DEMETRIUS. 
                Can Abdalla then dissemble! 
That fiery chief, renown’d for gen’rous freedom,
For zeal unguarded, undissembled hate,
For daring truth, and turbulence of honour!

ASPASIA. 
This open friend, this undesigning hero,
With noisy falsehoods, forc’d me from your arms,
To shock my virtue with a tale of love.

DEMETRIUS. 
Did not the cause of Greece restrain my sword,
Aspasia should not fear a second insult.

ASPASIA. 
His pride and love, by turns, inspir’d his tongue,
And intermix’d my praises with his own;
His wealth, his rank, his honours, he recounted,
Till, in the midst of arrogance and fondness,
Th’ approaching sultan forc’d me from the palace;
Then, while he gaz’d upon his yielding mistress,
I stole, unheeded, from their ravish’d eyes,
And sought this happy grove in quest of thee.

DEMETRIUS. 
Soon may the final stroke decide our fate,
Lest baleful discord crush our infant scheme,
And strangled freedom perish in the birth!

ASPASIA. 
My bosom, harass’d with alternate passions,
Now hopes, now fears—­

  DEMETRIUS. 
                        Th’ anxieties of love.

ASPASIA. 
Think, how the sov’reign arbiter of kingdoms
Detests thy false associates’ black designs,
And frowns on perjury, revenge, and murder. 
Embark’d with treason on the seas of fate,
When heaven shall bid the swelling billows rage,
And point vindictive lightnings at rebellion,
Will not the patriot share the traitor’s danger? 
Oh! could thy hand, unaided, free thy country,
Nor mingled guilt pollute the sacred cause!

DEMETRIUS. 
Permitted oft, though not inspir’d, by heaven,
Successful treasons punish impious kings.

ASPASIA. 
Nor end my terrours with the sultan’s death;
Far as futurity’s untravell’d waste
Lies open to conjecture’s dubious ken,
On ev’ry side confusion, rage, and death,
Perhaps, the phantoms of a woman’s fear,
Beset the treach’rous way with fatal ambush;
Each Turkish bosom burns for thy destruction,
Ambitious Cali dreads the statesman’s arts,
And hot Abdalla hates the happy lover.

DEMETRIUS. 
Capricious man! to good and ill inconstant,
Too much to fear or trust is equal weakness. 
Sometimes the wretch, unaw’d by heav’n or hell,
With mad devotion idolizes honour. 
The bassa, reeking with his master’s murder,
Perhaps, may start at violated friendship.

ASPASIA. 
How soon, alas! will int’rest, fear, or envy,
O’erthrow such weak, such accidental virtue,
Nor built on faith, nor fortified by conscience!

DEMETRIUS. 
When desp’rate ills demand a speedy cure,
Distrust is cowardice, and prudence folly.

ASPASIA. 
Yet, think a moment, ere you court destruction,
What hand, when death has snatch’d away Demetrius,
Shall guard Aspasia from triumphant lust.