University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

SCENE a magnificent Apartment in the Governour's Palace. Manuel, Sophronius, Izrail, Leon, and others sitting at a Table, with Wine, &c.
Manuel.
Once more Prosperity to our Aleppo,
And Thanks to my Sophronius— [Drinks.]
Izrail, say
Where points the Hour of Night?

Iz.
In Truth, my Lord,
I doubt we borrow of the Morning now.

Man.
Here then break up our Feast—Shew we our Joy,
Like Christian Soldiers, and not Revellers;
A Health to all our Friends, and then good Night.

Iz.
Health and sweet Slumbers to the Governour.
[Drinks.
A great Cry within.
Help, fly, O Mercy, Quarter, spare us, Mercy!

Soph.
What means that dreadful Cry? I fear some Treach'ry.

Enter an Officer hastily.
Offi.
O we are lost, betray'd, undone; the Saracens
Are in the Streets, and furious Theodore
Is at their Head, dealing Destruction round—
The Centinels are slain, the Armory
Is seiz'd by the vile Syrians—Hark, I hear
The Thunder of the Tempest drive this Way.

[The Cry is heard again as nearer.
Soph.
This was thy fatal Mystery, Ormelia.

[Aside.
Enter another Officer.
Off.
Fly, my Lord, fly—the Palace Gates are forc'd—
Othman and Theodore come storming on—
I saw him drive his Sword in Mervan's Breast—
Hah! they are here—

Man.
I'll not survive this Hour—
Come let us fall like Men—

Enter Theodore, Othman, and others, with Swords drawn—They fight—Theodore wounds Manuel; Leon interposes;—then Sophronius speaks.
Soph.
Hold, Friends; 'tis Madness—
Ye Saracens forbear—the City's yours—
[They give up their Swords.
We fight not against Providence—but, Othman,
O let not loose the horrid Rage of War
Upon the Citizens; spare their Distress,
And save thy own Renown.

The.
Hah! who art thou
That would'st command here still?

Oth.
Nay, Theodore,
But hear a noble Foe.—We have already
Mark'd well our Way with Blood—Go, Omar, bid
The Hand of Slaughter and of Pillage cease
Upon Submission— [Exit an Officer]
Christians, you may note,
How Heav'n confirms the Cause of Mahomet,
And owns us as He did his once-lov'd People,
When Canaan's warlike Nations sunk before them.
See then, and be converted—or hereafter
Pay annual Tribute to my Lord the Caliph—
I leave you to resolve your speedy Choice,
And for the rest, Romanus will inform you.
[Exit Othman.

Soph.
We have not much to learn. Alass! my Father,
You bleed—Help here, my Friends—

[They place him in a Chair.
Man.
No Help—I've seen
Aleppo lost, and would not be immortal:
Why should an old Man live? You whose Veins bound
With youthful Blood, live to revenge your Country:
I would escape from Life, and that black Traitor—

The.
Wouldst thou upbraid me, Villain, with a Deed
That thy own Baseness caus'd?

Man.
Pr'ythee away,
And let me die in Peace.

The.
Die, and thy Malice
Sink thee to lasting Pain—Where's my Romanus?
[Exit Theodore.

Man.
Come near me, Friends; I have few Words to speak;
Sophronius, thou art Heir to all my Fortunes;
But 'tis my Pride to leave thee rich in Virtue—
See thou protect my Friends—would I could say
My other Children—I have wrong'd thee, Leon—
Thy honest Zeal did interpose to save me,
Ev'n when I had no Daughter to reward thee—
Canst thou forgive my Frowardness?

Leon.
I do—
Oh! if—Hah! who comes here? Ye Pow'rs above!
It is Eusebia's Self—

Enter Eusebia attended: She runs to her Father and kneels: Both silent some Time.
Man.
My Child—

Eus.
My Father—
Your Pardon and your Blessing e're you die—

Man.
Thou hast a Right to both—alas! my Daughter,
I thought thee shut within the Convent's Walls.

Eus.
O! Sir, forgive a Fraud which Love inspir'd:
Beneath the Shelter of a friendly Roof
Till now I have conceal'd me, fondly hoping
That such suppos'd Retirement from the World,
While it might testify my Leon's Truth,
Would melt at length a Father's Heart to Pity.

Man.
It has, it has—and this unhop'd Return
Darts Gleams of Comfort on my parting Hour—
Take my best Blessing to thee—take thy Leon—
Thy dying Father's most acknowleg'd Friend—
Sophronius, see thy Brother and thy Sister—

Soph.
Both Sharers of my Heart, and my Inheritance.

Man.
Enough—The Shades of Night hang o'er my Brow.
Bury my Frailties with me; O, my Friends,
Yet while you may, defend our holy Faith;
There is much Christian Ground unconquer'd still—
Yield not a Jot to Mahomet—remember,
'Tis glorious to assert the Cause of Truth
In unbelieving Times—Farewel, my Friends,
Farewel, my Children; and oh!—

[Dies.
Soph.
Worthy Departure of a Patriot Soul:
Sister, the tender Tribute of thine Eye
Is justly paid—for us, my Brother Leon,
(How sweetens that soft Name the Cup of Sorrow?)
Our Rev'rence for dead Manuel's Memory
Prove we another Way; by Deeds, not Tears—
Remove the Body—See it laid, Eusebia,
In decent State, not Pageantry of Pomp—
So shone my Father's Virtues—
Izrail, stay;
[Ex. with the Body, Eus. Leon, &c.
Some unknown Motive may have urg'd this Treason—
I would learn all—See! Theodore returns—
Enter Theodore.
Sir, I well know thy Name renown'd in Arms—
But do not number this among your Triumphs—

The.
It is not Triumph, Boy! 'tis Something more;
'Tis Something that methinks I would not change
For the wide Fame of Cæsar—It is Justice!
The Satisfaction of a great Revenge!
The Transport of a mighty Soul, inflam'd
By basest Wrongs, and pleas'd with public Ruin!

Soph.
I thought a Soldier never would have talk'd thus;
A Christian ought not.

The.
Tell not not me of Rules;—
Souls of æthereal Temper are not held
In vulgar Circumscription; they start wide
From Duty's Path by innate, fiery Impulse,
Which gracious Heav'n signs Dispensation to—
Yet think not I have done this Deed To-night,
Provok'd by mere Resentment of Ambition,
Though my great Heart but ill digests Dishonour:
There is a Cause behind thou know'st not of,
A Cause might force the saint-like Eye of Meekness
To sparkle with the angry Dragon's Beam.

Soph.
What may this mean? Do we not all well know
The Weight, and utmost Reach of thy Complaints?

The.
No, Stripling, no—Hark you—I'll tell you News—
Your Father Manuel was a bloody Villain—

Soph.
Thou liest—I am unarm'd—or by my Hopes—

The.
He meant this Night to murder me in Bed.

Soph.
It is impossible!—I had his Order
This Day to bring you Terms of Reconcilement—

The.
Curse the Hypocrisy—Here comes the Man,
My Friend, my Son, that was to do the Deed—
Enter Romanus drest as a Bridegroom.
Come to my Arms— [embracing Romanus.]
Is that a Murd'rers Face?
Fool! to suspect Romanus for a Villain—

Soph.
How's this? Your Friend, and Son! If this could be—
And yet it could not be—

The.
See, and be dumb:
See an authentic Proof of barb'rous Trust—
[Shewing the Signet.
If this be Manuel's Signet, so—if not,
Let the Arch-Devil come from Hell, and own it.

Soph.
Amazement! Izrail, know'st thou aught of this?

Iz.
No, as my Soul shall prosper—

Rom.
Come, my Lords,
I'll end this Strife at once—

The.
Do, good Romanus.

Rom.
First, as the Prologue to my Tale, know all—
I own the sacred Law of Mahomet.

The.
Hah! Slave, what hast thou said? revoke thy Words—

Rom.
Nay but revoke thy Words, proud Theodore;
I was your Slave, the Spaniel of your Humour;
But my great Soul, superiour to its Bondage,
At length, has shook the vile Dependance off,
And now I'm Lord of thee, and of Aleppo.

The.
Damnation! thou art mad.

Rom.
Or you shall be—
You will not hear me then?

The.
Ay, I will hear thee—
I'll know this Fate, though ev'ry Word thou utter'st
Bites like the Viper's Fang.

Rom.
Attend, and tremble.
What Time I was a Pris'ner in yon Camp,
I left your barren, Christian Law, to thrive
In the rich Harvest of a growing Faith—
And made the League with Othman, which this Night
Has seen fulfill'd—I saw thy fiery Nature
Had shap'd thee a fit Tool for my Design—
The slighted Mervan, whom my frequent Vows
Of equal Hate to thee had made my own,
By my Direction poison'd Manuel's Ear
With groundless, brain-forg'd Tales, that wak'd his Spleen,
And blew the fatal Flame of Strife between you.

The.
Oh!

Rom.
This Attempt, failing of wish'd Success,
I practis'd yet again on hollow Mervan,
Who, fool'd by me, believ'd your desp'rate Rage
Meant to betray Aleppo to the Foe;
But as I had not seeming Proof enough
To bring a public Charge of such vile Treason,
I undertook this Night to spill your Blood—
Lord Manuel's Signet (for I feign'd the Deed
Ev'n in the Act lay level to Discov'ry)
Was in such Case to screen the Blow from Question—
So, Sirs, you have a Key to all my Counsel—
Why raves my noble Lord?—I sav'd your Life—

The.
Monster, thou liest—thou well didst know my Life
Was wrapt up in my Fame—That thou hast stab'd;
And Murder, when compar'd with Guilt like thine,
Smiles like a soft-ey'd Cherub—Oh! Sophronius!

[Leans upon Sophronius.
Rom.
You paid my Service with your haughty Daughter;
Who, well assur'd of my transcendent Merit,
Gave me her Hand this Night—that once obtain'd—
Sighs and Entreaties, raptur'd Vows and Oaths,
And the fond Pleadings of a Husband's Right,
Have gain'd me since the sweet Revenge I wish'd for—
Now tir'd of Love, and all its vain Delights,
Gladly I quit the galling Noose of Wedlock—
Thou, or Sophronius take her—

Soph.
Matchless Villain!

The.
Hah! 'twas well thought. [Aside.]
Romanus, the Account
'Twixt me and thee is yet unsettled—thus
[Pulls a Dagger from his Breast, and stabs Rom.
With willing Hand I pay thee all thy Due.

Rom.
Death, Hell, and black Perdition! I am slain.

[Dies.
The.
Fiends seize thy Soul—Come give me Joy, Sophronius;
For I have done one righteous Act To-day—
I thought to stain this Blade with Manuel's Blood—
Now let his Spirit smile upon the Stroke—
Heav'n marks it in the Record of my Works:—
But see where Murder, Treason, Sacrilege,
Are wrote in Leaves of adamant against it—
You stand amaz'd—but wherefore?—Is a Villain
A Sight so rare?—O from this Day, the wicked,
The Outcasts of fair Grace shall bless themselves,
And quote my Deed with the pert Pride of Censure.
If there be Ease in Madness—

Soph.
Come, reflect—

The.
Reflect! on what? eternal Loss of Honour?
The flaming Mouth of Hell that yawns before me,
Yields me a brighter Prospect—All my Thought
Is steady, fixt, immoveable Despair.
Who never hopes can never be deceiv'd—
But Bus'ness must be done—Your Pardon, Sirs—
This is no Place for Traitors—give me Room there.
[Exit Theodore.

Soph.
What strong Commotion shakes him? Woful Day!
Alas! how brittle is the stablest Structure
That human Policy, or Prowess raises!
One Villain's Breath dissolves it—Hah! Ormelia—
She bends this Way—Izrail, I pray retire—
[Exit Izrail.
Fortune diversifies the Scene of Horrour.

Enter Ormelia: Seeing the Body of Romanus she starts.
Orm.
Angels defend me with your golden Wings
From this heart-striking Sight!—My Lord! My Husband!
Will not the lov'd Ormelia's Voice awake thee?—
Nay then thy gallant Soul has burst her Clay,
And I am left to endless Desolation
A wretched, widow'd Bride—What barb'rous Hand
Could thus—but I may spare my Tongue the Question.

Soph.
Unhappy Fair! thou seest I have no Weapon;
My Hand, my very Soul is now disarm'd—
Didst thou know all—

Orm.
Know what? Equivocator!
Thou Thorn, for ever rankling in my Peace!
Thou hadst a Weapon when thou didst the Deed;
And let me tell you, Sir, it was a Feat
Worthy Aleppo's Gen'ral.

Soph.
O Ormelia,
My Heart weeps for thee—Soon, believe me, soon
These high-ton'd Strains shall sink to Notes of Woe,
Or float upon the wildest Sounds of Rage.

Orm.
Behold a Cause for endless Rage, thou base one—
Didst thou not mark the Pang that wrung my Soul,
When I left thee for him, only for him
That now lies blood-steep'd there?—Thou knew'st me his
By ev'ry sacred Tie—yet him thy Hand
Has poorly slain—not so he treated thee—
The partial Tongue of most enamour'd Fondness,
Could scarce have drest its chosen Idol up
In Terms of fairer Hue, than those To-night
He deck'd your Name withal—

Soph.
I slew him not—
Or if I had—alas! thou injur'd Maid—

Orm.
Dissembler, cease—I know your specious Plea
Of Love for your dear City justly lost;
With this you mean to gloss a horrid Act,
Which gratified the Rancour of thy Soul,
And proves thee true-born Son of murd'rous Manuel.

Soph.
O vain Reproach! Know, Madam, I would boast
The Virtues, not the Greatness of my Race,
And wish to prove myself the Son of Manuel,
To make his Loss more light.

Orm.
What! is he fall'n?
Thanks to the righteous Vengeance that destroy'd him.

Soph.
It was thy Father's Vengeance—but if righteous,
All moral Difference of Good and Ill
Is the Delirium of a sickly Dream—
Oh! you're undone—How wilt thou start to find
Romanus fell by Theodore's own Hand,
The Friend avow'd of Mahomet, the Foe
Of Theodore, of Manuel, thee, and all!
Canst thou not read my Heart?—Dost thou not see
Softest Compassion melt upon my Brow,
And Agony distend my tott'ring Frame?
Oh! poor Ormelia!

Orm.
Madness and Illusion!
Must I not trust my Sense? Hah! who art thou,
Enter an Officer hastily.
That with such ghastly Aspect wouldst deliver
Some dreadful Tale?

Offi.
It most concerns you, Lady—
As I past by yon Chamber, I descry'd
Lord Theodore in most distemper'd Motion;
He travers'd wildly o'er the Room, like one
Whose fav'rite Scheme Somewhat unlook'd for marrs;
Now sudden he stopt short, and, sitting down,
Fast rivetted his Eye unto the Floor;
Then started up, and smote upon his Bosom;
Then spread his Arms to Heav'n, and with his Foot
Stampt hard, as tho' he meant to shake the Roof;
At length, with a deep Groan, that would have melted
The Soul of Cruelty to baby Mildness,
Hasty he drew a Dagger from his Bosom,
And plung'd it in his Side.

Orm.
Death and Destruction!—

Offi.
Amaz'd I call'd for Help, and forc'd the Door—
The Servants rais'd him up; they bring him hither—
For here he learnt you was—Lo! where they come.

[Theodore brought in in a Chair, with Officers, Servants, &c.
Orm.
Ye Moralists! O teach me Patience now!

The.
Ormelia!—art thou here? Draw near, my Child;—
Thy Tenderness shall chear my latest Moments,
And light me through the darksome Gate of Death.

Orm.
Help; bind his Wounds—

The.
Hold off: Did Manuel die
Because he'd not survive his Country's Ruin,
And should the Villain live that has betray'd her?
Live, like a wounded Beast, to drag about
A wretched Being with a broken Heart?
What! live to be a Mark of public Scoff
For Holiday Mechanics?—Welcome, Death!
Thou art at least a Change of Misery,
And I would fly to other Ills for Shelter.

Orm.
What does my trembling Heart forebode?—Sophronius
Has told me—

The.
Nought but Truth.

Orm.
There lies my Husband—

The.
Slain by this Hand, a Villain and Impostor.
The blackest Guile that Treachery e're wore
Were snow-white Innocence and Truth to his:
Soon thou'lt know all—We've been abus'd, my Daughter.

Orm.
Abus'd—how my Brain turns—Who has abus'd us?
Not he—why, he was Honesty—I knew him.

The.
Strengthen her tender Frame, all gracious Heav'n!
And for the Woes thy Justice heaps on me,
O doubly, doubly bless my dearest Child.

Orm.
How heartily he prays—Come let's pray all—
O hear me, hear me—do not die, my Father!

[Kneels down by her Father.
The.
Unhappy Girl!—I did not know till now
The Bitterness of Death—I must leave thee—
Ev'n when thou want'st a Friend, and Father most.
Behold the Woman you once lov'd, Sophronius;
O had—it cuts me there—wilt thou forgive me,
And shield my Name from popular Reproach?
Thine Eye sheds friendly Grief—I thank thy Goodness—
Now it grows dark—pray for my flitting Soul—
Take my last Look, Ormelia—Bless her, oh!—

[Dies.
Orm.
Let him alone—he will be up To-morrow—
And drive the Saracens like Chaff before him—
Soft, place him easy—his Brain ach'd last Night—
I'll make a Pillow of the Peach's Down
To rest his Cheek upon—We'll deck him fine—
Come, stick his Couch with shining Pearls, fresh cull'd
From the gay Morning's Dew—So—that's well done—
Now lay him, like a mighty Emperour,
Beneath the painted Rainbow's sumptuous Arch—
He sleeps most soundly—well—good Night, my Jewel.—
And now I'll to my Love—Hah! hah!

Soph.
Ye Pow'rs,
Heal her disorder'd Mind!

Orm.
Hah! who goes there?
Fellow, stand off—It is my Love—I know him;
If I can catch him, I shall cleave for ever;
[She lays hold on Sophronius.
Hot Pincers shall not part us—Heav'n and Earth!
My Husband's come—off, vile Adulterer!
[Pushing Sophronius from her.
Oh! he has two red Firebrands in his Eyes,
And a long Whip of Scorpions in his Hand.
Forgive me, nay I did but snatch one Kiss—
I'll wear my Knees out on the rugged Flint—

Soph.
Most pitiable Sight.

Orm.
Oh! he is gone—
Why Weeps my Love?—Hah! there he is again;
Give me my Wings—O hide me, hide me from him.

[Exit raving.
Soph.
Attend her, Sirs, and bear her gently home—
[Exeunt some, manet the rest.
Alas! my Presence would inflame her more—
To what am I reserv'd? All-righteous Heav'n,
Support me in these Trials of my Virtue,
Check the rebellious Sallies of Impatience,
And give me Courage to submit to thee.
Enter Leon, Eusebia, and Izrail.
Leon, what Havock have we seen To-day?

Leon.
But look we forward now, Sophronius; Othman
Has sent by me to know our last Resolves.

Soph.
For me—I will repair to good Heraclius—
Hast thou forgot what pious Manuel said?
Who knows but we may yet avenge our Cause,
And one Day call Aleppo ours again?
The glorious Hope amuses my Heart's Sorrow,
And War shall be my Recreation now—

Eus.
We'll follow thee.

Leon.
And I.

Iz.
And I.

Offi.
And all.
I trust, my Lord, no Soldier stays behind.

Soph.
Then be it so—my Friends, 'tis still our Glory
We were surpriz'd, not conquer'd. This Day's Woe
Yields us a Moral—Not to loose the Rein
To the fierce Impulse of impetuous Anger.
[Pointing to Theodore.]
The Man, whose Bosom headstrong Passion sway'd,
And the blind Zeal of eager Rage betray'd,
Though brave by Nature, and in Action great,
Work'd his own Ruin, and Aleppo's Fate.

[Ex. om.