MAHOMET. Hear! shall I hear thee? didst thou hear Irene ? Hear but a moment. CARAZA. MAHOMET. Hadst thou heard a moment, Thou might'st have liv'd, for thou hadst spar'd Irene. CARAZA. I heard her, pitied her, and wish'd to save her. MAHOMET. And wish'd-Be still thy fate to wish in vain. CARAZA. I heard, and soften'd, till Abdalla brought MAHOMET. Abdalla brought her doom! Abdalla brought it! The wretch, whose guilt, declar'd by tortur'd Cali, My rage and grief had hid from my remembrance: Abdalla brought her doom! HASAN. Abdalla brought it, While yet she begg'd to plead her cause before thee. MAHOMET. O seize me, Madness-Did she call on me! Contrive new racks, imbitter ev'ry pang, Which murder'd innocence that call'd on me. SCENE XIII. HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA. MUSTAPHA to MURZA. What plagues, what tortures, are in store for thee, Thou sluggish idler, dilatory slave! Behold the model of consummate beauty, Torn from the mourning earth by thy neglect. MURZA. Such was the will of Heav'n-A band of Greeks, That mark'd my course, suspicious of my purpose, Rush'd out and seiz'd me, thoughtless and un arm'd, Breathless, amaz'd, and on the guarded beach Detain'd me, till Demetrius set me free. MUSTAPHA. So sure the fall of greatness, rais'd on crimes; But Heav'n shall guide it to the guilty heart. EPILOGUE, BY SIR WILLIAM YONGE. MARRY a Turk! a haughty tyrant king! 'Tis true, the fellow's handsome, straight, and tall, But how the devil should he please us all! In vain proud man usurps what's woman's due ; For us alone they honour's paths pursue: Inspir'd by us, they glory's heights ascend; Woman the source, the object, and the end. Though wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they receive, These are all trifles to what we can give. And, when blest peace has silenc'd war's alarms, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Prologue, SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750. BEFORE THE MASQUE OF COMUS, ACTED AT DRURY LANE THEATRE FOR THE BENEEIT OF MILTON's GRAND-DAUGHTER.* YE patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame, Shames the mean pensions of Augustan times, At length our mighty bard's victorious lays And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, Yields to renown the centuries to come; * See vol. ix.. With ardent haste each candidate of fame, The patient suff'rer, and the faithful wife. Your's is the charge, ye fair, ye wise, ye brave! "Tis yours to crown desert-beyond the grave. Prologue TO THE COMEDY OF THE GOOD-NATUR'D MAN, 1769. PREST by the load of life, the weary mind Our anxious bard without complaint may share |