SCENE VI.

[IRENE walks at a distance from her attendants.]

After a pause. 
Against the head, which innocence secures,
Insidious malice aims her darts in vain,
Turn’d backwards by the pow’rful breath of heav’n. 
Perhaps, e’en now the lovers, unpursu’d,
Bound o’er the sparkling waves.  Go, happy bark,
Thy sacred freight shall still the raging main. 
To guide thy passage shall th’ aerial spirits
Fill all the starry lamps with double blaze;
Th’ applauding sky shall pour forth all its beams,
To grace the triumph of victorious virtue;
While I, not yet familiar to my crimes,
Recoil from thought, and shudder at myself. 
How am I chang’d!  How lately did Irene
Fly from the busy pleasures of her sex,
Well pleas’d to search the treasures of remembrance,
And live her guiltless moments o’er anew! 
Come, let us seek new pleasures in the palace,
                                [To her attendants, going off. 
Till soft fatigue invite us to repose.

SCENE VII.

[Enter MUSTAPHA, meeting and stopping her.]

MUSTAPHA. 
Fair falsehood, stay.

  IRENE. 
                What dream of sudden power
Has taught my slave the language of command? 
Henceforth, be wise, nor hope a second pardon.

MUSTAPHA. 
Who calls for pardon from a wretch condemn’d?

IRENE. 
Thy look, thy speech, thy action, all is wildness—­
Who charges guilt, on me?

  MUSTAPHA. 
                        Who charges guilt! 
Ask of thy heart; attend the voice of conscience—­
Who charges guilt! lay by this proud resentment
That fires thy cheek, and elevates thy mien,
Nor thus usurp the dignity of virtue. 
Review this day.

  IRENE. 
                Whate’er thy accusation,
The sultan is my judge.

  MUSTAPHA. 
                That hope is past;
Hard was the strife of justice and of love;
But now ’tis o’er, and justice has prevail’d. 
Know’st thou not Cali? know’st thou not Demetrius?

IRENE. 
Bold slave, I know them both—­I know them traitors.

MUSTAPHA. 
Perfidious!—­yes—­too well thou know’st them traitors.

IRENE. 
Their treason throws no stain upon Irene. 
This day has prov’d my fondness for the sultan;
He knew Irene’s truth.

MUSTAPHA. 
The sultan knows it;
He knows, how near apostasy to treason—­
But ’tis not mine to judge—­I scorn and leave thee. 
I go, lest vengeance urge my hand to blood,
To blood too mean to stain a soldier’s sabre.
[Exit Mustapha.

IRENE, to her attendants. 
Go, blust’ring slave—­He has not heard of Murza. 
That dext’rous message frees me from suspicion.