University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

ZARA, and SELIMA.
ZARA.
Sooth me, no longer, with this vain Desire;
To a Recluse, like me, who dares, henceforth,
Presume Admission!—The Seraglio's shut—
Barr'd, and unpassable—as Death, to Time!
My Brother ne'er must hope to see me, more:—
How now! what unknown Slave accosts us, here!

Enter Melidor.
MELIDOR.
This Letter, trusted to my Hands, receive,
In secret Witness, I am, wholly, yours.

[Zara reads the Letter.
SELIMA.
[Aside.]
Thou, everlasting Ruler of the World!
Shed thy wish'd Mercy on our hopeless Tears;
Redeem us from the Hands of hated Infidels,
And save my Princess from the Breast of Osman.

ZARA.
I wish, my Friend, the Comfort of your Counsel.

SELIMA.
Retire—you shall be call'd—wait near—Go, leave us:

[Exit Melidor.
ZARA.
Read this—and tell me, what I ought to answer?
For I wou'd, gladly, hear my Brother's Voice,

SELIMA.
Say rather, you wou'd hear the Voice of Heav'n.
'Tis not your Brother, calls you, but your God.

ZARA.
I know it, nor resist his awful Will;
Thou know'st, that I have bound my Soul, by Oath;
But, can I—ought I—to engage myself,
My Brother, and the Christians, in this Danger?

SELIMA.
'Tis not their Danger, that alarms your Fear;
Your Love speaks loudest, to your shrinking Soul;
I know your Heart, of Strength, to hazard All,
But, it has let in Traitors, who surrender,
On poor Pretence of Safety:—Learn, at least,
To understand, the Weakness, that deceives you:
You tremble, to offend your haughty Lover,
Whom Wrongs, and Outrage, but endear the more;
Yes—you are blind to Osman's cruel Nature,
That Tartar's Fierceness, that obscures his Bounties:
This Tyger, savage, in his Tenderness,
Courts, with Contempt, and threatens, amidst Softness;
Yet, cannot your neglected Heart efface
His fated, fix'd, Impression!

ZARA.
What Reproach
Can I, with Justice, make him?—I, indeed,
Have given Him Cause to hate me!—
Was not his Throne, was not his Temple, ready?
Did not he court his Slave, to be a Queen?
And have not I declin'd it?—I, who ought
To tremble, conscious of affronted Power!
Have not I triumph'd o'er his Pride, and Love?
Seen him submit his own high Will, to mine?
And sacrifice his Wishes, to my Weakness?

SELIMA.
Talk we, no more, of this unhappy Passion:
What Resolution will your Vertue take?

ZARA.
All things combine, to sink me to Despair:
From the Seraglio, Death, alone, will free me.
I long to see the Christians' happy Climes;
Yet, in the Moment, while I form that Prayer,
I sigh a secret Wish, to languish, here:
How sad a State is mine! my restless Soul
All ign'rant, what to do, or what to wish?
My only Perfect Sense is, That of Pain.
O, Guardian Heaven! protect my Brother's Life:
For I will meet him, and fulfill his Prayer.
Then, when, from Solyma's unfriendly Walls,
His Absence shall unbind his Sister's Tongue,
Osman shall learn the Secret of my Birth,
My Faith unshaken, and my deathless Love;
He will approve my Choice, and pity me.
I'll send my Brother Word, he may expect me;
Call in the faithful Slave—God of my Father's!
[Exit Selima.
Let thy Hand save me, and thy Will direct.

Enter Selima, and Melidor.

Go—tell the Christian, who intrusted thee,
That Zara's Heart is fix'd, nor shrinks at Danger;
And, that my faithful Friend will, at the Hour,
Expect, and introduce him, to his Wish.
Away—the Sultan comes; he must not find us.

[Exeunt Zara and Selima.
Enter Osman, and Orasmin.
OSMAN.
Swifter, ye Hours, move on; my Fury glows
Impatient, and wou'd push the Wheels of Time:—
How now! What Message dost thou bring? Speak boldly—
What Answer gave she, to the Letter, sent her?

MELIDOR.
She blush'd, and trembled, and grew pale, and paus'd;
Then blush'd, and read it; and, again, grew pale;
And wept, and smil'd, and doubted, and resolv'd:
For, after all this Race of vary'd Passions,
When she had sent me out, and call'd me back,
Tell him (she cry'd) who has intrusted thee,
That Zara's Heart is fix'd, nor shrinks at Danger;
And, that my faithful Friend will, at the Hour,
Expect, and introduce him, to his Wish.

OSMAN.
[To the Slave.
[To Orasmin.
[Alone.
Re-enter Orasmin.

ORASMIN.
Silent, and dark,
Th'unbreathing World is hush'd, as if it heard,
And listen'd to, your Sorrows.

OSMAN.
O, treach'rous Night!
Thou lend'st thy ready Veil, to ev'ry Treason,
And teeming Mischiefs thrive, beneath thy Shade.
Orasmin! Prophet! Reason! Truth! and Love!
After such Length of Benefits, to wrong me!
How have I over-rated, how mistaken,
The Merit of her Beauty!—Did I not
Forget, I was a Monarch? Did I remember,
That Zara was a Slave?—I gave up All;
Gave up Tranquillity, Distinction, Pride,
And fell, the shameful Victim of my Love!

ORASMIN.
Sir! Sovereign! Sultan! my Imperial Master!
Reflect on your own Greatness, and disdain
The distant Provocation.—

OSMAN.
Heard'st thou nothing?

ORASMIN.
My Lord?

OSMAN.
A Noise, like Dying Groans?

ORASMIN.
I listen, but can hear nothing.

OSMAN.
Again!—look out—he comes.—

ORASMIN.
Nor Tread of Mortal Foot—nor Voice, I hear:—
The still Seraglio lies, profoundly plung'd,
In Deathlike Silence! nothing stirs.—The Air
Is soft, as Infants' Sleep; no breathing Wind
Steals, thro' the Shadows, to awaken Night.

OSMAN.
Horrors, a thousand times more dark, than these,
Benight my suff'ring Soul—Thou dost not know,
To what Excess of Tenderness, I lov'd her.
I knew no Happiness, but what she gave me,
Nor cou'd have felt a Mis'ry, but for her!
Pity this Weakness—mine are Tears, Orasmin!
That fall not oft, nor lightly:—

ORASMIN.
Tears!—Oh, Heaven!

OSMAN.
The first, which, ever, yet, unmann'd my Eyes!
O! pity Zara—pity Me—Orasmin,
These but forerun the Tears of destin'd Blood.

ORASMIN.
Oh, my unhappy Lord! I tremble for You—

OSMAN.
Do—tremble at my Suff'rings, at my Love;
At my Revenge, too, tremble—for, 'tis due,
And will not be deluded.

ORASMIN.
Hark! I hear
The Steps of Men, along the neighb'ring Wall!—

OSMAN.
Fly—seize him—'tis Nerestan! wait no Chains,
But, drag him down, to my impatient Eye.

[Exit Oras.
Enter Zara and Selima, in the Dark.
ZARA.
Where art thou, Selima? Give me thy Hand;
It is so dark, I tremble, as I step,
With Fears, and Startings, never felt, 'till now!

OSMAN.
Damnation! 'tis Her Voice! the well-known Sound,
That has, so often, charm'd me into Baseness!
Oh! the perfidious Hypocrite!—she goes,
To meet th'inviting Infidel!—now, now,
[Drawing a Dagger.
Revenge, stand firm, and intercept his Wishes:—
Revenge! on whom?—no matter—Earth, and Heaven,
Wou'd blush, shou'd I forbear:—Now—Zara, now;
[Drops the Dagger.
I must not—cannot strike, the starting Steel,
Unwilling, flies my Hand, and shuns to wound her.

ZARA.
This is the private Path—come nearer, lead me—
Are we not notic'd, think'st thou?

SELIMA.
Fear not, Madam;
It cannot, now, be long, ere we shall meet him.

OSMAN.
That Word has giv'n me, back, my ebbing Rage;

[Recovers the Dagger.
ZARA.
I walk in Terror, and my Heart forebodes:
Who's there?—Nerestan! Is it you!—Oh! Welcome—

OSMAN.
[Stabbing her.]
This to thy Heart—'Tis not the Traitor, meets thee,
'Tis the Betray'd—who writes it, in thy Blood.

ZARA.
O, gracious Heaven! receive my parting Soul.

[Dies.
OSMAN.
Soul?—then Revenge has reach'd thee—I will, now,
Haste, from this fatal Place—I cannot leave her!
Whom did I strike? Was This the Act of Love?
Swallow me, Earth!—She's silent—Zara's dead!
And, shou'd I live, to see returning Day,
'Twill shew me but her Blood!—shew me, left joyless,
In a wide, empty, World, with nothing round me,
But Penitence, and Pain—and, yet, 'twas just:—
Hark!—Destiny has sent her Lover to me,
To fill my Vengeance, and restore my Joy.
Enter Orasmin, with Nerestan.
Approach, thou Wretch! thou more than curs'd! come near—
Thou! who, in Gratitude, for Freedom gain'd,
Hast given Me Miseries, beyond thy own!
Thou Heart of Heroe, with a Traitor's Soul!
Go—reap thy due Reward, prepare to suffer,
Whate'er inventive Malice can inflict,
To make Thee feel thy Death, and perish, slow.
Are my Commands obey'd?

ORASMIN.
All is prepar'd:

OSMAN.
Thy wanton Eyes look round, in Search of Her,
Whose Love, descending to a Slave, like Thee,
From my dishonour'd Hand, receiv'd her Doom?
See! where she lies—

NERESTAN.
O, fatal, rash, Mistake!

OSMAN.
Dost thou behold her, Slave?

NERESTAN.
Unhappy Sister!

OSMAN.
Sister!—Did'st thou say Sister? if thou did'st,
Bless me, with Deafness, Heaven!

NERESTAN.
Tyrant! I did—
She was my Sister—All, that, now, is left thee,
Dispatch—From my distracted Heart, drain, next,
The Remnant of the Royal, Christian, Blood:
Old Lusignan, expiring, in my Arms,
Sent his too wretched Son, with his last Blessing,
To his, now, murder'd Daughter!—
Wou'd, I had seen the bleeding Innocent!
I wou'd have liv'd, to speak to her, in Death;
Wou'd have awaken'd, in her languid Heart,
A livelier Sense of her abandon'd God:
That God, who, left by Her, forsook Her, too,
And gave the poor, lost, Suff'rer, to thy Rage.

OSMAN.
Thy Sister?—Lusignan, her Father—Selima!
Can this be true?—and have I wrong'd thee, Zara?

SELIMA.
Thy Love was all the Cloud, 'twixt her, and Heav'n

OSMAN.
Be dumb—for thou art base, to add Distraction,
To my, already, more, than bleeding, Heart:
And was thy Love sincere?—What, then, remains?

NERESTAN.
Why shou'd a Tyrant hesitate, on Murder!
There, now, remains, but mine, of all the Blood,
Which, thro' thy Father's cruel Reign, and Thine,
Has, never, ceas'd to stream, on Syria's Sands;
Restore a Wretch to his unhappy Race;
Nor hope, that Torments, after such a Scene,
Can force one feeble Groan, to feast thy Anger.
I waste my fruitless Words, in empty Air;
The Tyrant, o'er the bleeding Wound, he made,
Hangs his unmoving Eye, and heeds not me.

OSMAN.
O, Zara!—

ORASMIN.
Alas! my Lord, return—whither wou'd Grief
Transport your gen'rous Heart?—This Christian Dog—

OSMAN.
Take off his Fetters, and observe my Will:
To Him, and all his Friends, give instant Liberty:
Pour a Profusion, of the richest Gifts,
On these unhappy Christians; and, when heap'd,
With vary'd Benefits, and charg'd, with Riches,
Give 'em safe Conduct, to the nearest Port.

ORASMIN.
But, Sir!—

OSMAN.
Reply not, but obey.—
Fly—nor dispute thy Master's last Command,
Thy Prince, who orders—and thy Friend, who loves thee!
Go—lose no Time—farewel—be gone—and thou!
Unhappy Warrior!—yet, less lost, than I!—
Haste, from our bloody Land—and, to thy own,
Convey this poor, pale, Object of my Rage:
Thy King, and all his Christians, when they hear
Thy Miseries, shall mourn 'em, with their Tears;
But, if thou tell'st 'em mine, and tell'st 'em, truly,
They, who shall hate my Crime, shall pity Me.
Take, too, this Poniard, with thee, which my Hand
Has stain'd with Blood, far dearer, than my own;
Tell 'em—with This, I murder'd, Her, I lov'd;
The noblest, and most vertuous, among Women!
The Soul of Innocence, and Pride of Truth!
Tell 'em, I laid my Empire at her Feet;
Tell 'em, I plung'd my Dagger in her Blood;
Tell 'em, I so ador'd—and, thus, reveng'd her,
[Stabs himself.
Rev'rence this Heroe—and, conduct him, safe.

[Dies.
NERESTAN.
Direct me, Great Inspirer of the Soul!
How I shou'd act, how judge, in this Distress?
Amazing Grandeur! and detested Rage!
Ev'n I, amidst my Tears, admire this Foe,
And mourn his Death, who liv'd, to give me Woe.