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TAMERLANE.
Arp.Oh! Death! thou gentle end of human Sorrows,Still must my weary Eye-lids vainly wakeIn tedious Expectation of thy Peace:Why stand thy thousand thousand Doors still open,To take the Wretched in? If stern ReligionGuards every Passage, and forbids my Entrance?———Lucrece could bleed, and Porcia swallow Fire,When urg'd with Griefs beyond a mortal Sufferance;But here it must not be. Think then, Arpasia,Think on the Sacred Dictates of thy Faith,And let that arm thy Virtue, to performWhat Cato's Daughter durst not,———Live Arpasia,And dare to be unhappy.
Enter Tamerlane, and Attendants.
Tam.When Fortune smiles upon the Soldier's Arms,And adds ev'n Beauty to adorn his Conquest,Yet she ordains, the fair should know no Fears,No Sorrows, to pollute their lovely Eyes;But should be us'd ev'n nobly, as her self,The Queen and Goddess of the Warrior's Vows,———Such Welcome, as a Camp can give, fair Sultaness,We hope you have receiv'd, It shall be larger,And better, as it may
Arp.Since I have bornThat miserable Mark of fatal Greatness,I have forgot all difference of Conditions,Scepters and Fetters are grown equall to me,And the best Change my Fate can bring, is Death.
Tam.When Sorrow dwells in such an Angel Form,Well may we guess, that those above are Mourners;Virtue is wrong'd, and bleeding InnocenceSuffers some wondrous Violation here,To make the Saints look sad. Oh! teach my PowerTo cure those Ills, which you unjustly suffer,Lest Heav'n should wrest it from my idle Hand,If I look on, and see you weep in vain.
Arp.
