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And many a spouse caresses such a friend.
Well, let him wail his death; then, rise to life;
Clasp the fond maid, too strict to be his wife!
He held her in his camp; might hold, alone;
Compulsion some humanity had shown.
Thy countrymen-will damn thee-the third
day-

This is not, sure, the true Hibernian way y?
But I forgive him. He's a young beginner!
Not quite a prostitute, and yet, a sinner!
Forward to please, yet awkward to delight!
He wants a kindly hand to guide him right!
A novice yet-Instruct him-He will mend--
Full many a widow wishes such a friend.

E'en married dames may think a greater curse,

The slow performer that grows worse and worse!
This, with a blush, I say, behind my fan-
Cherish the boy, you'll raise him to a man!
Mr Wright.

The cause is heard. Ye gentle and ye brave,
'Tis your's to damn him--But, you join to save-
Then, hail Gustavus, who his country freed!
Ye sons of Britain, praise the glorious Swede!
Who bravely rais'd, and gen'rously releas'd,
From blood-stain'd tyrant, and perfidious priest,
The state and church expiring at a breath!
Who held a life of slav'ry worse than death!
Reform'd religion! re-established law,

And, that you dare to praise him, hail Nassau!

MAHOMET,

THE

IMPOSTOR.

BY

MILLER.

PROLOGUE.

To point what lengths credulity has run,
What counsels shaken, and what states undone,
What hellish fury wings th' enthusiast's rage,
And makes the troubled earth one tragic stage,
What blasphemies imposture dare advance,
And build what terrors on weak ignorance,
How fraud alone rage to religion binds,
And makes a Pandemonium of our minds;
Our Gallic bard, fir'd with the glorious views,
First to his Crusade led his tragic muse,
Her power through France his charming numbers
bore,

But France was deaf-for all her priests were sore.
On English ground she makes a firmer stand,
And hopes to suffer by no hostile hand:
No clergy here usurp the freeborn mind,
Ordain'd to teach, and not enslave mankind;
Religion here bids persecution cease,
Without all order, and within all peace;
Truth guards her happy pale with watchful care,
And frauds, though pious, find no entrance there.
Religion, to be sacred, must be free;
Men will suspect-where bigots keep the key:
Hooded, and trained like hawks, th' enthusiasts
fly,

And the priests' victims in their pounces die.

Like whelps born blind, by mother church they're bred,

Nor wake to sight to know themselves misled;
Murder's the game-and to the sport unprest,
Proud of the sin, and in the duty blest,

The layman's but the bloodhound of the priest.
Whoe'er thou art that dar'st such themes advance,
To priest-rid Spain repair, or slavish France,
For Juda's here there do the devil's task,
And trick up slav'ry in religion's mask;
England still free, no surer means requires
To sink their sottish souls and damp their mar-
tial fires.

Britons! these numbers to yourselves you owe; Voltaire has strength to shoot in Shakespeare's bow;

Fame led him at his Hippocrene to drink,
And taught to write with nature as to think;
With English freedom English wit he knew,
And from the inexhausted stream profusely drew:
Cherish the noble bard yourselves have made,
Nor let the frauds of France steal all our trade.
Now of each prize the winner has the wearing,
E'en send our English stage a privateering;
With your commission we'll our sails unfold,
And from their loads of dross import some gold.

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SCENE I.-An apartment in the Temple of Ye mark the movements of this nether world,

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And bring them to account, crush, crush those

vipers,

Who, singled out by a community

To guard their rights, shall, for a grasp of ore, Or paltry office, sell them to the foe!

Pha. Each honest citizen, I grant, is thine, And, grateful for thy boundless blessings on them, Would serve thee with their lives; but the approach

Of this usurper to their very walls

Strikes them with such a dread, that even these Implore thee to accept his proffered peace.

Alc. Oh, people lost to wisdom as to glory! Go, bring in pomp, and serve upon your knees This idol, that will crush you with its weight. Mark, I abjure him: by his savage hand My wife and children perished, whilst in vengeance

I carried carnage to his very tent,

Transfixed to earth his only son, and wore
His trapping as a trophy of my conquest.
This torch of enmity, thus lighted 'twixt us,
The hand of time itself can ne'er extinguish.

Pha. Extinguish not, but smother for a while
Its fatal flame, and greatly sacrifice
Thy private sufferings to the public welfare.
Oh say, Alcanor, wert thou to behold
(As soon thou may'st) this famed metropolis
With foes begirt, behold its pining tenants
Prey on each other for the means of life,
Whilst lakes of blood and mountains of the slain
Putrify the air,

And sweep off thousands with their poisonous

steams,

Would thy slain children be avenged by this?

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Commands involuntary homage from us.

Alc. I own, a tenderness unfelt before,
A sympathetic grief, with ardent wishes
To make her happy, fill my widowed bosom :
I dread her being in that monster's power,
And burn to have her hate him like myself.
'Twas on this hour I, at her modest suit,
Promised her audience in my own pavilion.
Pharon, go thou, meanwhile, and see the senate
Assembled straight-I'll sound them as I ought.
[Exeunt severally.

SCENE II.-Changes to a Room of State.
Enter PALMIRA.

Pal. What means this boding terror, that

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Enter ALCANOR.

Alc. Palmira, whence those tears? trust me, fair maid,

Thou art not fallen into barbarians' hands;
What Mecca can afford of pomp or pleasure,
To call attention from misfortune's lap,
Demand and share it.

Pal. No, my generous victor!
My suit's for nothing Mecca can afford;
Prisoner these two long months beneath your
roof,

I have tasted such benignity and candour, Whilst your own hands so laboured to beguile The anxious moments of captivity,

That oft I have cailed my tears ingratitude.

Alc. If aught remains, that's in my power, to smooth

The rigour of your fate, and crown your wishes,
Why, 'twould fill

The furrows in my cheeks, and make old age
Put on its summer's garb.

[Kneeling.

Pal. Thus low I bless thee.
It is on you, on you alone, Alcanor,
My whole of future happiness depends;
Have pity then;

Pity, Alcanor, one, who is torn from all
That's dear or venerable to her soul;
Restore me, then, restore me to my country,
Restore me to my father, prince, and prophet!

Alc. Is slavery dear then? is fraud venerable?
What country? a tumultuous wandering camp!
Pal. My country, sir, is not a single spot
Of such a mould, or fixed to such a clime;
No, 'tis the social circle of my friends,
The loved community in which I'm linked,
And in whose welfare all my wishes centre.

Alc. Excellent maid! Then Mecca be thy country. Robbed of my children, would Palmira deign To let me call her child, the toil I took To make her destiny propitious to her, Would lighten the rough burthen of my own: But no: you scorn my country and my laws.

Pal. Can I be yours, when not my own? Your

bounties

Claim and share my gratitude-but Mahomet Claims right o'er me of parent, prince, and prophet.

Alc. Of parent, prince, and prophet! Heavens! that robber,

Who, a 'scaped felon, emulates a throne,
And, scoffer at all faiths, proclaims a new one!
Pal. Oh, cease, my lord! this blasphemous

abuse

Of one, whom millions with myself adore,
Does violence to my ear: such black profane-

ness

'Gainst Heaven's interpreter blots out remembrance

Of favours past, and nought succeeds but horror. Alc. Oh superstition! thy pernicious rigours, Inflexible to reason, truth, and nature,

Banish humanity the gentlest breasts.

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Enter PHARON.

What wouldst thou, Pharon?

Pha. From yon western gate,

Which opens on Moraida's fertile plains,
Mahomet's general, Mirvan, hastes to greet thee.
Alc. Mirvan, that vile apostate!
Pha. In one hand

He holds a scimitar, the other bears

An olive branch, which to our chiefs he waves, An emblem of his suit-a martial youth, Zaphna by name, attends him for our hostage. Pal. [Apart. Zaphna! mysterious heaven! Pha. Mirvan advances

This way, my lord, to render you his charge. Alc. Mirvan advance! how dare the traitor see me?

Palmira, thou retire-Pharon, be present.

Enter MIRVAN.

[Exit PAL.

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Alc. What death to honour, wakening to such

glory!

Pha. Oh, what a fall from virtue was that change!

Mir. Come, embrace our faith, reign with Mahomet,

And, clothed in terrors, make the vulgar tremble. Alc. 'Tis Mahomet, and tyrants like to Mahomet,

'Tis Mirvan, and apostates like to Mirvan,
I only would make tremble-Is it, sayʼst thou,
Religion, that's the parent of this rapine,
This virulence and rage?—No; true religion
Is always mild, propitious, and humane,
Plays not the tyrant, plants no faith in blood,
Nor bears destruction on her chariot-wheels;
But stoops to polish, succour, and redress,
And builds her grandeur on the public good.
Mir. Thou art turned Christian, sure! some
straggling monk

Has taught thee these tame lessons→→→
Alc. If the Christians

Hold principles like these, which reason dictates,
Which all our notions of the powers divine
Declare the social laws they meant for man,
And all the beauties and delights of nature
Bear witness to, the Christians may be right;
Thy sect cannot, who, nursed in blood and
slaughter,

Worship a cruel and revengeful being,
And draw him always with his thunder round him,
As ripe for the destruction of mankind.

Mir. If clemency delights thee, learn it here.
Though banished, by thy voice, his native city,
Though, by thy hand, robbed of his only son,
Mahomet pardons thee; nay, farther, begs
The hatred burning 'twixt you be extinguished,
With reconciliation's generous tear.

Alc. I know thy master's arts: his generous

tears,

Like the refreshing drops, that previous fall
To the wild outrage of o'erwhelming earthquakes,
Only forerun destruction;

Courage he has, not bravery;

For blood and havock are the sure attendants
On his victorious car.

Pha. Leagues he will make too

Alc. Like other grasping tyrants, till he eyes A lucky juncture to enlarge his bounds; Then he'll deride them, leap o'er every tie Of sacred guarantee, or sworn protection; And when the oppressed ally implores assistance, Beneath that mask invade the wished-for realms, And from pure friendship take them to himself. Mir. Mahomet fights Heaven's battles, bends

the bow

To spread Heaven's laws, and to subject to faith The iron neck of error.

Alc. Lust and ambition, Mirvan, are the springs Of all his actions; whilst, without one virtue, Dissimulation, like a flattering painter, Bedecks him with the colouring of them all: This is thy master's portrait-But no moreMy soul's inexorable, and my hate

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