chosen The queen requested-Wretch, repeat the message; And, if one varied accent prove thy falsehood, Or but one moment's pause betray confusion, Those trembling limbs-Speak out, thou shiv'ring traitor. The queen requested MURZA. MAHOMET. Who? the dead Irene? Was she then guiltless! has my thoughtless rage [To Has. an [Ca Could not her charms repress your zeal for murder? CARAZA. Your fierce impatience forc'd us from your presence, MAHOMET. What hadst thou lost by slighting those commands? MUSTAPHA. Great is thy woe! But think, illustrious Sultan, MAHOMET. Robb'd of the maid with whom I wish'd to triumph, No more I burn for fame, or for dominion; Success and conquest now are empty sounds, Remorse and anguish seize on all my breast; Those groves, whose shades embower'd the dear Irene, Heard her last cries, and fann'd her 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. Hew down, ye guards, those vassals of destruction, CARAZA. Then hear, great Mahomet, the voice of truth. MAHOMET. Hear! shall I hear thee! didst thou hear Irene? CARAZA. Hear but a moment. 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! 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! And stopp'd the heav'nly voice that call'd on me. Be just, ye slaves; and, to be just, be cruel; [Exit Mahomet; Abdalla is dragged off. SCENE XIII. HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA. MUSTAPHA to MURZA. What plagues, what tortures, are in store for thee, Behold the model of consummate beauty, MURZA. Such was the will of Heav'n-A band of Greeks, MUSTAPHA. So sure the fall of greatness rais'd on crimes! Weak man with erring rage may throw the dart, EPILOGUE, BY SIR WILLIAM YONGE. MARRY a Turk! a haughty, tyrant king! 'Tis true, the fellow's handsome, straight, and tall, 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. For us the statesman labours, hero fights, Bears toilsome days, and wakes long tedious nights; And, when blest peace has silenc'd war's alarms, Receives his full reward in Beauties arms. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. PROLOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK, APRIL 5th, 1750, Acted at Drury-Lane Theatre, for the Benefit of YE patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame, And rising ages hasten to be just. At length our mighty bard's victorious lays And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb, |