 | Irene |  |
40
SCENE VIII.
Irene, Aspasia, Attendants.Aspasia.
If yet this shining Pomp, these sudden Honours,
Swell not thy Soul beyond Advice or Friendship,
Not yet inspire the Follies of a Queen,
Or tune thine Ear to soothing Adulation,
Suspend awhile the Privilege of Pow'r
To hear the Voice of Truth; dismiss thy Train,
Shake off th' Incumbrances of State a moment,
And lay the tow'ring Sultaness aside,
[Irene signs to her Attendants to retire.
While I foretell thy Fate; that Office done,—
No more I boast th' ambitious Name of Friend,
But sink among thy Slaves without a Murmur.
Irene.
Did regal Diadems invest my Brow,
Yet should my Soul, still faithful to her Choice,
Esteem Aspasia's Breast, the noblest Kingdom.
Aspasia.
The Soul once tainted with so foul a Crime,
No more shall glow with Friendship's hallow'd Ardour:
Those holy Beings, whose superiour Care
Guides erring Mortals to the Paths of Virtue,
Affrighted at Impiety like thine,
Resign their Charge to Baseness and to Ruin.
Irene.
Upbraid me not with fancy'd Wickedness,
I am not yet a Queen, or an Apostate.
But should I sin beyond the hope of Mercy,
If when Religion prompts me to refuse,
The dread of instant Death restrains my Tongue?
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Reflect that Life and Death, affecting sounds,
Are only varied Modes of endless Being;
Reflect that Life, like ev'ry other Blessing,
Derives its Value from its Use alone;
Not for itself but for a nobler End
Th'Eternal gave it, and that End is Virtue.
When inconsistent with a greater Good,
Reason commands to cast the less away;
Thus Life, with loss of Wealth, is well preserv'd,
And Virtue cheaply sav'd with loss of Life.
Irene.
If built on settled Thought, this Constancy
Not idly flutters on a boastful Tongue,
Why, when Destruction rag'd around our Walls,
Why fled this haughty Heroine from the Battle?
Why then did not this warlike Amazon
Mix in the War, and shine among the Heroes?
Aspasia.
Heav'n, when its Hand pour'd softness on our Limbs
Unfit for Toil, and polish'd into Weakness;
Made passive Fortitude the Praise of Woman:
Our only Arms are Innocence and Meekness.
Not then with raving Cries I fill'd the City,
But while Demetrius, dear lamented Name!
Pour'd storms of Fire upon our fierce Invaders,
Implor'd th' eternal Power to shield my Country,
With silent Sorrows, and with calm Devotion.
Irene.
O! did Irene shine the Queen of Turkey,
No more should Greece lament those Prayers rejected.
Again should golden Splendour grace her Cities,
Again her prostrate Palaces should rise,
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No more should Danger fright, or Want distress
The smiling Widows, and protected Orphans.
Aspasia.
Be virtuous Ends pursued by virtuous Means,
Nor think th' Intention sanctifies the Deed:
That Maxim publish'd in an impious Age,
Would loose the wild Enthusiast to destroy,
And fix the fierce Usurper's bloody Title.
Then Bigottry might send her Slaves to War,
And bid Success become the Test of Truth?
Unpitying Massacre might waste the World,
And Persecution boast the Call of Heav'n.
Irene.
Shall I not wish to chear afflicted Kings,
And plan the Happiness of mourning Millions?
Aspasia.
Dream not of Pow'r thou never can'st attain:
When social Laws first harmonis'd the World,
Superiour Man possess'd the Charge of Rule,
The Scale of Justice, and the Sword of Pow'r,
Nor left us aught but Flattery and State.
Irene.
To me my Lover's Fondness will restore,
Whate'er Man's Pride has ravish'd from our Sex.
Aspasia.
When soft Security shall prompt the Sultan,
Freed from the Tumults of unsettled Conquest,
To fix his Court, and regulate his Pleasures,
Soon shall the dire Seraglio's horrid Gates
Close like th' eternal Bars of Death upon thee,
Immur'd, and buried in perpetual Sloth,
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There shalt thou view from far the quiet Cottage,
And sigh for chearful Poverty in vain:
There wear the tedious Hours of Life away,
Beneath each Curse of unrelenting Heav'n,
Despair, and Slav'ry, Solitude, and Guilt.
Irene.
There shall we find the yet untasted Bliss
Of Grandeur and Tranquillity combin'd.
Aspasia.
Tranquillity and Guilt, disjoin'd by Heav'n,
Still stretch in vain their longing Arms afar;
Nor dare to pass th' insuperable Bound,
Ah! let me rather seek the Convent's Cell;
There when my Thoughts, at interval of Pray'r,
Descend to range these Mansions of Misfortune,
Oft' shall I dwell on our disastrous Friendship,
And shed the pitying Tear for lost Irene.
Irene.
Go, languish on in dull Obscurity;
Thy dazzled Soul with all its boasted Greatness,
Shrinks at th' o'erpow'ring Gleams of regal State,
Stoops from the Blaze like a degenerate Eagle,
And flies for Shelter to the Shades of Life.
Aspasia.
On me, should Providence, without a Crime,
The weighty Charge of Royalty confer;
Call me to civilize the Russian Wilds,
Or bid soft Science polish Briton's Heroes:
Soon shouldst thou see, how false thy weak Reproach.
My Bosom feels, enkindled from the Sky,
The lambent Flames of mild Benevolence,
Untouch'd by fierce Ambition's raging Fires.
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Ambition is the Stamp, impress'd by Heav'n
To mark the noblest Minds, with active Heat
Inform'd they mount the Precipice of Pow'r,
Grasp at Command, and tow'r in quest of Empire;
While vulgar Souls compassionate their Cares,
Gaze at their Height and tremble at their Danger:
Thus meaner Spirits with Amazement mark
The varying Seasons, and revolving Skies,
And ask, what guilty Pow'rs rebellious Hand
Rolls with eternal Toil the pond'rous Orbs;
While some Archangel nearer to Perfection,
In easy State presides o'er all their Motions,
Directs the Planets with a careless Nod,
Conducts the Sun, and regulates the Spheres.
Aspasia.
Well may'st thou hide in Labyrinths of Sound
The Cause that shrinks from Reason's powerful Voice.
Stoop from thy Flight, trace back th'entangled Thought,
And set the glitt'ring Fallacy to view.
Not Pow'r I blame, but Pow'r obtain'd by Crime,
Angelic Greatness is Angelic Virtue.
Amidst the Glare of Courts, the Shout of Armies,
Will not th' Apostate feel the Pangs of Guilt,
And wish too late for Innocence and Peace?
Curst as the Tyrant of th' infernal Realms,
With gloomy State and agonizing Pomp.
| Irene | |