University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Scanderbeg's Tent.
Scan.
Degenerate Rome! by godlike Brutus freed
From Cæsar and his temporary Chain
Your own Ingratitude renew'd those Bonds,
Beneath whose galling Weight you justly perish'd.
If Freedom be Heaven's universal Gift,
Th' unalienable Right of Humankind,
Were all Men vertuous, there would be no Slaves.
Despotick Power, that Root of Bitterness,
That Tree of Death, that spreads its baleful Arms
Almost from Pole to Pole; beneath whose cursed Shade,
No good Thing thrives, and ev'ry ill finds Shelter;
Had found no Time for its detested Growth,
But for the Follies and the Crimes of Men.
In ev'ry Climate, and in ev'ry Age,
Where Arts and Arms and publick Virtue flourish'd,
Ambition, dangerous only to itself,
Crush'd in its Infancy, still found a Grave
Where it attempted to erect a Throne.

Enter Hellena, supported by Paulinus and Cleora; Guards following.
Hel.
My Blood flows faster, and my throbbing Heart
Beats with redoubled force, now I behold him;
O take me to thy Arms—I die Cleora! (Swoons)


Pau.
He faints; support him, while we search his Wound.

Cle.
Away; and touch him not—O gracious Prince!
If ever pity moved your Royal Breast,
Let all depart except yourself and us.

Scan.
Let all withdraw.
(Exit Paulinus, &c.
Now, gentle Youth, inform me,
Why you oppose th' assistance of your Friend?

Cle.
She's gone, She's gone: O Heavens! She's past Assistance.

Scan.
Think what you say, and recollect your Reason.

Cle.
O mighty Prince! we are not what we seem,
But hapless Women.

Scan.
Ha!

Cle.
Women; and sure
The most distress'd, and wretched of our Sex.
T'increase your Admiration, view this Face.

Scan.
Sure I have known these lovely Features well;
But when, or where, my Recollection fails me.

Cle.
And well it may. O! who cou'd know thee now;
Never enough deplor'd, unhappy Princess.

Scan.
Fearful Suggestion! Sure my Eyes deceive me!
Forbid it Heaven, that this shou'd be Hellena.

Hel.
Who was it call'd upon the lost Hellena?

Scan.
Ha! she revives; fly instantly for Aid.

Hel.
It was his Voice—false Maid, thou hast betray'd me.
Stay—whether woud'st thou go? I'm past all Aid:
The friendly Hand of Death will quickly close
These ever streaming Eyes, and end my Shame.
O Prince! the most distinguish'd and belov'd
By righteous Allah, of his Works below;
You see the Daughter of relentless Amurath,
Sunk with her Father's Crimes, o'erwhelm'd with Shame,
Expiring at your Feet. My Weakness stands
Confess'd, but be it so I will no more
Lament my painfull, hopeless, fatal Flame,
Since Heaven ordain'd it for your Preservation.

Scan.
When will my Wonder and my Anguish cease?

Hel.
I'm come to save you, Prince, from falling by
A vile Assassin's Arm; the false Amasie,
Has deeply sworn your Death; ev'n now he comes
To plunge his bloody Poniard in your Breast.

Scan.
Fatal Mistake! what base Detractor has
Traduc'd my Friend; and wrought thee, gen'rous Princess
To thy Ruin?

Hel.
Doth not the Traytor come
Here by Appointment?

Scan.
Ha!

Hel.
Whence learnt I that?
Be not deceiv'd, but guard your precious Life;
Or I shall die in vain. For me this bloody
Enterprize was form'd; my feeble Charms,
That wound but where I hate, the Motive to
This Crime.

Scan.
Just Heav'n! that I cou'd longer doubt it!

Cle.
Alas! she's going raise her, gently raise her.

Hel.
My Head grows dizzy.

Scan.
Lean it on my Breast.

Hel.
This is indeed no Time to stand on Forms.

Scan.
The Pains, the Agonies of Death are on her;
And yet she suffers less, much less, than I.
What generous Heart can bear it?

Hel.
Do not grieve:
And yet methinks your Pity sooths my Pain.

Scan.
Why wou'dst thou give thy Life to Ransom mine?
Wou'd I had died, or yet cou'd die, to save thee.

Hel.
I'd not exchange my Death, lamented thus
And in your Arms, for any other's Life—
Unless Althea's.

Scan.
Were Althea here
She wou'd forget her own severe Distress,
And only weep for yours.

Hel.
May she be happy!
Yet had you never seen her, who can tell,
You sometimes might, perhaps, have thought on me.

Scan.
He in my Place who cou'd refrain from Tears,
Unenvied let him boast of his Brutality.
I'm not asham'd to own myself a Man.

Hel.
Farewel, Cleora!—weep not, gentle Maid;
I recommend her, Sir, to your Protection.
And, O victorious Prince; if e'er hereafter
Conquest shou'd give my Father to your Sword
—Then think on me—suspend your lifted Arm,
And spare—O spare his Life—forget your Wrongs;
Or think them punished in his Daughter's Loss.

(Dies.
Scan.
Her gentle Soul is fled; she rests in peace;
While we, methinks, like Gratitude and Grief,
Form'd by the Sculpture's Art to grace her Urn;
Moving, tho' lifeless; eloquent, tho' dumb;
Excite incurious Mortals to explore,
Virtues so rare, and trace the shining Store,
That cou'd a Life so short so well supply;
Yet mourn with us such Excellence shou'd die.