power
Unchain'd thee from thy native depth of hell,
To stalk the earth with thy destructive train,
Murder and lust! To wake domestic peace,
And every heart-felt joy!

_Enter_ OTHMAN, L.

O, faithful Othman!
Our fears were true; my Selim is no more!

OTH. Has, then, the fatal secret reach'd thine ear? Inhuman tyrant!

ZAP. Strike him, heav'n with thunder,
Nor let Zaphira doubt thy providence!

OTH. 'Twas what we fear'd. Oppose not heav'n's high will,
Nor struggle with the ten-fold chain of fate,
That links thee to thy woes. O, rather yield,
And wait the happier hour, when innocence
Shall weep no more. Rest in that pleasing hope,
And yield thyself to heaven, my honor'd queen.
The king----

ZAP. Whom stylest thou king?

OTH. 'Tis Barbarossa.

ZAP. Does he assume the name of king?

OTH. He does.

ZAP. O, title vilely purchas'd!--by the blood
Of innocence--by treachery and murder!
May heav'n, incens'd, pour down its vengeance on him,
Blast all his joys, and turn them into horror
Till phrensy rise, and bid him curse the hour
That gave his crimes their birth!--My faithful Othman,
My sole surviving prop, canst thou devise
No secret means, by which I may escape
This hated palace?

OTH. That hope is vain. The tyrant knows thy hate;
Hence, day and night, his guards environ thee.
Rouse not, then, his anger:
Let soft persuasion and mild eloquence
Redeem that liberty, which stern rebuke
Would rob thee of for ever.

ZAP. An injur'd queen
To kneel for liberty!--And, oh! to whom!
E'en to the murd'rer of her lord and son!
O, perish first, Zaphira! Yes, I'll die!
For what is life to me? My dear, dear lord--
My hapless child--yes, I will follow you!

OTH. Wilt thou not see him, then?

ZAP. I will not, Othman;
Or, if I do, with bitter imprecation
More keen than poison shot from serpents' tongues,
I'll pour my curses on him.

OTH. Will Zaphira
Thus meanly sink in woman's fruitless rage,
When she should wake revenge?

ZAP. Revenge!--O, tell me--
Tell, me but how?--What can a helpless woman?

OTH. (C.). Gain but the tyrant's leave, and seek thy father;
Pour thy complaints before him; let thy wrongs
Kindle his indignation to pursue
This vile usurper, till unceasing war
Blast his ill-gotten pow'r.

ZAP. (L.C.). Ah! say'st thou, Othman?
Thy words have shot like lightning through my frame,