DEMETRIUS. 
Dismiss these needless fears—­a troop of Greeks,
Well known, long try’d, expect us on the shore. 
Borne on the surface of the smiling deep,
Soon shalt thou scorn, in safety’s arms repos’d,
Abdalla’s rage and Cali’s stratagems.

ASPASIA. 
Still, still, distrust sits heavy on my heart. 
Will e’er a happier hour revisit Greece?

DEMETRIUS. 
Should heav’n, yet unappeas’d, refuse its aid,
Disperse our hopes, and frustrate our designs,
Yet shall the conscience of the great attempt
Diffuse a brightness on our future days;
Nor will his country’s groans reproach Demetrius. 
But how canst thou support the woes of exile? 
Canst thou forget hereditary splendours,
To live obscure upon a foreign coast,
Content with science, innocence, and love?

ASPASIA. 
Nor wealth, nor titles, make Aspasia’s bliss. 
O’erwhelm’d and lost amidst the publick ruins,
Unmov’d, I saw the glitt’ring trifles perish,
And thought the petty dross beneath a sigh. 
Cheerful I follow to the rural cell;
Love be my wealth, and my distinction virtue.

DEMETRIUS. 
Submissive, and prepar’d for each event,
Now let us wait the last award of heav’n,
Secure of happiness from flight or conquest;
Nor fear the fair and learn’d can want protection. 
The mighty Tuscan courts the banish’d arts
To kind Italia’s hospitable shades;
There shall soft leisure wing th’ excursive soul,
And peace, propitious, smile on fond desire;
There shall despotick eloquence resume
Her ancient empire o’er the yielding heart;
There poetry shall tune her sacred voice,
And wake from ignorance the western world.

SCENE II.

DEMETRIUS, ASPASIA, CALI.

CALI. 
At length th’ unwilling sun resigns the world
To silence and to rest.  The hours of darkness,
Propitious hours to stratagem and death,
Pursue the last remains of ling’ring light.

DEMETRIUS. 
Count not these hours, as parts of vulgar time;
Think them a sacred treasure lent by heaven,
Which, squander’d by neglect, or fear, or folly,
No prayer recalls, no diligence redeems. 
To-morrow’s dawn shall see the Turkish king
Stretch’d in the dust, or tow’ring on his throne;
To-morrow’s dawn shall see the mighty Cali
The sport of tyranny, or lord of nations.

CALI. 
Then waste no longer these important moments
In soft endearments, and in gentle murmurs;
Nor lose, in love, the patriot and the hero.

DEMETRIUS. 
’Tis love, combin’d with guilt alone, that melts
The soften’d soul to cowardice and sloth;
But virtuous passion prompts the great resolve,
And fans the slumbering spark of heavenly fire. 
Retire, my fair; that pow’r that smiles on goodness,
Guide all thy steps, calm ev’ry stormy thought,
And still thy bosom with the voice of peace!