« VorigeDoorgaan »
M A H O M E T.
Had'ít thou heard a moment, Thou might'st have liv'd, for thou hadft spar'd Irene.
Μ Α Η Ο Μ Ε Τ.
Μ Α Η Ο Μ Ε Τ.
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 remenabrance : Abdalla brought her doom!
H AS A N.
Abdalla brought it, While yet she begg'd to plead her cause before thee.
M A HOM ET. O seize me, Madness-Did she call on ine! I feel, I fee the ruffian's barb'rous rage. He feiz'd her melting in the fond appeal, And stopp'd the heav'nly voice that callid on me. My spirits fail, awhile support me, VengeanceBe just, ye flaves; and, to be just, be cruel; Contrive new racks, imbitter ev'ry pang, Inflict whatever treason can deserve, Which murder'd innocence that callid on me, [Exit Mahomet; Abdalla is dragged off.
SCENE 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, Rufh'd out and seiz'd me, thoughtless and unarm’d, Breathless, amaz'd, and on the guarded beach Detain'd me tili Deinetrius set me free,
MUST A PH A.
When haughty guilt exults with impious joy,
ARRY a Turk! a haughty, tyrant king !
Who thinks us women born to dress and fing To please his fancy!— see no other man !Let him persuade me to it—if he can: Besides, he has fifty wives; and who can bear To have the fiftieth part her paltry share ?
'Tis true; the fellow 's handsome, strait, and tall; But how the devil should he please us all! My swain is little-true-but, be it known, My 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 dues 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. Tho'wealth, and pow'r, and glory, they receive, These all are 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 filenc'd war’s alarms, Receives his full reward in beauty's arms.
P R O L OG U E,
Before the MASQUE of COMUS.
Acted at DRURY-LANE THEATRE, for the Benefit of
MILTON'S Grand-Daughter *.
E patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame,
Yenymphs, whose bosoms beat at Milton's name,
At length our mighty bard's victorious lays