Has. Yes, tremble, indeed! [Threatening.
Sul. Hah! have a care—what tortures are you preparing for me?—My mind shrinks at the idea.
Has. Your wife you will behold—whom you have kept in want, in wretchedness, in a damp dungeon, for these fourteen years, because you wou'd not listen to the voice of pity.——Dread her look—her frown—not for herself alone, but for hundreds of her fellow sufferers—and while your selfish fancy was searching, with wild anxiety, for her you loved, unpitying, you forgot others might love like you.
Sul. O! do not bring me to a trial which I have not courage to support.
Has. She attends without—I sent for her to thank you for the favour she declines.—Nay, be composed—she knows you not—cannot, thus disguised as the Sultan.
[Exit Haswell.
Sul. Oh! my Arabella! could I have thought that your approach wou'd ever impress my mind with horror!—or that, instead of flying to your arms with all the love I bear you, terror and dread shou'd fix me a statue of remorse.
Enter Haswell, leading Arabella.
Has. Here kneel, and return your thanks.
Sul. My Arabella! worn with grief and anguish! [Aside.