 | The Fair Circassian |  |
SCENE II.
CALED.Lo! such the wages of successful vice.
Vice did I say! oh, infamy of slander!
'Tis pious artifice, 'tis glorious thrift!
While virtue starves, bold spirits will burst forth
Beyond the lying letter of the law,
The shackling trammels of the moral fool,
And fly to arts like Caled's for support.
I stand excus'd. Let but the gale of virtue
Waft Caled as conveniently to port,
The golden port of int'rest and ambition;
“Let but the slighting world on truth bestow
“Dissimulation's gay and gorgeous robe,”
49
From this converted tongue.—But, oh! my soul,
This rock impassable—this tow'ring Osmyn—
Be swift prolifick brain to work his fall,
And shake the fabrick he has rais'd above me.
[Exit.
| The Fair Circassian | |