Jul. For that wish,
Vain as it is, ’tis virtuous—O, for that,
However wrong thy censure and thy praise,
Kind Abdalazis, mayst thou never feel
The rancour that consumes thy father’s breast,
Nor want the pity thou hast sought for me.
Muza. Now hast thou sealed thy doom.
Jul. And thou thy crimes.
Abd. O father, heed him not: those evil words
Leave neither blight nor blemish—let him go.
Muza. A boy, a very boy, art thou indeed!
One who in early day would sally out
To chase the lion, and would call it sport,
But, when more wary steps had closed him round,
Slink from the circle, drop the toils, and blanch
Like a lithe plant from under snow in spring.
Abd. He who ne’er shrunk from danger, might shrink now,
And ignominy would not follow here.
Muza. Peace, Abdalazis! how is this? he bears
Nothing that warrants him invulnerable,
Shall I then shrink to smite him? shall my fears
Be greatest at the blow that ends them all?
Fears? no! ’tis justice—fair, immutable,
Whose measured step, at times, advancing nigh,
Appalls the majesty of kings themselves.
[Aside.
O were he dead! tho’ then revenge were o’er!