TAMERLANE.
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Mon.Can you pity me.[*Kneeling.And not redress? *Oh, Royal Tamerlane!Thou Succour of the Wretched, reach thy Mercy,To save me from the Grave, and from Oblivion;Be gracious to the Hopes that wait my Youth.Oh! let not Sorrow blast me, lest I wither,And fall in vile Dishonour. Let thy JusticeRestore me my Arpasia; give her back,Back to my Wishes, to my Transports give her,To my fond, restless, bleeding, dying Bosom:Oh! give her to me yet while I have LifeTo bless thee for the Bounty. Oh, Arpasia!
Tam.Unhappy Royal Youth, why do'st thou askWhat Honour must deny? Ha! Is she notHis Wife, whom he has wedded, whom enjoy'd?And would'st thou have my partial Friendship break,That Holy Knot which ty'd once, all MankindAgree to hold Sacred, and undissolvable:The Brutal Violence would stain my Justice,And brand me with a Tyrant's hated NameTo late Posterity.
Mon.Are then the Vows,The Holy Vows we registred in Heav'n,But common Air?
Tam.Could thy fond Love forgetThe Violation of a first Enjoyment?———But Sorrow has disturb'd and hurt thy Mind.
Mon.Perhaps it has, and like an idle Madman,That wanders with a Train of hooting Boys,I do a thousand things to shame my Reason.Then let me fly, and bear my Follies with meFar, far from the World's Sight;———Honour, and Fame,Arms, and the glorious War shall be forgotten:No noble Sound of Greatness, or Ambition,Shall wake my drowsy Soul from her dead Sleep,Till the last Trump do summon.
Tam.Let thy VirtueStand up, and answer to these warring Passions,
That
