University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

A Royal Pavilion. Hellena on a Sofa in a Melancholy Posture. Cleora attending near her. Eunuchs, Mutes, Singers and Dancers.

SONG.
The Regent of Night with her Beams
Had chequer'd each Valley and Grove,
And swell'd with her Influence the Streams,
When Fatima, pining for Love;
To the Ocean, Despair for her Guide,
Repaired for Relief from her Pain;
Where plunging, receive me, she cried,
I'm fair, young and royal in vain.

Hellena rises and comes forward.
Hel.
No more, Cleora! I accept thy Love,
But thy officious Kindness is in vain.
It is not Musick, nor the sprightly Dance,
The Harmony of Motion, or of Sound,
That can asswage my Grief.

Cle.
Let all retire.
(Exeunt Eunuchs, &c.
How long, my Royal Mistress! will you sooth
This secret, pining Grief? How long averse
To ev'ry Dawn of Joy, thus seek Retirement;
And shun the gay Delights, the Pomp and Power,
That ever wait the Daughter of our Sultan,
And first of Womankind?

Hel.
How long shall Love
And torturing Despair, like ling'ring Fevers,
Feed on the Springs of Life, and drink my Blood?
How long shall Amurath, my awful Father,
Tho' press'd and overwhelm'd with Disappointments,
Provoke the Malice of his adverse Stars,
And urge his own Destruction; whilst in vain
With unrelenting Hatred he pursues,
Whom Heav'n protects, th'ever victorious Hero
Of Epirus.

Cle.
Thus do you always talk,
Of Love and Death, Despair and the Epirot.
Why will you ever strive to hide the Cause,
The cruel Cause of all this mighty Anguish?
Believe me, Princess! 'tis better to intrust
A faithful Slave, than keep the Secret thus
To rack your Breast; 'twill ease those Pains—

Hel.
That Death
Alone can cure; but yet, my best Cleora!
Such is thy Truth, thy Tenderness and Love,
I can deny thee nought. Yes, thou shalt know
All thou desir'st, and share the very Heart
Of sad Hellena.—You must think I love.—
What else cou'd make thy Princess far more wretched
Than the meanest Slave, and who but Castriot
Cou'd merit so sublime a Flame as mine?

Cle.
'Tis as I fear'd: She's lost beyond Redemption.

(Aside.
Hel.
A Royal Hostage to my Father's Court
When young he came, who loved him as a Son;
I as a Brother; so I fondly thought,
Nor found my Error, 'till the fatal Flame,
That now consumes me, cherish'd by my Weakness,
Was grown too great, too fierce to be controll'd.
O matchless Prince! who can display thy Worth?
Thou Favourite of Heav'n, and first of Men;
In Courts more soft, more lovely, more attractive
Than those fair Youths who with eternal Bloom
Injoy the fragrant Mansions of the Blest;
In Council wiser than a whole Divan;
In Anger awful; and in War as fierce
As those bright Ministers, whom Heav'n sends forth
To punish the presuming Sons of Men;
In Justice th' Image of that Sacred Power,
Whom he still serves with most unfeign'd Devotion;
Like him in Mercy too, in Bounty like him;
Excelling in Magnificence the Princes
Of th' East, yet temperate and self-denying
As a Dervise.—Who know, and Love thee not,
Avow their Malice and Contempt of Virtue.

Cle.
Think, Princess! think what 'tis you say; of whom
It is you speak. Can he, that cruel Christian,
That Enemy t'our Prophet and your Father,
Deserve such Praise from You?

Hel.
Unjust Cleora!
To call him cruel—But thou know'st him not;
Or sure thy gentle Nature wou'd abhor
To wrong him thus. And wherefore dost thou urge
His diff'rent Faith to me? Love busies not
Himself with reconciling Creeds, nor heeds
The Jarrings of contentious Priests: from Courts
To Shades, from Shades to Courts he flies
To conquer Hearts, and overthrow Distinction,
Treating alike the Monarch and the Slave;
But shuns the noisy School, and leaves the Race
Of proud, litigious Men to their own Folly;
Who wise in Words alone, consume their Days
In fierce Debate, nor know the End of Life.

Cle.
Now I no longer wonder you contemn'd
Amasie and his Flame.

Hel.
O Name him not,
The most detested Traytor; who, tho' next
In Blood, and late the dearest Friend of his
Indulgent Prince, without a Cause renounc'd
His Faith, his Country and his vow'd Allegiance.

Cle.
Say not without a Cause, his Love to you—

Hel.
Insolent Slave! Ambitious, bloody Traytor!
To claim my Love for Cruelty and Fraud!
Must I have been a Recompense for Murther!
For Regicide, the Murther of his King!
But his Defeat has freed me from that Danger:
My Father now retracts his former Promise,
And treats him with Aversion and Contempt.

Cle.
May Treason ever meet the like Reward.—
But see the Man we speak of comes this Way.

Hel.
I wou'd avoid him, do thou hear his Message;
His Name is hateful, but whene'er I see him,
My Blood runs back, my Sinews all relax,
And Life itself seems ready to forsake me.

[Exit Hellena.
Enter Amasie.
Cle.
What wou'd you Prince?

Ama.
I am inform'd the Sultan
Past this way, and came in Hopes to have found him
With the Princess.

Cle.
Your Hopes deceiv'd you Sir.

Ama.
May I not see
The Princess?

Cle.
No.

Ama.
I bring her happy News.

Cle.
Nor Happiness, nor Truth can come from Thee;
For ev'ry Word, and ev'ry Thought of thine
Are full of deep Deceit, and threaten Mischief.

[Exit Cleora.
Amasie
alone.
Seen and avoided!—rated by her Slave!—
Suspected by the Sultan!—Scorn'd by all!—
Is this the Gratitude of Turkish Courts?
This my Reward for Heav'n and Honour lost?—
Soul poisoning Envy, eldest Born of Hell,
Thou Sin of Devils, and their Torment too,
To what Contempt, what Mis'ry hast thou brought Me?
Ill-tim'd Reflection!—I shall still succeed—
Love and Ambition, Hatred and Revenge—
There's not a Wish my restless Soul has form'd,
But shall be quickly crown'd—Then whence this Anguish?
Sure 'tis much harder to attain Perfection
In Ill, than to be truly Good.—The Sultan!—

Enter Amurath and Visier.
Am.
Away; my Fame is lost; my Laurels won
With Pain and Toil and water'd with my Blood,
That well I hop'd wou'd flourish o'er my Grave
When I that planted them shou'd be but Dust,
Are wither'd all. O! wherefore did I tempt,
In the declining Winter of my Age,
The Vigour of a youthful Rebel's Arms?
Whose curst Success, 'gainst such prodigious odds,
Makes Credibility doubt what she sees,
And Truth appear like Falsehood.

Ama.
Mighty Sultan!—

Am.
What woud'st thou, Slave!
Thou Renegade, thou Spy!
Hence from my Sight: avant, perfidious Traytor.

Vis.
My ever gracious Lord, you wrong the Prince;
None can be more devoted to your Service.

Am.
'Tis false. Did he not lead my Spahies forth
With Hate profest, and Boasts of sure Revenge
On Scanderbeg; then leave my gallant Troops
To swell the Triumph, and to glut the Rage
Of that damn'd, damn'd Destroyer of the Faithfull.

Vis.
O righteous Heav'n! when will thy Judgments cease?
For Six revolving Moons have we in vain
Besieg'd yon City, proud, imperious Croia;
With Famine, Pestilence, and Scanderbeg
More terrible than both, like threat'ning Meteors,
Hov'ring o'er our Heads. Our Strengths consum'd:
By painful Watchings and incessant Toils
Do not our Numbers ev'ry Hour decrease?
Are we not all devoted to Destruction?
Those that escape the Plague, of Hunger die;
Or sav'd from Famine, perish by the Sword.
Yet to behold you thus, burning with Rage,
And tortur'd by Despair, afflicts us worse
Than all our other Griefs. Why will you still refuse
The only Help your present State admits,
That Sov'reign Balm for Minds like yours diseas'd,
And cure for ev'ry Ill—All healing Patience.

Am.
Name Patience again while th' Epirot lives
And lives victorious, and thou art thyself
A base, insulting Traytor. Hear me, Allah,
If thou art ought beside an empty Name,
If thou dost still exist, as Priests affirm,
Decree our Fate, and govern all below,
Behold, and aid a Cause so much your own.
To Slaves, to Subjects and to Priests give Patience,
But if it be within your Power to grant
Ought that is worthy of a Monarch's Prayer,
Give me Revenge, or I'll renounce thy Worship.
(Shouts.
Ha! whence those loud, those joyful Acclamations.

Ama.
But that it pleas'd my Lord to strike me dumb,
I had ere this inform'd him of the Cause.
Just Heav'n, at length indulgent to your Wishes,
Has blest you with the power to end our Woes,
Or wreck your Vengeance on the Man you hate.

Am.
Ha! what say'st thou? take heed thou triflest not:
A second Time thou'st rais'd my Expectation;
If thou deceiv'st it now, as at the first,
Death is the lightest Ill thou hast to fear:
But if, beyond my Hopes, thou tell'st me Truth,
Thou shalt no longer droop beneath our Frown,
(Your Service slighted, and your Love despis'd;)
Our former lavish Grant shall be renew'd,
And my Hellena, be thy rich Reward.

Ama.
(Kneeling)
Bounty immense! thus Let—

Am.
Rise, and proceed;
Make it appear that Vengeance may be had;
Let it be merely possible,—O Allah!
I ask no more,—and leave the rest to me.

Ama.
Ever Invincible, your'e not to learn
That Aranthes, Prince of Durazzo, who derives
His high Descent from Charlemain, that most
Illustrious Frank, Santon and King; has long
Approv'd himself aspiring Castriot's Friend,
And firm Ally. His Wisdom, Wealth and Power
May well indear him to that haughty Rebel;
But yet a Tie much stronger binds their Friendship:
The Fair Althea, Daughter to Aranthes,
Beholds the youthful Conqueror her Slave:
Nor are his ardent Vows prefer'd in vain;
With conscious Virtue, join'd with true Affection,
With Majesty and Mildness sweetly temper'd,
The charming Maid (for all who see her must
Confess her Charms,) returns his constant Flame.
This Friend and Mistress, the Partner and hoped
Reward of all his Toils, are in your Power.

Am.
Prophet, thou'rt just; where are his Conquests now?
Anguish has left my Soul to live in his.
Perhaps ere this the News has reach'd his Ears.
His promis'd Joys are come to swell my Heart;
I have 'em all, but doubled by his Pain.
Haste and inform us by what means, Amasie,
These precious Pledges came into our Hands.

Ama.
This Morning from Durrazzo they set forth,
Slightly attended for the Christian Camp,
Fearing no Danger; for they knew your Army
Had been for Months immur'd within these Plains;
The Neighb'ring Mountains being all possest
By their rebellious Minion's conquering Troops.
Of this inform'd, not daring to approach
Your sacred Presence, I inform'd your Son,
Your Empire's second Hope, the brave Prince Mahomet.
Strait with two thousand Horse guided by Me,
Who, as a Native here, best new the Route
The little Troop must take; he left the Trenchers:
The Foe was quickly found; tho' few in Number
They yet resisted long, and dearly sold
Their Liberty or Lives: Aranthes last
Yielded himself and Daughter to our Power.

(Shouts.
Enter Mahomet, Aranthes, Althea, Lords and Ladies in Chains.
Ma.
Long live great Amurath, my Royal Father;
O may his Days for Ages yet roll on,
And ev'ry Day encrease his Fame like this!

Am.
Rise to my Arms; thou bring'st me Life and Fame,
And what my Soul much more desir'd, Revenge.
When from the Womb they brought thee to these Arms,
The first dear Fruit of my Maria's Love
And Heir to all my Kingdoms; ev'n then
I claps'd thee with less Joy, than at this Moment.—
But let us view the Captives thou has brought.
Now by our Prophet's Head, a noble Troop;
A fairer Purchase never grac'd my Arms.
This must be Aranthes, and this his Daughter.
They seem to scorn their Fortune: Conscious Majesty
Frowns on his Brow, and Beauty smiles on hers.
Proud Christian, now where is your Propher's Power?

Ar.
Where it was ever, Sultan;—in himself.

Am.
If it be such as vainly you suppose,
Why art thou fallen thus beneath my Power?
Whose Eyes ne'er pitied, and whose Hand ne'er spar'd
The Follow'rs of his Sect.

Ar.
Presumptuous Man!
Shall finite Knowledge tax eternal Wisdom?
Or shameless Guilt dare, with invidious Eyes,
To search for Spots in Purity itself,
And call impartial Justice to Account?
Impious and vain! It is enough we know
Such is his Will, who orders all Things right,
To make ev'n these thy Chains, insulting King,
Easy to us; and well content we bear 'em.

Am.
Ill doth it suit with your reputed Wisdom
T'abet a rash rebellious Boy.

Ar.
Rebellious!
By the heroick Virtue of the Youth,
And more th'eternal Justice of our Cause,
I must retort the Charge. Since first the Angels
By their Ambition fell; the greatest Rebels,
The most accurs'd, perfidious and ungrateful,
Are those, who have abus'd the Sovereign Power.
Why shines the Sun, why do the Seasons change,
The teeming Earth lavish her yearly Store,
And all to bless the Sons of Men in vain?
O! is it not that Tyranny prevails
And the true End of Government is lost;
That those, who shou'd defend each in his Right,
Betray their Trust, and seize upon the Whole.
This, this is to rebel against that Power,
By which Kings reign, and turn the Arms of Heaven
Against itself. Then take the Rebel back,
A virtuous Prince, the Patron of Mankind,
With just Contempt may hear a lawless Tyrant
Arraign that Conduct, which condemns his own.

Am.
'Tis hard to say whether thy Insolence,
Who tho' in Chains, dar'st brave me to my Face,
Or the unprincely Meanness of thy Soul,
Who wou'd by Law restrain the Will of Kings,
Amaze me most. Let Scanderbeg and You,
Like Fools contend, and shed your Blood in vain,
While Subjects reap the Harvest of your Toil;
O'ercome, that you may live the Slave of Slaves;
I fight to reign, and conquer for myself.

Ar.
A gen'rous Slave wou'd scorn the abject Thought,
What shou'd a King do then?

Am.
Think like a King,
Whose Glory is his Power.

Ar.
Of doing Good.

Am.
Of doing what he will; the other's none.

Ar.
Has Heav'n no Power because it doth no Ill?

Am.
Were these the Thoughts of other Christian Princes,
Wou'd they stand neuter, and unmov'd behold
Th' Epirot and thyself sustain this War;
Nor lend you their Assistance?

Ar.
Foul Dishonour!
O everlasting Shame! Wou'd they unite,
Afflicted Europe wou'd no longer groan
Beneath your Yoke and mourn her Freedom lost:
Nor Verna's nor Basilia's fatal Fields
Smoke with the Blood of Christians unreveng'd:
But to the Scandal of our Holy Faith,
Some such there are, who owe their very Lives,
Their Peace and Safety to the Blood of others,
Yet think themselves born for themselves alone.

Am.
'Tis time to quit a Cause so ill supported;
And your Misfortunes may inform your Friend,
What sure Destruction waits the desp'rate Wretch,
That tempts his Wrath, who rules o'er half Mankind,
And strikes the rest with Terror at his Name.

Ar.
Cease thy vain Boasts, and by Example learn
The frail uncertain State of human Greatness.
Where are now th' Assyrians, where the Medes;
The Persians and their Conquerors, the Greeks;
Or the stupendous Power of ancient Rome?
Has not the Breath of Time blasted their Pride,
And laid their Glory waste?

Am.
I need not boast
T'assert my Power o'er thee. And yet perhaps
On Scanderbeg's Submission we may grant
Your Freedom, and vouchsafe to give him Peace.

Ar.
If by Submission vainly you design
Dishonourable Terms, a shameful Peace,
Give up such Thoughts; those his great Soul must scorn;
Nor wou'd we be redeem'd at such a Price:
Hope not to triumph over him in us.

Am.
Where is the Majesty that us'd to awe.
My trembling Slaves? Art thou in Love with Death?

Ar.
No; nor with Life, when purchased at th'Expence
Of others Happiness, or my own Honour.

Am.
Behold this Maid, this Comfort of thy Age.
I, as a Father, know what 'tis to love
A Child like this—I have been deem'd a Man,
A brave one too—The Fair, sacred to Peace,
Have never yet been number'd with my Foes:
But if presumptuously thou dost dispute
Thy own and Daughter's Ransom on my Terms;
Or teach thy Pupil to oppose my Will,
Renounce me, Heav'n, if like thy bloody Priests,
Those consecrated Murtherers of thy Sect,
I cast not off all Bowels of Compassion,
All Pity, all Remorse—Her tender Sex,
Her Youth, her blooming Beauty shall not save her.
Away; I'll hear no more. Prudence may yet
Instruct you to avoid th'impending Ruin.
Amasie, we commit him to your Charge.

Al.
O my Father! tho' torn from your Embraces,
Your Precepts, your Example shall be ever
Present with Althea; in Doubts my Guide,
In Troubles my Support.

Ar.
This wounds indeed.
'Tis hard to part and leave her thus expos'd;
But Heav'n must be obey'd. (Aside.)
Farewell my Child
Tho' Reason and Religion teach us Patience
Pain will be felt and Nature have her Course.

(Aside.
(Exit Aranthes.
Am.
Mourn not bright Maid; you can have nought to fear:
A Father and a Lover rule your Fate.

Al.
I see and scorn your Arts insidious King:
And for your Threats, pursue 'em when you dare;
Your Pride to see your Cruelty despis'd,
Shall give you greater Pain than you inflict,
And turn your Rage to Shame, O Prince belov'd!
O my affianc'd Lord! let not my Danger
One Moment stop the Progress of your Arms:
I have my Wish if dying I may share
In your Renown, and justify your Choice.

Am.
Osmin, attend the Lady to Hellena.

[Exit Amurath, &c.
Vis.
Fair Princess, you shall know no more Restraint
Than what is common to the Sex with us.

Al.
Lead me to instant Death, or let me groan
Whole Years in Chains—dispose me as you please—
Tho' my lov'd Sire and Lord no more I see,
You hope in vain to conquer them in me.