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The queen requested
Who? the dead Irene? Was she then guiltless! has my thoughtless rage Destroy'd the fairest workmanship of Heav'n! Doom'd her to death unpity’d and unhear’d, Amidst her kind solicitudes for me! Ye slaves of cruelty, ye tools of rage, [To Has, and Ye blind officious ministers of folly,
[Car. Could not her charms repress your zeal for murder? Could not her pra y'rs, her innocence, her tears, Suspend the dreadful sentence for an hour? One hour had freed me from the fatal error ! One hour had sav'd me from despair and madness.
Your fierce impatience forc'd us from your presence,
Those groves, whose shạdes embower'd the dear Irene, Heard her last cries, and fann'd ner dying beauties, Shall hide me from the tasteless world for ever.
[Mahomet goes back, and returns. Yet, ere I quit the sceptre of dominion, Let one just act conclude the hateful day. Hlew down, ye guards, those vassals of destruction,
[Pointing to Hasan and Caraza. Those hounds of blood, that catch the hint to kill, Bear off with eager haste th' unfinish'd sentence, And speed the stroke, lest mercy should o’ertake them.
Then hear, great Mahomet, the voice of truth.
Hadst thou heard a moment, Thou might'st have liv'd, for thou hadst spar'd Irene
I heard, and soften'd, till Abdalla brought
Abdalla brought it, 'rile yet she begg?d to plead her cause before thee.
O scize me, Madness-Did she call on me!
[Exit Mahomet; Abdalla is dragged off,
NASAN, 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 carth by thy neglect.
Such was the will of Heav'n-A band of Greeks,
When haughty guilt exults with impious joy,
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 ! My swain is little-true-but, be it known, May pride's to have that little all my own. Men will be ever to their errors blind, Where woman's not allow'd to speak her mind, I swear this Eastern pageantry is nonsense, And for one man--one wife's enough of conscience,
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 receives These are all trifles to what we can give. For us the statesman labours, hero fights, Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedious nights ; And, when blest peace has silenc'd war's-alarmis, Receives his full reward in Beauty's arms.
SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750,
BEFORE THE MASQUE OF COMUS.
Acted at Drury-Lane Theatre, for the Benefit of
Ye patriot crowds, who bạrn for England's fame,
At length our mighty bard's victorious lays
* See Vol. IX. p. 131,