University of Virginia Library

SCENE VI.

The Mufti's Palace.
Osman, Ashad, and Aphendina.
ASHAD.
Your Highness overloads my House with Honours;
I leave you, Sir; but good, my Lord, remember—

[Exit Mufti.
OSMAN.
Urg'd by my Passion for thy heav'nly Form,
Adorn'd with Virtues, ev'ry Excellence,
Behold an humble Suitor in your Osman.
—Accord, my Aphendina, to my Views—
Abate the Rigour of the Mufti's Precepts,
In my Apartments (Treasury of Blessings)
Command whate'er can gratify Desire.
I come not now, my Love, to be refus'd,
But to accept the Tender of your Person.
Admit, my Fair, the Gift invaluable;
Yet think, Oh think! thy Osman grants his All—
Himself, his Love, his Faith, his Constancy;
Which by our Prophet, whom I here invoke!
Shall never swerve from beauteous Aphendina;
But fixt as th'Earth's Poles, remain invariable.
Then speak me happy—say you follow me;
Give Osman Life, and bless him with Compliance.

APHENDINA.
Osman, the Conflict jarring in my Mind,
Rends me with Agony ne'er felt before;
I see beyond the present pleasing Instant,
Bright as the Noon-tide Ray—but ah! the Clouds
Of black Remorse and Infamy o'ercast
It's setting Day—Osman consider well
E'er you resolve on what I ne'er can grant.

OSMAN.
Can Aphendina thus protract my Pain!
Can she imagine I can live and love,
And doat upon those Charms without Fruition?
Thou lov'st me not; at least with equal Ardor.
You glory in your Emp'ror's Condescension;
You set no farther Price on Osman's Love,
Than to adorn the Train of your Admirers,
Or you'd not thus oppose his Happiness.

APHENDINA.
Alas! too well you know the Beatings here,
Or you'd not thus distress me—Oh! Osman,
Plunge—bury this in Aphendina's Breast;
[Pointing to his Scimitar.
But do not kill me with ungentle Terms.
It cannot be, but Osman knows I love—
Nor is't the Emperor, Aphendina covets;
But Osman—freed from the Impediment,
Of lordly Empire, now the only Bar,
Betwixt my Wishes and their free Completion.

OSMAN.
No more reproach me, dearest Aphendina;
My fierce Despair converts to burning Rage,
Those tender Sentiments, my Heart abounds with,
On the least Opposition to my Hopes.
O! Aphendina, could you feel my Transport
At e'vry yielding Speech, or Glance from you;
'Twould plead my Pardon for a Word misplac'd.
But say, thou rigid Fair! my Soul's Delight!
Propose some Method to allay my Passion,
If you're determin'd never to relent.

APHENDINA.
And is it Osman who would learn of me;
O! spare me on the sad ungrateful Subject;
Think not my Love's less ardent than my Lord's:
But Laws of State clashing with Virtue's Rules,
Leave no Alternative for our Felicity.
Let us resolve inviolable Faith;
Let us repeat the Resolution daily;
Be ever anxious for our mutual Peace;
Love each other, for—that we love, nor Law,
Nor Virtue's Cause will then be injur'd;
This, this, my Lord's, the Height of my Ambition.

OSMAN.
Were Virtue's Cause trusted to Thee alone,
Bright Seraph! 'twould have many more Admirers;
E'en Vice itself would study Condemnation,
But to receive its Sentence from thy Lips:
You shall hear more, when I've consider'd it.

[Exit Osman and enter As
ASHAD.
Daughter, his Highness left you discontented;
His down-cast Look, and Solemness of Pace,
Denote an inward Struggle in his Mind:
I fear his Power will now command Obedience.

APHENDINA.
It cannot be, it derogates from Osman;
'Tis too ignoble for his generous Soul:
E'en in his brightest Ecstasies of Love,
Not the least Syllable has e'er transpir'd
Discordant to the purest Virgin's Ear,
His ev'ry Act attests the sacred Flame;
My Vows accompany him—
[Exit Ashad.
Where can th'Excess
Of Love 'twixt me and Osman terminate?
O! where—it cannot linger thus for ever.
I dread, he'll think it a sufficient Honour
For me to wait his Pleasure at the Palace:
If I decline—ah! may he not compel?
Ill fated Maid! how speedy the Transition,
From Love to Hate, as varying Passion drives—
What's the Result then? I'm confin'd, abus'd,
Grow wretched, feed on Discontent, and die.
If Death then to my Suff'rings must succeed,
An icipating Death, avoids my Injuries.
Surely 'twere better Choice, than soil my Honour—
I'll ne'er consent, my Virtue is my own;
No shall the dazzling Charms of gorgeous Pomp,
Have Weight to sink me into pageant Greatness;
I'll rise superior to the glitt'ring Toys
Of specious Love, and spurn its guilty Joys.