Thou wouldst scale Heav'n--
Baj. I would:-Away! my soul
Disdains thy conference.
Tam. Thou vain, rash thing,
That, with gigantic insolence, hast dar'd
To lift thy wretched self above the stars,
And mate with pow'r almighty: Thou art fall'n!
Baj. 'Tis false! I am not fall'n from aught I have
been;
At least my soul resolves to keep her state,
And scorns to take acquaintance with ill fortune.
Tam. Almost beneath my pity art thou fall'n;
Say, what had I to expect, if thou hadst conquer'd?
Baj. Oh, glorious thought! By Heav'n I will en-
joy it,
Tho' but in fancy; imagination shall
Make room to entertain the vast idea.
Oh! had I been the master but of yesterday,
The world, the world had felt me; and for thee,
I had us'd thee, as thou art to me-a dog,
The object of my scorn and mortal hatred :
I would have taught thy neck to know my weight,
And mounted from that footstool to my saddle:
Then, when thy daily servile task was done,
I would have cag'd thee, for the scorn of slaves, Till thou hadst begg'd to die; and ev'n that mercy I had deny'd thee. Now thou know'st my mind, And question me no farther.
Tam. Well dost thou teach me
What justice should exact from thee. Mankind,
With one consent, cry out for vengeance on thee;
Loudly they call to cut off this league breaker,
This wild destroyer, from the face of earth.
Baj. Do it, and rid thy shaking soul at once
Of its worst fear.
Tam. Hadst thou an arm
To make thee fear'd, thou shouldst have prov'd it on
Amidst the sweat and blood of yonder field,
When, thro' the tumult of the war I sought thee,
Fenc'd in with nations.
Baj. Curse upon the stars
That fated us to different scenes of slaughter!
Oh! could my sword have met thee !-
Tam. Thou hadst then,
As now, been in my pow'r, and held thy life
Dependent on my gift-Yes, Bajazet,
Nay more; couldst thou forget thy brutal fierceness,
And form thyself to manhood, I would bid thee
Live, and be still a king,
This royal tent, with such of thy domestics
As can be found, shall wait upon thy service;
Nor will I use my fortune to demand
Hard terms of peace, but such as thou may'st offer
With honour, I with honour may receive.
Baj. Ha! say'st thou-no-our prophet's vengeance
blast me,
If thou shalt buy my friendship with thy empire.
Thou smooth fawning talker!
Give me again my chains, that I may curse thee,
And gratify my rage: or, if thou wilt
Be a vain fool, and play with thy perdition,
Remember I'm thy foe, and hate thee deadly.
Thy folly on thy head!
Great minds, like Heav'n, are pleas'd in doing good,
Tho' the ungrateful subjects of their favours
Are barren in return;
With scorn the mercenary world regard,
Where abject souls do good, and hope reward:
Above the worthless trophies men can raise,
She seeks not honours, wealth, nor airy praise,
But with herself, herself the goddess pays.
[Exeunt all but BAJAZET and OMAR
Baj. Come, lead me to my dungeon; plunge me
Deep from the hated sight of man and day,
Where, under covert of the friendly darkness,
My soul may brood, at leisure, o'er its anguish.
Omar. Our royal master would with noble usage,
Make your misfortunes light: he bids you hope-
Baj. I tell thee, slave, I have shook hands with
hope,
And all my thoughts are rage, despair, and horror.
[Exit OMAR.
Ha! wherefore am I thus ?-Perdition seize me!
But
my cold blood runs shiv'ring to my heart,
The rage and fiercer passions of my breast
Are lost in new confusion.—
Haly. Oh, emperor! for whose hard fate our prophet
And all the heros of thy sacred race
Are sad in paradise, thy faithful Haly,
The slave of all thy pleasures, in this ruin,
This universal shipwreck of thy fortunes,
Has gather'd up this treasure for thy arms:
Nor ev'n the victor, haughty Tamerlane,
(By whose command once more thy slave beholds thee)
Denies this blessing to thee, but, with honour,
Renders thee back thy queen, thy beauteous bride.
Baj. Oh! had her eyes, with pity, seen my sorrows,
Had she the softness of a tender bride,
Heav'n could not have bestow'd a greater blessing,
And love had made amends for loss of empire.
But see, what fury dwells upon her charms!
What lightning flashes from her angry eyes!
With a malignant joy she views my ruin:
Even beauteous in her hatred, still she charms me, And awes my fierce tumultuous soul to love.
Arp. And dar'st thou hope, thou tyrant! ravisher!
That Heav'n has any joy in store for thee?
Look back upon the sum of thy past life,
Where lost Arpasia's wrongs stand bleeding fresh,
Thy last recorded crime. But Heav'n has found thee;
At length the tardy vengeance has o'erta'en thee.
My weary soul shall bear a little longer
The pain of life, to call for justice on thee:
That once complete, sink to the peaceful grave,
And lose the memory of my wrongs and thee.
Baj. Thou rail'st! I thank thee for it-Be per-
And muster all the woman in thy soul;
Goad me with curses, be a very wife,
That I may fling off this tame love, and hate thee.
[Starting.] Ha! Keep thy temper, heart; nor take
Mon. It is Arpasia !-Leave me, thou cold fear. Sweet as the rosy morn she breaks upon me,
And sorrow, like the night's unwholesome shade,
Gives way before the golden dawn she brings.
Baj. [Advancing towards him.] Ha, Christian! Is it
well that we meet thus ?
Mon. Why does thy frowning brow
Put on this form of fury? Is it strange
We should meet here, companions in misfortune,
The captives in one common chance of war?
Nor shouldst thou wonder that my sword has fail'd
Before the fortune of victorious Tamerlane,
When thou, with nations like the sanded shore,
With half the warring world upon thy side,
Couldst not stand up against his dreadful battle.
That crush'd thee with its shock. Thy men can witness,
Those cowards, that forsook me in the combat,
My sword was not unactive.
Where is my daughter, thou vile Greek? Thou hast
Betray'd her to the Tartar; or even worse,
Pale with thy fear, didst lose her like a coward;
And, like a coward now, would cast the blame
On fortune and ill stars.
Mon. Ha! saidst thou, like a coward?
What sanctity, what majesty divine,
Hast thou put on, to guard thee from my rage,
That thus thou dar'st to wrong me?
Baj. Out, thou slave,
And know me for thy lord
Mon. I tell thee, tyrant,
When, in the pride of power, thou sat'st on high,
When, like an idol, thou wert vainly worshipp'd,
By prostrate wretches, born with slavish souls;
Ev'n when thou wert a king, thou wert no more,
Nor greater than Moneses; born of a race
Royal, and great as thine. What art thou now then?
The fate of war has set thee with the lowest;
And captives (like the subjects of the grave)
Losing distinction, serve one common lord.
Baj. Brav'd by this dog! Now give a loose to rage, And curse thyself; curse thy false cheating prophet. Ha! yet there's some revenge. Hear me, thou christian!
Thou left'st that sister with me:-Thou impostor! Thou boaster of thy honesty! Thou liar!
But take her to thee back.
Now to explore my prison-If it holds Another plague like this, the restless damn'd (If Mufties lie not) wander thus in hell;
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