University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

The back Scene opens and discovers the Council sitting. Manuel, Theodore, Sophronius, Izrail, Leon, and other Officers in Council.
Man.
Indeed, the Progress of their Arms is wond'rous;
How has their hungry War devour'd our Land,
And, like the dreadful Rage of Pestilence,
Left a sad Track of Ruin in its Course?
Whole Provinces are bent beneath the Yoke,
And Syria's better Half is Ababeker's.

Soph.
Yet may we hope, my Chiefs, to save the other;
Our Men are high in Blood, and hot for Action;
Thanks to the Foe for this: Nay all Aleppo
Breathes one heroic Ardour; bending Age
Girds on his palsied Side the weighty Sword,
Brides chace their youthful Husbands from their Arms,
And Mothers trim their darling Sons to Battle.
O! for a Tempest's Blast to drive this Flame,
Till it consume yon Vermin Tribes, like Stubble!

The.
Well hast thou spoke, Sophronius: Wherefore then
Sit we thus idle and inactive here,
While Boys and Women chide our tardy Councils?
Who dreams again of Peace, I hold him Coward:
We'll plead once more our Cause in yonder Field,
And wear our Reasons on our Weapon's Points.
Up then, and let us issue to the Plain.

Man.
Why all this Blaze of Words? Are we not met
To lay the Plan of War, and well consult
How we may best annoy the haughty Foe?
Mean while I hold it meet to tell thee, Theodore,
It ill becomes the Man, that Yesterday
Lavish'd away so many Christian Lives
In his o'er-fev'rish Zeal, to dictate now
To Men of cooler Heads, and sounder Judgments.

The.
Hah! what did Manuel say?—By all—

Iz.
Nay hold;
For this may go too far.

Man.
Izrail, take Heed;
His Spleen may choke him else.

The.
Now in the Name
Of Honour, and of Arms, what means this Treatment?
Am I reproach'd because I would have led
Thy dastard Troops the nearest Way to Fame,
And taught them how to snatch a noble Conquest?
Glory's the Soldier's Mistress; to be woo'd,
Where Death has planted all his Terrours round her,
Or never to be won—Had thy Aleppians
Kept firm their Ranks, yon Camp had smoak'd to Heav'n—
But, Sir, they poorly shrunk before the Foe,
And let in Numbers like a Flood upon them—
I hate these puny, half-bred Sons of Mars,
That cooly stalk to fight on even Terms,
But bid them grapple with unequal Fortune,
They stand aloof, and snarl like Curs at Distance.

Man.
Mervan, thy Fears were just—I'll try him further.
[Aside.
Say'st thou, our Troops gave Way? I will presume
To think, they might dislike so blind a Leader:
So, Sir, retrench the License of thy Tongue;
Success had never justify'd an Action
That wanted the due Sanction of our Will.

Soph.
In what, my Leon, will this Discord end?

[Aside to Leon.
The.
And have I liv'd to this? To bandy Words,
To fight a bloodless Quarrel?—Patience, Heav'n!
Thy Will! Had I a Thought to waste on thee,
While I was busied on a bold Design,
Big as my Soul could grasp?—Was that a Time,
For Forms precise, or Speech quaint-worded thus,
Most worthy Sir, with your good Worship's Leave,
I'll cut yon Villain's Throat? A Soldier's Valour
O'erleaps the narrow Bounds of courtly Rules,
Fit for your supple, ceremonious Slave,
That dares not look askant but by Commission.

Man.
I'll not endure this Language—From this Day,
I warn thee, know me for Commander here.

Iz.
Yet be advis'd, good Theodore.

The.
Stand off—
Shall I be lesson'd by a Dotard thus,
Pride-bloated with the Pageantry of Pow'r?
Be thou Commander here, but not of me;
I have no Master but the good Heracleus.
Is not my Service free? What brought me hither?
Not thy Command, but glorious Thirst of Honour,
And Zeal high-beating in my Country's Cause.
I came thy Friend, not Vassal; and as such
Was first receiv'd by this ungrateful City:
Hast thou forgot, old Manuel, with what Shouts
Of gen'ral Joy, what thund'ring Peals of Transport,
Thy vile Aleppians welcom'd my Arrival,
And hail'd me like the Genius of the Land?

Man.
No more—I hold not Conf'rence with a Traitor—
Know henceforth I renounce thy vaunted Friendship,
And from this Moment ceases thy Command.
We want no Stranger, Sir, to fight our Battles:
My Son, the Charge of our Aleppian Troops
We do commit to thee; for thou hast won
The Soldiers Heart: They'll follow thee to conquest,
And full Success shall prove my Choice was just.

Soph.
Worse than my Fears [Aside]
. O! would my honour'd Father
Weigh but th'Importance of this Mighty Trust
With my green Years, and yet untaught—

Man.
Away;
Am I not Ruler here, at least of thee?
Let not Sophronius cross his Father's Purpose.

The.
'Tis wond'rous well—O ye immortal Spirits
Of my brave Ancestors, whose laurell'd Deeds
Have swell'd the golden Trumpet of loud Fame,
And rank'd you with the Cæsars of the World,
Was it for this I taught my Soul to pant
For high Renown, and burn with all your Fires,
To be supplanted by a silken Stripling,
A Boy, that trembles if his Finger bleeds?
O! Blot accurst upon the Name of Soldier.

Soph.
Sir, I well know your Merit, and admire it;
I own thee first in Arms, and shall be proud
To emulate thy Valour in the Fight.
Yet let not warlike Theodore esteem
My Virtue of so small, so mean a Size,
But I shall nobly labour to maintain
The Character I sought not for, and sweat,
Boy as I am, to reap my Share of Glory.

Man.
Spoke like the Son I love.

The.
It is enough:
Joy to the Gen'ral; to Aleppo Joy:
The giddy Crew will well approve this Change:
Perhaps the Saracens may thank you too:
That as it may; I leave you to your Fortune;
To-morrow's early Dawn shall light me home:
And mark me, Manuel, by my Wrongs, I swear,
Should this proud City (which methinks I see
Ready to take her fatal Turn of Ruin)
Hereafter court my Aid with Tears of Blood,
I'd give her up to her deserv'd Destruction.
And know, the Word of Theodore is Fate.
[Exit Theodore.

Man.
In what a Heat departs this noisy Chief?
I hope none present disapprove my Deed.

Iz.
You could no less—His Pride demanded it.

Man.

[Exeunt.