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And there illumin'd the great Mahomet,
Pho. But whither must I follow ?—answer that.
Pho. Dost thou ask why is this I—O, why indeed? Where is the man, can read Heaven's secret counsels ?— Why did I conquer in another cause,
Yet now am here
Abu. I'll tell thee—thy good angel Has seiz'd thy hand unseen, and snatch'd thee out From swift destruction; know, ere day shall dawn, Damascus will in blood lament its fall! We've heard what army is design'd to march Too late to save her. Now, e'en now, our force Is just preparing for a fresh assault. Now too thou might'st revenge thy wrongs—so Calcd Charg'd me to say, and more—that he invites thee; Thou know'st the terms—to share with him the conquest. Pho. Conquest ?—Revenge!—Hold, let me think— O, horror! Revenge! O, what revenge? Bleed on, my wounds, per thus to be reveng'd, were it not worse
Than all that I can suffer ?—But, Eudocia—
Abu. Hear me once more,
Pho. Ha! safe—but how! A wretched captive too!
Abu. He swears she shall be free, she shall be thine.
Pho. Then I am lost indeed
Abu. The time draws near, and I must quickly
Pho. Oh—this pulls my heart strings! [Falls. Earth open—save me, save me from that thought.
Abu. Nay, do not plunge thyself in black despair; Look up, poor wretch, thou art not shipwreck'd yet, Behold an anchor; am not I thy friend?
Pho. [Rising.] Ha! Who, what art thou?
[Raving. My friend? that's well; but, hold—are all friends
honest? What's to be done?—Hush, hark ! what voice is that?
Abu. There is no voice; 'tis yet the dead of night, The guards, without, keep silent watch around us.
Pho. Again—it calls—'tis she— O, lead me to her—
Abu. Thy passion mocks thee with imagin'd sounds.
Pho. Sure 'twas Eudocia's voice, cry'd out—Forbear, What shall I do ?—O, Heaven!
Abu. Heaven shows thee what.
With anger on his brow. Quickly withdraw
To the next tent, and there
Pho. [Rising.] What do I see? Damascus! conquest! ruin! rapes and murder! Villains!—Is there no more—O, save her, save her! [Exeunt Phocyas and Abudah.
Enter Caled and Daran.
Dar. Behold, on thy approach, they shift their
ground. Cal. Tis as thou say'st; he trifles with my mercy. Dar. Speak, shall I fetch his head? Cal. No, stay you here, I cannot spare thee yet. Raphan, go thou.
[To an Officer. But, hold—I've thought again—he shall not die. Go, tell him he shall live, till he has seen Damascus sink in flames; till he behold That slave, that woman idol he adores, Or given a prize to some brave mussulman, Or slain before his face; then if he sue For death as for a boon—perhaps we'll grant it.
[eoty'raphan. Dar. The captains wait thy orders. Cal. Are the troops Ready to march? Dar. They are.
Cal. Mourn, thou haughty city! The bow is bent, nor canst thou 'scape thy doom. Who turns his back henceforth, our prophet curso him! Dar. Butwho commands the trusty bands ofMecca? Thou know'st their leader fell in the last fight.
Cal. Tis true; thou, Daran, well deservs't that charge; / I've mark'd what a keen hatred, like my own, Dwells in thy breast against these christian dogs. Dar. Thou dost me right.
Cal. And therefore I'll reward it. Be that command now thine. And here—this sabre, Bless'd in the field by Mahomet himself, At Caabar's prosp'rous fight, shall aid thy arm.
Dar. Thanks, my good chief; with this I'll better thank thee. [Taking the Scimitar.
Cal. Myself will lead the troops of the black standard, And at the eastern gate begin the storm.
Dar. But why do we not move ? 'twill soon be day. Methinks I'm cold, and would grow warm with action. Cal. Then haste, and tell Abudah—O, thou'rt welcome!
Thy charge awaits thee. Where's the stubborn captive?
Abu. Indeed he's brave. I left him for a moment In the next tent. He's scarcely yet himself.
Cal. But is he ours?
Abu. The threats of death are nothing;
Cal. Say how?
Abu. Oft he inclin'd, oft started back; at last, When just consenting, for a while he paus'd, Stood fix'd in thought, and lift his eyes to heaven; Then, as with fresh recovcr'd force, cry'd out.
Renounce my faith! Never 1 answer'd, No,
That now he should not do it.
Abu. Yet hear,
Mean time I urg'd, conjurd, at last constrain'd him,
By all he held most dear, nay, by the voice
Of Providence, that call'd him now to save,
With her he lov'd, perhaps the lives of thousands,
No longer to resist his better fate,
But join his arms in present action with us,
And swear he would be faithful.
Cal. What, no more?
Abu. Have patience yet:
Cal. Say'st thou?
Abu. Hear what's agreed; but on the terms
Cal. This is something.
And yet I do not like this half ally
Is he not still a christian ?—But no matter—~-