 | The Fair Circassian |  |
SCENE I.
A GRAND SALOON IN THE PALACE.ALMORAN, CALED.
ALMORAN.
Oh! torture, torture—infamous abasement!
Shall Almoran—the oriental god—
Stoop meanly from his throne to fawn and sigh—
To fawn and sigh yet be repuls'd—rejected?
CALED.
Take then, my gracious lord, without delay
The offer'd remedy—a rich revenge.
ALMORAN.
What power can give it me!
CALED.
Thy faithful Caled.—
ALMORAN.
Quick pour the balsam on my bleeding wounds.
CALED.
Sultan, foul treason lurks around thy throne—
That solemn Osmyn—
ALMORAN.
Osmyn!
CALED.
He! my lord!—Our ever faithful Ali,
Still busy in the service of the sultan,
Informs me of a dark conspiracy
Plann'd by that very Osmyn.
ALMORAN.
O the slave!
Th' ungrateful slave—
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By him concerted,
Thy rival brother still has power to hurt thee;
This very night, when darkness wraps the sphere,
In the deep zenith of its gloom he goes,
Mask'd in the robes of thy domestic Iman,
(The priest appointed to attend Almeida)
To meet the fair in the seraglio garden—
Access how easy, by the priest conducted!
ALMORAN.
Persia teems with traitors!
CALED.
This shallow Iman, wrought upon by Osmyn,
Favour'd the treason, and betray'd his master.
A slave was trusted—Aladin the eunuch—
Observe the hand of heaven, my lord—As Aladin
Convey'd the borrowed robes to wily Osmyn,
Ali perceiv'd the traitor steal along,
And soon by menaces the truth extorted:
At length the venal slave is wholly our's.
ALMORAN.
Down, down, aspiring rage.—What follow'd, Caled?
CALED.
The slave secured, straight Ali wrote, my lord,
To Osmyn, in the Iman's character,
Exactly fein'd—that all things were prepared;
That Aladin by chance had met the king,
The injured Hamet, who detain'd the slave
'Till the blest hour of meeting.—Long ere that
Shall happy Almoran defeat the project—
Long, long ere that shall triumph o'er Almeida.
ALMORAN.
First see that Osmyn, and that villain Iman,
Perish in pains unheard of—
CALED.
Leave their fate
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Of this assur'd, this night they breathe their last.
The robes are now without, the hour advances.
ALMORAN.
Thou ready counsellor—but this voice—this face—
CALED.
Art, art, my lord.—Nature is easy marr'd—
The face may be conceal'd—it will be night—
Thick the disguise—thou goest as Hamet too—
Almeida is appriz'd—expects her Hamet—
Osmyn at hand—all ready to receive thee,
And trembling love may breathe its sighs in whisper.
ALMORAN.
Yet to what end this labour'd artifice?
CALED.
The end of happiness—To make her hate
To kindle all the pride of virtue in her:
By well-sown hints of an unbounded passion,
Perhaps by menac'd FORCE, and other lures,
To rouse her fury, and provoke her scorn
Ev'n against the REAL Hamet—Then retire—
Resume thyself—as Almoran appear,
And in the fever'd hour of—
ALMORAN.
Vain attempt!
Oh! impotent device to move a love,
Fix'd as the central heart within her bosom.
And how, presumptuous, dost thou dare to think
That Almoran will act the base dissembler;
Still by thy arts impos'd, and still successless?
CALED.
Pardon my zealous duty, mighty sultan,
Since 'tis thy sacred pleasure to resign
The beauteous maid—perhaps—
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Resign her! No!
No, by the love and rage that rends my heart,
First shall this executing arm—Away!
The effort shall be try'd—Some circumstance
Perchance may rise—at least 'twill foil the arts
Of those vile minions, and secure Almeida:
Caled prepare the robes, and wait my coming.
[Exit Caled.
Meantime this feeble traitor—Ha! he comes,
And Osmyn too; but Caled will destroy—
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