 | Zobeide |  |
44
ACT IV.
ATHAMAND, HASAN.ATHAMAND.
Talk not of dangers to a frantic mind—
HASAN.
You risque too much—
ATHAMAND.
What can I risque? my life!
What's life, alas! depriv'd of her I love?
My friends!—all men of fortitude and honour—
They'll instant rush on these intrepid warriors,
Give to the sword—
HASAN.
They'll perish at your will.
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Oh! no; they'll conquer for me.—Who comes here?
HASAN.
'Tis he—I know him well—the savage Scythian.
ATHAMAND.
Remote from me let all my guards retire,
Let none approach without express command,
But keep them ready to engage—Begone, I say.
[Exit Hasan.
Enter INDATER.
ATHAMAND.
Know'st thou in whose presence thou appearest?
INDATER.
'Tis said, a city owns in thee its master,
Which they call Ecbatan; from Taurus' mount
We view its haughty ramparts, rais'd by Cyrus:
'Tis said (but there I think report's too big)
That thou can'st raise as many splendid troops
As we can boast of peaceful citizens.
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'Tis true, I have beneath me troops invincible;
The meanest Persian in our awful ranks
Is richer, greater, more respectable,
Than any whom thou'st seen in these domains,
Where heaven levels all by indigence.
INDATER.
We envy none the glitt'ring toys of greatness;
Nature here lavishes her richest stores;
Earth grants us food; we drink th'unsullied spring;
Our caves yield shelter, and our rocks protection.
Daughter of heav'n, thou truly-rich Content!
Still show'r thy blessings, who possessest all;
No pow'r on earth can taste of bliss without thee.
ATHAMAND.
Thy heart then owns no interested views?
But glory sure—
INDATER.
My life to attain it!
ATHAMAND.
Be greatly daring then—Led on by us,
Glory shall spread her flatt'ring pinions round thee,
And fan the gales of godlike emulation.
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Can I descend to own thee for a master?
ATHAMAND.
'Tis glory sure to own a generous master,
Who sets the noblest price on noblest actions:
Beneath our arms, what might not be atchiev'd?
I've 'mong my warriors Scythians like to thee.
INDATER.
Thou hast none.—Know, that th'unworthy Scythians,
Who border on thy climes, are not like us;
Avarice has canker'd their imprison'd minds,
And lust of gold has blinded them to justice.
ATHAMAND.
Seek to advance thy countrymen to glory!
To shelter only suits the languid soul;
Here honour withers—justice ye have none—
Come on, with me learn justice, for thou need'st it.
INDATER.
Learn justice?
ATHAMAND.
Ay, justice, impious traitor!
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Render an honour'd subject to her monarch;
A good no mortal shall deprive me of,
And which, with justice, cannot be withheld.
Give up, this instant, Zobeide.
INDATER.
Hah! to thee!
To that high menace, and that haughty air!
She is thy subject!—dar'st thou then pretend,
That the unhappy race in Media born
Have not the common rights of human kind?
That man may be a slave in Media's realms
I well consent—in Scythia he is free.
From that blest moment Zobeide sought for shelter
On the bleak margin of these drear domains,
Liberty and peace, their sure associates,
Happy equality, all life's golden blessings,
Blessings, which Persia ravish'd from mankind,
Blessings, by others lost, by us redeem'd,
Were nature's claims, th'inheritance of Zobeide.
ATHAMAND.
The treasure I contend for is so great,
I would dispute my title with the world;
None but a king can hold the least pretence.
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Shall kings controul th'eternal rights of nature?
The free-born mind is royal of itself,
Nor asks vain glosses from exterior grandeur.
ATHAMAND.
Thou canst but have a feeble low idea
Of all the fury that inflames my soul;
I would forego a nempire to obtain her:
And canst thou think to treasure such a blessing?
The treasure's mine—renounce her, fell barbarian!
INDATER.
Imprudent stranger!—the fury of thy words
Excites my pity, more than my resentment;
Rude and untutor'd, new from nature's hand,
I simply spoke my love, and Zobeide chose me:
Fly from these blest abodes, thou feeble man!
Thy rank, thy fortunes, give thee no protection;
Offend not mortals ev'ry way thy equals;
Thou art no monarch here.
ATHAMAND.
That sacred character
Accompanies me throughout the universe;
If I but give the word, a warlike troop,
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But I descend to thee—cast off my dignity—
Enough, I am a man—this sword sufficeth
To bring again the wealth thou'st ravish'd from me.
INDATER.
Hah! have we not in peace receiv'd thee here?
Giv'n thee protection—our simplicity
Strictly observ'd the rites of hospitality;
And wouldst thou force me, on this sacred day,
To break down all, and stain me with thy blood?
ATHAMAND.
Seek not to justify a coward's fears,
Cowards are always talkative of reason;
Draw—or yield the bright reward—that honour
A monarch deigns to give thee.
INDATER.
'Tis too much:
Man cannot brook such wrongs.
ATHAMAND.
Retire this instant then—no more delay—
They may prevent us here.—Now, to decide:
Not Persia's fair dominion fires my soul,
I fight for more—much more—
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For Zobeide.
And, as my cause is just, avenge, ye Pow'rs!
[Exeunt.
Enter HERMODON, SEYFEL, SCYTHIANS.
HERMODON.
My son, my son—let my paternal care
Lead back thy wand'ring steps—all now expect thee:
The gentle Zobeide blames thy cold delay,
And chills the feast with tears—Ha!—is he fled?
Unlike himself he look'd—terror, methought,
Or rage sat trembling on his troubled brow.
SEYFEL.
I may conceive imaginary fears;
But, if my eyes by grief are not impair'd,
I saw the haughty Persian prince precede him.
HERMODON.
The Persian prince?—
Imagination teems with weightiest terrors;
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But Athamand—
SEYFEL.
Is daring e'en to madness.
HERMODON.
Let's follow close—ah! feebleness invades
My frozen soul—my senses, all dismay'd,
Betray my courage—I faint, my friend—I fall—
My son returns not yet—oh heavens! they fight—
Now, now he bleeds, perhaps—leave me this instant—
Assemble all our warriors to protect him!
SCYTHIAN.
Droop not, my friend—our troops stand all prepar'd.
I haste to lead them on—summon thy courage!
[Exit.
SEYFEL.
O call up awful virtue to thy succour!
HERMODON.
Yes, I'll support me, Seyfel; I revive,
I feel returning strength.
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ATHAMAND.
To arms, to arms!
My gen'rous friends—the times now call for valour—
But where to find her? follow me—come on—
HERMODON.
Barbarian!—monster!
ATHAMAND.
Stop not, but obey me;
Run, I say, fly, and my intrepid guards,
If any Scythians dare but to oppose,
Rush like a tempest through the savage throng,
Hew out a way, and snatch my fair from fate!
HERMODON.
Go, ravisher!—my son shall be reveng'd
On these foul insults thou hast dar'd to offer.
ATHAMAND.
Thy son? what, Indater? He dearly pays
For all th'afflictions he has brought on me;
Thy son hath merited to feel our vengeance:
Make close the passage there—
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Finish thy terrors—
Finish—is my son dead? ah! tell me not!
I know he is—I read it in thy looks.
Foul murderer! Ruffian! O my child, my child!
ATHAMAND.
In pity to his age, I'd spare his eyes
The mournful sight of his expiring son:
For thee, proud Seyfel, author of these ills!
Whose rigid purpose forc'd me to the combat,
For Zobeide's sake, I wish to spare thy life;
But stay no longer, bring her to my arms—
A king demands, a kingdom to requite thee.
[Exit Athamand.
SEYFEL.
Inhuman tyrant! Oh day of grief and horrors!
All my misfortunes now are fall'n on thee,
And crush thee to the grave—Look up, my friend,
Haste from this fatal place—speed thee to vengeance.
HERMODON.
O lead me, Seyfel, to my dying son,
That I may close his eyes, and rest beside him;
Then in one sepulchre enclose us both.
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I will not tamely fall—to guard my child
I'll let out all my blood—take courage—hark!
I hear some martial sounds—they'll nobly fight.—
HERMODON.
Our Scythians then are up—ye pitying pow'rs!
Avenge the suff'rings of an injur'd parent.
Enter ZOBEIDE in haste.
ZOBEIDE.
Ah! whither would you fly unarm'd?—The foes
Bear no respect to tears, to sex, or age;
Full streams of blood on all sides are dispers'd—
From the dread tumult of this murd'rous scene
I come t'augment the horrors—thy Son expires!
Here at your feet I fall—I am the cause,
The fatal cause of these unheard-of mis'ries;
O let your Scythians glut their rage on me;
I bleed a willing victim to your woes.
SEYFEL.
I sacrifice my age t'appease their vengeance,
And die, my child, to save thee.
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Why do we pause?
I will forget my years, my exhausted strength,
And die with glory as I've liv'd with honour.
SEYFEL.
More fatal news!
Enter SCYTHIAN.
SCYTHIAN.
The conquering monarch—
I scarce have breath to speak—precedes a troop,
A chosen band—
To bear off Zobeide to the Persian court—
He threatens vengeance on the wretched Seyfel.
SEYFEL.
And wilt thou go?
ZOBEIDE.
Think not so meanly of me;
Think not so lightly of your daughter's virtue;
Though Athamand has lov'd me e'en to madness,
I'll ne'er consent.—
No crown shall glitter to my dazzled sight,
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To wed the guilty prince who slew my husband.
Enter HASAN with Persians.
HASAN.
Persians, bind Seyfel instantly in chains;
We come to guard fair Zobeide to her throne.
ZOBEIDE.
Here will I rather die, than yield me up.
SEYFEL.
Tell your proud prince, the father and the child
Are both resolv'd—He cannot shake their virtue.
HASAN.
The fair one must be borne this instant hence,
The prince brooks no delay—if Hermodon
Too rashly daring to oppose his will—
HERMODON.
What would your prince? I've no more sons to lose—
I fear him not—the world, the All that is,
Is nothing now to me—
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Bind him, I say.
ZOBEIDE.
Thus, on my knees, ye pow'rs, devote I swear,
Never to take a murd'rer to my bosom!
The noble mind fixt on its own resolves
Meets death where'er it seeks it.
SEYFEL.
O let me take
A last farewel—Support yourself with firmness—
In other climes, where vice can ne'er intrude,
We'll meet again, my child, to part no more.
[Exeunt Persians with Seyfel.
ZOBEIDE.
My father! Oh! my father!—a moment stay.—
Enter SCYTHIANS.
SCYTHIAN.
At length we have prevail'd.
HERMODON.
Gods! I thank ye:
My son shall be reveng'd—Can this be true?
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Heav'n restores justice, and the Scythians conquer;
Half of the Persians now await their deaths,
The others are retiring to the woods.
HERMODON.
The murd'rer of my son—has he escap'd?
SCYTHIAN.
What the fierce Athamand?
Dispensing manfully his blows around him
Upon our stoutest chiefs—at length he fell:
All gash'd with wounds, raving on Zobeide still,
Daring in death, they drag him on in chains.
HERMODON.
Let us have full revenge—I will not stay—
We'll execute to th'rigour of our law,
Th'inviolable law, which rules our country.
ZOBEIDE.
What law?
SEYFEL.
See, see, they bring the haughty prince.
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ATHAMAND.
Scythians, I'm conquer'd, and I yield to fate;
But e'er you lead a monarch to a dungeon,
Let me behold the object of my love!
The rage of love has dragg'd me to my ruin:
Forgetting Glory, and the pride of empire,
I left a world to raise her to my throne.
O! cast one look of pity on your prince:
These wounds may claim one transient gleam of mercy,
One sympathizing—Ha! she melts in tears.
HERMODON.
Drag him this instant hence—We will have vengeance.
ATHAMAND.
Villains, stand off, give me a moment's pause,
For I will grasp her in these eager arms
'Till life expiring—
HERMODON.
All requests are vain.
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Hew, hack my flesh, ye slaves!—but Zobeide—
[Exit all but Zobeide.
ZOBEIDE.
Oh! insupportable—Confusion! tortures!—
The Gods had stor'd their vengeance to this hour,
And thus it bursts in cataracts upon me.
Can I forget my prince? But what was Indater?
Ah! what indeed?—the gentlest, best of men.
And what is Athamand?—Support me, Heav'n!
Or shield me from the horrors that surround me.
END OF THE FOURTH ACT.
| Zobeide | |