The Princess of Zanfara: a dramatic poem.

Table of contents

- [titlepage]

- [dedication]

- PERSONS of the DRAMA.

- ACT I.

- ACT II. Scene, a Plantation and Slaves at Work.

- ACT III. Scene, the Groves near the Governor's Palace.

- ACT IV. Scene the Court before the Senate-house.

- ACT V. Scene, the Groves adjoining the Governor's Palace.

THE PRINCESS of ZANFARA.

FINIS.

THE PRINCESS of ZANFARA; A DRAMATIC POEM.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.
ARATUS.

AM I NOT A MAN AND A BROTHER?

LONDON: Printed for Mess. WILKIE, St Paul's Church-Yard.

MDCCLXXXIX.

TO THE SOCIETY, INSTITUTED IN THE YEAR 1787, FOR THE PURPOSE OF EFFECTING AN ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE, THIS SMALL TRIBUTE IS MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED,

BY The Editor.

PERSONS of the DRAMA.

- MANZARA, Prince of Cassaena.

- JEROME, Governor of a Province in America.

- HORATIO,

- MARTINO,

Planters.

- PEMBROKE, A Trader.

- ANTONIO, Supercargo in a Vessel trading with Slaves.

- CALABAN, Commander of the Vessel.

- ZANGAE, Freedman of JEROME.

- Counsellors of State.

- Slaves, Sailors and Attendants.

- JAQUEENA, Princess of Zanfara, who in Captivity takes the Name of LAURA.

- TERESA, The Governor's Lady.

- AMELIA, The Governor's Daughter.

SCENE in AMERICA.

ACT I.

The curtain drawing up, discovers LAURA the female slave sitting by the side of a fountain in a Grove, adjoining to the Governor's Palace.

LAURA.

YE warbling songsters of the vocal grove,

Why waste you thus your soothing melody?

Sweet bubbling fountains, wherefore mix your voice

With the soft murmurs of the sighing breeze?

Were ye not given to charm the ear of peace,

The fair associate of liberty?—

These unpropitious regions claim you not!

Haste to Zanfara, and the happy shades

That crown her river's banks and crowd her shores;

From whence you long, too long, have been estrang'd,

With your Jaqueena; whom alas! such dark

And dire mischance involves, that hitherto

Her weak and wandering hope no period sees,

But in the arms of death!—

AMELIA enters.

—I seek my maid

With anxious steps, and still some solemn scene

Invites her melancholy stay, and owns

Her tears; shall not Amelia partake

Your woes, and with her love alleviate

The griefs that rend dear Laura's tender heart?

LAURA.

If kind Amelia was not made so fair,

If she was not of Christian principles,

I might be led to trust her female heart

Possess'd compassion; but the frozen hue

That nature plants upon her outward form,

And what prescribes the maxims of her breast,

Make me at once to tremble and distrust:

And poor Jaqueena lives without a friend!

AMELIA.

My Laura's sweet benevolence of heart,

And the intelligence that forms her mind,

Should lift her far above such prejudice:

Or fair or dusk the hue that climate gives,

The blood that warms the veins with streams of life,

In both the same, with equal passion fires

The soul, with equal ardour in the sacred cause

Of honour beats, and forms the heart for love.

LAURA.

There is such soft delusion in your words,

(And what we wish we readiest believe)

I almost am persuaded in my mind,

Amelia holds a sister heart to mine.

But your stern deity still looks unmov'd

On massacre and blood, on slavery

And woe, avenging not—alas! I sink

Under the horror of his devotees.

AMELIA.

The time will come, my Laura, when you'll know

The wretches, who commit such dreadful crimes,

Are not of the religion you accuse.

LAURA.

Were they not Christians that on Niger's flood,

On board their dreadful bark, receiv'd the lost

Jaqueena? (for the name of Laura bears

The badge of slavery, and my reproach.)

Are they, not Christians, who, in all this land,

Make the poor Africans perform the task

Of beasts; not barely to sustain the toil,

But to endure the torture; and with stripes,

With nakedness and hunger, to lie down,

Stall'd worse than beasts, to rankle in their sores?

AMELIA.

This is too much, sweet Laura; thus with tears,

See me lament my country's hapless crimes;

And the vile prejudice which clogs the wheel

Of partial justice.—

LAURA.

—Can a slave then hope

For your humanity?—for tho' the blood

Is of one dye, without congenial suns

It ripens not, nor meliorates to love.

Yet will I not forget your bounteous gifts,

For Africans know not ingratitude!

I am a slave, not knowing bondage here,

But in detention from my native land;

For my kind mistress, as Amelia kind,

Nor gives me chains nor stripes, nor wears a frown.

There are some Christians of a milder soul,

And such poor Laura happily protect;

For if Amelia calls me by that name,

Its terrors cease, tho' it still comprehends

The tenor of my fortune.—

AMELIA.

—Whilst your mind

Seems thus imprest with favourable thoughts,

And you confess Amelia's not severe,

Trust to my ear the story of your life,

And make me more your friend by sorrowing more,

By mingling mutual griefs with Laura's tears.

LAURA.

A soothing melancholy still succeeds

The repetition of each solemn tale,

Misfortune has to tell.—In silence, grief

Preys most upon the soul; from sympathy,

From soft compassion of our sorrowings,

A sweet alleviation gently breathes.

Not of inferior race, my father rul'd

A province of the realm of Benin.—

Oft approbation shone upon his eye,

Oft fond affection fill'd my mother's looks,

Whilst on their smiling progeny they gaz'd,

And call'd, and kiss'd their daughter, now your slave.

AMELIA.

Predicting, in the fondness of their hopes,

Propitious fortunes to their darling child.

LAURA.

Nor were their hopes mere shadows of the mind;

For with affection's tenderest concern

My steps were follow'd, and my looks pursu'd;

They rul'd another's fate:—with breasts of ice,

As barren as the snows they emulate,

You fair ones call such truths mere vanity;

The great Manzaro kneel'd to win my heart:

What wretchedness is mine!—I lov'd the Prince,

Whom only death can to my love restore:

On his tremendous wing he'll bear me hence,

And to Zanfara waft this spirit safe,

Superior to the frauds of cruel men.

AMELIA.

Some better Iot, sweet Laura, may betide.

LAURA.

Hope has departed hence, and left my soul

To follow after, when all earthly griefs

Are dissipated by the hand of death.

It soothes the sorrows of my wretched mind,

To grave the rock with piteous characters,

(Points to the rock.)

That move the fountain's never-ceasing tears,

To weep for ever o'er Manzara's name;

Whilst gentle spirits in the sighing winds,

On the sad sculptures mourn, that memorize

My mother and my brothers.—

AMELIA

—What of them?

LAURA.

Within the forest's skirts our tents were pitch'd,

For more commodious hunting; far advanc'd

The men were on the chase; when we, who held

The little camp, were taken prisoners:

A horrid tribe of robbers, then in league

With Europeans, trading to our states,

Had stolen upon our unsuspicious guards.

AMELIA.

Of what complexion, of what country born,

Were those base violators of the land?

LAURA.

The cruel leaders were of British birth,

The rest of Africa; but long possess'd

By the fell demons of Europa's shores,

They, to recruit the heart for wickedness,

Imbibe infernal furies in their drink,

From deepest hell by chymic magic rais'd,

That drive the brain to madness, and impel

The hand to deeds of darkness.—

AMELIA.

—What ensued?

LAURA.

Our men were bound in fetters, neck to neck,

And hand to hand, and we their woeful steps

Must needs pursue:—when, frantic with her grief,

My mother seiz'd a javelin for revenge,

And by her angry arm one chieftain fell:

But anger and resistance were in vain!

She dy'd beneath a thousand dreadful wounds;

Whilst to her bleeding bosom, grasping close,

In agonies of death, her youngest son,

A cruel lance transfix'd both breasts at once;

And as the boy hung writhing on the shaft,

The wretches made diversion of his pangs.

AMELIA.

O Britain! where's thy boasted excellence?

Thy fame, that sounds on every peopled shore?

Thy vaunted jurisprudence, and thy love

Of liberty?—

LAURA.

—I then conceiv'd no thought

Of what might follow, what should be our fate;

But in immediate sorrows my sad mind

Was all absorb'd.—We were receiv'd on board

A vessel, crowded with a wretched race:

Description finds no language to express

The horrors of the voyage.—The hand of fate

Releas'd a multitude!—within these arms

My other brother dy'd; and I'm forlorn!

AMELIA.

My soul is full of grief; and yet a ray

Of hope divine, like some prophetic light,

By influence of guardian angel given,

Takes hold upon my mind. —But we're observ'd;

You must avoid the person that draws near;

Retire, and spare your grief; the tale he brings

Would much increase your tears.— Ex. Laura.

AMELIA alone.

—I feel my heart

Renounce Antonio!—his hateful trade

Imbitters every thought of intercourse.

Habituated to subdue the force

Of his humanity, what can remain

Within the breast of man that offers fruits

For nuptial happiness?—

ANTONIO enters.

—To meet you thus,

Is most propitious to my anxious hopes:

My voyage perform'd, with many healthy slaves

I now return, to claim your faithful vows;

And if the market proves of advanc'd price,

My fortune's made, and you alone command

My future life—

AMELIA.

—I know not what it means,

Some secret intimation moves my mind,

That no felicity can e'er attend

Riches obtain'd by such inhuman ways.

ANTONIO.

Are these untoward sentiments conceiv'd

From Laura's guileful tears and whining tales?

Can my Amelia estrange her mind

From reason, and her proper judgment yield

To errors, which prevail alone through fraud?

AMELIA.

There's more than fraud, more than invention fills

The story of that hapless virgin's fate.

ANTONIO.

What inhumanity disturbs your thoughts?

The navigator is not culpable;

He takes the common traffic of the land,

And by his toil brings riches to the state;

The police of the nations there is such,

Like other animals, the herdsman sells

The Negro drove.—

AMELIA.

—I tremble at the thought!

They that promote the sin, partake the crime.

ANTONIO.

Inferior in creation, tho' in form

Of human kind;—each race of animals

Knows its gradations;—and from perfect man,

The Negro tribe is intermediate;

It links the series, that straight descend

Into the monkey line.—

AMELIA.

—If you would save

My mind from detestation, treat not thus

A subject, over which my labouring soul

Endures acutest pangs; if you would win

My better sentiments, this traffic leave;

The generous association join,

Who labour in humanity's great cause,

With holy zeal, to gain abolishment

Of your infernal merchandize.—

ANTONIO.

My heart,

Already your's, your dictates must pursue.

AMELIA.

'Tis well, Antonio, and my confidence

Renews: my Laura's sorrows fill my mind;

I must procure the maid her liberty.

ANTONIO.

And when obtain'd, what prospect will ensue?

Where are the means of giving happiness?

You'll only send her forth to meagre want,

And in a foreign land, a vagabond,

Expose her to a thousand miseries.

AMELIA.

She must return to Africa again,

Her country, and her friends.—

ANTONIO.

—Romantic thought!

The wand'ring tribe she left, perhaps dispers'd,

The government dissolv'd, new tyrants reign;

And warfare, the rough habit of their lives,

With chequer'd fortunes marks each petty Prince,

Now reigning, now in chains,—on Afric's coast,

To greater perils, greater woes expos'd;

There's not a slave that in this province toils,

But, if return'd, would worship the dire name

Of slavery, that makes them tremble now.

AMELIA.

Your arguments enlarge the dreadful bounds

Of that vast sin which on your traffic rests;

If restitution is impossible,

The base captivity, (that thus cuts off

All human hope, and no kind limit yields

To the sad injury, but in the tomb,)

Of all the crimes on earth, becomes the worst:

My weary mind now finds no resting-place,

ANTONIO.

Even the servitude in which they sigh,

Affords superior happiness and ease

To what their birthright gave—

AMELIA.

—Desist, desist,

I'll hear no more.—'Tis in the human mind

The various estimates of happiness

Are rang'd, whilst free and voluntary will

Directs the choice.—It is not luxury,

With all its artificial wants and woes,

That points out the criterion to mankind:

It is not circumstance, prescrib'd and bound

Within the limits of necessity,

(For that's a term mere fashion has assum'd)

That points where Happiness shall stay her foot:

'Tis habit that prepares the mind for ease;

And knowing no restraint, contentment gives

The various types that various nations hold,

Whence to characterise the heavenly gift,

Each calls felicity.—The human soul

Finds liberty so innate, through the world

The love of it prevails.—See, Pembroke comes,

Humanity's fast friend.—

ANTONIO

—Hypocrisy's

Own son.—

PEMBROKE enters.

—Disgrace pursues disgrace!

America stands blighted in her fame!

How are the annals of her glory stain'd!

AMELIA.

What new occasion wounds your gracious mind?

PEMBROKE.

Still here we hold the mart of human kind,

New cargoes crowd our shores, and on the beach

The squalid multitudes are pouring forth,

From over-loaded ships, which, like the curse

Of vile Pandora's box, bring forth disease,

With misery, and pallid want,

Crippled and maim'd, whose ulcerating sores

Cling to the canker'd chains, that rankle deep,

And seek the bone.—

ANTONIO.

—Exists there not a law

Which should restrain such mischief-working tongues,

As hurt the merchant's credit and his wares?

Thy phrase is false; the slaves are healthy, young,

And vigorous.—

PEMBROKE.

—Then be it so.—The world,

With anxious eye, regarded ev'ry step

That led the revolution to effect,

And made us independent.—Wond'ring states

Beheld our strength:—Our public virtue shone

With a meridian lustre, that amaz'd

The nations who submit to monarchy,

And heaven stood influenc'd, propitious stood,

And look'd approving on the energy

That in the sacred cause of liberty,

In ev'ry prayer we breath'd, in every step

Maintain'd, that brought fruition to our hopes.

AMELIA.

How has our country forfeited its fame?

PEMBROKE.

In Britain, which we did calumniate

With charge of tyranny and power usurp'd,

The flame, humanity's most holy flame,

Breaks forth illustrious; all the people burn

With sense of liberty: they boasted not!

And the poor African the object grows

Of their wise councils, and their sov'reign's care:

Whilst we, who mocked God with impious prayer,

Mock'd the surrounding world with fallacy,

Assum'd a character we could not prove;

Now sever'd—now alien'd—and left alone,

Pull off the mask, and vote an impious law,

Restraining liberty for twenty years.

AMELIA.

—Astonishing!—

ANTONIO.

—Firm sinews to bestow

To trade,—the strength of nations.—

PEMBROKE.

—Public faith

Alone supports a people's strength.—In fraud

And treachery few momentary smiles

Of fortune fall; but probity affords

Stability and honour to a state.

What's the idea to the labouring wretch,

That twenty toilsome years may terminate

His grievous task?—a space of sullen time,

That much exceeds their ordinary stage

Of life.—

ANTONIO.

—The legislature wisely saw

Inevitable ruin must succeed,

If instantly we should emancipate

And trust to hirelings.—Such excessive change

In dire confusion would involve the land;

What mode of government could e'er restrain

The slaves discharg'd and set at liberty?

That mighty work must by progression move,

And into habit grow by slow degrees;

Experience of clemency and laws,

That mutual safety yield, must tame

The savage's ferocious habit first,

And fit him for subordinance.—

PEMBROKE.

—This day

The council sits:—On their opinion hangs

The fate of thousands:—If yet adverse Time

His wither'd hand extends against the steps

Of liberty, a stigma he implants,

Which all his smiles, for ages, won't erase:

The issue I expect impatiently. Exit.

ANTONIO.

Are you deceiv'd, Amelia, by such phrase?

Whilst honesty, with open countenance,

Is rash perhaps, and speaks too much of truth,

Despising subtlety:—For that man's god

Is avarice:—He'd suit the Japanese,

And on the Christian's ensign trade and traffic.

AMELIA.

Your mind is heated, and resentment prompts

The character you draw —

ANTONIO.

—We soon may prove

His public virtue, when his interest

Is fairly recogniz'd:—for me, I own

The trade has much of bitterness and woe:

Command me in your Laura's interest;

But first provide her some establishment,

To bless and crown with liberty.

End of the FIRST ACT.

ACT II. Scene, a Plantation and Slaves at Work.

The stage being extended, sun•ry persons are seen performing the various labours of slaves; the back scene continuing the representation.

CALABAN and HORATIO.

CALABAN.

THIS was a glorious voyage!—The sturdy knaves

Are fit for any labour, and we bring

Full fifteen hundred safely to the port.

HORATIO.

What province are they of?—For much depends

Upon the breed; some of the upland slaves,

That border on the desert, are of mind

So dark and so indocile, that they seem

Of one gradation only above brutes;

Those of more eastern clime are indolent,

(As bears are sluggish, and not mov'd by stripes,)

They'll neither serve the mill nor till the ground.

CALABAN.

Well, master, mine are of the fav'rite breed;

Twice ten degrees remov'd from the baboon;

Their form is human, and they're almost men:

Boney and strong, of countenance acute,

And as hyaenas savage:—they're the slaves

For labour; as the mind is fierce and quick,

Their bodies in proportion active are;

On mountains skirts and wilds of Zara bred,

The topsmen drove the herd to Niger's banks,

The mart of Africa.—

HORATIO.

—Five hundred males

I purchase at your price; but in the lot

I'll not receive that brute, that stands aloof,

And looks as if he held high estimate

Of his own consequence; a slave like him

Would soon create a mutiny, and stir

My whole plantation into plots and vile

Conspiracies.—

CALABAN.

—The creature's only mad,

Through separation from his concubines:

So the fierce bull would bellow and rebound,

When from the pasture driven that holds his kine:

Keep him but low in food, and hard at work,

And all those fiery sparks his nature holds,

Will in free perspiration dissipate.

Enter MARTINO and PEMBROKE.

PEMBROKE.

Dost thou, Martino, purchase any slaves?

Here is the carcase-man.—

CALABAN.

—And thou the knave

That would destroy thy country by thy wiles;

For if the council, mov'd by such men's cries,

Should pass the curs'd emancipation vote,

The envious Britons, who could not subdue,

Will triumph in the ruin, treachery

Can soon effect, by wretches such as thee.

PEMBROKE to MARTINO.

Some caution should be held, for much depends

Upon the cause now agitating.—

MARTINO.

And not a little on the market too.

CALABAN.

You purchase not, and therefore shall not prate,

To hinder the fair trader in his sale.

PEMBROKE.

Russian, retire, and know thy province here;

Send forth thy factor, for to him belongs

This duty; and for thee, associate

With fellows of thy proper element,

Or to the magistrates I'll make complaint.

CALABAN.

Thy phrase is mighty, tho' thy figure's meek.

ANTONIO enters.

MARTINO.

The factor comes, and after him a few,

By way of sample, of the fittest slaves.

ANTONIO.

Not so; these only bring some stores on shore,

The rest, refreshing on the beach, will wait

To morrow's noon, when they will be expos'd.

Several slaves enter staggering under excessive burthens, weak and emaciated with their voyage: after them, one who refuses any labour. As he enters and looks upon the scene where the slaves are at work, he starts.

MOOR.

Ah! horrid spectacle of misery

And foul disgrace!—Are these thy wretched sons,

Long suffering Afric?—These of thy race

Of mighty men, whose hardy sinews draw

The sounding bow, and launch the javelin

With mortal strength?—Who, destitute of fear,

Contend with hungry lions for their prey,

And grapple with the tiger in his rage?

Are ye so tame!—

ANTONIO.

—Consider what's your lot,

And merit clemency.—

MOOR.

—Canst thou persuade

The raging winds to soften to thy will,

And whistle in thine ear?—Or dost thou know

How to appease the deep Atlantic's voice,

When tempests howl on Gambia's aestuary?

If thou hast magic in thee to do these,

Then thou may'st smooth the temper of my soul.

CALABAN.

Bravo, my gallant blade, spoke like thyself!

MOOR.

Was this the land where that celestialdrug,

That cures a thousand evils of the mind,

Was planted by the seraphs of the sun,

And by fair daughters of the silent moon

Water'd with dew of heaven, here I might find

The godlike gift of liberty; perhaps

In its vicinity doth justice grow;

Of these I'd mix a potion should disgorge

The monsters of the deep.—

ANTONIO.

—To merit such

You must be peaceable, and to the state

Obedient.—

MOOR.

—Away—revile me not;—

Compassionate my fortune, not contemn

My impotence!—behold these shameful chains;

Are they not peaceable! are not these hands

Submissive?—and this neck obedient?

This is not worthy thy more feeling heart!

Yet to my strength what would these bonds avail,

If an exertion could improve my lot?

PEMBROKE.

Thy moderation merits our esteem;

If ought of justice thou hast here to claim,

Our governor and council daily sit

Within the public hall, dispensing there

Impartially.—

MOOR.

—I mark thee wond'rous well;

And if the spirits of my ancestors

Have not forsaken me, or lost their course

O'er the wide desert of the dreary main,

Perhaps the deity which we adore

Will not forget me in a foreign land;

For they, retaining much of amity,

Will whisper in his ear,—"The African's

"In chains."

CALABAN.

He raves, and, with his fortune mad,

He knows not what he says.—

MOOR.

—Too true, alas!

Mad with my injuries, and scoff'd at too:

As stubble to the lightning, I could shake

These links to atoms, that my vengeful eyes

Might see thy heart's blood spout; but that my views

Are larger, and this friend to human kind

Has breath'd into my soul a nobler hope,

And made me dream of justice.—

CALABAN.

—And thy dream

Will, like the vision of the rolling cloud,

Dissolve, and only mock thy sickly brain:

Return,—and at the lodge where thou art stall'd

Wait for to-morrow's market.—

PEMBROKE.

—If he craves

A hearing for redress of injury,

I will protect the man, and pledge his price.

CALABAN.

Dost thou encourage mutiny?—

PEMBROKE.

—No more

Than I do villains.—

ANTONIO.

—This poor slave behav'd

With much discretion in the tedious voyage,

And seem'd above his fortune, save when sighs

Would sometimes heave his breast, or tears would fall.

MOOR.

Antonio was compassionate:—Were I

In Africa, I would not blush to say

What my heart feels.—

CALABAN.

—Dost thou depart with me.

Or in this new-form'd friendship shelter seek?

MOOR.

I crave to stand before the governor,

And claim the benefit of those good laws

That even comprehend a Negro's wrongs.

CALABAN.

There is no law that can discharge a slave:

Here slaves are property.—

PEMBROKE.

—Can you inform

Whether by purchase he obtain'd this man?

ANTONIO.

Not being of my lot, I'm ignorant.

MOOR.

Such the peculiar hardship of my fate!

But if my property may be restor'd,

Intelligence will follow.—

CALABAN.

—He appeals,

And I reserve my evidence to check

His subtleties.—He's been some pagan priest,

Or one in magic ministering to hell,

And thence derives his sophistry and spells. Exit Cal.

PEMBROKE.

Before the council, what of evidence

Canst thou produce?—

MOOR.

—The evidence of right,

Which is the most acceptable to heaven.

PEMBROKE.

What witnesses?—

MOOR.

—E'en none.—

PEMBROKE.

—How then prevail?

MOOR.

By argument, and influence of truth.

ANTONIO.

What are the objects that the slave pursues?

MOOR.

Many and various are my mind's desires,

As my dire injuries are multiply'd.

First, I would move the council to restore

Those things which were about my person borne

When I was made a captive.—

ANTONIO.

—Now retain'd

By Calaban?—

MOOR.

—Important in my cause.

ANTONIO.

But you had arms.—

MOOR.

—Should they be deny'd,

Yet brought before the council, those true marks

Which still contain my evidence they'll bear,

And not an African, from Niger's source

To Gambia's gulph, but knows their signatures.

ANTONIO.

If that be all you seek, command my voice.

MOOR.

Oh that Antonio was an African!

The measure's now resov'd, pursue the way,

Impatience raises tumults in my breast.

As they pass through the scene, the MOOR stands to gaze on the sculptures upon the rock.

When first I trod this shore, I thought my steps

Were planted in the regions of the fiends,

Those evil genii that haunt the ways

Of Afric's wretched sons with sad mishap:

But—ah!—astonishment!

ANTONIO.

— What is't you read?

MOOR.

Pierc'd on this rock are characters obscure,

In divination cast; an horoscope,

In which I find myself involv'd.—Who cut

The mystic line, and carv'd the prophecy,

Remains untold.—

PEMBROKE.

—The hieroglyphics these? (Pointing to the rock.)

ANTONIO.

Decypher them.—

MOOR.

—'Tis more than I may do;

The same angelic hand that here engrav'd

The sacred emblems hovers in the clouds

And leaves me not. (kneels.) "O thou mysterious light!

"Essence divine! incomprehensible!

"Who out of darkness brings forth mighty deeds,

"And didst of nothing form all Africa!

"Still imperceptible, but in thy works,

"Let thy blest spirit lift thy servant up

"From this adversity." (rises.) My soul's refresh'd.

PEMBROKE.

Thy zeal has touch'd my spirit.—

ANTONIO.

—Oh! my God,

What is't we do! what right can we assume

To bring into vile bondage, men like this,

Who serve thee, tho' in darkness!— (aside.)

PEMBROKE.

Describe what moves thee thus.—

MOOR.

—I know the hand

That grav'd that character must be divine;

The fountain nymph invoking to her tears

It gives a name, a fav'rite female name,

Dear to my memory; so totally

Unknown beyond the vast Atlantic's bounds,

Which fevers this your nether world from ours,

That nothing but some holy angel's arm

Could reach the mighty distance; one whose grasp

Embraces all the earth.—

ANTONIO.

—'Tis wonderful!

MOOR.

The rest is more obscure: petitioning

For pity from the spirits of the air,

Groans are expir'd, for some catastrophe

In which a mother with her infants fell:

My soul sustains such dreadful agony,

Such secret sorrows wrestle at my heart,

I cannot utter more.—To kneel—to weep—

To worship—to expire—is all that's left

The wretched African.—

PEMBROKE.

Thou wound'st our hearts

With sorrow!—

ANTONIO.

—Anguish not to be endur'd!

Why was I privy to such impious deeds? (aside.)

MOOR.

I am unman'd!—I lose my pious hope,

My holy confidence! yet he is not alone,

Not desolate, forsaken, that has friends

In heaven!—Why do I linger then behind!

Bereft of all that life could give! —Oh Africa!

What is there left thus to suspend my soul!

ANTONIO.

Why do we not proceed?

MOOR.

—Grief's tempest raves

Within my heart, and sorrows are renew'd;

My adverse fortune did not promise this,

That in the land of bondage I should meet

With traces, mournful traces, of the source

Of ev'ry tear I shed, and all my woes!

But hold—I'd read again.—A thought succeeds

That blazes with delight!—Perhaps the hand

Inscribing this, was her's!—Oh mighty powers!

And who but she could tell the dreadful tale,

Divine my fortune, and divulge her own?

Do you not know who grav'd these characters?

PEMBROKE.

They are of much antiquity, here plac'd

As evidence of compact and good faith

Between the natives who resign'd the soil

And British voyagers.—

MOOR.

—You greatly err,

The hieroglyphic's clearly African;

Now liberty has double charms in view!

And if the guardian spirits leave me not,

Perhaps this land, which terrible appear'd,

Dark and unhallow'd as captivity,

May yield me joys,—most precious joys of life!

And prove the scene of earthly extacy.

PEMBROKE.

'Twere better to retire.—

MOOR.

—Despise me not

For these excessive contrasts of the mind!

I fly despair to snatch the hand of hope;

So ready is the human heart to seize

The image of its wishes, and to quit

The terror of its woes!—forgive me, friends!

From the idea which I last conceiv'd,

New prospects open to my fancy's eye,

The gloom breaks off, the vapour dissipates!

PEMBROKE.

Let us avoid the curiosity

Of yonder females who observe our stay.

MOOR.

There's bounty in their looks, why should we fly?

As they depart the stage, TERESA and AMELIA enter.

TERESA.

With them Antonio!—

AMELIA.

—And Pembroke too!

TERESA.

Who is that stately Moor we see attends?

AMELIA.

I have not heard.—

TERESA.

—As then we are alone,

Let me unbosom to Amelia

My anxious thoughts.—

AMELIA.

—What cares can now possess

My gracious mother's breast?—

TERESA.

—Draw near, my child;

Hast thou observ'd in Laura's conduct aught

Of levity? and in unguarded hours,

Doth she reveal a habitude of mind

Which shews a vicious tendency?

AMELIA.

—With me,

Perhaps reserv'd, she may restrain her thoughts,

And guard her conduct; but in virtue's cause

Few can display more excellence of mind,

In sentiments refin'd, and maxims pure;

And such a chastity her speech doth grace,

As would become the fairest Spanish dame.

TERESA.

Then all is well with thee!—

AMELIA.

—The question's strange.

TERESA.

I must dissemble, and appear to throw

My vague suspicions on her lover's side. (aside)

AMELIA.

You muse, dear mother.—

TERESA.

—Yet I'm unresolv'd,

Whether 'twere better not to wound your mind

With mere suspicions, whilst no facts are found,

Or warn thee to beware.—

AMELIA.

—Of what?—of whom?

TERESA.

Of Laura.—

AMELIA.

—Would you then depreciate her

Who holds my good opinion,—or accuse

Some other?—

TERESA.

—Does Antonio never come

On frivolous pretence, and fondly prate,

Or waste in dalliance his idle hours,

To trifle with the slave?—

AMELIA.

—You make me smile;

Leave me to manage with Antonio.

I cannot yield my mind to jealousy;

It would degrade my own fair consequence,

And so far lessen self-opinion too,

That I should blush to own it:—credit me,

The maiden's virtues to such shameful fraud

Are as superior as light to shade;

Ingratitude to her is yet unknown. (Exit.)

TERESA.

She does not seem to apprehend my thoughts;

It cannot be the governor should stoop

So low in vice, as to debase my bed

With such intrigue!—But still suspicion lurks

Within my mind, and jealousy once known

Is hard to be eradicated thence;

Still feeding, like cameleons, on air,

Maintaining an existence vile.—

End of the SECOND ACT.

ACT III. Scene, the Groves near the Governor's Palace.

Enter ANTONIO with the MOOR.

MOOR.

I Mark'd his countenance, and tho' there seem'd

A want of openness, simplicity,

The character of truth, stood in his looks:

His words were few, but pertinent and strong;

And thence persuaded into confidence,

I trusted one chief secret to his ear.

ANTONIO.

If nothing more was trusted, all is well.

MOOR.

You entertain some doubts.—

ANTONIO.

—Hypocrisy

Can mask the guileful measures of the heart

With fairest guise:—when he assumes too much,

He gives distrust:—no outward show's requir'd

By virtue.—Tho' the homely dress denies

The power of riches, avarice prevails,

Lucre of gold, and traffic is his God.

MOOR.

Ha!—

ANTONIO.

—Next of kin to griping avarice

Is fraud.—

MOOR.

Am I betray'd?—Has he deceiv'd?

ANTONIO.

Be not alarm'd; perhaps I doubt too much.

MOOR.

Attend,—are we perceiv'd?—can no one hear?

All's safe.—In infancy my father plac'd

His first-born son with a most holy seer,

The high-priest of the Gods, to educate

In all the sacred learning of the sage;

Who, having gift of prophecy, would oft

Gaze on my face with tears, and cast his signs,

To try if some good star might still prevail

Against predestin'd evils, which he saw

Wrote in the book of fate; from study deep

And science most divine, discovering

A favourable planet, he divulg'd

His thoughts.—

ANTONIO.

—I'm all attention.—

MOOR.

—"Still the Gods

"Are willing to preserve thee from the woes

"That shall beset thy steps; in time to come,

"(Nor distant far the years) captivity

"Shall be thy wretched fate.—A charm I hold

"Will from the misery of that estate

"Have power to liberate thee, if apply'd

"With wisdom."—

ANTONIO.

—Strange anxiety pursues

Thy story.—

MOOR.

—Straight he bound my trembling limbs

Fast to the sacred altar, and my eyes

With mystic fillet clos'd; then on my thigh

Incision made, and introduc'd the charm,

Extorting vows, that, till occasion call'd,

If there should rest conceal'd; and if such ill

As was foretold might yet averted be

By pious works, or aid of powers above,

That to the grave the holy boon I'd bear,

Where he had plac'd it.—

ANTONIO.

—A prescience

Astonishing!—

MOOR.

—The dire event was come,

And now the time and due occasion call'd

For this important gift to make its way

To light, and give me liberty.—I told

The secret to my friend, to Pembroke told

What gift I held; and tho' he would deny

What superstition seem'd, he lent his hand,

And with a lancet brought a jewel forth

That would have ransom'd all the slaves you hold.

ANTONIO.

'Tis well I know the secret of this trust;

Perhaps he may prove faithful; but if not,

I am thy witness to confront his fraud:

So great a trust, for avarice to tempt,

Will prove his virtue to its very source.

MOOR.

You see what inadvertency pursu'd

The strange event;—for had I known what charm

The holy priest bestow'd, more privacy

Would have prevail'd:—but full of pious faith,

I thought I merely held some mystic gift

To influence the powers invisible.

ANTONIO.

To what intent was Pembroke then to hold

The gem?—

MOOR.

—To change it into ready gold,

Or borrow on its value what might serve

For my redemption, and supply the calls

Of other exigence.—

ANTONIO.

—The time draws near

When 'tis accustom'd that the council sits.

MOOR.

You'll be my friend?

ANTONIO.

—Depend upon my word.

MOOR.

Whilst I look after Pembroke, should you meet,

Use the intelligence as may seem best.

ANTONIO.

I'll see you at the hall— (Exit Moor.)

—A second claim

Calls forth humanity.—The subtle knave!

Should he betray the injur'd Moor in this,

The act would prove of greater cruelty

Than bondage. (Exit.)

The scene changes to the Governor's garden.

LAURA enters alone.

LAURA.

How fruitless are our hopes!—my troubled heart

Some gleams of consolation entertain'd

To soothe this gloomy lot of adverse life,

In the attention and the gracious smiles

Teresa shew'd her slave: but now, alas!

Without offence, unconscious of the cause,

I meet her frown austere, and angry pride

Sits low'ring on her brow.—

JEROME enters.

—Still sunk in grief!

In all her woe there's such a dignity,

Such unfeign'd virtue shines from out her mind,

As testifies superior sentiment. (aside)

Where haste you, Laura?

LAURA.

—That I may, my lord,

Not interrupt your privacy.—

JEROME.

—Stay, stay!

For I would speak to thee, would dry those tears,

And cheer thy mind from its anxieties.

LAURA.

Permit me to retire.—

JEROME.

—Not with such speed.

LAURA.

It is not meet I talk here with my lord.

JEROME.

I wish to ask thee if thy gentle heart

Has ever known the tender force of love?

LAURA.

Spare my confusion.

JEROME.

—Ever known the pain

Of cold indifference from one belov'd?

LAURA.

My lord!

JEROME.

The pangs of deep despondency,

The anxious hope, and the impatient wish?

LAURA.

I tremble at your looks!—desist, my lord.

JEROME.

Fever'd desire, and tender languishment?

LAURA.

Nay hold me not.—

JEROME.

—But I will press thee thus,

And whisper in thine ear my heart's fond tale.

LAURA.

Spare me, my lord, spare your poor abject slave.

JEROME.

I would not injure thee.—

LAURA.

—Then let me pass.

JEROME.

No, I must plant upon those velvet lips

Ten thousand kisses.—

LAURA.

—Am I not your slave?

Is yet my dreadful ruin incomplete,

Whilst I retain one gift deriv'd of Heaven,

My virtue?—

JEROME.

—Banish all thy fears, sweet maid;

I will not rob thee.—

LAURA.

—That is gracious!

JEROME.

But I would take what gentle Laura's love

Would gen'rously dispose.—

LAURA.

—Alas! my lord,

If I possess'd such quality of mind

As might your pity still have merited,

It was my hatred of vile perfidy,

My firm integrity, my steady truth,

And yet unblotted fame.

JEROME.

—All these I love,

Nor would I tempt thee into perfidy,

But have thee true as magnet to the pole.

LAURA.

Then think of your Teresa, sacred name

Of wedded love.—

JEROME.

—Thy fair integrity

I would not stain, nor virtue would seduce,

But try t'engage them both on my behalf.

LAURA.

And break them with Amelia?—

JEROME.

—Thy truth

I wish to center on our mutual love.

LAURA.

Forsaking vows which Heaven has long since heard,

And on the tablet of the great Supreme

Written in characters emboss'd with stars!

JEROME.

Then thou hast lov'd?—

LAURA.

—And mourn it in despair.

JEROME.

And dost thou talk of virtue?—Afric's maids

Are not so coy.—

LAURA.

—Disgrace not your great mind

With sentiments so far beneath the cast

Of that high erudition you have known.

In ev'ry clime fair virtue is the same;

And tho' the vertic sun pours forth his beams

Upon the eastern world, and whilst the frosts

With torpid fetters bind the northern climes,

Yet virtue has her sanctity in each:

In each rever'd by Heaven, and priz'd on earth,

Inestimable gift!—If pure is light,

(God's emanation here)—if fair the moon,

If bright the stars,—(those brilliant eyes of night)

If heaven's blue vault's unspotted and serene,

The great Supreme on purity must look

With love divine.—

JEROME.

—To prate, to argue thus,

Is to abuse the moment we possess:

What I would win,—by force I might obtain;

But I detest compulsion,—and will woo.

TERESA and AMELIA enter at a side-bower.

TERESA.

You would divert my purpose, but behold,

Are my suspicions vague?—

JEROME.

—If you will yield

To my warm wishes, from this servitude

To a far distant villa you shall move,

And there enjoy your liberty.—

LAURA.

—Point out,

My lord, my tomb, and bring the poison'd bowl,

Then giving me my choice, I'll bless your name.

JEROME.

You must, you shall comply:—my ardent love

Is irresistible—and thus— (Laura struggles.)

LAURA.

—Stand off, (drawing a dagger.)

I yet possess one guardian of my fame.

AMELIA.

Witness her virtue, and compassionate

Her sufferings.—

TERESA.

—Shall we interfere,

And save her rashness?—See the impious wretch!

How mean is vice, how abject!—See, he kneels!

JEROME.

Stay thy rash hand, that threatens to destroy

Us both.—

LAURA.

—I will retire.—And tho' I know

This moment robs me of the hope of peace,

And mixes my sad lot with other slaves;

Yet with exulting soul I'll meet my fate,

Resign these useless ornaments, this garb,

To clasp within my arms the rags that cloath

The meanest wretch who in the mill-way works;

And an approving mind shall smooth the task

Which honour hath impos'd.

JEROME.

—It must not be;

Nay, I'll e'en constrain thee.—

LAURA.

—This weak hand,

Not rais'd against its master, holds enough

Of vigour to release me.—

She retires—whilst JEROME stands meditating.

AMELIA.

—Let us go,

'Twere better he should recollect himself:

We must not meet him now.

TERESA.

—Not meet him, girl!

Yes, I will rouse him from his lethargy,

That he may not avail himself again,

And my attention wickedly divert

By vile insinuations, to the spoil

Of fairer characters.—

AMELIA.

—'Tis as I thought!

TERESA approaches JEROME, whilst he stands lost in reverie.

TERESA.

Is this well done, my lord?—Doth this become

The mighty ruler of these provinces,

On whose example, and wise government

Depend a people's welfare?—

JEROME.

—You're in wrath.

TERESA.

Was it for this the nobles of my house

Gave you my hand?—And I could condescend

With a plebeian race to mix the blood

Of the illustrious name of Alicant.

JEROME.

For what, Teresa?—

TERESA.

—The indignity,

My eyes, my ears sustain'd, to see thee court

That odious wretch, and hear her high contempt

Of the vile bargain that thy lust would make,

To barter for her virtue.—

JEROME.

—So it befals

Impertinent, base curiosity;

Its fingers in the mischief sure will soil

Wherewith it intermeddles.—

TERESA.

—Well, my lord!

JEROME.

It is not well; you should have seen much more

Ee'r you had charg'd me with the infamy

Your words express.—

TERESA.

—Effrontery as vile

As the debased habits of your heart.

Amelia!—

JEROME.

—Conspiracy like this

Denies all temperance:—to save my rage

Some dire and hasty act, I'll snatch myself

From the detested scene.— (Exit.)

AMELIA.

—As I much fear'd,

Sad sorrow must ensue.—

TERESA.

—My injures!

AMELIA.

Patience, dear mother! yet no intercourse

Has taken place to your dishonour;—

And Laura is as chaste as light.—

TERESA.

—The slave

Must be dispos'd, nor longer here retain'd;

I hate the swarthy elf that could seduce

My husband's wishes from his lawful bed.

AMELIA.

Alas! poor Laura!—What adversity,

What unprovok'd adversity, has fill'd

Thy miserable fortune!—Where,—to whom

Shall she be trusted, that her virtuous soul

May not be overwhelm'd in wretchedness?

TERESA.

She must depart this land, and that with speed,

Before the governor suspects my thoughts. (Exit.)

AMELIA, crossing the stage, meets ANTONIO.

ANTONIO.

I am become your pious convert now,

And entertain a judgment that's so fix'd

Concerning those poor wretches we enslave,

That I have vow'd, no effort of my life

Shall be refus'd to remedy their ills.

Before the governor will soon be held

A bold appeal, by one whom we brought here;

Whose sentiments and soul are so sublime,

They touch'd me with compassion and surprize,

AMELIA.

What is his claim?—

ANTONIO.

—His liberty:—but first

Certain insignia which he possest

When he was put on board; from thence, he says,

Will much intelligence be gain'd, of whom

And whence he is.—

AMELIA.

—I find within my heart

An interest arise:—Whose slave is he?

ANTONIO.

The captain's—and I should not wonder much

If some atrocious acts are brought to light

That hurt commercial faith in Africa,

And greatly add to detestation here.

AMELIA.

Thy friendship and compassion now I claim

For wretched Laura, whom misfortunes still

Cease not to persecute.—

ANTONIO.

—You may command

My services—I know her virtuous mind;

I know her soul's superior to the lot

The adverse stars have destin'd her.—

AMELIA.

—The tale

Of her increas'd afflictions must reveal

Some of the sorrows of this troubled house.

ANTONIO.

Can sorrow lift her footsteps then so high?

AMELIA.

Shame scarce permits the tale:—the governor

Hath look'd upon the girl with impious eyes;

My mother's heart is fir'd with jealousy;

And for our household peace, poor Laura's fate

Is pre-determin'd:—she must leave this land;

It will be mov'd to Calaban or you

To take her hence:—if so, protect the maid,

That when this folly of my father's mind

Subsides, I may redeem her, and again

Extend some consolation to her woes.

ANTONIO.

It is not safe to trust her to the hands

Of that nefarious wretch, whose brutal sense

Of female character is odious.

If she's consign'd to me, I'll place her safe

In some secure retreat, whence you may call

Your Laura at your pleasure.—

AMELIA (starts.)

—That's the voice

Of my enraged father; we'll retire. (Exeunt.)

Enter JEROME and his freedman ZANGAE.

JEROME.

Thus foil'd by weak and whining women too,

Exceeds all patience.—

ZANGAE.

—Thence, what would my lord?

JEROME.

I know Teresa's Spanish pride's on fire,

And jealousy will fan the subtle flame:

To try t'appease her mind, and save the slave

From her vindictive temper, is in vain.

Watch thou their steps —

ZANGAE.

—Attentively.—

JEROME.

—Contrive

To sound their purpose:—if the angry dame

Attempt to banish Laura, or exchange,

(For nothing's difficult to such proud minds)

Raise such immediate force as may suffice

To rescue her, and in some secret hold

Secure her, till you know my further will.

ZANGAE.

I will fulfil your wish.—

JEROME.

—You to your charge,

I to the council-house:—this little trust

Shall not go unrewarded. (Exeunt.)

End of the THIRD ACT.

ACT IV. Scene the Court before the Senate-house.

Enter ANTONIO and the MOOR.

MOOR.

SUCH is the subtlety of this man's mind,

That to disarm me of my chief pretext,

As he conceives, on an appeal to justice,

He has restor'd me these habiliments;

But with rapacious hand has torn from thence

Those ensigns which my injuries explain;

The evidence which might maintain my cause,

My tablets, in whose records stood enroll'd

My country and my name.—

ANTONIO.

—Will you decline

The application which you had design'd,

And trust to Pembroke's ransoming?—

MOOR.

—I think

'Twere better to try both.

ANTONIO.

—I wait your will.

MOOR.

If from the force of truth I might prevail,

If Heaven should send some unforeseen relief,

Or move by secret influence the minds

Of those whom we address, more honour stands

Confess'd than when the price that liberates

The meanest son of slavery obtains

The indiscriminate effect.—

ANTONIO.

—Behold,

The council sits,—draw near and make thy plea.

The back scene opens, and discovers the governor and delegates of the province in council: several planters, CALABAN and others, attending.

The MOOR approaches, making obeisance after the fashion of his country.

MOOR.

With sacred awe and pious reverence

This high tribunal I approach; I'm told

Here Heaven's vicegerents sitting to dispense,

As secondary causes, wise decrees,

Will judge my plaints, and my petition hear:

If justice holds a balance that defies

All undue influence, and pois'd aloft

Preponderates alone to truth, report

Will not have trifled with my miseries.

Behold the victim of an adverse fate

Bends with humility before the seat

Of government, and tho' an African,

Craves for the common benefit of laws

That scorn partiality—

JEROME.

—Proceed to state

The grievances you hope we may redress:

Justice and right humanity's great cause

Are not confin'd to subjects of this land,

But from the jurisprudence of the state

Are equally the claim of all mankind.

MOOR.

Brought here by force, and from my country torn,

By one who steer'd his vessel to our coasts;

Depriv'd of property, and suff'ring ills

Which shock the human ear in their detail;

Should he not shew on what pretence of right

He perpetrates such deeds?—

JEROME.

—Call forth the man.

1st COUNSEL.

Wherefore do you detain the Moor?

CALABAN.

—I bought

The slave.—

MOOR.

—'Tis false.—

2d COUNSEL.

—Your supercargo call

To prove the fact.—

CALABAN.

—If you hold out this law,

The trade is much in jeopardy; each slave

May controvert the truth, and call for proofs

The navigator never thought to have.

JEROME.

Was this man gain'd by private sale, or came

Promiscuously with other slaves?—

CALABAN.

—Alone.

1st COUNSEL.

Have you no witnesses?—

CALABAN.

—If such I had,

I would not for the fatal precedent

Produce them here.—

2d COUNSEL.

—Where is the supercargo?—

ANTONIO.

I know not whence, or how he was obtain'd;

When first I saw him, on the deck he lay,

Benumb'd, and totally depriv'd of sense,

By some most powerful dose of opiate;

His garb uncommon led me to enquire

Concerning him, but no intelligence

Was gain'd.—

JEROME.

—What sayest thou?

MOOR.

—Your patient ear

Must hear captivity's unhappy tale;

As little hope depends on passions mov'd,

The influence I seek is truth.—

1st COUNSEL.

—To facts,

And not to flow'ry phrase, confine your plea.

MOOR.

The former year, by some rapacious bands,

(A roving tribe that rang'd the forest's skirts

In search of captives to supply the trade

Which Europeans hold) the scatter'd tents

Of princes hunting, and by females held,

Were sack'd and pillag'd, and the families

Were driven to the shores, and sold for slaves.

Of them a maid, whom love had made my own,

And sacred rites had form'd our union:

This sad catastrophe I much had mourn'd,

And, tho' despair possess'd my aching heart,

In th' ensuing season I came down

To Niger's banks, and pass'd the friendly states

With slender equipage, not fearing ill;

That if enquiry might my grief allay,

And I could learn where the dear maid was gone,

I might redeem her.—

JEROME.

—What ensu'd?

MOOR.

—I brought

Some gems of price, gold dust, and ivory,

To influence such navigators hearts

As might be there.—

1st COUNCIL.

—An influence, 'tis true,

But often misapply'd—

MOOR.

—It was my fate

To meet a foe like aligator bred,

Amphibious, whose savage love of prey

Alike by land or water rag'd:—I told

My anxious tale with tears,—and might have wept

Unto some statue cut of Parian stone

And rais'd as much emotion:—for his heart

Nor felt compassion, nor compunction's touch;

But from my tent deluding with such cates

As his pernicious cookery prepar'd

In specious friendship and for banquet gay,

I drank a poison that straight reach'd my brain,

And lock'd up ev'ry sense in mimic death;

Then seizing on my treasures, seizing too

My wretched person:—you behold the man!

JEROME.

What says the captain?—

CALABAN.

—All the tale is false;

And frantic with his sorrows, here he raves

Of objects which a being never knew.

JEROME.

How was the gold and ivory bestow'd?

MOOR.

We touch'd at many places in our voyage.

1st COUNSEL.

Did you dispose of merchandise?—

ANTONIO.

—We did;

The captain too of ivory and gems.

JEROME.

What territory did you leave,—or whom

Shall we believe you are?—

MOOR.

—My lords, my birth

Was of Cassaena, and my station there

Superior:—to talk of dignities

Would ill befit my fortune thus revers'd.

Look on the clasp that girds my turban's front,

Where stands engraven the illustrious names

Of the bright sun that rules the golden day;

On every stud, the characters of stars

That fill the firmament;—my pedigree

They note.—

JEROME.

—Is here an African to prove

One fact insisted on?—

MOOR.

—Without a friend

You see the suffering Moor:—if that great eye

Of nature, where the radiant seraph sits

Dispensing God's benevolence, could pierce

The stubborn heart of man with rays divine,

There need not evidence.—

JEROME.

—Was Zangae here,

He'd give some information.—

1st COUNSEL.

—See the man

Entranc'd and prostrate!—

JEROME.

—What occasion moves

This veneration? —

ZANGAE,

—I behold my prince,

The great Manzara; of Cassaena's realm

The mighty potentate; a thousand states

Surround his throne, and to his sceptre bow.

MANZARA.

Who is it owns Manzara?—

ZANGAE.

—E'en a Moor

From Africa estrang'd, who once obey'd

Thy sov'reignty, and gloried in the name

Of vassal in Cassaena's wealthy land.

MANZARA.

Thou knowest then the titles that I bear.

ZANGAE.

The names inscrib'd are of thy ancestors,

Whom the prophetic priests in origin

Deduc'd from the bless'd Sun, whose daughters fair

Rule each a star in heaven, whilst you on earth

Know not the limits of your vast domain.

MANZARA.

Look on that scymeter, and read aloud.

ZANGAE.

"May the Supreme with great Manzara walk,

"Whose mighty kingdoms neither Cancer girds,

"Nor Capricorn with tropic limit bounds."

1st COUNSEL.

The evidence is singular,—

MANZARA.

—The light

Of heaven prevails!—the servants of the Sun

Descend to bless the intellectual mind,

And bring forth holy truth!—

JEROME.

—So very clear

The case, and the discovery so strange,

We cannot hesitate to liberate

The injur'd prince;—and henceforth you are free.

MANZARA.

I reverence at once your happy laws,

And the just dispensation that's display'd.

Thanks are indignities to your high trust;

For to such sentence, thanks would but prescribe

The bounds of bounty; whilst the center form'd

By justice is without perimeter.

To prove my mind's not heated for revenge,

The chief possession of the earth regain'd—

My liberty; my goods esteem'd as trash

I yield to his possession:—to the Gods

That brought about this wonderful event

I give the rest; vindictive power is theirs.

Exeunt Governor, Council, &c. &c.

ZANGAE kneels.

Look on poor Zangae, on your humble slave,

Whose most ambitious wish could never soar

To such exalted duty, or his hope

Conceive this glorious service, that he should

Redeem his prince.

MANZARA.

—Arise, my faithful friend;

If thou wilt henceforth my misfortunes share,

Thou shalt be in my bosom as the gift

Of Heaven, by miracle dispos'd to save

Cassaena's captive lord.—

ZANGAE.

—By strongest bonds

Of gratitude I serve the governor.

If he—'tis more than I may ask!—my heart

Is rent with woe, whilst duty holds my stay;

For if I follow not my prince, my soul's

In grief:—and if my lord I should forsake,

As faithless,—I should thence unworthy grow.

MANZARA.

Hereafter I will move it:—still remain

In that distinguish'd service; to his ear,

As the occasion serves, to speak of me;

And thence facilitate my measures here.

Didst thou e'er know Zanfara's beauteous maid?

ZANGAE.

'Tis now five years since I became a slave;

I knew her not.— (retires.)

MANZARA.

—Go and remember me. (Exit Zangae.)

ANTONIO.

Warmer congratulations I could give

Were Pembroke here.—

MANZARA.

—From this first great event

Much force will be deriv'd; he'll never dare

To injure me.—But as precautions safe,

Let us look after him; there's no success

Attends delay: I wish to hire a ship

To carry me again to Gambia's streams;

There's danger always in a foreign state.

ANTONIO.

Our thoughts still correspond, let us move on. Exeunt

Enter JEROME and PEMBROKE.

PEMBROKE.

Much secrecy is not requir'd, the fact

Already is too public;—th' alarm

Affects the planters much: conspiracy

Has been discover'd, and a double guard

In some plantations now is necessary.

JEROME.

What cause to charge Manzara with the crime?

PEMBROKE.

His name is gone abroad; some slaves were brought

From his dominions, and he oft was seen

In secret converse, pleading earnestly

With much gesticulation.—

JEROME.

—To receive

Such vague report and information void

Of proof will not induce the legislative power

To interfere.—There is a dignity

In this much-injur'd man that proves itself;

Such perspicuity in all his phrase,

As shews an erudition none but those

Of the first consequence could e'er attain:

We are not left to doubt his high estate;

From a full sense of those base injuries

He has sustain'd, we gave him liberty;

And now to charge him with such heinous crimes

Against the state, is singular.—

PEMBROKE.

—'Twas I

That pledg'd his ransom to relieve his chains;

'Twas I that mov'd him to his late appeal;

And is it possible, without a cause,

I should accuse the man whom I espous'd?

JEROME.

The circumstance appears to me so dark,

That I distrust what I can't comprehend.

PEMBROKE.

I hate the name of slavery, and aid

Emancipation by all powerful means:

But whilst humanity promotes one cause,

Another it preserves,—my country's weal:

When I discover'd that this bosom held

So treacherous a thought as mutiny

Among the slaves, and in its consequence

Subversion of the government, and spoil

Of individuals, I straightway turn'd

Attention to his plots, and found him out.

JEROME.

How found him out?—

PEMBROKE.

—I held his confidence,

And when he had enlarg'd on golden dreams,

And promises of Afric's wealth, he own'd

Revenge rag'd in his heart; a wish to gain

Retaliation for his country's woes,

And to let loose a bloody hand,—t'appease

The horror which he saw imprest me deep,

He talk'd of vast rewards.—

JEROME.

—In consequence

Of confidence like this, would'st thou impeach,

On the mere strength of thy veracity,

This stranger prince?—

PEMBROKE.

—If justice should require,

The deepest secret of my bosom yields

To public good.—But see, Horatio comes,

Perhaps he bears yet more important truths.

HORATIO enters.

JEROME.

Are your slaves peaceable?—

HORATIO.

—I am in fear;

They gather in cabals, and sullen seem,

Working reluctantly. —

JEROME.

—But are there grounds

To doubt conspiracy?—

HORATIO.

—My spies report

That some strange faction has possess'd their minds;

Their priests exhort with vehemence; and oft

They sing the war-song, and they hail their prince,

Whom they rejoice is landed on our coast.

JEROME.

This may alarm:—but have you cause to charge

Manzara as a secret instrument,

Or as the object of the people's joy?

HORATIO.

I have inquir'd; my spies know not his name.

MARTINO enters.

We must intreat the aid of government,

Ten thousand slaves now threaten a revolt;

Through my plantation strange commotions reign,

And all my trusty servants fly to arms.

Perhaps upon assembling of the troops,

This ferment may subside.

HORATIO.

—If not suppress'd

With an immediate hand, none can foresee

The fatal consequence a night may bring.

JEROME.

What cause appears?—

MARTINO.

—We have discover'd none.

JEROME.

I shall convene the council.— (Planters retire)

PEMBROKE.

—Thus you see

Th' intelligence is prov'd by circumstance.

Were it not best to put the Moor in chains?

JEROME.

It may be necessary.—

PEMBROKE.

—If th' offence

On full investigation is disprov'd,

He'll stand discharg'd: and no great injury

Sustaining, may depart:—but when compar'd,

The consequences fear'd, with his arrest,

The latter's light as air.—

JEROME.

—I stand convinc'd,

The project's right.—

PEMBROKE.

—There's of his nation here

More than your Zangae now at liberty;

For as we loiter'd in the shady grove

Adjacent to your palace, where the rock

Is sculptur'd with mysterious characters.—

JEROME.

My heart's alarm'd?— (aside.)

PEMBROKE.

—And whilst he stood and wept,

He told me, in an agony of mind,

That there he read a history of woe.

JEROME.

He read!—

PEMBROKE.

—The graving's of familiar mode.

JEROME.

My passions are on fire.— (aside.)

PEMBROKE.

—And when his mind

Was all absorb'd, forgetting I was there,

He kneel'd, and in an extacy grief,

Thrice call'd aloud, in his own dialect,

Jaqueena!—

JEROME.

—Ha!—

PEMBROKE.

—As if he would invoke

Some demon, and the fiends of Africa.

JEROME.

I have let loose the eagle to destroy

The firstlings of my flock!— (aside.)

PEMBROKE.

—I touch his soul;

That was the boldest spring I had to move,

I must not overstrain it.— (aside.)

JEROME.

—You advise

To put the Moor in durance?—

PEMBROKE.

—True, I do.

JEROME.

Proceed then to enquire into the facts,

That justice strictly be administer'd. (Exit Pembroke.)

This is a foe I never once had fear'd;

Jaqueena is the maid whom he laments,

For whom he lost his liberty:—To him,

Or to a legion of the Negro tribe,

I'll not resign her:—for my heart is her's;

Nor Spanish pride, nor Afric's haughty sons,

Shall from my anxious bosom wrest the maid.

ZANGAE enters.

My lord, the plot is laid; and to the hands

Of Calaban, poor Laura's doom'd to pass:

Some island of the Indies is agreed

To be her place of bondage:—I have learnt

The hour of their departure.—

JEROME.

—Then take care

To have the necessary means prepar'd,

Not only of her safety, but to bear

Her to my distant villa with all speed,

There wait my coming.—

ZANGAE.

—Trusty slaves attend

To execute your will.—

JEROME.

—My confidence

Is plac'd in thee.— (Exit Zangae.)

—The Moor shall lose his hopes,

Teresa her revenge; and if my power

Serves not to gratify my will in this,

There's no superiority is worth

The labours that attend on government.

End of the FOURTH ACT.

ACT V. Scene, the Groves adjoining the Governor's Palace.

Enter JEROME and ANTONIO.

ANTONIO.

YOU are deceiv'd and trifled with,—the prince

Has a sublimity of mind, superior

To stratagems like these.—

JEROME.

—It was a charge

So grounded, and the facts established

By proofs so strong, I could not hesitate

To send him into durance, till we heard

The slaves were peaceful, and the tumult hush'd.

ANTONIO.

There was no tumult.—

JEROME.

—All Martino's slaves

Had mutinied.—

ANTONIO.

—There never was more peace

Than at the instant;—not a voice was heard

Through the plantation.—

JEROME.

—And Horatio's men

Caball'd, refus'd to labour, and had sung

The war-song.—

ANTONIO.

—All a fiction,—all is false;

A tale just calculated to reduce the price

Of my imported cargo, by advice

Of Pembroke, to affect the planters minds

With terror, and prevent their bargaining

In times of pressing danger.—

JEROME.

—Both gave proof

In charge against Manzara.—

ANTONIO.

—I repeat

You were abus'd; they knew not why he brought

Them hither, but propos'd such tale to them,

For the base purpose, I declare, they knew

No tittle of the charge against the prince:

Read there,—they certify the fact.— (gives a paper.)

JEROME.

—Good Heav'n

Protect us from such wiles!—what could induce

The villain to these practices?—

ANTONIO.

—A hope

Of robbing the afflicted prisoner,

Avoiding justice, and escaping hence,

With such a booty as his avarice

Could not resist:—Integrity

Is a mere outside semblance he assumes,

To mask a soul replete with darkest fraud.

JEROME.

I know not what's alluded to.—

ANTONIO.

—A fact,

Will strike you with abhorrence;—having plac'd

Much confidence in this perfidious wretch,

He to his care entrusted a rich gem,

By which he might his ransom and return

Obtain;—in order, with impunity,

To rob the captive stranger he procur'd

First, his imprisonment by a false charge,

Then got on board a ship prepar'd to sail

For Spain.—

JEROME.

—My soul is griev'd,—I've been deceiv'd,

And to sad inadvertencies betray'd.

ANTONIO.

Which soon may be retriev'd.—

JEROME.

—There is my doubt.

ANTONIO.

The prince may be restor'd to liberty.

JEROME.

My heart is now with much compunction smote.

ANTONIO.

What moves you thus?—

JEROME.

—Proceed—did he escape?

ANTONIO.

Hearing of these transactions, and inform'd

Of the great trust, I got an officer

To go on board and seize the treacherous knave,

Just as the sails were bent, and tide had serv'd

To carry him to sea.—

JEROME.

—With equal speed

Send to the prison, and release the Moor.

ANTONIO.

Your Zangae comes this way.— (Zangae enters.)

JEROME.

—'Tis opportune,

Haste and release the Moor, —if yet he lives. (Exit Zangae.)

ANTONIO.

Is there a doubt?—You wound my tortur'd soul!—

Is there a fear?—

JEROME.

—But of the precious gem?

ANTONIO.

For the poor prince I'm all anxiety.

JEROME.

What the event?—

ANTONIO.

—The man, suspecting not

That I was privy to the trust, retain'd

The stone, nor try'd to hide his purpos'd fraud

By throwing it in the sea; on search,

We found it in his bosom:—evidence

Sufficient to the magistrate appear'd

To cast him into prison;—see the price

Of his iniquity. (produces the jewel) My heart's distress'd,

I tremble for the Moor!—

JEROME.

—To this dread charge

The villain wrought upon my guilty mind,

With such insinuations of the love

Manzara entertain'd or had avow'd

For Laura, and his purpose to withdraw

The maid from hence;—that—

ANTONIO.

—The fair interest

Which Laura claims in her Manzara's breast,

Might warrant all that Pembroke could devise;

But she is ignorant,—so is the Moor,

That they're so near a wish'd for intercourse.

JEROME.

My conscience is disturb'd;—I own my crimes,

And wish that retribution could be had:

The guilty passions were inflam'd with love,

Unlawful as it was;—my jealousy

Was basely rous'd,—and vengence fill'd my mind:

Under pretext of service to the state,

By my removing an obnoxious Moor,

Who would an insurrection have stir'd up

Among the slaves,—I sent my mandate forth.

ANTONIO.

What was its tenor?—for I dread the blow.

JEROME.

That in the prison they should strangle him.

ANTONIO.

Oh horrid cruelty!—Oh innocence

That suffers mighty woes!—A captive here,

Drag'd from his country, and a diadem!

By Calaban ensnar'd,—and now betray'd

To death!—What dreadful crimes we perpetrate!

And yet the vengeance of offended Heaven

Is long with-held?—

JEROME.

(Looking out.) —Oh! Zangae comes alone.

ANTONIO.

Then he is dead!—

JEROME.

—And on my guilty head

The blood of innocence is fall'n.—

ANTONIO.

(Looking out.) —Rejoice,

And be exceeding glad!—he comes, he comes!

Enter MANZARA and ZANGAE. JEROME to ZANGAE.

Haste to your charge;—and mark me, only watch

Their purpose, and attend my further will.

ZANGAE.

The people I have station'd.—

JEROME.

—Get thee hence. (Exit Zangae.)

MANZARA.

So long inur'd to injury and chains,

Methinks, the powers of Heaven have so decreed

They are my lot for life!—What further woes

Would you inflict?—behold your victim stands

To hear the judgment you'll again pronounce.

I have no more than life itself to lose!

By men of your complexion, whose cold souls

Are frozen up in ice, I lost my realm,

My wife, my country, and my liberty!

Now to accomplish all, spare not the poor

Vile remnant of possession, spare it not!

But send this soul to join my ancestors,

Who hover for me on the mountain's top!

Where is the executioner?—be quick,

For I am weary, and would be at rest.

JEROME.

Not to increase thy injuries or woes,

But to redress them, art thou brought.—

MANZARA.

—I heard

A voice say, "thou hast liberty," and straight

The shackles of a slave were taken off:

No sooner I possess'd the sacred bliss,

Than I endur'd the manacles prepar'd

For criminals: —so momentary prove

The smiles of fortune in Manzara's fate!

JEROME.

With my own hands I take these fetters off;

And in my arms, with cordial embrace,

Insure thee of protection.—

ANTONIO.

—It's with grief

The governor perceives how multiply'd

Were your misfortunes, and his gracious heart

Is warm'd to do you service.—

JEROME.

Confident

I need not doubt thy faith, this scymeter's

Restor'd; an ornament, for no rude cause

Will urge thee to its use.

MANZARA.

I bless the gods

This happy change takes place! perhaps once more

Cassaena's distant land I may behold!

ANTONIO.

To heighten this new prospect of your peace,

Behold the gem regain'd.

MANZARA.

I fear the change

(So rapid a transition) is not built

On stable ground-work!—If my gracious lord

Will lend assistance for our hiring hence

A vessel to Great Britain's wealthy isle,

Where an illustrious king, as the broad sun,

Shines forth amidst the council of the stars

To animate the world, dispenses round

The influence of wisdom; thence we'll learn

Sage maxims for our government, and safe

Pass to Cassaena's lov'd and mourning land:

You'll thence repay me richly for the woes

I have sustain'd within your territories.

JEROME.

I joy to give you pleasure; to your wish

I'll give all aid; a passage shall be gain'd

For England.— (Exit Jerome.)

MANZARA.

—Sure the frowns of angry fate

Begin to dissipate!—

ANTONIO.

—What means that noise,

Those seamen in such rage?—

MANZARA.

—New dangers rise

To crowd the motley character of life,

Manzara suffers!—to the Governor,

(laying his hand on his sword.)

For this fast friend, unnumber'd thanks are due.

ANTONIO.

In conflict with the Governor's own slaves,

Headed by Zangae:—hark!—those female cries!

A party of sailors under Calaban, come skirmishing on to the stage, with a number of Negro servants headed by Zangae,—Calaban dragging Laura.

MANZARA.

Did I not think Jaqueena was in heaven,

I should believe the hapless victim she

Whom the vile monster holds:—her semblance fires

My soul, and for her sake I'll not permit

The rape;—desist, thou miscreant, or feel

The vengeance of my arm!—

CALABAN.

—Come on, and try

Thy valour, and my rage.—

They engage, Manzara drives him off the stage, and the seamen retreat. Enter AMELIA.

—Led by the cries

Of some afflicted female—Oh, my Laura!

LAURA sinks into her arms.

LAURA.

Tremendous was the spectacle!—from Heaven

Descended my deliverer, the prince!

Cassaena's lord!—my husband!—overcome

With such astonishment, I scarce retain

The breath of life, but faint and giddy grown,

Must sink into thy bosom.—

AMELIA.

—Wonderful

Is all thy story! but if this event

Be as thou wouldst imagine, Heaven will end

Thy griefs.—

MANZARA enters, holding the head of CALABAN by the hair.

—To the incensed manes of my fire,

To the blest spirits of Zanfara's house,

And first to thee Jaqueena, who in Heaven

Looks down approving this my just revenge,

I offer up the sacrifice!— (Gazing on JAQUEENA as she lies fainting in the arms of AMELIA.)

—Ye stars!

Are not my senses in delusion lost?

Do not my eyes on some bright vision look,

That represents her sweet angelic form? (kneels.)

Thou seraph! daughter of the golden day!

Awake, and bless me with thy conscious gaze!

LAURA.

Should I escape that monster Calaban,

More brutal, more unfeeling than the wolf;

If yet the Governor desists from wiles,

And my poor virtue—all that I possess,

Is spar'd,—that holy spirits may not turn away

The face abash'd, and from their realms of light

Expel and thrust me forth.—

MANZARA.

—Where wanders thus

Her recollection? yet, she knows me not

LAURA.

If my Manzara, in his gracious arms,

Shall lift me to the grave—I die content!

And sure his vision blest my swimming eyes,

Or play'd upon my fancy with delight! (gazing on him.)

—My judgment is so shaken, that I know

Not what, or where I am!—

MANZARA.

—Behold, my queen,

The gracious spirits that prevail on earth

Transported me beyond our hemisphere,

That I might save my better part, my love,

And give her back to Africa and joy.

AMELIA.

Look where Manzara kneels:—alas! through grief

A frenzy has derang'd her gentle mind!

For yet she recollects not!—

LAURA (gazing on Manzara.)

—What sad woes

Hath my poor heart endur'd!—I lost my love!

And with these eyes beheld the tragic scene,

Where my dear mother with her infant fell,

And welter'd in their gore!—my brother dy'd

Within these trembling arms in agonies!

Snatch'd from my country, I'm become a slave,

The prey of tyranny and lust!—'tis he!

I know his godlike features!—I behold

The great the good Manzara:—On thy breast

Let me expire with joy!— (flies into his arms.)

JEROME enters.

—Where is the Moor?

My servants have done well:—a vessel waits

To carry him from hence:—the sails unfurl'd,

The winds blow fair, and Heaven propitious smiles.

MANZARA.

Yes!—Heaven now smiles in my Jaqueena's eyes!

And all past sorrows are extinguish'd

In this vast flood of joy!—

LAURA.

—But see,—he comes

To claim his property!—

ANTONIO.

—He comes, dear maid,

To give your hand to your beloved lord,

And bless your wishes —

JEROME.

—With abundant joy,

I yield you to the prince; and pray to Heaven,

That in the little services I pay,

I may atone for those sad injuries

To which I have too much contributed.—

ZANGAE.

Zangae must suffer yet a living death!

Sever'd once more from his most gracious king;

Deny'd his native land, become more dear

By wishes thus renew'd.

JEROME.

If the good prince

Requests thy services, I will resign

My faithful Zangae, that a wish of his

May not be unaccomplish'd.

MANZARA.

You o'erpower

My gratitude.

LAURA.

My lord—these tides of joy

Exceed my strength— (pointing to the seat by the rock.)

There let me rest awhile,

Where oft I sat to weep, and worshipped

The kindred spirits, whose beloved names

I sculptur'd on the rock.

MANZARA.

—Your fainting eye

Distracts me, and cold apprehensions chill

My heart.—

LAURA.

My joy had swept from memory

The most afflicting sorrows of my soul;

I still have much to tell of misery.

MANZARA.

When we are thus restor'd to liberty!

When hope, with wing than lightning yet more swift,

Anticipates the sight of Afric's shores,

And Heaven, that heard our vows, protects our love.

LAURA.

My heart grows sick—my eye's obscur'd by mists,

And darkness and confusion cloud my mind.

Oh my Amelia!—Fate has cruel been,

And unrelenting!—

MANZARA.

—What of grief remains?

AMELIA.

Your tears distress me deeply!—wherefore weep?

Manzara lives, and you have liberty!

LAURA.

Draw near, beloved prince,—and let me pour

My woes into thy soul!—Oh! hear the tale

That disappoints my joys,—and pity me!

MANZARA.

Most holy Heavens! what sorrows yet exist

To aggrandize the griefs I have endur'd?

LAURA.

Well knowing that Teresa's jealousy

Would soon expose me to some cruel change,

And melancholy having seiz'd my mind,

For long I thought Manzara lost to me,

I straight determin'd to avoid the fate

Of falling into Calaban's rude hands,

Nor yet submit to the impiety

Which mov'd the Governor:—the wretched world

Had lost all joys, and hope her sportive wing,

That us'd the youthful fancy oft to charm

With visions soft as sweet.—

AMELIA.

—Why cease you there,

And leave us in this anxious suspense?

LAURA.

The tardy floods of life forget to flow;

I faint.—

MANZARA.

—Assist ye spirits of the air!

And with refreshing breath of Heav'n renew

Her strength.—

LAURA.

—Manzara! oh much lov'd lord!

From whose dear image fancy never stray'd;

Imprest upon this heart thy character,

Which love conceiv'd, nor day nor night remov'd:

Thou wert the vision of my happiest dream,

And in the gloom of the detested cell,

As o'er the vast Atlantic we were borne,

And when America her slave receiv'd,

Thou held my thoughts, and all my wishes fill'd!

But hope was fled, and black despair was come;

Whilst death alone held out a saving hand:

Rash was the deed, and hapless it has prov'd,

(The gods condemn my want of confidence)

The poison, which my bracelet long conceal'd,

Was—

AMELIA.

—Horrible, and heart distracting tale!

MANZARA.

Then all my wish'd for happiness is fled,

And launch'd again upon the stormy sea

Of wretchedness, new fortunes I must try;

Pleasures sweet prospects Africa has lost!

Manzara is undone!

AMELIA.

Haste for assistance, Zangae,—med'cine

May yet relieve—

LAURA.

—Impossible!

The bane is of such subtle quality,

Compounded by Zanfara's wisest dames,

It scorns repelling powers!—the hand of death

Lies heavy on my heart;—and every nerve

Aches with convulsion.—

ANTONIO.

—Her approaching fate

Precipitates!—

MANZARA.

—Oh misery extreme!

All the monition's lost, which thy fair hand

Inscrib'd upon the rocks, that might have led

To thy discovery and sav'd despair!

There Pembroke too deceiv'd!—and I, employ'd

Too much on selfish views, neglected those

That should have sav'd us both!—but 'tis too late!

LAURA.

Whilst there is life, indulge me with thy gaze,

That my departing soul, replete with love,

May bear thy image to the latest breath,

E'er I shall pass to Heaven!—

ZANGAE returns with Physicians.

ANTONIO.

—Assistance comes

Too late!—

MANZARA.

—Alas! she faints!—she dies!—tis done!

AMELIA.

And all our wishes disappointment blights!

JEROME.

Like some blest saint who confident in God

Refuses earth one groan!—

MANZARA.

—Do I neglect

The great example, and stay lingering here,

Sustaining such extremity of woe?

JEROME.

If ever more authority I shew,

It is to wrest thee from this sad despair. (seizes his arm.)

ANTONIO.

To save much rashness let thy slave receive

This scymeter, yet stain'd with mortal deeds.

(Zangae removes the sword.)

MANZARA.

I know not what to do!—Oh sweet remains,

Adieu!—a long adieu!—If you retain (to Antonio.)

Compassion for my woes, embalm the corpse,

That Africa may yet receive its own.

We must depart,—must tear ourselves from hence,

(to Jerome.)

The scene of so much terror and distress!

Zangae shall be the partner of my tears:

Tho' seas may shake the helm,—tho' adverse winds

May hang upon the dilatory sail;

Perhaps relenting fates will yet retain

Some pity for the Moor,—that he may land

On native shores,—and there erect on high

A monument, that shall command the hearts

Of our posterity (whilst man exists)

To an abhorrence of the Trade in Slaves.

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Title statement

The Princess of Zanfara: a dramatic poem.

Hutchinson, William, 1732-1814.

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ID [ota]

http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4572

ID [isbn10]

1106015711

ID [isbn13]

9781106015716

ID [TCP]

K061830.000

ID [BIBNO]

CW3309732955

ID [ECLL]

0054901400

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Source

— The Princess of Zanfara: a dramatic poem., Hutchinson, William, 1732-1814.. [4],64p. ; 8⁰. London :: printed for Mess. Wilkie,. 1789.. [Anonymous. By William Hutchinson.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT73130.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

Creation

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