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Our swords were drawn: for such is Heaven's com

mand

Immutable. By us great Mahomet,

And his successor, holy Abubeker,
Invite you to the faith.

Eum. Now, in the name of Heaven, what faith is
this,

That stalks gigantic forth thus arm'd with terrors,
As if it meant to ruin, not to save?

That leads embattled legions to the field,

And marks its progress out with blood and slaughter? Herb. Bold, frontless men! that impudently dare To blend religion with the worst of crimes!

And sacrilegiously usurp that name,

To cover fraud, and justify oppression!

Eum. Where are your priests? What doctors of
your law

Have you e'er sent t'instruct us in its precepts?
To solve our doubts, and satisfy our reason,
And kindly lead us, through the wilds of error,

To these new tracts of truth-This would be friendship,

And well might claim our thanks.

Cal. Friendship like this

With scorn had been receiv'd: your numerous vices,
Your clashing sects, your mutual rage and strife,
Have driven religion, and her angel guards,
Like outcasts from among you. In her stead,
Usurping superstition bears the sway,

And reigns in mimic state, 'midst idol shows,
And pageantry of power. Who does not mark
Your lives, rebellious to your own great prophet,
Who mildly taught you? Therefore Mahomet
Has brought the sword, to govern you by force.
Eum. Ö, solemn truths! though from an impious
tongue!
[Aside.

That we're unworthy of our holy faith,

To Heaven, with grief and conscious shame, we own, But what are you, that thus arraign our vices,

And consecrate your own?

Are you not sons of rapine, foes to peace,
Base robbers, murderers-

Cal. Christians, no—

Eum. Then say,

Why have you ravag'd all our peaceful borders? Plunder'd our towns? and by what claim e'en now, You tread this ground?

Herb. What claim, but that of hunger?

The claim of ravenous wolves, that leave their dens To prowl at midnight round some sleeping village, Or watch the shepherd's folded flock for prey?

Cal. Blasphemer, know, your fields and towns are

ours;

Our prophet has bestow'd them on the faithful,
And Heaven itself has ratify'd the grant.

Eum. Oh! now indeed you boast a noble title!
What could your prophet grant? a hireling slave!
Not e'en the mules and camels which he drove,
Were his to give; and yet the bold impostor
Has canton'd out the kingdoms of the earth,
In frantic fits of visionary power,

To sooth his pride, and bribe his fellow madmen!
Cal. Was it for this you sent to ask a parley,
T'affront our faith, and to traduce our prophet!
Well might we answer you with quick revenge
For such indignities-Yet hear, once more,
Hear this, our last demand; and, this accepted,
We yet withdraw our war. Be christians still,
But swear to live with us in firm alliance,
To yield us aid, and pay us annual tribute,

Eum. No-Should we grant you aid, we must be rebels;

And tribute is the slavish badge of conquest,
Yet since, on just and honourable terms,
We ask but for our own-Ten silken vests,

Weighty with pearls and gems, we'll send your caliph ;
Two, Caled, shall be thine; two thine, Abudah.
To each inferior captain we decree

A turban, spun from our Damascus flax,
White as the snows of heaven; to every soldier
A scimitar. This, and of solid gold

Ten ingots, be the price to buy your absence.

Cal. This, and much more, even all your shining wealth,

Will soon be ours-Behold our march

O'er half your land, like flame through fields of har

vest.

And, last, view Aiznadin, that vale of blood!

There seek the souls of forty thousand Greeks,
That, fresh from life, yet hover o'er their bodies.
Then think, and then resolve.

Herb. Presumptuous men!

What though you yet can boast successful guilt,
Is conquest only yours? Or dare you hope
That you shall still pour on the swelling tide,
Like some proud river, that has left its banks,
Nor ever know repulse ?

Eum. Have you forgot!

Not twice seven years are past, since e'en your prophet,

Bold as he was, and boasting aid divine,
Was by the tribe of Corish forc'd to fly,
Poorly to fly, to save his wretched life,
From Mecca to Medina?

Abu. No-forgot!

We well remember how Medina screen'd
That holy head, preserv'd for better days,

And ripening years of glory!

Dar. Why, my chiefs,

Will you waste time, in offering terms despis'd,
To these idolaters?—Words are but air,

Blows would plead better.

Cal. Daran, thou say'st true.

Christians, here end our truce. Behold, once more The sword of Heaven is drawn! nor shall be sheath'd, But in the bowels of Damascus.

Eum. That,

Or speedy vengeance, and destruction, due

To the proud menacers, as Heaven sees fit! [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Garden.

Enter EUDOCIA.

Eud. All's hush'd around!-No more the shout of

soldiers,

And clash of arms, tumultuous, fill the air.
Methinks this interval of terror seems

Like that, when the loud thunder just has roll'd
O'er our affrighted heads, and, in the heavens,
A momentary silence but prepares

A second and a louder clap to follow.

Enter PHOCYAS.

O no-my hero comes, with better omens,
And every gloomy thought is now no more.
Pho. Where is the treasure of my soul!-Eudocia,
Behold me here impatient, like the miser,
That often steals in secret to his gold,

And counts, with trembling joy, and jealous transport,

The shining heaps which he still fears to lose. Eud. Welcome, thou brave, thou best deserving lover!

How do I doubly share the common safety,

Since 'tis a debt to thee!-But tell me, Phocyas,
Dost thou bring peace?-Thou dost, and I am happy!

Pho. Not yet, Eudocia ; 'tis decreed by Heaven, I must do more to merit thy esteem.

Peace, like a frighted dove, has wing'd her flight
To distant hills, beyond these hostile tents;
And through them we must thither force our way,
If we would call the lovely wanderer back
To her forsaken home.

Eud. False, flattering hope!

Vanish'd so soon!--alas, my faithful fears
Return, and tell me, we must still be wretched!
Pho. Not so, my fair; if thou but gently smile,
Inspiring valour, and presaging conquest,

These barbarous foes to peace and love shall soon
Be chas'd, like fiends, before the morning light,
And all be calm again.

Eud. Is the truce ended?

Must war, alas! renew its bloody rage,
And Phocyas ever be expos'd to danger?

Pho. Think for whose sake danger itself has charms.
Dismiss thy fears; the lucky hour comes on,
Full fraught with joys, when my big soul no more
Shall labour with this secret of my passion,
To hide it from thy jealous father's eyes.
Just now, by signals from the plain, I've learn'd
That the proud foe refuse us terms of honour;
A sally is resolv'd; the citizens

And soldiers, kindled into sudden fury,
Press all in crowds, and beg I'll lead them on.
Oh, my Eudocia! if I now succeed-
Did I say, if—I must, I will; the cause
Is love, 'tis liberty, it is Eudocia !-
What then shall hinder,

But I may boldly ask thee of Eumenes,
Nor fear a rival's more prevailing claim?

Eud. May blessings still attend thy arms!Methinks

I've caught the flame of thy heroic ardour;

And now I see thee crown'd with palm and olive; The soldiers bring thee back, with songs of triumph,

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