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Confess your crime, or lead me to the Sultan; •
All is not lost, Abdalla; see the queen,
Unhappy fair! compassion calls upon me
*The raging Sultan burns till our return,
Perhaps her malice might transfer the charge; Perhaps her poisonous tongue might blast Abdalla.
O let me but be heard, nor fear from me
ABDALLA. I mark'd her wily messenger afar, And saw him skulking in the closest walks: I guess'd her dark designs, and warn'd the Sultan, And bring her former sentence new confirm'd.
Then call it not our cruelty, nor crime;
That thus constrain'd we speed the stroke of death. [Beckons the Mutes.
O, name not death ! Distraction and amazement,
Could we reverse the sentence of the Sultan,
But cries and tears are vain; prepare with patience
- A BDALLA.
Quick at my call, shall execute your charge ;
Despatch, and learn a fitter time for pity.
CARAZA. The prayer I cannot grant—I dare not hear. Short be thy pains. . . . [Signs again to the Mutes, IRENE,
Unutterable anguish Guilt and Despair, pale spectres grin around me, And stun me with the yellings of damnation O, hear my pray'rs! accept, all-pitying Heav'n, These tears, these pangs, these last remains of life; Nor let the crimes of this detested day Be chargd upon my soul. O, mercy! mercy
[Mutes force her out.
SCENE X. ABDALLA, HASAN, CARAZA. 4 ABDALLA, aside. Safe in her death, and in Demetrius's flight, Abdalla, bid thy troubled breast be calm. - Now
Now shalt thou shine the darling of the Sultan,
HASAN to CARAzA.
Her piercing cries yet fill the loaded air,
Perhaps my zeal too fierce betray'd my prudence;
Or argue with the slave that sav'd Demetrius.
From his escape learn thou the pow'r of virtue;
HAsAN, CARAZA, MAHOMET, MUSTAPHA,
- *. MAhom ET, - Where's this fair traitress P Where's this smiling mischief, *. * * * * Whom neither vows could fix, nor favours bind?
Thine orders, mighty Sultan are perform’d,
U. MAHOMET. Your hasty zeal defrauds the claim of justice, And disappointed vengeance burns in vain. I came to heighten tortures by reproach, And add new terrours to the face of death. 'Was this the maid whose love I bought with empire? True, she was fair; the smile of innocence Play'd on her cheek—So shone the first apostate— Irene's chamber! Did not roaring Cali, Just as the rack forc'd out his struggling soul, Name for the scene of death Irene's chamber?
His breath prolong d but to detect her treason,