University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

The Prison of the Seven Towers.
OSMAN
solus.
Royalty, farewell! thy abrupt Desertion
Was so unfriendly, I'll not recall thee:
Thou parted'st from me with so ill a Grace,
I spurn thy Quittance; I will not sooth thee:
I thank thee, Mahomet! 'tis now I triumph,
Crown'd with the Laurel conscious Virtue gives:
I've reach'd the full Meridian of my Glory,
And from that Full, now like a Meteor fall:
—Is this my Palace?—Ha! here Darkness reigns;
Horror and grim Dismay—Semblance of Chaos!
E'er the Almighty spoke primæval Light.
—Ha! Is not that, which pierces thro' yon Dome,
The Gleam of Heav'n? O! that I could ascend,
Ride on the Winds, and in a Whirlwind pour,
Like Perseus, to destroy the Monster, Faction,
And sate my just Revenge—What's that which glides
Along the gloomy Surface of the Wall!
[Starts.
The Shadow of an Emperor—that am I—
Be it so—Hark! didn't Aphendina call?
[Starts again.
Ha! my prophetick Soul—Soft—soft—'twas she:
My Wife! my Wife! what do I feel for thee?
Now am I fall'n indeed, now Osman's conquer'd.
Hail! King of Terrors, hail! I court thee now.
[Looking round.
What have I left of all my past Possessions,
But this dear Relick?—Aphendina's Gift,
[Takes a Pocket-Book out of his Bosom.
When Love and Empire crown'd our happier Hours—
[Enter Daut.
From whence com'st thou? What Message do you bring?

DAUT.
My Lord! I tremble to relate my Tale;
This Order speaks itself from Amurath,
Our gracious Sov'reign; sorry I am, my Lot
should force upon me this ungrateful Office,
But my great Master's Will must be obey'd.

OSMAN.
What do I see! The Sentence of my Death!
[Reads.
Have they had not enough of Blood already?
'Tis false, this cannot come from Amurath.
I us'd him otherwise when in my Power:
What am I guilty of? Alledge my Crime.

DAUT.
It is the Sultan's Pleasure—you must die.

OSMAN.
As it is the last Account I am to render,
Give me some time to clear myself to Heaven.

[Kneels.
DAUT.
My Presence is expected by the Emperor;
Be short, and I'll attend awhile upon you.

[Enter two Mutes with Bow-Strings, on Sight of whom Osman rises.
OSMAN.
Are these the Messengers of Death? for shame!
Lend me a Poniard to dispatch my Life—
I was your Emperor, let me not fall
By th'ignoble Hands of Executioners—
[Endeavours to seize a Scimitar, is prevented by Daut, who makes Signs to the Mutes to proceed.
You murd'ring Villains, take the just Reward
Of your Barbarity—
[Knocks down one.
And thou, thou Traitor—
[Another.
Give me another—What a third—come on—

[While he is casting the third, comes one behind and halters him. He dies.
DAUT.
He is dispatch'd at last; 'tis well, I'm easy.

[Daut going, enter Amurath and Guards.
AMURATH.
O! horrid Spectacle—Secure that Wretch.

[Pointing to Daut.
DAUT.
My Lord!

[Kneels.
AMURATH.
Away with him to instant Death.

DAUT.
My Emperor!

AMURATH.
Away with him; no Parley with a Murderer.
[Exeunt Mutes with Daut.
Unhappy Prince! how art thou fallen, Osman!
Fatal Vicissitude of human Greatness!
—How wast thou lately deck'd in regal Pomp!
—How wast thou blest with ev'ry manly Grace!
—How doubly blest in Aphendina's Charms!
Thy future Story shall be told with Weeping,
And blast the Glory of our Turkish Annals.
Could not thy Virtues save thee from the Grave!
No, thy superior Merit hath undone thee:
Sure Heav'n regards not the Affairs of Men,
Else had not Osman died—Presumptuous Amurath!
Would'st thou trace out the secret Paths of Providence?
Would'st read the Book of Fate? Vain the Attempt;
'Tis well we can't: Each Enterprize of Moment
Would then abortive prove; enough for Man
To know—is to submit.
Bear hence the Body,
And give it Royal Obsequies—What's that?
[As they take up the Body a Pocket-Book falls.
Give me the Book—Ha!—“This to the Empress.”
[Opens it, takes out a Paper and reads.
Pardon, Aphendina, that I thus presume—

“I tremble for Amurath, he knows I always lov'd
him; it is from him I hope for memorable Revenge:
Rest assured, my Aphendina, that Death itself shan't
tear thee from the Heart of

Osman.”

Most gen'rous Youth! what have I lost in thee?
Thy Race was short, but glorious—Revenge thee!
Yes, yes, my Osman, I will revenge thee.
Unhappy Osman!—Bear this to th'Empress.

[Gives the Book. Going, is stopt by the Sultana Queen, who enters with Attendants, forcing thro' the Guards.
MIRZA.
Off! give me Way; I seek the Emperor—
O Amurath! behold a wretched Woman
Implores thy Mercy for the Life of Osman:
His Soul, unqualified to taste of Death,
Breathes only Love and Amity to you—
[Amurath pointing to the Corpse, she shrieks.
Has the rude Grasp of Death then seiz'd my Osman!
Surely the Course of Nature is inverted,
And Order feels the Pangs of Dissolution—
Is Amurath cruel? has his recreant Will
Giv'n Sanction to this horrid Parricide?

AMURATH.
No, Mirza, I disdain the trait'rous Deed;
Would I had died to've sav'd the Life of Osman!
[Exit Amurath.

MIRZA.
Infernal Furies rattle o'er their Heads,
Impending Vengeance, for eternal Ages,
Shake their curs'd Souls with Horrors infinite,
Whose Hands unnat'ral revell'd in his Blood!
—But why lives Mirza to lament his Fall?
Why does she loiter on this hated Globe?
The World's no longer thine, dispatch thee hence—
[Stabs herself.
Go, seek thy Osman thro' the Fields of Paradice,
Rekindle in his Breast our former Loves,
And blending Shades, conjoin with him for ever.

[Dies, and the Scene closes.