Alon. Your beauteous captive, Zara, is arrived, And with a train as if she still were wife To Albucacim, and the Moor had conquered.

King. It is our will she should be so attended. Bear hence these prisoners. Garcia, which is he, Of whose mute valour you relate such wonders? [Prisoners led off. Gar. Osmyn, who led the Moorish horse; but he,

Great sir, at her request, attends on Zara. King. He is your prisoner; as you please dispose him.

Gar. I would oblige him, but he shuns my
kindness;

And with a haughty mien, and stern civility,
Dumbly declines all offers. If he speak,
'Tis scarce above a word; as he were born
Alone to do, and did disdain to talk;
At least to talk where he must not command.
King. Such sullenness, and in a man so brave,
Must have some other cause than his captivity.
Did Zara, then, request he might attend her?
Gar. My lord, she did.

King, That, joined with his behaviour, Begets a doubt. I'd have them watched; perbaps

Her chains hang heavier on him than his own. Enter ALONZO, ZARA, and OSMYN bound, conducted by PEREZ and a guard, and attended by SELIM and severul mutes and eunuchs in a train.

King. What welcome, and what honours,
beauteous Zara,

A king and conqueror can give, are yours.
A conqueror indeed, where you are won;
Who with such lustre strike admiring eyes,
That had our pomp been with your presence
graced,

The expecting crowd had been deceived; and

seen

The monarch enter, not triumphant, but,
In pleasing triumph led, your beauty's slave.
Zara. If I on any terms could condescend
To like captivity, or think those honours,
Which conquerors in courtesy bestow,
Of equal value with unborrowed rule,

Per. Great sir,

Your order was she should not wait your triumph, But at some distance follow, thus attended.

King. 'Tis false; 'twas more; I bid she should
be free;

If not in words, I bid it by my eyes.
Her eyes did more than bid-Free her and her's,
With speed-yet stay-my hands alone can make
Fit restitution here. Thus I release you,
And, by releasing you, enslave myself.

Zara. Such favours, so conferred, though when
unsought,

Deserve acknowledgment from noble minds.
Such thanks as one, hating to be obliged,
Yet hating more ingratitude, can pay,
I offer.

King. Born to excel, and to command!
As by transcendent beauty to attract
All eyes; so, by pre-eminence of soul,
To rule all hearts!-

Garcia, what's he, who, with contracted brow,

[Beholding OSMYN as they unbind him. And sullen port, glooms downward with his eyes, At once regardless of his chains, or liberty? Gar. That, sir, is he of whom I spoke; that's Osmyn.

King. He answers well the character you gave him.

Whence comes it, valiant Osmyn, that a man
So great in arms, as thou art said to be,
So hardly can endure captivity,
The common chance of war?'

Osm. Because captivity

Has robbed me of a dear and just revenge.
King. I understand not that.

Osm. I would not have you.

Zara. That gallant Moor in battle lost a friend, Whom more than life he loved; and the regret, Of not revenging on his foes that loss, Has caused this melancholy and despair.

King. She does excuse him; 'tis as I suspected. [To Gon. Gon. That friend might be herself; seem not to heed

His arrogant reply: she looks concerned.
King. I'll have inquiry made; perhaps his
friend

Yet lives, and is a prisoner. His name?
Zara. Heli.

King. Garcia, that search shall be your care:
It shall be mine to pay devotion here;
At this fair shrine to lay my laurels down,
And raise love's altar on the spoils of war.
Conquest and triumph, now, are mine no more;
Nor will I victory in camps adore:

For, lingering there, in long suspence she stands,

Shifting the prize in unresolving hands;
Unused to wait, I broke through her delay,
Fixed her by force, and snatched the doubtful
day.

Now late I find that war is but her sport;

In love the goddess keeps her awful court;
Fickle in fields, unsteadily she flies,
But rules with settled sway in Zara's eyes.

(Exeunt.

SCENE I.-Representing the Aisle of a Temple.

GARCIA, HELI, PEREZ.

Gar. This way, we're told, Osmyn was seen to walk;

Chusing this lonely mansion of the dead,
To mourn, brave Heli, thy mistaken fate.

Heli. Let Heaven with thunder to the centre strike me,

If to arise in very deed from death,
And to revisit, with my long-closed eyes,
This living light, could to my soul or sense
Afford a thought, or shew a glimpse of joy,
In least proportion to the vast delight
I feel, to hear of Osmyn's name; to hear
That Osmyn lives, and I again shall see him.
Gar. I've heard, with admiration, of your
friendship.

Per. Yonder, my lord, behold the noble Moor.
Heli. Where? Where?

Gar. I saw him not, nor any like him— Per. I saw him when I spoke, thwarting my view, And striding with distempered haste; his eyes Seemed flame, and flashed upon me with a glance; Then forward shot their fires which he pursued, As to some object frightful, yet not feared. Gar. Let's haste to follow him, and know the

cause.

Heli. My lord, let me entreat you to forbear: Leave me alone, to find and cure the cause. I know his melancholy, and such starts Are usual to his temper. It might raise him To act some violence upon himself, So to be caught in an unguarded hour, And when his soul gives all her passion way, Secure and loose in friendly solitude. I know his noble heart would burst with shame, To be surprised by strangers in its frailty.

Gar. Go, generous Heli, and relieve your friend.

Far be it from me officiously to pry
Or press upon the privacies of others.

[Exit HELI.

Enter ALMERIA and LEONORA.

Alm. It was a fancied noise, for all is hushed. Leon. It bore the accent of a human voice. Alm. It was thy fear, or else some transient wind

Whistling through hollows of this vaulted aisle. We'll listen

Leon. Hark!

Alm. No, all is hushed, and still as death-'tis dreadful!

How reverend is the face of this tall pile,
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof,
By its own weight made stedfast and immoveable,
Looking tranquillity. It strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice-my own affrights me with its echoes.
Leon. Let us return; the horror of this place,
And silence, will increase your melancholy.

Alm. It may my fears, but cannot add to that.
No, I will on; shew me Anselmo's tomb,
Lead me o'er bones and skulls, and mouldering
earth,

Of human bodies; for I'll mix with them,
Or wind me in the shroud of some pale corpse,
Yet green in earth, rather than be the bride
Of Garcia's more detested bed: that thought
Exerts my spirits, and my present fears
Are lost in dread of greater ill. Then shew me,
Lead me, for I am bolder grown: lead on
Where I may kneel, and pay my vows again,
To him, to Heaven, and my Alphonso's soul.
Leon. I go; but Heaven can tell with what re-
gret.
[Exeunt.

The poor remains of good Anselmo rest,
Yet fresh and unconsumed by time or worms.
What do I see? Oh, Heaven! either my eyes
Are false, or still the marble door remains
Unclosed; the iron gates, that lead to death
Beneath, are still wide stretched upon their hinge,
And staring on us with unfolded leaves!

Alm. Sure 'tis the friendly yawn of death for

me;

And that dumb mouth, significant in show,
Invites me to the bed, where I alone
Shall rest; shews me the grave, where nature,
weary

And long oppressed with woes and bending cares,
May lay the burthen down, and sink in slumbers
Of peace eternal. Death, grim death, will fold
Me in his leaden arms, and press me close
To his cold clayey breast: My father, then,
Will cease his tyranny; and Garcia, too,
Will fly my pale deformity with loathing.
My soul, enlarged from its vile bonds, will mount,
And range the starry orbs, and milky-ways,
Of that refulgent world, where I shall swim
In liquid light, and float, on seas of bliss,
To my Alphonso's soul. Oh, joy too great!
Oh, ecstacy of thought! Help me, Anselmo;
Help me, Ålphonso; take me, reach thy hand;
To thee, to thee I call; to thee, Alphonso:
Oh, Alphonso!

OSMYN ascending from the tomb.

Osm. Who calls that wretched thing that was
Alphonso?

Alm. Angels, and all the host of heaven, sup-
port me!

Osm. Whence is that voice, whose shrillness,
from the grave,

And growing to his father's shroud, roots up
Alphonso?

hide me,

Alm. Mercy! Providence! Oh, speak, Speak to it quickly, quickly; speak to me, Comfort me, help me, hold me, hide me, Leonora, in thy bosom, from the light, And from my eyes!

Osm. Amazement and illusion! Rivet and nail me where I stand, ye powers, [Coming forward. That, motionless, I may be still deceived! Let me not stir, nor breathe, lest I dissolve That tender, lovely form of painted air, So like Almeria. Ha! it sinks, it falls; I'll catch it ere it goes, and grasp her shade! 'Tis life! 'tis warm! 'tis she, 'tis she herself! Nor dead, nor shade, but breathing and alive! It is Almeria, it is my wife!

Enter HELI.

Leon. Alas! she stirs not yet, nor lifts her eyes; He, too, is fainting--Help me, help me, stranger,

Whoe'er thou art, and lend thy hand to raise
These bodies.

Hel. Ha! 'tis he! and with--Almeria !
Oh, miracle of happiness! Oh, joy
Unhoped for! Does Almeria live?

Osm. Where is she!

Let me behold, and touch her, and be sure
'Tis she; shew me her face, and let me feel
Her lips with mine-'Tis she, I am not deceived;
I taste her breath, I warm her and am warmed.
Look up, Almeria, bless me with thy eyes;
Look on thy love, thy lover, and thy husband!
Alm. I have sworn I'll not wed Garcia: why
do ye force me?

Is this a father?

Osm. Look on thy Alphonso.

Thy father is not here, my love, nor Garcia:
Nor am I what I seem, but thy Alphonso.
Wilt thou not know me? Hast thou then forgot
me?

Hast thou thy eyes, yet canst not see Alphonso?
Am I so altered, or art thou so changed,
That, seeing my disguise, thou seest not me?

Alm. It is, it is Alphonso! 'tis his face,
His voice-I know him now, I know him all.
Oh, take me to thy arms, and bear me hence,
Back to the bottom of the boundless deep,
To seas beneath, where thou so long hast dwelt.
Oh, how hast thou returned? How hast thou
charmed

The wildness of the waves and rocks to this; That, thus relenting, they have given thee back To earth, to light and life, to love and me?

Osm. Óh, I'll not ask, nor answer, how or why We both have backward trod the paths of fate, To meet again in life; to know I have thee, Is knowing more than any circumstance, Or means, by which I have theeTo fold thee thus, to press thy balmy lips, And gaze upon thy eyes, is so much joy, I have not leisure to reflect, or know, Or trifle time in thinking.

Alm. Stay a while-

Alm. I know not; 'tis to see thy face, I think

It is too much! too much to bear and live!
To see thee thus again is such profusion
Of joy, of bliss-I cannot bear- I must
Be mad-I cannot be transported thus.
Osm. Thou excellence, thou joy, thou heaven
of love!

Alm. Where hast thou been? and how art thou alive?

How is all this? All-powerful Heaven, what are we?

Oh, my strained heart-let me again behold thee, For I weep to see thee-Art thou not paler? Much, much; how thou art changed!

No more, my life; talk not of tears or grief;
Affliction is no more, now thou art found.
Why dost thou weep, and hold thee from my

arms,

My arms which ache to hold thee fast, and grow To thee with twining? Come, come to my heart! Alm. I will, for I should never look enough. They would have married me; but I had sworn To Heaven and thee, and sooner would have died

Osm. Perfection of all faithfulness and love! Alm. Indeed I would-Nay, I would tell thee all,

If I could speak; how I have mourned and prayed:

For I have prayed to thee, as to a saint;
And thou hast heard my prayer; for thou art

come

To my distress, to my despair, which Heaven
Could only, by restoring thee, have cured.
Osm. Grant me but life, good Heaven, but
length of days,

To pay some part, some little of this debt,
This countless sum of tenderness and love,
For which I stand engaged to this all-excellence;
Then bear me in a whirlwind to my fate,
Snatch me from life, and cut me short un-
warned:

Then, then, 'twill be enough-I shall be old,
I shall have passed all æras then

Of yet unmeasured time; when I have made
This exquisite, this most amazing goodness,
Some recompence of love and matchless truth.
Alm. 'Tis more than recompence to see thy
face:

If Heaven is greater joy, it is no happiness,
For 'tis not to be borne-What shall I say?
I have a thousand things to know and ask,
And speak―That thou art here beyond all hope,
All thought; and all at once thou art before me,
And with such suddenness hast hit my sight,
Is such surprise, such mystery, such extasy,
It hurries all my soul, and stuns my sense.
Sure from thy father's tomb thou didst arise?
Osm. I did; and thou, my love, didst call me;
thou.

Alm. True; but how cam'st thou there? Wert
thou alone?

Osm. I was, and lying on my father's lead,
When broken echoes of a distant voice
Disturbed the sacred silence of the vault,
In murmurs round my head. I rose and lis-
tened,

And thought I heard thy spirit call Alphonso;
I thought I saw thee too; but, Oh, I thought

not

That I indeed should be so blest to see theeAlm. But still, how cam'st thou thither? How thus? -Ha!

What's he, who, like thyself, is started here
Ere seen?

Osm. Where? Ha! What do I see, Antonio! I am fortunate indeed-my friend, too, safe! Heli. Most happily, in finding you thus blessed. Alm. More miracles! Antonio escaped!

Osm. And twice escaped; both from the rage of seas

And war: for in the fight I saw him fall.

Heli. But fell unhurt, a prisoner as yourself, And as yourself made free; hither I came, Impatiently to seek you, where I knew Your grief would lead you to lament Anselmo. Osm. There are no wonders; or else all is wonder.

Heli. I saw you on the ground, and raised you up,

When with astonishment I saw Almeria. Osm. I saw her too, and therefore saw not thee.

Alm. Nor I; nor could I, for my eyes were

happiness.

Harbour no thought that may disturb thy peace;
But gently take thyself away, lest she
Should come, and see the straining of my eyes
To follow thee.

Retire, my love, I'll think how we may meet
To part no more; my friend will tell thee all;
How I escaped, how I am here, and thus;
How I am not called Alphonso now, but Osmyn;
And he Heli. All, all he will unfold,
Ere next we meet--

Alm. Sure we shall meet again

Osm. We shall; we part not but to meet

again.

Gladness and warmth of ever-kindling love Dwell with thee, and revive thy heart in absence! [Exeunt ALM. LEON, and HELI. Yet I behold her-yet--and now no more. Turn your lights inward, eyes, and view my thoughts,

So shall you still behold her-'twill not be.
Oh, impotence of sight! Mechanic sense!
Which to exterior objects ow'st thy faculty,
Not seeing of election, but necessity.
Thus do our eyes, as do all common mirrors,
Successively reflect succeeding images:
Not what they would, but must; a star, or
toad;

Just as the hand of chance administers.
Not so the mind, whose undetermined view
Resolves, and to the present adds the past,
Essaying farther to futurity;

But that in vain. I have Almeria here
At once, as I before have seen her often-

Enter ZARA and SELIM.

Zura. See where he stands, folded and fixed
to earth,

Stiff'ning in thought, a statue among statues!-
Why, cruel Osmyn, dost thou fly me thus ?
Is it well done? Is this, then, the return
For fame, for honour, and for empire lost?
But what is loss of honour, fame, and empire?
Is this the recompence reserved for love?
Why dost thou leave my eyes, and fly my arms,
To find this place of horror and obscurity?
Am I more loathsome to thee than the grave,
That thou dost seek to shield thee there, and
shun

My love? But to the grave I'll follow thee-
He looks not, minds not, hears not! barbarous
man!

Am I neglected thus! Am I despised!
Not heard! Ungrateful Osmyn!

Osm. Ha, 'tis Zara!

Zara. Yes, traitor; Zara, lost, abandoned Zara, Is a regardless suppliant now, to Osmyn. The slave, the wretch that she redeemed from death,

Disdains to listen now, or look on Zara.

Osm. Far be the guilt of such reproaches from

me;

Lost in myself, and blinded by my thoughts,
I saw you not till now.

Zara. Now then you see me

But with such dumb and thankless eyes you look, Better I was unseen, than seen thus coldly.

Osm. What would you from a wretch who came to mourn,

And only for his sorrows chose this solitude? Look round; joy is not here, nor cheerfulness. You have pursued misfortune to its dwelling, Yet look for gaiety and gladness there.

Zara. Inhuman! Why, why dost thou rack me thus,

And, with perverseness, from the purpose answer?

What is it to me, this house of misery?
What joy do I require? if thou dost mourn,
I come to mourn with thee, to share thy griefs,
And give thee, for them, in exchange, my love.
Osin. Oh! that's the greatest grief-I am so
poor,

I have not wherewithal to give again.

Zara. Thou hast a heart, though 'tis a savage

one

Give it me as it is; I ask no more

For all I've done, and all I have endured:
For saving thee, when I beheld thee first,
Driven by the tide upon my country's coast,
Pale and expiring, drenched in briny waves,
Thou and thy friend, 'till my compassion found

thee;

Compassion! scarce will it own that name, so

soon,

So quickly, was it love; for thou wert godlike
Even then. Kneeling on earth, I loosed my hair,
And with it dried thy watery cheeks, then chafed
Thy temples, till reviving blood arose,

And, like the morn, vermillioned o'er thy face.
Oh, Heaven! how did my heart rejoice and ache,
When I beheld the day-break of thy eyes,
And felt the balm of thy respiring lips!

Osm. Oh, call not to my mind what you have done;

It sets a debt of that account before me, Which shews me poor and bankrupt even in hopes.

Zara. The faithful Selim, and my women,

know

The danger which I tempted to conceal you.
You know how I abused the credulous king;
What arts I used to make you pass on him,
When he received you as the prince of Fez,
And, as my kinsman, honoured and advanced you.
Oh! why do I relate what I have done?
What did I not? Was't not for you this war
Commenced? Not knowing who you were, nor
why

You hated Manuel, I urged my husband
To this invasion; where he late was lost,
Where all is lost, and I am made a slave.
Look on me now; from empire fallen to slavery;
Think on my sufferings first, then look on me;
Think on the cause of all, then view thyself:
Reflect on Osmyn, and then look on Zara,
The fallen, the lost, and now the captive Zara,
And now abandoned- -Say, what then is Os-
myn?

Osm. A fatal wretch-A huge, stupendous ruin, That, tumbling on its prop, crushed all beneath, And bore contiguous palaces to earth.

Zara. Yet thus, thus fallen, thus levelled with the vilest,

If I have gained thy love, 'tis glorious ruin;
Ruin! 'tis still to reign, and to be more
A queen; for what are riches, empire, power,
But larger means to gratify the will?
The steps on which we tread, to rise and reach
Our wish; and that obtained, down with the
scaffolding

Of sceptres, crowns, and thrones; they've serv'd their end,

And are, like lumber, to be left and scorned. Osm. Why was I made the instrument, to throw In bonds the frame of this exalted mind!

Zara. We may be free; the conqueror is mine; In chains unseen I hold him by the heart, And can unwind or strain him as I please. Give me thy love, I'll give thee liberty.

Osm. In vain you offer, and in vain require, What neither can bestow. Set free yourself, And leave a slave the wretch that would be so. Zara. Thou canst not mean so poorly as thou talk'st.

Osm. Alas! You know me not.

Zara. Not who thou art :

But what this last ingratitude declares,