MAHOMET. 
Shall feel the vengeance of an injur’d king. 
Go, seize him, load him with reproachful chains;
Before th’ assembled troops, proclaim his crimes;
Then leave him, stretch’d upon the ling’ring rack,
Amidst the camp to howl his life away.

MUSTAPHA. 
Should we, before the troops, proclaim his crimes,
I dread his arts of seeming innocence,
His bland address, and sorcery of tongue;
And, should he fall, unheard, by sudden justice,
Th’ adoring soldiers would revenge their idol.

MAHOMET. 
Cali, this day, with hypocritick zeal,
Implor’d my leave to visit Mecca’s temple;
Struck with the wonder of a statesman’s goodness,
I rais’d his thoughts to more sublime devotion. 
Now let him go, pursu’d by silent wrath,
Meet unexpected daggers in his way,
And, in some distant land, obscurely die.

MUSTAPHA. 
There will his boundless wealth, the spoil of Asia,
Heap’d by your father’s ill-plac’d bounties on him,
Disperse rebellion through the eastern world;
Bribe to his cause, and list beneath his banners,
Arabia’s roving troops, the sons of swiftness,
And arm the Persian heretick against thee;
There shall he waste thy frontiers, check thy conquests,
And, though at length subdued, elude thy vengeance.

MAHOMET. 
Elude my vengeance!  No—­My troops shall range
Th’ eternal snows that freeze beyond Maeotis,
And Africk’s torrid sands, in search of Cali. 
Should the fierce north, upon his frozen wings,
Bear him aloft, above the wond’ring clouds,
And seat him in the pleiads’ golden chariots,
Thence shall my fury drag him down to tortures;
Wherever guilt can fly, revenge can follow.

MUSTAPHA. 
Wilt thou dismiss the savage from the toils,
Only to hunt him round the ravag’d world?

MAHOMET. 
Suspend his sentence—­Empire and Irene
Claim my divided soul.  This wretch, unworthy
To mix with nobler cares, I’ll throw aside
For idle hours, and crush him at my leisure.

MUSTAPHA. 
Let not th’ unbounded greatness of his mind
Betray my king to negligence of danger. 
Perhaps, the clouds of dark conspiracy
Now roll, full fraught with thunder, o’er your head. 
Twice, since the morning rose, I saw the bassa,
Like a fell adder swelling in a brake,
Beneath the covert of this verdant arch,
In private conference; beside him stood
Two men unknown, the partners of his bosom;
I mark’d them well, and trac’d in either face
The gloomy resolution, horrid greatness,
And stern composure, of despairing heroes;
And, to confirm my thoughts, at sight of me,
As blasted by my presence, they withdrew,
With all the speed of terrour and of guilt.

MAHOMET. 
The strong emotions of my troubled soul
Allow no pause for art or for contrivance;
And dark perplexity distracts my counsels. 
Do thou resolve:  for, see, Irene comes! 
At her approach each ruder gust of thought
Sinks, like the sighing of a tempest spent,
And gales of softer passion fan my bosom.
[Cali enters with Irene, and exit [Transcriber’s note:  sic] with
Mustapha.