SCENE VI.
Enter
Caled.
Cal.
Health to the prince of Mecca! may his reign,
Peaceful and late, know every night like this,
Without a rival!—Mahomet, 'tis thought,
Is fallen—for certain, fled. His votaries,
As people all appall'd, converse in murmurs;
And sudden rumour thins his host.
Soph.
O friend—
Come to my breast, and share its exultation.
[Embrace.
'Tis else too mighty; this concurring flood—
Peace, and my children too!—
Cal.
What—found? restored?
The same, and both?
Soph.
How kind this social transport!—
Yes, Caled, both, the long lost little ones,
The individual pair—Hercides here
Confirms the wondrous blessing.
Cal.
Ha—Hercides!—
Soft—let me view him well—I would not rashly—
The blood of innocence, 'tis dear above—
The same, by all my hopes.—Villain accurs'd!
[Seizes him, and draws a poniard.
Be short—if that thou own'st a prayer—if Heaven
May list to sudden penitence—this instant—
'Tis all the wealth thou hast, wherewith to quit
Thy manifold incumbrance.
Soph.
Friend!—Hercides!—
What may this mean?
Cal.
Away, Sopheian—
He dies on thy approach!
