TAMERLANE.
11
Christian Axalla, Art thou still the same?Those were the gentle Hours of Peace, and thouThe World's good Angel, that didst kindly joynIts mighty Masters in harmonious Friendship:But since those Joys, that once were ours, are lost,Forbear to mention 'em, and talk of War:Talk of thy Conquest, and my Chains, Axalla.
Ax.Yet I will listen fair unkind Upbraider,Yet I will listen to thy charming Accents,Altho' they make me curse my Fame and Fortune,My Lawrel-wreaths, and all the glorious Trophies,For which the valiant bleed.———Oh! thou unjust one,Dost thou then envy me this small returnMy niggard Fate has made for all the Mournings,For all the Pains, for all the sleepless NightsThat cruel Absence brings?
Sel.Away, Deceiver;I will not hear thy soothing: Is it thusThat Christian Lovers prove the Faith they swear?Are War and Slavery the soft EndearmentsWith which they court the Beauty's they admire?'Twas well my Heart was cautious of believingThy Vows, and thy protesting. Know, my Conqueror,Thy Sword has vanquish'd but the half of Selima,Her Soul disdains thy Victory.
Ax.Hear, sweet Heav'n,Hear the fair Tyrant, how she wrests Love's Laws,As she had vow'd my Ruin! What is Conquest?What Joy have I from that but to behold thee,To kneel before thee, and with lifted EyesTo view thee, as Devotion does a Saint,With awful, trembling Pleasure: Then to swearThou art the Queen and Mistress of my Soul:Has not ev'n Tamerlane (whose Word, next Heav'n's,Makes Fate at second hand) bid thee disclaimThy Fears? And dost thou call thy self a Slave?Only to try how far the sad ImpressionCan sink into Axalla.
Sel.
