ASPASIA. 
Forbear!—­But thou art sunk beneath reproach;
In vain affected raptures flush the cheek,
And songs of pleasure warble from the tongue,
When fear and anguish labour in the breast,
And all within is darkness and confusion. 
Thus, on deceitful Etna’s flow’ry side,
Unfading verdure glads the roving eye;
While secret flames, with unextinguish’d rage,
Insatiate on her wasted entrails prey,
And melt her treach’rous beauties into ruin.
                                          [Enter Demetrius.

SCENE III.

ASPASIA, IRENE, DEMETRIUS.

DEMETRIUS. 
Fly, fly, my love! destruction rushes on us,
The rack expects us, and the sword pursues.

ASPASIA. 
Is Greece deliver’d? is the tyrant fall’n?

DEMETRIUS. 
Greece is no more; the prosp’rous tyrant lives,
Reserv’d for other lands, the scourge of heav’n.

ASPASIA. 
Say, by what fraud, what force, were you defeated? 
Betray’d by falsehood, or by crowds o’erborne?

DEMETRIUS. 
The pressing exigence forbids relation. 
Abdalla—­

  ASPASIA. 
          Hated name! his jealous rage
Broke out in perfidy—­Oh! curs’d Aspasia,
Born to complete the ruin of her country! 
Hide me, oh hide me from upbraiding Greece;
Oh, hide me from myself!

  DEMETRIUS. 
                    Be fruitless grief
The doom of guilt alone, nor dare to seize
The breast, where virtue guards the throne of peace. 
Devolve, dear maid, thy sorrows on the wretch,
Whose fear, or rage, or treachery, betray’d us!

  IRENE. aside. 

A private station may discover more;
Then let me rid them of Irene’s presence;
Proceed, and give a loose to love and treason.
          
                                     [Withdraws

ASPASIA. 
Yet tell.

DEMETRIUS. 
To tell or hear were waste of life.

ASPASIA. 
The life, which only this design supported,
Were now well lost in hearing how you fail’d.

DEMETRIUS. 
Or meanly fraudulent or madly gay,
Abdalla, while we waited near the palace,
With ill tim’d mirth propos’d the bowl of love. 
Just as it reach’d my lips, a sudden cry
Urg’d me to dash it to the ground, untouch’d,
And seize my sword with disencumber’d hand.

ASPASIA. 
What cry?  The stratagem?  Did then Abdalla—­

DEMETRIUS. 
At once a thousand passions fir’d his cheek! 
Then all is past, he cry’d—­and darted from us;
Nor, at the call of Cali, deign’d to turn.

ASPASIA. 
Why did you stay, deserted and betray’d? 
What more could force attempt, or art contrive?

DEMETRIUS. 
Amazement seiz’d us, and the hoary bassa
Stood, torpid in suspense; but soon Abdalla
Return’d with force that made resistance vain,
And bade his new confed’rates seize the traitors. 
Cali, disarm’d, was borne away to death;
Myself escap’d, or favour’d, or neglected.