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Destroy'd the fairest workmanship of heav'n!
[To Hasan and Caraza.
Ye blind, officious ministers of folly,
One hour had freed me from the fatal errour!
Your fierce impatience forc'd us from your presence,
What hadst thou lost, by slighting those commands?
Well, if a thousand lives like thine had perish'd;
Great is thy woe! But think, illustrious sultan,
Rush to the war, display thy dreadful banners,
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,
Those groves, whose shades embower'd the dear Irene,
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-
[Pointing to Hasan and Caraza.
Those hounds of blood, that catch the hint to kill,
Then hear, great Mahomet, the voice of truth.
Hear! shall I hear thee! didst thou hear Irene?
Hear but a moment.
Hadst thou heard a moment,
Thou might'st have liv'd, for thou hadst spar'd Irene.
I heard her, pitied her, and wish'd to save her.
And wish'd-be still thy fate to wish in vain.
I heard, and soften'd, till Abdalla brought
Abdalla brought her doom! Abdalla brought it!
Abdalla brought it,
While yet she begg'd to plead her cause before thee.
O, seize me, madness-Did she call on me!
He seiz'd her melting in the fond appeal,
And stopp'd the heav'nly voice that call'd on me.
[Exit Mahomet; Abdalla is dragged off.
HASAN, CARAZA, MUSTAPHA, MURZA.
MUSTAPHA to MURZA.
What plagues, what tortures, are in store for thee,
Behold the model of consummate beauty,
Such was the will of heav'n-A band of Greeks,
So sure the fall of greatness, rais'd on crimes!
Weak man, with erring rage, may throw the dart,
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, My pride's to have that little all my own. Men will be ever to their errours 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 in 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 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 beauty's arms.
SPOKEN BY MR. GARRICK, APRIL 5, 1750, BEFORE THE MASQUE OF COMUS.
Acted at Drury lane theatre, for the benefit of Milton's granddaughter".
YE patriot crowds, who burn for England's fame,
Attend this prelude of perpetual praise;
At length, our mighty bard's victorious lays
And baffled spite, with hopeless anguish dumb,
a See Life of Milton.