IRENE.
Forbear thy threats, proud prophetess of ill,
Vers'd in the secret counsels of the sky.
ASPASIA.
Forbear!—But thou art sunk beneath reproach;
In vain affected raptures flush the cheek,
And songs of pleasure warble from the tongue,
When fear and anguish labour in the breast,
And all within is darkness and confusion.
Thus, on deceitful Etna's flow'ry side,
Unfading verdure glads the roving eye;
While secret flames, with unextinguish'd rage,
Insatiate on her wasted entrails prey,
And melt her treach'rous beauties into ruin.
[Enter Demetrius.
SCENE III.
ASPASIA, IRENE, DEMETRIUS.
DEMETRIUS.
Fly, fly, my love! destruction rushes on us,
The rack expects us, and the sword pursues.
ASPASIA.
Is Greece deliver'd? is the tyrant fall'n?
DEMETRIUS.
Greece is no more; the prosp'rous tyrant lives,
Reserv'd for other lands, the scourge of heav'n.
ASPASIA.
Say, by what fraud, what force, were you defeated?
Betray'd by falsehood, or by crowds o'erborne?
DEMETRIUS.
The pressing exigence forbids relation.
Abdalla—
ASPASIA.
Hated name! his jealous rage
Broke out in perfidy—Oh! curs'd Aspasia,
Born to complete the ruin of her country!
Hide me, oh hide me from upbraiding Greece;
Oh, hide me from myself!