MAHOMET.
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ALI.Oh! could the eyes of kings, like those of heav'n,Search to the dark recesses of the soul,Oft would they find ingratitude and treason,By smiles, and oaths, and praises, ill disguis'd.How rarely would they meet, in crowded courts,Fidelity so firm, so pure, as mine. MUSTAPHA.Yet, ere we give our loosen'd thoughts to rapture,Let prudence obviate an impending danger:Tainted by sloth, the parent of sedition,The hungry janizary burns for plunder,And growls, in private, o'er his idle sabre. MAHOMET.To still their murmurs, ere the twentieth sunShall shed his beams upon the bridal bed,I rouse to war, and conquer for Irene.Then shall the Rhodian mourn his sinking tow'rs,And Buda fall, and proud Vienna tremble;Then shall Venetia feel the Turkish pow'r,And subject seas roar round their queen in vain.
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