University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Enter Othman and a Slave.
Othman.
A stranger, say'st thou, that inquires of Othman?

Slave.
He does; and waits Admittance.

Othman.
Did he tell
His Name and Quality?

Slave.
That, he declined:
But call'd himself thy Friend.

Othman.
Where didst thou see him?

Slave.
Ev'n now, while Twilight clos'd the Day, I spy'd him
Musing amid' the Ruins of yon Tow'r
That overhangs the Flood. On my Approach,
With Aspect stern, and Words of Import dark,
He question'd me of Othman. Then the Tear
Stole from his Eye. But when I talk'd of Pow'r
And courtly Honours here conferr'd on thee,
His Frown grew darker: All I wish'd, he cry'd,
Is to confer with him, and then to die.

Othman.
Enter Sadi.

Sadi.
Stand off—pollute me not.
These honest Arms, tho' worn with Want, disdain
Thy gorgeous Trappings, earn'd by foul Dishonour.

Othman.
Forbear thy rash Reproaches: for beneath
This Habit, which to thy mistaken Eye
Bespeaks my Guilt, I wear a Heart as true
As Sadi's to my King.

Sadi.
Why then beneath
This cursed Roof, this black Usurper's Palace,
Dar'st thou to draw infected Air, and live
The Slave of Insolence! Why lick the Dust
Beneath his Feet, who laid Algiers in Ruin?
But Age, which shou'd have taught thee honest Caution,
Has taught thee Treachery!

Othmam.
Mistaken Man!
Cou'd Passion prompt me to licentious Speech
Like thine—

Sadi.
Peace, false one! Peace! The Slave to Pow'r
Still wears a pliant Tongue.—O Shame to dwell
With Murder, Lust, and Rapine!—Did he not
Come from the Depths of Barca's Solitude,
With fair Pretence of Faith and firm Alliance?
Did not our grateful King, with open Arms,
Receive him as his Guest? O fatal Hour!
Did he not then with hot, adult'rous Eye,
Gaze on the Queen Zaphira? Yes, 'twas Lust,
Lust gave th'infernal Whisper to his Soul,
And bade him Murder, if he wou'd enjoy!
O, complicated Horrors! hell-born Treach'ry!
Then fell our Country, when good Selim dy'd!
Yet thou, pernicious Traitor, unabash'd
Can'st wear the Murd'rer's Badge.

Othman.
Yet hear me, Sadi—

Sadi.
What can Dishonour plead?

Othman.
Yet blame not Prudence.

Sadi.
Prudence! the stale Pretence of ev'ry Knave!
The Traitor's ready Mask!

Othman.
Yet still I love thee:
Yet unprovok'd by thy intemperate Zeal.
Bethink thee!—might I not insult thy Flight
With the Foul Names of Fear or Perfidy?
Didst thou not fly, when Barbarossa's Sword
Reek'd with the Blood of thy brave Countrymen?
What then did I?—Beneath this hated Roof,
In Pity to my widow'd Queen—

Sadi.
In Pity?

Othman.
Yes, Sadi: Heav'n is Witness, Pity sway'd me.

Sadi.
Words, Words! Dissimulation all, and Guilt!

Othman.
With honest Guile I did inroll my Name
In the black List of Barbarossa's Friends:
In hope, that some propitious Hour might rise,
When Heav'n would dash the Murd'rer from his Throne,
And give young Selim to his orphan'd People.

Sadi.
Indeed! can'st thou be true?

Othman.
By Heav'n, I am.

Sadi.
Why then dissemble thus?

Othman.
Have I not told thee?
I held it vain, to stem the Tyrant's Pow'r
By the weak Sallies of an ill-tim'd Rage.

Sadi.
Enough: I find thee honest: And with Pride
Will join thy Councils. This, my faithful Arm,
Wasted with Misery, shall gain new Nerves
For brave Resolves. Can aught, my Friend, be done?
Can aught be dar'd?

Othman.
We groan beneath the Scourge.
This very Morn, on false Pretence of Vengeance,
For the foul Murder of our honor'd King,
Five guiltless Wretches perish'd on the Rack.
Our long-lov'd Friends, and bravest Citizens,
Self-banish'd to the Desart, mourn in Exile:
While the fell Tyrant lords it o'er a Crew
Of abject Sycophants, the needy Tools
Of Pow'r usurp'd; and a degen'rate Train
Of Slaves in Arms.

Sadi.
O my devoted Country!—
But say, the widow'd Queen—my Heart bleeds for her.

Othman.
If Pain be Life, she lives: But in such Woe,
As Want and Slavery might view with Pity,
And bless their happier Lot! Hemm'd round by Terrors,
Within this cruel Palace, once the Seat
Of ev'ry Joy, thro' sev'n long tedious Years,
She weeps her murder'd Lord, her exil'd Son,
Her People fall'n: the Murd'rer of her Lord,
Returning now from Conquest o'er the Moors,
Tempts her to Marriage; spurr'd at once by Lust,
And black Ambition. But with noble Firmness,
Surpassing the female, she rejects his Vows,
Scorning the horrid Union. Meantime he,
With ceaseless Hate, pursues her exil'd Son;
And—Oh! detested Monster!

[He weeps.
Sadi.
Yet more Deeds
Of Cruelty! Just Heaven!

Othman.
His Rage pursues
The virtuous Youth, ev'n into foreign Climes.
Ere this, perhaps, he bleeds. A murd'ring Ruffian
Is sent to watch his Steps, and plunge the Dagger
Into his guiltless Breast.

Sadi.
Is this thy Faith!
Tamely to witness to such Deeds of Horror!
Give me thy Poignard; lead me to the Tyrant.
What tho' surrounding Guards—

Othman.
Repress thy Fury.
Thou wilt alarm the Palace, wilt involve
Thyself, thy Friend, in Ruin. Haste thee hence;
Haste to the Remnant of our loyal Friends,
And let maturer Councils rule thy Zeal.

Sadi.
Yet let us ne'er forget our Prince's Wrongs.
Remember, Othman, (and let Vengeance rise)
How in the Pangs of Death, and in his Gore
Welt'ring, we found our Prince! The deadly Dagger
Deep in his Heart was fix'd! His royal Blood,
The Life-blood of his People, o'er the Bath
Ran purple! O remember! and revenge!

Othman.
Doubt not my Zeal. But haste and seek our Friends.
Near to the western Port Almanzor dwells,
Yet unseduc'd by Barbarossa's Pow'r.
He will disclose to thee, if aught be heard
Of Selim's Safety, or (what more I dread)
Of Selim's Death. Thence best may our Resolves
Be drawn hereafter. But let Caution guide thee.
For in these Walks, where Tyranny and Guilt
Usurp the Throne, wakeful Suspicion dwells,
And squint-ey'd Jealousy, prone to pervert
Ev'n Looks and Smiles to Treason.

Sadi.
I obey thee.
Near to the western Port, thou say'st.

Othman.
Ev'n there.
Close by the blasted Palm-tree, where the Mosque
O'erlooks the City. Haste thee hence, my Friend.
I wou'd not have thee found within these Walls.
[Flourish.
And hark—these warlike Sounds proclaim th'Approach
Of the proud Barbarossa, with his Train.
Begone—

Sadi.
May dire Disease and Pestilence
Hang o'er his Steps!—Farewel—Remember, Othman,
Thy Queen's, thy Prince's, and thy Country's Wrongs.
[Exit Sadi.

Othman.
When I forget them, be Contempt my Lot!
Yet, for the Love I bear them, I must wrap
My deep Resentments in the specious Guise
Of Smiles, and fair Deportment.

Enter Barbarossa, Guards, &c.
Barbarossa.
Valiant Othman,
Are these vile Slaves impal'd?

Othman.
My Lord, they are.

Barbarossa.
Did not the Rack extort Confession from them?

Othman.
They dy'd obdurate: while the melting Crowd
Murmur'd out Pity for their Groans and Anguish.

Barbarossa.
Curse on their womanish Hearts! what, pity Slaves
Whom my supreme Decree condemn'd to Torture?
Are you not all my Slaves, to whom my Nod
Gives Life or Death?

Othman.
To doubt thy Will, is Treason.

Barbarossa.
I love thee, faithful Othman: But why sits
That Sadness on thy Brow? For oft' I find thee
Musing and sad; while Joy for my Return,
My Sword victorious, and the Moors o'erthrown,
Resounds thro' all my Palace.

Othman.
Mighty Warrior!
The Soul, intent on Offices of Love,
Will oft' neglect, or scorn the weaker Proof
Which Smiles or Speech can give.

Barbarossa.
Well: Be it so.
To guard Algiers from Anarchy's Misrule,
I sway the regal Scepter. Who deserves,
Shall meet Protection: And who merits not,
Shall meet my Wrath in Thunder.—But 'tis strange,
That when with open Arms, I wou'd receive
Young Selim; wou'd restore the Crown, which Death
Reft from his Father's Head.—He scorns my Bounty;
Shuns me with sullen and obdurate Hate,
And proudly kindles War in foreign Climes,
Against my Power, who sav'd his bleeding Country.

Othman.
'Tis strange indeed—

Enter Aladin.
Aladin.
Brave Prince, I bring thee Tydings
Of high Concernment to Algiers and Thee.
Young Selim is no more.

Othman.
Indeed!

Barbarossa.
Indeed!—why that Astonishment?
He was our bitterest Foe.

Othman.
So perish all
Thy causeless Enemies!

Barbarossa.
What says the Rumour?
How dy'd the Prince, and where?

Aladin.
The Rumour tells,
That flying to Oran, he there begg'd Succours
From Ferdinand of Spain, t'invade Algiers.

Barbarossa.
From Christian Dogs!

Othman.
How! league with Infidels!

Aladin.
And there held Council with the haughty Spaniard,
To conquer and dethrone thee: But in vain:
For in a dark Encounter with two Slaves,
Wherein the one fell by his dauntless Valour,
Selim at length was slain.

Barbarossa.
Ungrateful Boy!
Oft' have I courted him to meet my Kindness;
But still in vain: he shun'd me like a Pestilence:
Nor cou'd I e'er behold him, since the Down
Cover'd his manly Cheek.—How many Years
Number'd he?

Othman.
I think, scarce thirteen, when his Father dy'd,
And now, some twenty.

Barbarossa.
Othman, now for Proof
Of undissembled Service.—Well I know,
Thy long-experienc'd Faith hath plac'd thee high
In the Queen's Confidence: The Crown I wear
Yet totters on my Head, till Marriage-Rites
Have made her mine. Othman, she must be won.
Plead thou my Cause of Love: Bid her dry up
Her fruitless Tears: Paint forth her long Delays,
Wake all thy Eloquence: Make her but mine,
And such unsought Reward shall crown thy Zeal,
As shall out-soar thy Wishes.

Othman.
Mighty King,
Where Duty bids, I go.

Barbarossa.
Then haste thee, Othman,
Ere yet the Rumour of her Son's Decease
Hath reach'd her Ear; ere yet the mournful Tale
Hath whelm'd her in a new Abyss of Woe,
And quench'd all soft Affection, save for him.
Tell her, I come, borne on the Wings of Love!—
Haste—fly—I follow thee.
[Exit Othman.
Now Aladin.
Now Fortune bears us to the wish'd-for Port:
We ride secure, on her most prosp'rous Billow.
This was the Rock I dreaded. Dost not think
Th'Attempt was greatly daring?

Aladin.
Ay; and necessary.
What booted it, to cut the old Serpent off,
While the young Adder nested in his Place?

Barbarossa.
True: We have conquer'd now. Algiers is mine,
Without a Rival. Thus great Souls aspire;
And boldly snatch at Crowns, beyond the Reach
Of coward Conscience.—Yet I wonder much,
Omar returns not: Omar, whom I sent
On this high Trust. I fear, 'tis he hath fal'n.
Didst thou not say, two Slaves encounter'd Selim?

Aladin.
Ay, two: 'tis rumour'd so.

Barbarossa.
And that one fell?

Aladin.
Ev'n so: By Selim's Hand: while his Companion
Planted his happier Steel in Selim's Heart.

Barbarossa.
Omar, I fear, is fal'n. From my Right-Hand
I gave my Signet to the trusty Slave:
And bade him send it, as the certain Pledge
Of Selim's Death; if Sickness or Captivity,
Or wayward Fate, shou'd thwart his quick Return.

Aladin.
The Rumour yet is young; perhaps foreruns
The trusty Slave's Approach.

Barbarossa.
We'll wait th'Event.
Meantime give out, that now the widow'd Queen
Hath dry'd her Tears, prepar'd to crown my Love
By Marriage-Rites: Spread wide the flatt'ring Tale:
For if Persuasion win not her Consent,
Pow'r shall compel.

Aladin.
It is indeed a Thought,
Which Prudence whispers.

Barbarossa.
Enter Irene.

Irene.
Let not these Tears offend my Father's Eye:
They are the Tears of Pity. From the Queen
I come, thy Suppliant.

Barbarossa.
On some rude Request.
What wou'dst thou urge?

Irene.
Thy dread Return from War,
And proffer'd Love, have open'd ev'ry Wound
The soft and lenient Hand of Time had clos'd.
If ever gentle Pity touch'd thy Heart,
Now let it melt! Urge not thy harsh Command
To see her! Her distracted Soul is bent
To mourn in Solitude. She asks no more.

Barbarossa.
She mocks my Love. How many tedious Years
Have I endur'd her Coyness? Had not War,
And great Ambition, call'd me from Algiers,
Ere this, my Pow'r had reap'd what she denies.
But there's a Cause, which touches on my Peace,
And bids me brook no more her false Delays.

Irene.
O frown not thus! Sure, Pity ne'er deserv'd
A Parent's Frown! Then look more kindly on me.
Let thy consenting Pity mix with mine,
And heal the Woes of weeping Majesty!
Unhappy Queen!

Barbarossa.
What means that gushing Tear?

Irene.
Oh never shall Irene taste of Peace,
While poor Zaphira mourns!—

Barbarossa.
Is this my Child?
Perverse and stubborn!—As thou lov'st thy Peace,
Dry up thy Tears. What! damp the general Triumph,
That echoes through Algiers! which now shall pierce
The vaulted Heav'n, as soon as Fame shall spread
Young Selim's Death, my Empire's bitterest Foe.

Irene.
O generous Selim!

Barbarossa.
Ah! There's more in this!
Tell me, Irene: On thy Duty, tell me:
As thou dost wish, I wou'd not cast thee off,
With an incensed Father's Curses on thee,
Now tell me why, at this detested Name,
Afresh thy Sorrow streams?

Irene.
Yes, I will tell thee.
For he is gone! and dreads thy Hate no more!
My Father knows, that scarce five Moons are past,
Since the Moors seiz'd, and sold me at Oran,
A hopeless Captive in a foreign Clime!

Barbarossa.
Too well I know, and rue the fatal Day.
But what of this?

Irene.
Why shou'd I tell, what Horrors
Did then beset my Soul?—Oft' have I told thee,
How 'midst the Throng, a Youth appear'd: His Eye
Bright as the Morning Star!

Barbarossa.
And was it Selim?
Did he redeem thee?

Irene.
With unsparing Hand
He paid th'allotted Ransom: And o'erbade
Av'rice and Appetite. At his Feet I wept,
Dissolv'd in Tears of Gratitude and Joy,
But when I told my Quality and Birth,
He started at the Name of Barbarossa;
And thrice turn'd pale. Yet, with Recovery mild,
Go to Algiers, he cry'd; protect my Mother,
And be to Her, what Selim is to Thee.—
Ev'n such, my Father, was the gen'rous Youth,
Who, by the Hands of bloody, bloody Men,
Lies number'd with the dead.

Barbarossa.
Amazement chills me!
Was this thy unknown Friend, conceal'd from me?
False, faithless Child!

Irene.
Cou'd Gratitude do less!
He said thy Hate pursu'd him; thence conjur'd me,
Not to reveal his Name.

Barbarossa.
Thou treacherous Maid!
To stoop to Freedom from thy Father's Foe!

Irene.
Alas, my Father!
He never was thy Foe.

Barbarossa.
What!—plead for Selim!
Away. He merited the Death he found.
Oh Coward! Traitress to thy Father's Glory!
Thou shou'dst have liv'd a Slave,—been sold to Shame,
Been banish'd to the Depth of howling Desarts,
Been aught but what thou art, rather than blot
A Father's Honour, by a Deed so vile:—
Hence, from my Sight.—Hence, thou unthankful Child!
Beware thee! Shun the Queen: nor taint her Ear
With Selim's Fate. Yes, she shall crown my Love;
Or by our Prophet, she shall dread my Pow'r.
[Exit Barbarossa.

Irene.
Unhappy Queen!
To what new Scenes of Horror art thou doom'd!
O cruel Father! Hapless Child! whom Pity
Compels to call him cruel!—Gen'rous Selim!
Poor injur'd Queen! who but intreats to die
In her dear Father's Tents! Thither, good Queen,
My Care shall speed thee, while Suspicion sleeps.
What tho' my frowning Father pour his Rage
On my defenceless Head? Yet Innocence
Shall yield her firm Support; and conscious Virtue
Gild all my Days. Cou'd I but save Zaphira,
Let the Storm beat. I'll weep and pray, till she
And Heav'n forget, my Father e'er was cruel.