ice to win the life thou doth seek.

Ion. I have nought else to offer. Thy hand hath rent from me friends,
followers, gold, a sire. But if this young life hath any worth to thee,
if these arms may toil for thee, this form bear burdens to thy royalty,
take them,--take all, O king, but render unto me that life without which
Greece is lost.

Moh'd. Peace! Thy speech is vain; thy life is nought to me.

Ion. I will serve thee as a slave; in all things do thy
bidding,--faithful, unwearied, unrepining. Grant but my boon, and
monarch shall never have a truer vassal than I will be to thee. Great
Mohammed, let me not plead in vain.

Moh'd. Peace, I say; anger me not.

Ion. O king, hast thou no heart? Think of the ruined home, the mourning
people, the land made desolate by thee; of her who now counts the weary
hours for tidings of those dear to her,--tidings fraught with life or
death as thou shalt decree; of the son by thee doomed to see his honored
sire, hero of a hundred battles dragged like a slave unto a shameful
death. As thou wilt have mercy shown to thee, that mercy show thou unto
me. Oh, say to me, "Thy father lives!"

Moh'd. Away! I will not listen.

Ion. Nay, I _will_ kneel to thee. I who never knelt to man before, now
implore thee with earnest supplication. 'Tis for a father's life.

Moh'd. Kneel not to me,--it is in vain. Thy father is my captive, my
deadliest foe, whom I hate, and curse,--ay, and will slay. Boy, dost
thou know to whom thou dost bow?

Ion [_rising proudly_]. To the pagan Mohammed,--he who with murderous
hand hath bathed in blood the smiling plains of Greece; profaned her
altars, enslaved her people, and filled the land with widows' tears and
orphans' cries; he who by perfidy makes captives of his foes, refusing
hostage and scorning honorable treaty; turns from all supplicants,
closes his heart to mercy, and tramples under foot all pity and all
justice,--the murderer, and the tyrant. Yes, king, I know to whom I
plead.

Moh'd. [_in great anger_]. Ho, without there, guards!--Selim! [_Enter_
Selim _and soldiers._] Away with the prisoner! Bind him fast; see he
escape not. Mohammed stands not to be braved by a beardless boy! Hence!
[_Guards approach with chains._]

Ion. Lay not hands upon me,--I am no slave! One more appeal: May a son
look once more upon his father ere death parts them forever? May I but
for an hour speak with Cleon?

Moh'd. Once more thou mayst look upon the rebel Greek. Whe