University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

HAMET, ALMORAN.
ALMORAN.
Osmyn, what daring slave—

HAMET.
Strike swiftly then,
Stab sure—or die.

ALMORAN.
Hamet turn'd slave—to murder? Most intrepid!
Skulks he beneath the habit of the mute
To rob the wretched vassal of his office?
O worthy emulation.

HAMET.
No—I cannot strike—
All frantic as I am, th' unspotted soul
Shudders at brother's blood—Away foul purpose,
Detested instrument away—Oh! Almoran,
[throws away the dagger.
Ev'n she who shar'd her matron breast between us,
Then died the martyr of the lives she gave,
Seems beck'ning from the tomb to ward the blow:
Obey the summons of the saint who bore us,
Admit the touch of nature to thy bosom,
And open yet thy heart to meet thy brother.

ALMORAN.
What shall I do? He melts my six'd resolves,
Nor can this bosom, slave of every passion,
Thus inly touch'd, shrink back from his embraces.
Generous—too generous—Hamet.

[embracing him.
HAMET.
Thy heart relents—
I have thee in my arms—thou art subdued;
'Tis the blest moment of returning virtue;
Truth, justice, and humanity prevail,
Thou art my brother still—The gods be prais'd.

[again embrace.