University of Virginia Library

Scene Third.

Ulamar, Irene.
Ul.
Come to my Arms, thou Charming wish of Souls!
The happy Night, th' Auspicious hour is come
That I so long have wish'd, so long Dispair'd to see;
Make but this Bliss perpetual, O ye Powr's!
I ask no more, for I am Blest as you.
What's this? By all the Immortal Pow'rs in Tears!
And art thou Griev'd, that thy poor Lovers Blest?
Is this thy Constancy? Is this thy Flame?

Ire.
My Ulamar! Since I declar'd my Love
When Decency almost forbad the sound:
Now Heav'n has made it Duty, I must own
My Passion, is my Darling Pride of Soul;
And never can Irene more be pleas'd
Than when her Lovely Ulamer is Blest:
But ah, a sadness sits upon my Soul,
A fatal load, that weighs it down from Bliss,
To which it would aspire, a black Presage
That wispers to me, I must loose thee Ulamar.

Ul.
The Gods forbid, that I should loose Irene,
Why shou'd my Love give way to such a thought?

Ire.
Oh Ulamar! My Happiness! My Life!
The blissful Days and Hours that I expect:
Now Joyn'd in happy Nuptial League with thee,
Is surely what offends th' Immortal Pow'rs;
Such Bliss is far above a Mortal state,
For we should Live and be as Gods my Love
And that the Wrathful Pow'rs above deny.

Ul.
This is meer Melancholly fancy all.

Ire.
Ah me! What dreadful Groan was that, as if
A Thousand wretches, in one Breath expir'd:
The Demons of the Air, sure catch my Grief
Confirming my Presage.

Ul.
'Tis Fancy all, or next to Fancy wind,
That raging makes the bending Forest roar,
No Dearest, if th' Immortal Pow'rs are Angry,
'Tis not with thee, for thou art Spotless all,
In whom not Earth, nor Heav'n a fault can see;
No, 'tis with me who see all Heav'n before me,
And yet delay to tast of Immortality.
For Oh! I talk, I loiter out the Night
Too, too Inestimable to be lost
In words: If we must talk, to Bed my Fair,
Where I shall whisper something to thy Soul
That is a Secret for the Gods and thee.
O those bewitching Blushes! How they dart
Cælestial Fire thro' all my Trembling frame.
If there is cause to Fear th' Immortal Pow'rs
Should Snatch thee from me, let us Live to Night,
This Blissful Night whole Ages let us Live.

Ire.
Bless me ye Pow'rs! What dismal Screem is that?
Heard you not something?

Ul.
Plainly I heard, and wonder what if means.

Ire.
Hark! hark! Another shreek.

Ul.
And now they groan.

Ire.
Now shouts of Joy Succeed.
And now a Noise of Murder and of Fire.