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Der. The same.

I learn'd,

That, burning for the sultan's beauteous daughter,
He had begg'd her, as a captive of the war,
From Tamerlane; but meeting with denial
Of what he thought his services might claim,
Loudly he storms, and curses the Italian,
As cause of this affront. I join'd his rage,
And added to his injuries, the wrongs
Our prophet daily meets with from Axalla.
But see, he comes. Improve what I shall tell,
And all we wish is ours.

[They seem to talk together aside.

Enter OMAR.

Omar. No--if I forgive it,

Dishonour blast my name! Was it for this
That I directed his first steps to greatness,
Taught him to climb, and made him what he is?
And am I now so lost to his remembrance,
That when I ask a captive, he shall tell me,
She is Axalla's right, his Christian minion?
Der. Allow me, valiant Omar, to demand,
Since injur'd thus, why right you not yourself?
The prize you ask is in your power.

Omar. It is,

And I will seize it in despite of Tamerlane,
And that Italian dog.

Haly. What need of force,

When every thing concurs to meet your wishes?

Our mighty master would not wish a son

Nobler than Omar. From a father's hand

Receive that daughter, which ungrateful Tamerlane

Has to your worth deny'd.

Omar. Now, by my arms,

It will be great revenge.

What will your sultan

Give to the man that shall restore his liberty,

His crown, and give him pow'r to wreak his hatred

Upon his greatest foe?

Haly. All he can ask,

And far beyond his wish.

Omar. These trumpets speak

[Trumpets.

The emperor's approach; he comes once more

To offer terms of peace. Within,

I will know farther.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

BAJAZET'S Tent.

ARPASIA discovered lying on a Couch.

SONG.

To thee, O gentle sleep, alone
Is owing all our peace,

By thee our joys are heighten'd shown,
By thee our sorrows cease.
The nymph whose hand, by fraud or force,
Some tyrant has possess'd,

By thee, obtaining a divorce,

In her own choice is bless'd.
Oh, stay! Arpasia bids thee stay;
The sadly weeping fair

Conjures thee, not to lose in day

The object of her care.

To grasp whose pleasing form she sought,
That motion chas'd her sleep;

Thus by ourselves are oft'nest wrought
The griefs, for which we weep.

Arp. Oh, death! thou gentle end of human sorrows, Still must my weary eye-lids vainly wake In tedious expectation of thy peace?

Why stand thy thousand thousand doors still open,
To take the wretched in, if stern religion

Guard every passage, and forbids my entrance?—
Lucrece could bleed, and Portia swallow fire,
When urg'd with griefs beyond a mortal sufferance;
But here it must not be. Think then, Arpasia,
Think on the sacred dictates of thy faith,
And let that arm thy virtue to perform

What Cato's daughter durst not!-Live, Arpasia,
And dare to be unhappy.

Enter TAMERLANE.

Tam. Such welcome as a camp can give, fair sultaness,

We hope you have receiv'd; it shall be larger,
And better as it may.

Arp. Since I have borne

That miserable mark of fatal greatness,

I have forgot all difference of conditions;
Sceptres and fetters are grown equal to me,
And the best change my fate can bring is death.
Tam. Oh! teach my power

To cure those ills which you unjustly suffer,
Lest Heav'n should wrest it from my idle hand,
If I look on, and see you weep in vain.

Arp. Not that my soul disdains the generous aid
Thy royal goodness proffers: but, oh, emperor!
It is not in my fate to be made happy;
Nor will I listen to the coz'ner, Hope,
But stand resolv'd to bear the beating storm,
That roars around me; safe in this alone,
That I am not immortal.-Tho' 'tis hard,
'Tis wondrous hard, when I remember thee,
Dear native Greece! and you, ye weeping maids,
That were companions of my virgin youth!

My noble parents! Oh, the grief of heart,
The pangs, that, for unhappy me, bring down
Their reverend ages to the grave with sorrow.
And yet there is a woe surpassing all:

Ye saints and angels, give me of your constancy,
If you expect I shall endure it long.

Tam. Why is my pity all that I can give
To tears like yours? And yet I fear 'tis all;
Nor dare I ask, what mighty loss you mourn,
Lest honour should forbid to give it back.

Arp. No, Tamerlane, nor did I mean thou shouldst: But know, (tho' to the weakness of my sex I yield these tears) my soul is more than man. Think, I am born a Greek, nor doubt my virtue ; They must be mighty evils, that can vanquish A Spartan courage, and a Christian faith.

Enter BAJAZET,

Baj, To know no thought of rest? to have the mind Still minist'ring fresh plagues, as in a circle, Where one dishonour treads upon another; What know the fiends beyond it?-Ha! by hell,

[Seeing ARPASIA and TAMERLANE.

There wanted only this to make me mad.
Comes he to triumph here; to rob my love,
And violate the last retreat of happiness?

Tam. But that I read upon thy frowning brow,
That war yet lives, and rages in thy breast;
Once more (in pity to the suff'ring world)

I meant to offer peace.

Baj. And mean'st thou too

To treat it with our empress; and to barter
The spoils, which fortune gave thee, for her favours?
Seek'st thou thus our friendship?

Is this the royal usage thou didst boast?

Tam. The boiling passion, that disturbs thy soul, Spreads clouds around, and makes thy purpose darkUnriddle what thy mystic fury aims at,

Baj. Is it a riddle? Read it there explain'd; There, in my shame. Now judge me thou, O prophet, And equal Heav'n, if this demand not rage! The peasant hind, begot and born to slavery, Yet dares assert a husband's sacred right, And guards his homely couch from violation: And shall a monarch tamely bear the wrong Without complaining?

Tam. If I could have wrong'd thee,

If conscious virtue, and all-judging Heav'n,
Stood not between, to bar ungovern'd appetite,
What hinder'd, but in spite of thee, my captive,
I might have us'd a victor's boundless pow'r,
And sated every wish my soul could form?
But to secure thy fears, know, Bajazet,
This is among the things I dare not do.

Baj. By hell, 'tis false! else wherefore art thou

present?
What cam'st thou for, but to undo my

honour?
I found thee holding amorous parly with her,
Gazing and glutting on her wanton eyes,
And bargaining for pleasures yet to come:
My life, I know, is the devoted price-
But take it, I am weary of the pain.

Tam. Yet ere thou rashly urge my rage too far, I warn thee to take heed; I am a man,

And have the frailties common to man's nature,
The fiery seeds of wrath are in my temper,

And may be blown up to so fierce a blaze,

As wisdom cannot rule. Know, thou hast touch'd me
Ev'n in the nicest, tend'rest part, my honour;
My honour! which, like pow'r, disdains being ques-
tion'd;

Thy breath has blasted my fair virtue's fame,
And mark'd me for a villain, and a tyrant.

Arp. And stand I here an idle looker-on,
To see my innocence murder'd and mangled
By barbarous hands, nor can revenge the wrong?

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