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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,
My countrymen.—Yet were you men, I could
Unfold a story—But no more—Eumenes,
Thou hast thy wish, and I am now—a worm!

Abu. [To Caled, aside.] Leader of armies, hear
him! for my mind
Presages good accruing to our cause
By this event.

Cal. I tell thee then, thou wrong'st us,
To think our hearts thus steel'd, or our ears deaf
To all that thou may'st utter. Speak, disclose
The secret woes that throb within thy breast.
Now, by the silent hours of night, we'll hear thee,
And mute attention shall await thy words.

Pho. This is not then the palace in Damascus!
If you will hear, then'1 indeed have wrong'd you.
How can this be ?—When he, for whom I've fought,
Fought against you, has yet refus'd to hear me!
You seem surpris'd.—It was ingratitude
That drove me out, an exile, not a foe.

Abu. Is it possible?
Are these thy christian friends?

Cal. 'Tis well—we thank them:
They help us to subdue themselves—But who

Was the companion of thy flight ?—A woman,
So Daran said

Pho. 'Tis there I am most wretched

Oh, I am torn from all my soul held dear,
And my life's blood flows out upon the wound!
That woman—'twas for her—How shall I speak it?
Eudocia, Oh, farewell!—I'll tell you, then,
As fast as these heart'rending sighs will let me;
I lov'd the daughter of the proud Eumenes,
And long in secret woo'd her; not unwelcome
To her my visits; but I fear'd her father,
Who oft had press'd her to detested nuptials,
And therefore durst not, till this night of joy,
Avow to him my courtship. Now I thought her
Mine, by a double claim, of mutual vows,
And service yielded at his greatest need:
When, as I mov'd my suit, with sour disdain,
He mock'd my service, and forbade my love;
Degraded me from the command I bore,
And with defiance bade me seek the foe.
How has his curse prevail'd!—The generous maid
Was won by my distress to leave the city;
And cruel fortune made me thus your prey.

Abu. [Aside.] My soul is mov'd—Thou wert a man,
0, prophet!
Forgive, if 'tis a crime, a human sorrow,
For injur'd worth, though in an enemy!

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.

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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,
Here and hereafter! Make my name a curse
To present times, to every future age
A proverb and a scorn!—take back thy mercy,
And know I now disdain it.

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,
And the dead cannot, or else may not, tell ?—
What art thou, O thou great mysterious terror!
The way to thee we know! disease, famine,
Sword, fire, and all thy ever open gates,
That day and night stand ready to receive us.
But what's beyond them ?—Who will draw that veil I
Yet death's not there—No; 'tis a point of time,

The verge 'twixt mortal and immortal beings.
It mocks our thoughts! On this side all is life;
And when we have reach'd it, in that very instant,
Tis past the thinking of! Oh! if it be
The pangs, the throes, the agonizing struggles
When soul and body part, sure I have felt it,
And there's no more to fear.

Dar. [Aside.] Suppose I now
Despatch him !—Right—What need to stay for or-
I wish I durst!—Yet what I dare I'll do.
Your jewels, christian—You'll not need these trifles—

[Searching hirn.

Pho. I pray thee, slave, stand off—My soul's too busy To lose a thought on thee.

Enter Abudah.

Abu. What's this ?—forbear!
Who gave thee leave to use this violence?

[Takes the Jewels from him, and lays thern on a
Dar. [Aside!] Deny'd my booty! curses on his
Was not the founder of our law a robber?
Why, 'twas for that I left my country's gods,
Menaph and Uzza. Better still be pagan,
Than starve with a new faith.

Abu. What, dost thou mutter?
Daran, withdraw, and better learn thy duty.

[Exit Daran.

Phocyas, perhaps thou know'st me not

Pho. I know
Thy name Abudah, and thy office here,
The second in command. What more thou art,
Indeed I cannot tell.


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
Than those I have rejected.

Abu. Think again.
Caled by me once more renews that offer.

Pho. Thou say'st thou art my friend: Why dost
thou try
To shake the settled temper of my breast?
My soul has just discharg'd her cumb'rous train
Of hopes and fears, prepar'd to take her voyage
To other seats, where she may rest in peace;
And now thou call'st me back, to beat again
The painful road of life—Tempt me no more
To be a wretch, for I despise the offer.

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,

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