Caled. Friendship like this With scorn had been receiv'd: your numerous vices, That we're unworthy of our holy faith, To heaven, with grief and conscious shame, we own. But what are you that thus arraign our vices, And consecrate your own? Are you not sons of rapine, foes to peace, Caled. Christians, no. Eum. Then say, Why have you ravag'd all our peaceful borders? Plunder'd our towns? and by what claim, e'en now, You tread this ground? Her. What claim, but that of hunger? The claim of ravenous wolves, that leave their dens To prowl at midnight round some sleeping village, Or watch the shepherd's folded flock for prey? Caled. Blasphemer, know, your fields and towns are ours; Our prophet has bestow'd them on the faithful, Eum. Oh! now indeed you boast a noble title! To sooth his pride, and bribe his fellow madmen! Taffront our faith, and to traduce our prophet? Eum. No: should we grant you aid, we must be rebels; And tribute is the slavish badge of conquest. Yet since, on just and honourable terms, We ask but for our own-Ten silken vests, A turban spun from our Damascus flax, Ten ingots, be the price to buy your absence. Caled. This, and much more, even all your shining wealth, Will soon be ours. Behold our march O'er half your land, like flame through fields of harvest; Her. Presumptuous men! What though you yet can boast successful guilt, Eum. Have you forgot! Not twice seven years are past, since e'en your prophet, Bold as he was, and boasting aid divine, Was by the tribe of Corish forc'd to fly, Poorly to fly, to save his wretched life, Abu. No-forgot! We well remember how Medina screen'd That holy head, preserv'd for better days, Daran. Why, my chiefs, Will you waste time, in offering terms despis'd, Caled. Daran, thou say'st true. Christians, here end our truce. Behold, once more The sword of heaven is drawn! nor shall be sheath'd, But in the bowels of Damascus. Eum. That, Or speedy vengeance and destruction, due To the proud menacers, as heaven sees fit! [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Garden. Enter EUDOCIA. Eud. All's hush'd around!-No more the shout of soldiers, And clash of arms, tumultuous, fill the air. Like that, when the loud thunder just has roll'd A second and a louder clap to follow. Enter PHOCYAS. O no-my hero comes with better omens, Pho. Where is the treasure of my soul?-Eudocia, Behold me here impatient, like the miser, That often steals in secret to his gold, And counts, with trembling joy and jealous transport, The shining heaps which he still fears to lose. Eud. Welcome, thou brave, thou best deserving lover! How do I doubly share the common safety, Since 'tis a debt to thee!-But tell me, Phocyas, Dost thou bring peace?-Thou dost, and I am happy! Pho. Not yet, Eudocia; 'tis decreed by heaven, I must do more to merit thy esteem. Peace, like a frighted dove, has wing'd her flight Eud. False, flattering hope! Vanish'd so soon!-alas, my faithful fears Eud. Is the truce ended? Must war, alas! renew its bloody rage, Pho. Think for whose sake danger itself has charms. And soldiers, kindled into sudden fury, What then shall binder, But I may boldly ask thee of Eumenes, Eud. May blessings still attend thy arms!—Methinks I've caught the flame of thy heroic ardour; And now I see thee crown'd with palm and olive; The soldiers bring thee back, with songs of triumph, And loud applauding shouts; thy rescu'd country Resounds thy praise; our emperor, Heraclius, Decrees thee honours for a city sav'd; And pillars rise of monumental brass, Pho. The honours and rewards, which thou hast nam'd, Are bribes too little for my vast ambition. And what at first was weakness, now is glory. [Trumpet sounds. Eud. Then go-and heaven with all its angels guard thee. Pho. Farewell!-for thee once more I draw the sword. Now to the field, to gain the glorious prize; "Tis victory-the word-Eudocia's eyes! [Exeunt. |