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Whose ghosts have all this night, passing the Zorat, Call'd from the bridge of death to thee to follow, That now thou'rt here to answer to their cry? Howe'er it be, thou know'st thy welcome
P/io. Yes, Thou proud, blood-thirsty Arab !—Well I know What to expect from thee: I know ye all. How should the author of distress and ruin Be mov'd to pity? That's a human passion. No—in your hungry eyes, that look revenge, I read my doom. Where are your racks, your tortures?
I'm ready lead me to them; I can bear
The worst of ills from you. You're not my friends,
Abu. [To Caled, aside.] Leader of armies, hear
Cal. I tell thee then, thou wrong'st us,
Pho. This is not then the palace in Damascus!
Abu. Is it possible?
Cal. 'Tis well—we thank them:
Was the companion of thy flight ?—A woman,
Pho. 'Tis there I am most wretched
Oh, I am torn from all my soul held dear,
Abu. [Aside.] My soul is mov'd—Thou wert a man,
Pho. Now—since you've heard my story, set me free, That I may save her yet, dearer than life, From a tyrannic father's threaten'd force; Gold, gems, and purple vests, shall pay my ransom; Nor shall my peaceful sword henceforth be drawn In fight, nor break its truce with you for ever.
Cal. No—there's one way, a better, and but one, To save thyself, and make some reparation For all the numbers thy bold hand has slain.
Pho. O, name it quickly, and my soul will bless
thee! Cal. Embrace our faith, and share with us our fortunes. Pho. Then I am lost again! Cal. What? when we offer, Not freedom only, but to raise thee high, To greatness, conquest, glory, heavenly bliss!
Pho. To sink me down to infamy, perdition,
Cal. As thou wilt. The time's too precious to be wasted longer, In words with thee. Thou know'st thy doom—farewell. Abu. Hear me, Caled; grant him some short space; [Aside to Caled.
Perhaps he will at length accept thy bounty.
Try him, at least
Cal. Well—be it so, then. Daran, Guard well thy charge—Thou hast an hour to live; If thou art wise, thou may'st prolong that term; If not—why—Fare thee well, and think of death.
[Exeunt Caled and Abudah. Pho. [daran waiting at a Distance.] Farewell, and think of death! Was it not so?
Do murderers then preach morality?
But how to think of what the living know not,
The verge 'twixt mortal and immortal beings.
Dar. [Aside.] Suppose I now
Pho. I pray thee, slave, stand off—My soul's too busy To lose a thought on thee.
Abu. What's this ?—forbear!
[Takes the Jewels from him, and lays thern on a
Abu. What, dost thou mutter?
Phocyas, perhaps thou know'st me not
Pho. I know
Abu. True, for thou yet Know'st not 1 am thy friend.
Pho. Is't possible?
Thou speak'st me fair.
Abu. What dost thou think of life?
Pho. I think not of it; death was in my thoughts. On hard conditions, life were but a load, And I will lay it down.
Abu. Art thou resolv'd?
Pho. I am, unless thou bring'st me better terms
Abu. Think again.
Pho. Thou say'st thou art my friend: Why dost
Abu. The general knows thee brave, and 'tis for that He seeks alliance with thy noble virtues.
Pho. He knows me brave !—Why does he then thus treat me? No; he believes I am so poor of soul, That, barely for the privilege to live, I would be bought his slave. .But, go, tell him, The little space of life, his scorn bequeath'd me, Was lent in vain, and he may take the forfeit.
Abu. Why wilt thou wed thyself to misery, When our faith courts thee to eternal blessings! When truth itself is, like a seraph, come To loose thy bands ?—The light divine, whose beams Pierc'd through the gloom of Hera's sacred cave,