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Solym. But streams back to their springs do never run.

Cam. Pardon, my lord, doubt is succession's foe :
Let not her mists poor children overthrow.
Though streams from springs do seem to run away,
Tis nature leads them to their mother sea.

Solym. Doth nature teach them, in ambition's strife, To seek his death, by whom they have their life?

Cam. Things easy, to desire impossible do seem: Why should fear make impossible seem easy?

Solym. Monsters yet be, and being are believed.

Cam. Incredible hath some inordinate progression :
Blood, doctrine, age, corrupting liberty,
Do all concur, where men such monsters be.
Pardon me, Sir, if duty do seem angry:
Affection must breathe out afflicted breath,
Where imputation hath such easy faith.

Solym. Mustapha is he that hath defild his nest;
The wrong the greater for I loved him best.
He hath devised that all at once should die.
Rosten, and Rossa, Zanger, thou, and I.

Cam. Fall none but angels suddenly to hell ?
Are kind and order grown precipitate?
Did ever any other man but he
In instant lose the use of doing well ?
Sir, these be mists of greatness. Look again :
For kings that, in their fearful icy state,
Behold their children as their winding-sheet,
Do easily doubt; and what they doubt, they hate.

Solym. Camena!-thy sweet youth, that knows no ill,
Cannot believe thine elders, when they say, .
That good belief is great estates' decay.
Let it suffice, that I, and Rossa too,
Are privy what your brother means to do.

Cam. Sir, pardon me, and nobly, as a father,
What I shall say, and say of holy mother ;
Know I shall say it, but to right a brother.
My mother is your wife : duty in her
Is love: she loves : which not well govern’d, bears
The evil angel of misgiving fears;
Whose many eyes, whilst but itself they see,

Still makes the worst of possibility :
Out of this fear she Mustapha accuseth :
Unto this fear, perchance, she joins the love
Which doth in mothers for their children move,
Perchance, when fear hath shew'd her yours inust fall,
In love she sees that hers must rise withall.
Sir, fear a frailty is, and may have grace,
And over-care of you cannot be blamed;
Care of our own in nature hath a place ;
Passions are oft mistaken and misnamed ;
Things simply good grow evil with misplacing.
Though laws cut off, and do not care to fashion,
Humanity of error hath compassion.
Yet God forbid, that either fear, or care,
Should ruin those that true and faultless are.

Solym. Is it no fault, or fault I may forgive,
For son to seek the father should not live?

Cam. Is it a fault, or fault for you to know,
My mother doubts a thing that is not so ?

These ugly works of monstrous parricide,
Mark from what hearts they rise, and where they bide :
Violent, despair’d, where honor broken is;
Fear lord, time death ; where hope is misery;
Doubt having stopt all honest ways to bliss ;
And custom shut the windows up of shame,
That craft may take upon her wisdom's name.
Compare now Mustapha with this despair :
Sweet youth, sure hopes, honor, a father's love,
No infamy to move, or banish fear,
Honor to stay, hazard to hasten fate :
Can horrors work in such a child's estate?
Besides, the gods, whom kings should imitate,
Have placed you high to rule, not overthrow;
For us, not for yourselves, is your estate :
Mercy must hand in hand with power go,
Your sceptre should not strike with arms of fear,
Which fathoms all men's imbecility,
And mischief doth, lest it should mischief bear.
As reason deals within with frailty,
Which kills not passions that rebellious are,


But adds, substracts, keeps down ambitious spirits,
So must power form, not ruin instruments :
For flesh and blood, the means 'twixt heav'n and hell;
Unto extremes extremely racked be;
Which kings in art of government should see:
Else they, which circle in themselves with death,
Poison the air wherein they draw their breath.
Pardon, my lord, pity becomes my sex :
Grace with delay grows weak, and fury wise.
Remember Theseus' wish, and Neptune's, haste;
Kill'd innocence, and left succession waste.

Solym. If what were best for them that do offend;
Laws did enquire, the answer must be grace.
If mercy be so large, where's justice' place ?
Cam. Where love despairs, and where God's promise

For mercy is the highest reach of wit;
A safety unto them that save with it:
Born out of God, and unto human eyes,
Like God, not seen, till fleshly passion dies.
Solym. God may forgive, whose being; and whose N

Are far removed from reach of fleshly arms:
But if God equals or successors had,
Even God of safe revenges would be glad.

Cam. While he is yet alive, he may be slain;
But from the dead no flesh comes back again.

Solym. While he remains alive, I live in fear.
Cam. Though he were dead, that doubt still living were:
Solym. None hath the power to end what he begun.
Cam. The same occasion follows every son.
Solym. Their greatness, or their worth, is not so much.
Cam. And shall the best be şlain for being such ?

Solym. Thy mother, or thy brother, are amiss ;
I am betrayed, and one of them it is. .

Cam. My mother if she errs, errs virtuously; And let her err, ere Mustapha should die.

Solym. Kings for their safety must not blame mistrust.' Cam. Nor for surmises sacrifice the just,


Solym. Well, dear Camena, keep this secretly: : I will be well advised before he die. Heli a Priest acquaints Mustapha with the Intentions of his

Father towards him, and counsels him to seek his safety in
the Destruction of Rossa and her Faction. Mustapha re-
fuses to save his Life at the Expence of the Public Peace;
and being sent for by his Father, obeys the Mandate to his,
Priest. Thy father purposeth thy death.
Must. What have I to my father done amiss ?
Priest. That wicked Rossa thy step-mother is.
Must. Wherein have I of Rossa ill deserved ?
Priest. In that the empire is for thee reserved.

Must. Is it a fault to be my father's son?
Ah foul ambition! which like water floods
Not channel-bound dost neighbours over-run,
And growest nothing when thy rage is done.
Must Rossa’s heirs out of my ashes rise ?
Yet, Zanger, I acquit thee of my blood;
For I believe, thy heart hath no impression
❤§\/22/2ņēū22âÒââòņģētiņ2§2§2 §Â§Â2â?
But tell what colors they against me use,
And how my father's love they first did wound?

Priest. Of treason towards him they thee accuse :
Thy fame and greatness gives their malice ground.

Must. Good world, where it is danger to be good!
Yet grudge I not power' of myself to power:
This baseness only in mankind I blame,
That indignation should give laws to fame.
Shew me the truth. To what rules am I bound?

Priest. No man commanded is by God to die,
As long as he may persecution fly.

Must. To fly, hath scorn,- it argues guiltiness,
Inherits fear, weakly abandons friends,
Gives tyrants fame, takes honor from distress
Death do thy worst ! thy greatest pains have end.

Priest. Mischief is like the cockatrice's eyes,
Sees first, and kills; or is seen first, and dies. .


Fly to thy strength, which makes misfortune vain.
Rossa intends thy ruin. What is she?
Seek in her bowels for thy father lost :
Who can redeem á king with viler cost?

Must. 0 false and wicked colors of desire!
Eternal bondage unto him that seeks
To be possest of all things that he likes!
Shall I, a son and subject; seem to dare,
For any selfness, to set realms on fire;
Which golden titles to rebellions are?
Heli, even you have told me; wealth was given
The wicked, to corrupt themselves and others:
Greatness and health to make flesh proud and cruel.
Where, in the good; sickness mows down desire,
Death glorifies, misfortune humbles.
Since therefore life is but the throne of woe,
Which sickness: pain, desire, and fear inherit;
Ever most worth to men of weakest spirit;
Shall we; to languish in this brittle jail,
Seek, by ill deeds, to shun ill destiny;
And so, for toys, lose immortality?

Priest. Fatal necessity is never known
Until it strike and till that blow be come,
Who falls is by false visions overthrown.

Must. Blasphemous love! safe conduct of the ill!
What power hath given man's wickedness such skill ?
Priest. Ah servile men! how are your thoughts be-

With hopes and fears, the price of your subjection,
That neither sense nor time can make you see,
The art of power will leave you nothing free!
Must. Is it in us to rule a Sultan's will ?
Priest. We made them first for good, and not for ill.

Must. Our Gods they are, their God remains above.
To think against anointed power is death.

Priest. To worship tyrants is no work of faith.
Must. 'Tis rage of folly that contends with fate.
Priest. Yet hazard something to preserve the state.

Must. :

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