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TAMERLANE.
And added to his Injuries, the WrongsOur Prophet daily meets from this Axalla.But see, he comes, Improve what I shall tell,And all we wish is ours,———{They seem to talk together aside.
Enter Omar.
Om.No ——— if I forgive it,Dishonour blast my Name; was it for thisThat I directed his first Steps to Greatness?Taught him to climb, and made him what he is?When our great Can first bent his Eyes towards him,(Then petty Prince of Parthia) and by mePerswaded, rais'd him to his Daughter's Bed,Call'd him his Son, and Successor of Empire:Was it for this, that like a Rock I stood,And stemm'd the Torrent of our Tartar Lords,Who scorn'd his upstart Sway? When CalibesIn bold Rebellion drew ev'n half the ProvincesTo own his Cause, I, like his better Angel,Stood by his shaking Throne, and fixt it fast;And am I now so lost to his remembrance?That when I ask a Captive, he shall tell me,She is Axalla's Right, his Christian Minion.
Der.Allow me, valiant Omar, to demand,Since injur'd thus, why right you not your self?The Prize you ask is in your Power.
Om.It is,And I will seize it, in despight of Tamerlane,And that Italian Dog.
Ha.What need of Force?When every thing concurs to meet your WishesOur mighty Master would not wish a SonNobler than Omar; from a Father's handReceive that Daughter, which ungrateful TamerlaneHas to your worth deny'd.
Om.Now by my Arms,It will be great Revenge. What will your Sultan
Give
