TAMERLANE.
49
Arp.Not that my Soul disdains the generous Aid,Thy Royal Goodness proffers; but oh! Emperor,It is not now in my Fate to be made happy:Nor will I listen to the Cos'ner, Hope;But stand resolv'd, to bear the beating Storm,That roars around me; safe in this alone,That I am not Immortal.—Tho' 'tis hard,'Tis wond'rous hard, when I remember thee(Dear Native Greece) and you, ye weeping Maids,That were Companions of my Virgin Youth:My noble Parents! Oh! the grief of Heart!The Pangs, that, for unhappy me, brings downTheir reverend Ages to the Grave with Sorrow:And yet, there is a Woe surpassing all,Ye Saints and Angels, give me of your Constancy,If you expect I shall endure it long.
Tam.Why is my Pity all, that I can giveTo Tears like yours? And yet I fear 'tis all,Nor dare I ask, what mighty Loss you mourn,Lest Honour should forbid to give it back.
Arp.No, Tamerlane, nor did I mean Thou shouldst.But know (tho' to the weakness of my SexI yield these Tears) my Soul is more than Man.Think I am born a Greek, nor doubt my Virtue:A Greek! from whose fam'd Ancestors of old,Rome drew the Patterns of her boasted Heroes:They must be mighty Evils, that can vanquishA Spartan Courage, and a Christian Faith.
Enter Bajazet.
Baj.To know no thought of Rest! to have the MindStill ministring fresh Plagues! as in a Circle,Where one Dishonour treads upon another;What know the Fiends beyond it?———*Ha! by Hell!*Seeing Arp. and Tam.There wanted only this, to make me mad.
Comes
