CALI.
Long be the sultan bless'd with happy love!
My zeal marks gladness dawning on thy cheek,
With raptures, such as fire the pagan crowds,
When, pale and anxious for their years to come,
They see the sun surmount the dark eclipse,
And hail, unanimous, their conqu'ring god.
MAHOMET.
My vows, 'tis true, she hears with less aversion;
She sighs, she blushes, but she still denies.
CALI.
With warmer courtship press the yielding fair:
Call to your aid, with boundless promises,
Each rebel wish, each traitor inclination,
That raises tumults in the female breast,
The love of pow'r, of pleasure, and of show.
MAHOMET.
These arts I try'd, and, to inflame her more,
By hateful business hurried from her sight,
I bade a hundred virgins wait around her,
Sooth her with all the pleasures of command,
Applaud her charms, and court her to be great.
[Exit Mahomet.
SCENE VI.
CALI, solus.
He's gone—Here rest, my soul, thy fainting wing;
Here recollect thy dissipated pow'rs.—
Our distant int'rests, and our diff'rent passions.
Now haste to mingle in one common centre.
And fate lies crowded in a narrow space.
Yet, in that narrow space what dangers rise!—
Far more I dread Abdalla's fiery folly,
Than all the wisdom of the grave divan.
Reason with reason fights on equal terms;
The raging madman's unconnected schemes
We cannot obviate, for we cannot guess.
Deep in my breast be treasur'd this resolve,
When Cali mounts the throne, Abdalla dies,
Too fierce, too faithless, for neglect or trust.
[Enter Irene with attendants.