We come, bright Virgin, though relenting Nature
Shrinks at the hated tafk, for thy deftruction;
When fummon'd by the Sultan's clam'rous fury,
We afk'd with tim'rous tongue th' offender's name.
He ftruck his tortur'd breaft, and roar'd, Irene.
We started at the found, again enquir'd;
Again his thund'ring voice return'd, Irene.
Whence is this rage? what barb'rous tongue has wrong'd me?
What fraud misleads him? or what crimes incenfe?
Expiring Cali nam'd Irene's chamber,
The place appointed for his master's death.
Irene's chamber! From my faithful bofom
Far be the thought-But hear my proteftation.
'Tis ours, alas! to punish, not to judge, Not call'd to try the cause, we heard the sentence, Ordain'd the mournful meffengers of death.
Some ill-defigning statesman's base intrigue!
Some cruel ftratagem of jealous beauty!
Perhaps yourselves the villains that defame me,
Now hafte to murder, ere returning thought
Recall th' extorted doom.It must be fo:
Confefs your crime, or lead me to the Sultan ;
There dauntlefs truth fhall blaft the vile accufer;
Then shall you feel what language cannot utter,
Each piercing torture, ev'ry change of pain,
That vengeance can invent, or pow'r inflict.
[Enter ABDALLA: he flops fhort, and liftens.
IRENE, HASAN, CARAZA, ABDALLA.
All is not loft, Abdalla; fee the queen,
See the last witness of thy guilt and fear
Enrob'd in death-Dispatch her, and be great.
Unhappy fair! compaffion calls upon me
To check this torrent of imperious rage;
While unavailing anger crowds thy tongue
With idle threats and fruitless exclamation,
The fraudful moments ply their filent wings,
And steal thy life away. Death's horrid angel
Already shakes his bloody fabre o'er thee.
The raging Sultan burns till our return,
Curfes the dull delays of ling'ring mercy,
And thinks his fatal mandates ill obey'd.
Is then your fov'reign's life fo cheaply rated,
That thus you parly with detected treason?
Should the prevail to gain the Sultan's prefence,
Soon might her tears engage a lover's credit;
Perhaps her malice might transfer the charge; Perhaps her pois'nous tongue might blast Abdalla.
O let me but be heard, nor fear from me
Or flights of pow'r, or projects of ambition.
My hopes, my wishes, terminate in life,
A little life, for grief, and for repentance.
I mark'd her wily meffenger afar,
And faw him fkulking in the clofeft walks:
I guess'd her dark defigns, and warn'd the Sultan,
And bring her former fentence new confirm'd.
Then call it not our cruelty, nor crime;
Deém us not deaf to woe, nor blind to beauty,
That thus conftrain'd we speed the ftroke of death.
[Beckons the Mutes.
O, name not death! Diftraction and amazement,
Horror and agony, are in that found!
Let me but live, heap woes on woes upon me,
Hide me with murd'rers in the dungeon's gloom,
Send me to wander on fome pathless shore,
Let fhame and hooting infamy pursue me,
Let flav'ry harass, and let hunger gripe.
Could we reverfe the fentence of the Sultan,
Our bleeding bofoms plead Irene's caufe.
But cries and tears are vain; prepare with patience To meet that fate we can delay no longer.
[The Mutes at the fign lay hold of her.
Dispatch, ye ling'ring flaves; or nimbler hands,
Quick at my call, fhall execute your charge;
Dispatch, and learn a fitter time for pity.
Grant me one hour, O grant me but a moment
And bounteous Heav'n repay the mighty mercy
With peaceful death, and happiness eternal.
The prayer I cannot grant-I dare not hear.
Short be thy pains.
[Signs again to the Mutes.
Guilt and Defpair, pale fpectres! grin around me,
And ftun me with the yellings of damnation !
O, hear my pray'rs! accept, all pitying Heav'n,
Thefe tears, these pangs, these last remains of life;
Nor let the crimes of this detefted day
Be charg'd upon my foul. O, mercy! mercy!
Safe in her death, and in Demetrius' flight,
Abdalla, bid thy troubled breaft be calm.
Now fhalt thou fhine the darling of the Sultan,
The plot all Cali's, the detection thine.
Does not thy bofom (for I know thee tender,
A stranger to th' oppreffor's favage joy,)
Melt at Irene's fate, and fhare her woes?
Her piercing cries yet fill the loaded air,
Dwell on my ear, and fadden all my foul.
But let us try to clear our clouded brows,
And tell the horrid tale with chearful face;
The ftormy Sultan rages at our ftay.
Frame your report with circumfpective art;
Inflame her crimes, exalt your own obedience;
But let no thoughtless hint involve Abdalla,
What need of caution to report the fate
Of her the Sultan's voice condemn'd to die?
Or why should he, whofe violence of duty
Has ferv'd his prince fo well, demand our filence?
Perhaps my zeal too fierce betray'd my prudence;
Perhaps my warmth exceeded my commiffion;
Perhaps I will not ftoop to plead my cause,
Or argue with the flave that fav'd Demetrius.
From his escape learn thou the pow'r of virtue ; Nor hope his fortune, while thou want'ft his worth.
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