University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

MAHOMET and MIRVAN.
MAHOMET.
Wrong will be ever nurs'd and fed with Blood—
So! this Boy-bigot held his pious Purpose?

Mir.
Devoutly.

Mah.
What a reasonless Machine
Can Superstition make the Reas'ner Man!
Alcanor lies then on his Bed of Earth?

Mir.
This moment he expir'd, and Mecca's Youth
In vain lament their Chief. To the mad crowd
That gather'd round, good Ali, and myself,
(Full of thy dauntless heav'nly-seeming Spirit,)
Disclaim'd the Deed, and pointed out the Arm
Of righteous Heav'n, that strikes for Mahomet.—
“Think ye, we cried, (with Eyes and Hands uprear'd)
“Think ye our holy Prophet would consent
“To such a Crime, whose Foulness casts a Blot
“On Right of Nations, Nature, and our Faith?
“O rather think, he will revenge his Death,
“And root his Murd'rer from the burden'd Earth.”
Then struck our Breasts, and wept the good old Man,
And only wish'd, “He'd dy'd among the Faithful,
“And slept with Ibrahim.”

Mah.
Excellent Mirvan!

Mir.
We then both at large
Descanted on thy Clemency and Bounty.
On that, the silent and desponding Crowd
Broke out in Murmurs, Plaints, and last in Shouts,
And each Mechanick grew a Mussulman.

Mah.
O worthy to deceive, and awe the World,
Second to Mahomet! Let me embrace thee.—
But say, is not our Army at their Gates,
To back our Clemency?

Mir.
Omar commands
Their nightly March thro' unsuspected Paths,
And with the Morn appears.

Mah.
At sight of them,
The weak remaining Billows of this Storm
Will lash themselves to Peace.—But where is Zaphna?

Mir.
Safe in a Dungeon, where he dies apace,
Unconscious of his Fate; for well thou know'st,
Whilst at the Altar's Foot he slew his Sire,
In his own Veins he bore his Guilt's Reward.

Mah.
I would be kind, and let him die deceiv'd,
Nor know that Parent Blood defiles his Soul.

Mar.
He cannot know it: If the Grave be silent,
I'm sure Hercides is—

Mah.
Unhappy Zaphna!
Something like Pity checks me for thy Death.
But why—I must not think that way—shall Mahomet
Give a new Paradise to all Mankind,
And let Remorse and Conscience be the Hell
Of his own Breast! My Safety claim'd his Life,
And all the Heav'n of fair Palmira's Charms
Shall be my great Reward.

Mir.
My noble Lord,
Palmira is at Hand, and waits your Pleasure.

Mah.
At Hand! How, Mirvan, could'st thou let me talk
On Themes of Guilt when that pure Angel's near?

Mir.
The weeping Fair, led on by flatt'ring Hope
Of Zaphna's Life, attends your sacred Will.
A silent, pale Dejection shrowd's her Cheeks,
And, like the Lilly in a Morning Show'r,
She droops her Head, and locks up all her Sweets.

Mah.
But now, Mirvan,
Assemble all our Chiefs; and on this Platform
Let them attend me straight.

[Exit Mirvan.
Enter PALMIRA with Attendants.
Pal.
[Apart.]
Where have they led me?
Methinks, each Step I take, the mangled Corps
Of my dear Father, (by poor Zaphna mangled,)
Lies in my Way, and all I see is Blood—
[Starting.
'Tis the Impostor's Self—Burst, Heart, in Silence.

Mah.
Maid, lay aside this Dread. Palmira's Fate,
And that of Mecca, by my Will is fixt.
This great Event that fills thy Soul with Horror,
Is Mystery to all but Heav'n and Mahomet.

Pal.
[Apart.]
O ever-righteous Heav'n, can'st thou suffer
This sacrilegious Hypocrite, this Spoiler,
To steal thy Terrors, and blaspheme thy Name,
Nor doom him instant dead?

Mah.
Child of my Care,
At length from galling Chains I've set thee free,
And made thee triumph in a just Revenge:
Think then thou'rt dear to me; and Mahomet
Regards thee with a more than Father's Eye:
Then know, (if thou'lt deserve the mighty Boon)
An higher Name, a nobler Fate awaits thee.

Pal.
What wou'd the Tyrant?—

Mah.
Raise thy Thoughts to Glory,
And sweep this Zaphna from thy Memory,
With all that's past—Let that mean Flame expire,
Before the Blaze of Empire's radiant Sun.
Thy grateful Heart must answer to my Bounties,
Follow my Laws, and share in all my Conquests.

Pal.
What Laws! What Bounties! And what Conquests, Tyrant!
Fraud is thy Law, the Tomb thy only Bounty;
Thy Conquests fatal as infected Air,
Dispeopling half the Globe.—See here, good Heav'n,
The venerable Prophet I rever'd,
The King I serv'd, the God that I ador'd.

Mah.
[Approaching her.]
Whence this unwonted Language, this wild Phrenzy?

Pal.
Where is the Spirit of my martyr'd Father?
Where all the Odour of my Zaphna's Fame?
Where poor Palmira's Infant Innocence?
Blasted by thee, by thee, infernal Monster—
Thou found'st us Angels, and hast made us Fiends:
Give, give us back our Lives, our Fame, our Virtue,
Thou can'st not, Tyrant;—Yet thou seek'st my Love.
Seek'st with Alcanor's Blood his Daughter's Love.

Mah.
[Apart.]
Horror, and Death! The fatal Secret's known!

Enter MIRVAN.
Mir.
O Mahomet, all's lost! Thy Glory tarnish'd,
And the insatiate Tomb ripe to devour us.
Hercides' parting Breath divulg'd the Secret;
The Prison's forc'd, the City all in Arms.
See where they bear aloft their murder'd Chief,
Fell Zaphna in their Front: Death in his Looks,
Rage all his Strength. Spight of the deadly Draught
He holds in Life but to make sure of Vengeance.

Mah.
What dost thou here then? Instant with our Guards,
Attempt to stem their Progress, 'till th'Arrival
Of Omar with the Troops.

Mir.
I haste, my Lord.

[Exit Mirvan.
Pal.
Now, now thy Hour's at Hand.
Hear'st thou those Shouts, that rend the ambient Air?
Seest thou those glancing Fires, that add new Horrors
To the Night's Gloom? Fresh from thy murd'ring Poinard,
(For thine it was, tho' Zaphna gave the Blow,)
My Father's Spirit leads the vengeful Shades,
Of all the Wretches whom thy Sword has butcher'd.
I see them raise their unsubstantial Arms
To snatch me from thy Rage, or worse, thy Love.
Shadows shall conquer in Palmira's Cause.

Mah.
[Apart.]
What Terror's this that hangs upon her Accents?
I feel her Virtue, tho' I know her Weakness.

Pal.
Thou ask'st my Love! Go, seek it in the Grave
Of good Alcanor.—Talk'st of grateful Minds!
Bid Zaphna plead for thee, and I may hear thee.
Till then, thou art my Scorn.—May'st thou, like me,
Behold thy dearest Blood spilt at thy Feet.
Mecca, Medina, all our Asian World,
Join, join to drive th'Impostor from the Earth;
Blush at his Chains, and shake 'em off in Vengeance!
These are th'Endearments, these the cordial Vows
Palmira's grateful Heart returns to Mahomet.

Mah.
[Apart.]
Be still, my Soul, nor let a Woman's Rage
Ruffle thy wonted Calm.—Spite of thy Hate,
Thou'rt lovely still, and charming ev'n in Madness.

[A Shout, and Noise of Fighting.]
Pal.
[Apart.]
Roll, roll your Thunders, Heav'n, and aid the Storm!
Now hurl your Lightnings on the guilty Head,
And plead the Cause of injur'd Innocence!

Mah.
My Fair, retire, nor let thy gentle Soul
Shake with Alarms; thou'rt my peculiar Care.
I go to quell this trait'rous Insurrection,
And will attend thee straight.

Pal.
No Tyrant, no.
I'll join my Brother, help to head our Friends,
And urge 'em on—

[Exit Palmira.
Enter ALI.
Mah.
Whence, Ali, that Surprize!

Ali.
My Royal Chief,
The Foe prevails—Thy Troops, led on by Mirvan
Are all cut off, and valiant Mirvan's Self,
By Zaphna slain, lies weltring in his Blood.
The Guard that to our Arms should ope the Gates,
Struck with the common Phrenzy, vow thy Ruin;
And Death, and Vengeance, is the general Cry.

Mah.
Can Ali fear? Then Mahomet be thy Self.

Ali.
See, thy few Friends whom wild Despair hath arm'd,
(But arm'd in vain,) are come to die beside thee.

Mah.
Ye heartless Traitors! Mahomet alone
Shall be his own Defender, and your Guard,
Against the Crowds of Mecca.—Follow me.

Enter ZAPHNA, PALMIRA, and PHARON, with Citizens, and the Body of Alcanor on a Bier.
Mah.
Hah!

Zaph.
See, my Friends, where the Impostor stands
With Head erect, as if he knew not Guilt;
As if no Tongue spake from Alcanor's Wound,
Nor call'd for Vengeance on him.

Mah.
Impious Man!
Is't not enough to've spilt thy Parent-Blood?
But with attrocious and blaspheming Lips,
Dar'st thou arraign the Substitute of Heav'n!

Zaph.
The Substitute of Heav'n! So is the Sword,
The Pestilence, the Famine; such art thou.
Such are the Blessings Heav'n has sent to Man
By thee its Delegate: Nay more to me.
O he took Pains, Palmira, upon us,
Religion'd us into such monstrous Crimes
As Nature sicken'd at Conception of—
How could'st thou damn us thus?

Mah.
Babler avaunt!

Zaph.
Well thou upbraid'st me, for to parley with thee
Half brands me Coward. O revenge me, Friends,
Revenge Alcanor's Massacre: Revenge
Palmira's Wrongs, and crush the rancorous Monster.

Mah.
Hear me, ye Slaves, born to obey my Will.

Pal.
Ah! hear him not; Fraud dwells upon his Tongue.

Zaph.
Have at thee, Fiend.—Hah! Heav'n,
[Zaphna advancing reels, and reclines on his Sword.
What Cloud is this
That thwarts upon my Sight; my Head grows dizzy,
My Joints unloose, sure 'tis the Stroke of Fate.

Mah.
[Aside.]
The Poison works:—Then triumph Mahomet!

Zaph.
Off, off base Lethargy.

Pal.
Brother, dismay'd!
Hast thou no Pow'r, but in a guilty Cause,
And only Strength to be a Parricide?

Zaph.
Spare that Reproach—Come on—It will not be.
[Hangs down his Sword and reclines on Pharon.
Some cruel Pow'r unnerves my willing Arm,
Blasts my Resolves, and weighs me down to Earth.

Mah.
Such be the Fate of all who brave our Law.
Nature and Death have heard my Voice, and now
Let Heav'n be judge 'twixt Zaphna and my self,
And instant blast the guilty of the Two.

Pha.
Zaphna revive—What means this gen'ral Terror?
They stand aghast, and tremble at his Voice!

Pal.
Brother! O Zaphna!

Zaph.
Zaphna now no more.
[Sinking down by Alcanor's Body and leaning on the Bier, Pharon kneeling down with him and supporting him.
Down, down, good Pharon—Thou poor injur'd Coarse
May I embrace thee? Won't thy pallid Wound
Purple anew at the unnatural Touch,
And ooze fresh Calls for Vengeance?

Pal.
O my Brother!

Zaph.
In vain's the guiltless meaning of my Heart:
High Heav'n detests th'involuntary Crime,
And dooms for Parricide—Then tremble Tyrant.
If the Supreme can punish Error thus,
What new invented Tortures must await
Thy Soul, grown leprous with such foul Offences,
As might make dim the very Eye of Day.
But soft—Now Fate and Nature are at Strife.—
Sister, farewel; with Transport should I quit
This toilsome, perilous, delusive Stage,
But that I leave thee on't; leave thee, Palmira,
Expos'd to what is worse than Fear can Image,
That bad Man's Mercy. But I know thee brave,
Know that thou'lt act a Part—look on her Heav'n,
Guide her, and—oh!

[Dies.
Pal.
Think not, ye Men of Mecca,
This Death inflicted by the Hand of Heav'n,
'Tis he—That Viper.—

Mah.
Know, ye faithless Wretches,
'Tis mine to deal the Bolts of angry Heav'n:
Behold them there, and let the Wretch who doubts,
Tremble at Zaphna's Fate, and know that Mohomet
Can read his Thoughts, and doom him with a Look.
Go then, and thank your Pontiff and your Prince
For each Day's Sun he grants you to behold.
Hence, to your Temples, and appease my Rage.

[The People go off.
Pal.
Ah! stay, my Brother's murder'd by this Tyrant,
By Poison, not by Piety, he kills.

Mah.
'Tis done—Thus ever be our Law receiv'd!
[Apart.
Now fair Palmira—

Pal.
Monster, is it thus
Thou mak'st thy self a God by added Crimes,
And Murder's justify'd by Sacrilege?

Mah.
Think, exquisite Palmira, for thy Sake—

Pal.
Thou'st been the Murderer of all my Race.
See, where Alcanor, see where Zaphna lies:
Do they not call for me too at thy Hands?
O that they did!—But I can read thy Thoughts;
Palmira's sav'd for something worse than Death,
That Modesty denies her Tongue to utter.
This to prevent—Zaphna, I follow thee.

[Stabs herself with Zaphna's Sword.
Mah.
Slaves, seize her desp'rate Hand.

Pal.
Thou striv'st in vain,
[Reclining on her Attendants, and then laying herself against the side of the Bier, opposite to Zaphna.
To hold a Soul resolv'd.—O, Zaphna, Brother,
We burnt not with so criminal a Flame,
As does that Tyrant.—When the Heart is pure,
Small is the Difference, easy is the Change,
A Lover's Passion for a Sister's Fondness.

Mah.
What hast thou done?

Pal.
A Deed of Glory, Tyrant!
Thou'st left no Object worth Palmira's Eye;
And when I shut out Light I shut out thee.—

[Dies.
Mah.
Farewel, dear Victim of my boundless Passion!
The Price of Treachery, the Reward of Murder,
Crown of my Hopes, and Fruit of all my Crimes
Sink with thee to the Earth.—O Justice! Justice!
In vain are Glory, Worship, and Dominion!
All Conqueror as I am, I am a Slave,
And, by the World ador'd, dwell with the Damn'd.
My Crimes have planted Scorpions in my Breast—
There is Remorse! Is Conscience then! O Furies!
Here, here I feel ye. 'Tis in vain to brave
The Host of Terrors that invade my Soul;
I might deceive the World, my self I cannot.

Ali.
Be calm awhile, my Lord, think what you are.

Mah.
Hah! What I am! [Turning to the Bodies.
Ye breathless Family!
Let your loud-crying Wounds say what I am.
O snatch me from that Sight; quick, quick transport me
To Nature's loneliest Mansion, where the Sun
Ne'er enter'd, where the Sound of Human Tread
Was never heard—But wherefore? Still I there,
There still shall find my self—Ay, that's the Hell!
I'll none on't.—

[Drawing his Sword.
Ali.
Heav'ns! help hold him!

[Ali, &c. disarm him.
Mah.
Paltry Dastards!
You fled the Foe, but can disarm your Master.
Angel of Death, whose Pow'r I've long proclaim'd,
Now aid me if thou can'st; now if thou can'st,
Draw the kind Curtain of eternal Night,
And shroud me from the Horrors that beset me.
O what a Curse is Life, when Self-Conviction
Flings our Offences hourly in our Face,
And turns Existence Torturer to itself.