as this the maid, whose love I bought with empire?
True, she was fair; the smile of innocence
Play'd on her cheek--So shone the first apostate--
Irene's chamber! Did not roaring Cali,
Just as the rack forc'd out his struggling soul,
Name for the scene of death, Irene's chamber?

MUSTAPHA.
His breath prolong'd, but to detect her treason,
Then, in short sighs, forsook his broken frame.

MAHOMET.
Decreed to perish in Irene's chamber!
There had she lull'd me with endearing falsehoods,
Clasp'd in her arms, or slumb'ring on her breast,
And bar'd my bosom to the ruffian's dagger.

SCENE XII.

HASAN, CARAZA, MAHOMET, MUSTAPHA, MURZA, ABDALLA.

MURZA.
Forgive, great sultan, that, by fate prevented,
I bring a tardy message from Irene.

MAHOMET.
Some artful wile of counterfeited love!
Some soft decoy to lure me to destruction!
And thou, the curs'd accomplice of her treason,
Declare thy message, and expect thy doom.

MURZA.
The queen requested, that a chosen troop
Might intercept the traitor Greek, Demetrius,
Then ling'ring with his captive mistress here.

MUSTAPHA.
The Greek, Demetrius! whom th' expiring bassa
Declar'd the chief associate of his guilt!

MAHOMET.
A chosen troop--to intercept--Demetrius--
The queen requested--Wretch, repeat the message;
And, if one varied accent prove thy falsehood,
Or but one moment's pause betray confusion,
Those trembling limbs--Speak out, thou shiv'ring traitor.

MURZA.
The queen requested--

MAHOMET. Who? the dead Irene?
Was she then guiltless! Has my thoughtless rage
Destroy'd the fairest workmanship of heav'n!
Doom'd her to death, unpity'd and unheard,
Amidst her kind solicitudes for me!
Ye slaves of cruelty, ye tools of rage,
[_To_ Hasan _and_ Caraza.
Ye blind, officious ministers of folly,
Could not her charms repress your zeal for murder?
Could not her pray'rs, her innocence, her tears,
Suspend the dreadful sentence for an hour?
One hour had freed me from the fatal errour!
One hour had say'd me from despair and madness.

CARAZA.
Your fierce impatience forc'd us from your presence,
Urg'd us to speed, and bade us banish pity,
Nor trust our passions with her fatal charms.

MAHOMET.
What hadst thou lost, by slighting those commands?
Thy life, perhaps--Were but Irene spar'd,
Well, if a thousand lives like thine had perish'd;
Such beauty, sweetness, love, were cheaply bought
With ha