MUSTAPHA.
The sultan knows it;
He knows, how near apostasy to treason—
But 'tis not mine to judge—I scorn and leave thee.
I go, lest vengeance urge my hand to blood,
To blood too mean to stain a soldier's sabre.
[Exit Mustapha.
IRENE, to her attendants.
Go, blust'ring slave—He has not heard of Murza.
That dext'rous message frees me from suspicion.
SCENE VIII.
Enter HASAN, CARAZA, with mutes, who throw the black robe upon IRENE, and sign to her attendants to withdraw.
HASAN.
Forgive, fair excellence, th' unwilling tongue,
The tongue, that, forc'd by strong necessity,
Bids beauty, such as thine, prepare to die.
IRENE.
What wild mistake is this! Take hence, with speed,
Your robe of mourning, and your dogs of death.
Quick from my sight, you inauspicious monsters;
Nor dare, henceforth, to shock Irene's walks.
HASAN.
Alas! they come commanded by the sultan,
Th' unpitying ministers of Turkish justice,
Nor dare to spare the life his frown condemns.
IRENE.
Are these the rapid thunderbolts of war,
That pour with sudden violence on kingdoms,
And spread their flames, resistless, o'er the world?
What sleepy charms benumb these active heroes,
Depress their spirits, and retard their speed?
Beyond the fear of ling'ring punishment,
Aspasia now, within her lover's arms,
Securely sleeps, and, in delightful dreams,
Smiles at the threat'nings of defeated rage.
CARAZA.
We come, bright virgin, though relenting nature
Shrinks at the hated task, for thy destruction.
When summon'd by the sultan's clam'rous fury,
We ask'd, with tim'rous tongue, th' offender's name,
He struck his tortur'd breast, and roar'd, Irene!
We started at the sound, again inquir'd;
Again his thund'ring voice return'd, Irene!
IRENE.
Whence is this rage; what barb'rous tongue has wrong'd me?
What fraud misleads him? or what crimes incense?