University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

Mahomet, Mustapha.
Mahomet.
Now, Mustapha, pursue thy Tale of Horror.
Has Treason's dire Infection reach'd my Palace?
Can Cali dare the Stroke of heav'nly Justice,
In the dark Precincts of the gaping Grave,
And load with Perjuries his parting Soul?
Was it for this, that sick'ning in Epirus,
My Father call'd me to his Couch of Death,
Join'd Cali's Hand to mine, and falt'ring cry'd,
Restrain the Fervour of impetuous Youth
With venerable Cali's faithful Counsels?
Are these the Counsels? This the Faith of Cali?
Were all our Favours lavish'd on a Villain?
Confest?—

Mustapha.
Confest by dying Menodorus.
In his last Agonies the gasping Coward,
Amidst the Tortures of the burning Steel,
Still fond of Life, groan'd out the dreadful Secret,
Held forth this fatal Scroll, then sunk to nothing.

Mahomet
, examining the Paper.
His Correspondence with our Foes of Greece!
His Hand! His Seal! The Secrets of my Soul
Conceal'd from all but him! All! all conspire
To banish Doubt, and brand him for a Villain.
Our Schemes for ever cross'd, our Mines discover'd,
Betray'd some Traytor lurking near my Bosom.
Oft have I rag'd, when their wide-wasting Cannon
Lay pointed at our Batt'ries yet unform'd,
And broke the meditated Lines of War.
Detested Cali too, with artful Wonder,
Would shake his wily Head, and closely whisper,
Beware of Mustapha, beware of Treason.

Mustapha.
The Faith of Mustapha disdains Suspicion;
But yet, great Emperor, beware of Treason;
Th' insidious Bassa fir'd by Disappointment—

Mahomet.
Shall feel the Vengeance of an injur'd King.
Go, seize him, load him with reproachful Chains;
Before th' assembled Troops proclaim his Crimes;
Then leave him stretch'd upon the ling'ring Rack,
Amidst the Camp to howl his Life away.

Mustapha.
Should we before the Troops proclaim his Crimes,
I dread his Arts of seeming Innocence,
His bland Address, and Sorcery of Tongue;
And should he fall unheard, by sudden Justice,
Th' adoring Soldiers would revenge their Idol.

Mahomet.
Cali, this Day with hypocritick Zeal,
Implor'd my Leave to visit Mecca's Temple;
Struck with the Wonder of a Statesman's Goodness,
I rais'd his Thoughts to more sublime Devotion.
Now let him go, pursu'd by silent Wrath,
Meet unexpected Daggers in his Way,
And in some distant Land obscurely die.

Mustapha.
There will his boundless Wealth, the Spoil of Asia,
Heap'd by your Father's ill-plac'd Bounties on him,
Disperse Rebellion through the Eastern World;
Bribe to his Cause and lift beneath his Banners
Arabia's roving Troops, the Sons of Swiftness,
And arm the Persian Heretick against thee;
There shall he waste thy Frontiers, check thy Conquests,
And though at length subdued, elude thy Vengeance.

Mahomet.
Elude my Vengeance? no—My Troops shall range
Th' eternal Snows that freeze beyond Meotis,
And Afric's torrid Sands in search of Cali.
Should the fierce North upon his frozen Wings
Bear him aloft above the wond'ring Clouds,
And seat him in the Pleiad's golden Chariots,
Thence should my Fury drag him down to Tortures;
Wherever Guilt can fly, Revenge can follow.

Mustapha.
Wilt thou dismiss the Savage from the Toils
Only to hunt him round the ravag'd World?

Mahomet.
Suspend his Sentence—Empire and Irene
Claim my divided Soul. This Wretch unworthy
To mix with nobler Cares, I'll throw aside
For idle Hours, and crush him at my Leisure.

Mustapha.
Let not th' unbounded Greatness of his Mind
Betray my King to negligence of Danger.
Perhaps the Clouds of dark Conspiracy
Now roll full fraught with Thunder o'er your Head.
Twice since the Morning rose I saw the Bassa,
Like a fell Adder swelling in a Brake,
Beneath the Covert of this verdant Arch
In private Conference; beside him stood
Two Men unknown, the Partners of his Bosom;
I mark'd them well, and trac'd in either Face
The gloomy Resolution, horrid Greatness,
And stern Composure of despairing Heroes;
And, to confirm my Thought, at sight of me,
As blasted by my Presence, they withdrew
With all the speed of Terror and of Guilt.

Mahomet.
The strong Emotions of my troubled Soul
Allow no pause for Art or for Contrivance;
And dark Perplexity distracts my Counsels.
Do thou resolve: For see Irene comes!
At her approach each ruder Gust of Thought
Sinks like the sighing of a Tempest spent,
And Gales of softer Passion fan my Bosom.

[Cali enters with Irene, and exit with Mustapha.