in my Heart!—It, then, no more,
Wou'd rush, in boiling Fevers, thro' my Veins,
And ev'ry trembling Drop, be fill'd with Osman.
How has he lov'd me! How has he oblig'd me!
I owe Thee to him! What has he not done,
To justify his boundless Pow'r of charming!
For me, he softens the severe Decrees
Of his own Faith;—And is it just, that mine
Shou'd bid me hate him, but because he loves me?
No—I will be a Christian—but, preserve
My Gratitude, as sacred, as my Faith:
If I have Death to fear, for Osman's sake,
It must be, from his Coldness, not his Love.

NERESTAN.
I must, at once, condemn, and pity thee;
I cannot point thee out, which Way to go,
But Providence will lend its Light, to guide thee.
That sacred Rite, which thou shalt, now, receive,
Will strengthen, and support, thy feeble Heart,
To live, an Innocent; or die, a Martyr:
Here, then, begin Performance of thy Vow;
Here, in the trembling Horrors of thy Soul,
Promise thy King, thy Father, and thy God,
Not to accomplish these detested Nuptials,
Till, first, the reverend Priest has clear'd your Eyes,
Taught you to know, and giv'n you Claim to, Heaven.
Promise me This—

ZARA.
So bless me, Heaven! I do.—
Go—hasten the good Priest, I will expect him;
But, first, return—chear my expiring Father,
Tell him, I am, and will be, All he wishes me:
Tell him, to give Him Life, 'twere Joy, to die.

NERESTAN.
I go—farewell—farewell, unhappy Sister!
[Exit Nerestan.

ZARA.
I am alone—and, now, be just, my Heart!
And tell me, Wilt thou dare betray thy God!
What am I? What am I about to be?
Daughter of Lusignan?—or Wife to Osman?
Am I a Lover, most? or, most, a Christian?
Wou'd Selima were come? and, yet, 'tis just,
All Friends shou'd fly Her, who forsakes Herself:
What shall I do?—What Heart has Strength, to bear
These double Weights of Duty?—Help me, Heaven!
To thy hard Laws I render up my Soul:
But, Oh! demand it back—for, now 'tis Osman's.—

Enter Osman.
OSMAN.
Shine out, appear, be found, my lovely Zara!
Impatient Eyes attend—The Rites expect thee;
And my devoted Heart, no longer, brooks
This Distance, from its Soft'ner!—All the Lamps
Of Nuptial Love are lighted, and burn pure,
As if they drew their Brightness from thy Blushes;
The holy Mosque is fill'd with fragrant Fumes,
Which emulate the Sweetness of thy Breathing:
My prostrate People, all, confirm my Choice,
And send their Souls to Heaven, in Prayer, for Blessings.
Thy envious Rivals, conscious of thy Right,
Approve superior Charms, and join, to praise thee;
The Throne, that waits thee, seems to shine, more richly,
As all its Gems, with animated Lustre,
Fear'd to look dim, beneath the Eyes of Zara!
Come, my slow Love! the Ceremonies wait thee;
Come, and begin, from this dear Hour, my Triumph.

ZARA.
Oh! what a Wretch am I? O, Grief! Oh, Love!

OSMAN.
Come—come—

ZARA.
Where shall I hide my Blushes?

OSMAN.
Blushes?—here, in my Bosom, hide 'em.—

ZARA.
My Lord?

OSMAN.
Nay, Zara—give me thy Hand, and come—

ZARA.
Instruct me, Heaven!
What I shou'd say—Alas! I cannot speak:

OSMAN.
Away—this modest, sweet, reluctant, Trifling
But doubles my Desires, and thy own Beauties!

ZARA.
Ah, me!

OSMAN.
Nay—but thou should'st not be too cruel—

ZARA.
I can, no longer, bear it—Oh! my Lord—

OSMAN.
Ha!—what!—whence? how?—

ZARA.
My Lord! my Sovereign!
Heaven knows, this Marriage wou'd have been a Bliss,
Above my humble Hopes!—yet, witness Love!
Not, from the Grandeur of your Throne, that Bliss,
But, from the Pride of calling Osman, Mine,
Wou'd, You had been no Emperor! and I,
Possess'd of Power, and Charms, deserving You!
That, slighting Asia's Thrones, I might, alone,
Have left a proffer'd World, to follow You,
Through Desarts, uninhabited by Men,
And bless'd, with ample Room, for Peace, and Love!
But, as it is—these Christians—

OSMAN.
Christians! what!
How start two Images into thy Thoughts,
So distant—as the Christians, and my Love!

ZARA.
That good, old Christian, reverend Lusignan,
Now, dying, ends his Life, and Woes, together!

OSMAN.
Well! let him die—What has thy Heart to feel,
Thus pressing, and thus tender, from the Death
Of an old, wretched, Christian?—Thank our Prophet,
Thou art no Christian!—educated, here,
Thy happy Youth was taught our better Faith:
Sweet, as thy Pity shines, 'tis, now, mistim'd;
What! tho' an aged Suff'rer dies, unhappy,
Why shou'd his foreign Fate disturb our Joys?

ZARA.
Sir, if you love me, and wou'd have me think,
That I am, truly, dear—

OSMAN.
Heaven! if I love—

ZARA.
Permit me—

OSMAN.
What?

ZARA.
To desire—

OSMAN.
Speak out—

ZARA.
The Nuptial Rites
May be deferr'd, till—

OSMAN.
What?—is That the Voice
Of Zara?

ZARA.
Oh! I cannot bear his Frown!

OSMAN.
Of Zara!—

ZARA.
It is dreadful to my Heart,
To give you but a seeming Cause, for Anger;
Pardon my Grief—Alas! I cannot bear it;
There is a painful Terror, in your Eye,
That pierces to my Soul—hid, from your Sight,
I go, to make a moment's Truce, with Tears,
And gather Force, to speak of my Despair.

[Exit disorder'd
OSMAN.
I stand, immoveable, like senseless Marble!
Horror had frozen my suspended Tongue:
And an astonish'd Silence robb'd my Will
Of Power, to tell her, that she shock'd my Soul!
Spoke she to Me?—sure! I misunderstood her!
Cou'd it be Me, she left?—What have I seen?
Enter Orasmin.
Orasmin! What a Change is here!—She's gone,
And I permitted it, I know not how!

ORASMIN.
Perhaps, you but accuse the charming Fault
Of Innocence, too modest, oft, in Love.

OSMAN.
But why, and whence, those Tears?—those Looks! that Flight!
That Grief! so strongly stamp'd, on every Feature!
If it has been that Frenchman!—What a Thought!
How low, how horrid, a Suspicion, That!
The dreadful Flash, at once, gives Light, and kills me:
My too bold Confidence repell'd my Caution;
An Infidel!—a Slave!—a Heart, like mine,
Reduc'd, to suffer, from so vile a Rival!
But, tell me, did'st thou mark 'em, at their Parting?
Did'st thou observe the Language of their Eyes?
Hide nothing from me—Is my Love betray'd?
Tell me my whole Disgrace: Nay, if thou tremblest,
I hear thy Pity speak, tho' thou art silent.

ORASMIN.
I tremble, at the Pangs, I see you suffer;
Let not your angry Apprehension urge
Your faithful Slave, to irritate your Anguish;
I did, 'tis true, observe some parting Tears;
But, there are Tears, of Charity, and Grief:
I cannot think, there was a Cause, deserving
This Agony of Passion—

OSMAN.
Why no—I thank thee—
Orasmin, thou art wise! It cou'd not be,
That I shou'd stand, expos'd, to such an Insult:
Thou know'st, had Zara meant me the Offence,
She wants not Wisdom, to have bid it, better;
How rightly did'st thou judge!—Zara shall know it;
And thank thy honest Service—After all,
Might she not have some Cause for Tears, which I
Claim no Concern in—but the Grief it gives her?
What an unlikely Fear—from a poor Slave!
Who goes, to-morrow, and, no doubt, who wishes,
Nay, who resolves, to see these Climes no more!

ORASMIN.
Why did you, Sir, against our Country's Custom,
Indulge him, with a second Leave to come?
He said, he shou'd return, once more, to see her.

OSMAN.
Return!—the Traitor! He return!—Dares he
Presume, to press a second Interview?
Wou'd he be seen, again?—He shall be seen;
But, dead;—I'll punish the audacious Slave,
To teach the faithless Fair, to feel my Anger:
Be still, my Transports; Violence is blind:
I know, my Heart, at once, is fierce, and weak;
I feel, that I descend, below myself;
Zara can never, justly, be suspected;
Her Sweetness was not form'd, to cover Treason:
Yet, Osman must not stoop to Woman's Follies.
Their Tears, Complaints, Regrets, and Reconcilements,
With all their light, capricious, Roll of Changes,
Are Arts, too vulgar, to be try'd on Me.
It wou'd become me, better, to resume
The Empire of my Will:—Rather than fall
Beneath myself, I must, how dear soe'er
It costs me, rise—till I look down, on Zara!
Away—but mark me—these Seraglio Doors,
Against all Christians, be they, henceforth, shut,
Close, as the dark Retreats of silent Death.—
What have I done, just Heav'n! thy Rage to move,
That thou shou'dst sink me down, so low, to Love?