 | The Orphan of China |  |
SCENE VI.
Gengis, Octar.Gengis.
Could'st thou believe
That fate would lift me to this height of glory?
I trample on this throne, and here I reign,
Where late I scarcely durst uplift my eyes:
Here in this palace, this proud city, where
Mix'd with the vulgar crowd, and seeking refuge,
I underwent the scorn, which in distress
The stranger takes of th'haughty citizen.
A Scythian they disdain'd, with shame and outrage
Receiv'd my ill-form'd wishes. Nay, my Octar,
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Beneath whose pow'r now trembles all mankind.
Octar.
Why, now exalted to this height of glory,
When the whole world lays prostrate at your feet,
Comes o'er your memory this idle thought?
Gengis.
My soul, I do confess, was always hurt
With the affronts my humble fortune suffer'd.
I never knew but this one thought of anguish,
And here believ'd my soul would find repose.
But 'tis not in the splendor of my fortune,
The pleasure fame, or love, they say, bestows.
I feel an indignation, that's below me;
And yet methinks, I'd have her know her king,
Make her look up from baseness, to his glory,
Whose tenderness her folly turn'd to rage;
That when she sees the lot she might have shar'd,
Her fury and despair may give me vengeance.
Octar.
My ear, my Lord, has ever been accustom'd
To cries of fame and victory; of walls
O'erturn'd and smoaking at your feet: Of love
And all these tender tales I nothing know.
Gengis.
No, since the hour my soul was here subdued,
Since all my fierceness was so poorly conquer'd,
I guarded my firm heart from the return
Of that mean softness, which they here call Love.
You, Idamè, I own, within this breast
Mad'st an impression I ne'er knew till then.
In our rough females of the frozen North
There is no beauty that enchains the soul.
Those savage consorts of our hardy labours
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Bur here a new infection seiz'd my soul,
Darting from th'eyes of Idamè: Her words,
Her looks breath'd tenderness. Her scorn,
I thank it, nourish'd this my noble fury,
And her disdain releas'd me from her bonds.
This tyrant charm, this sov'reign of the heart
Would have destroy'd my honour. My whole soul
Is due to glory. I've subdued the world,
Instead of wasting in mean love my days.
No, this disgraceful wound, I once endur'd,
Shall ne'er re-enter this offended breast.
I banish the low thought: a woman rule me!
No, I'll forget her, will not see her, Octar.
Let her at leisure mourn her foolish scorn;
Enquire not of her, I forbid thy search.
Octar.
Here more important cares call out upon us.
Gengis.
Yes, I reflect too deeply on these errors.
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