ACHMAT

Sir! where corrupted limbs Art does divide, It hath no name of torment, but of cure: Let many perish, so the State be sure. " Nature is ruined; Humanity fallen a sunder; " Our Alcoran profaned; Empire defaced; " Ruin is broken lose; Truth dead; Hope banished. My heart is full; my voice, and spirits tremble. No counsel, or Comparison can lessen The lose of Mustapha, so vily murdered. There is a place environed with Trees, Upon whose shadowed centre there is pitched A large, embroidered, sumptuous Pavilion; The stately Throne of Tyranny, and Murder. Where Mighty men are slain, before they know That they to other than to Honour go. Mustapha no sooner to the Port did come, But thither he is sent for, and conducted By six slave Eunuchs, either taught to colour Mischief with reverence, or forced, by Nature, To reverence true Virtue in misfortune. While Mustapha, whose heart was now resolved, Not fearing Death, which he might have prevented; Nor craving Life, which he might well have got, If he would other duties have forgotten; Yet glad to speak his last thoughts to his Father, Desired the Eunuchs to entreat it for him. They did; wept; they and kneeled to his Father. But bloody Rage, that glories to be cruel; And Jealousy, that fears she is not fearful; Made Solyman refuse to hear, or pity. He bids them haste their charge: and bloody-eyed Beholds his Son, whilst he obeying died. while these six Eunuchs to this charge appointed (Whose hearts had never used their hands to Pity, Whose hands, now only, trembled to do Murder) With Reverence, and Fear, stood still, amazed; Loath to cut off such Worth, afraid to save it: Mustapha with thoughts resolved, and united, Bids them fulfil their charge, and look no further. Their hearts afraid to let their hands be doing, The Cord, that hateful instrument of Murder, They lifting up let fallen, and falling lift it: Each sought to help, and helping hindered other. Till Mustapha, in haste to be and Angel, With heavenly smiles, and quiet words, foreshows The joy and peace of those souls where he goes. His last words were; Oh Father! Now forgive me; Forgive them too, that wrought my overthrow: Let my Grave never minister offences. For, since my Father covets my death, Behold, with joy, I offer him my breath. The Eunuchs roar: Solyman his Rage is glutted: His thoughts divine of Vengeance for this Murder: Rumor flies up, and down: the People murmur: Sorrow gives Laws before men know the truth; Fear prophesieth aloud, and threatens ruth. What found is this of Ruin, and Con fusion? Terror afraid? Cruelty come for Pity? Seditious Rosten, running from Sedition? And Malice forced to enemies for succour? Tell on the dangers which concern the State: For thee! thou Rod ordained unto the fire, Thy other dooms let Acheron inquire. Rosten! darest thou name Duty, Laws, or Mere cy? Owe not thy self to him thou wouldst destroy; Make good thy love of Murder; die with Joy. Occasion! when art thou more glorious, Than even now; when thou requirest of me, To fallen with States in common destiny? States trespass not: Tyrants they be that swerve, And bring upon all Empires age, or death. By making Truth but only Princes breath. This Monarchy first rose by Industry; Honour held up by universal Fame, Stirring men's minds to strange Audacity: Great ends procured our Armies greater name: To enemies no Injury had blame: Worth was not proud: Authority was wise; And did not on her own then tyrannise. Now owned by humour of this dotard King (Who, swollen with practice of long Government, Does stain the Public with ill managing) Honour is laid asleep: Fame is unbent: His Will, his End; and Powers right every where: Now, what can this, but dissolution, bear? Whither our choice, or Nature gave us Kings, The end of either was the good of all: Where many strengths make this Omnipotence, The good of many there is natural. One draws from all: Can that be fortunate? All leave this one: Can this be Injury? And shall I help to stay the Peoples rage From this Estate, thus ruined with Age? No People, No. Question these Thrones of Tyrants; Revive your old equalities of Nature; Authority is more than that she makes. Lend not your strengths to keep your own strengths un der. Proceed in Fury: Fury hath Law, and Reason, Where it does plague the wickedness of Treason. For when whole Kingdoms surfeit, and must fallen, Justice divides not there, but ruins all. Beside of Duties betwixt the earth, and sky, He can observe no one that cannot die. But stay! Shall Man the Dam, and Grave of Crowns, With Mutiny, pull sacred Sceptres down? People of Wisdom void, with Passion filled, While they keep names still press to ruin things: Freedom dissolves them; Order they refuse: Worth, Freedom, Power, and Right while they destroy; Worth, Freedom, Power, and Right they would enjoy. What soul then loving Nature, Duty, Order, Would hold a life of such a stateless State, As, made of Humours, must give Honour fate? No Achmat! Rather, with thy hazard, strive To save this high raised Sovereignty, Under whose wings there was Prosperity. I yield. But how? Force is impossible; for that is theirs: counsel shows, Like their enemy, Delay: Order turns all desires into fears: Their Art is violence: and Chance their end: What, but Occasion, there can be my friend? Behold where Rossa comes, in her looks varying, Like rage, that with it self, still fears miscarrying. What Glories this that with it self is sad? Good luck makes all hearts, but the guilty, glad. Tell why? And how he so unthankful died? The form of proof precedes the form of death; Kings honours, and their safeties live in both: Against these to give counsel I am loath. In what protection then lives Innocence? Are thoughts, and deeds confounded any where? This is the way to make Accusers proud, And feed up starved Spite with guiltless blood. Sir! I confess, where one man ruleth all, There fear, and care are secret ways of wit; Where All may rise, and only One must fallen, There Pride aspires, and Power must master it: For world's repine at those, whom Birth, or Chance, Above all men, and yet but Men, advance. I know when easy Hope's do nurse desire, The Deadmen only of the Wise are trusted: And though crooked Fear do seldom rightly measure, As thinking all things, but it self, dissembled: Yet Solyman! let Fear awake Kings counsels. But fear not Nature's laws, which seldom altar, Nor rare examples of iniquity, Which, but with age, of time delivered be: Fear false Stepmothers rage, Woman's ambition, Whereof each Age to other is a Glass; Fear them that fear not, for desire, shame; Selling their faiths to bring their ends to pass. Establish Rossa's children for your heirs; Let Mustapha's Hope's fallen; translate his right: And when her proud Ambitions glutted be, Straight Envy die; Fear will appear no more: Nature takes on the shape it had before. Tyrants they are that punish out of fear, States wiser than the truth decline, and wear. Though Factions strength be great, her sleight is more; Her plots, and instruments inlayed with Art: Less care hath Truth than hath the evil partly. No less is Truth, where Kings deceived will be. That one is but the least of Factions arts. That painted hazard is but made the Gate, For ruin of your Son to enter at. Truth must the measure be to slave, and King. God, even to himself, hath made a law. The Virtue they admire, and cannot use. On Princes frailties Factions ever built. That which you will not feel, how can you see? For in your love these works were all inweaved; With which most worthy men are most deceived. Sir! where Kings doubt, Wisdom, and Laws provide, Endue trial, and restraint of liberty, And unto Caution their estate is tied: But where Kings Rage becomes superlative, There people do forbear, but not forgive. My Lord! then stay: Delays are wisdom, where Time may more easy ways of safety show. Self-murder is and ugly work of fear; And little less is Children's overthrow. Mustapha is yours; more Sir! even he Is not, for whom you Mustapha overthrow. Suspicious common to Successions be; Honour, and Fear together ever go. Who must kill all they fear, fear all they see, Nor Subjects, Sons, nor Neighbourhood can bear: So infinite the limits be of Fear. My Lord! what moves these undermining words, Which showing fear in you, stir fear in us? Cruelty, and Dissolution enter thus. My Lord! Good Fortune does me witness bear, That my Hope's needs not stand upon Succession, Where life is poor in all, but woe, and fear: Then Sir! doubt not my faith, though I withstand This fearful counsel, which you have in hand. Father's unkindly doubts. when Solyman, by cunning spite Of Rossa's witchcrafts, from his heart had banished Justice of Kings, and Lovingness of Father's, To wage, and lodge such camps of heady passion, As that sects cunning practices could gather; Envy took hold of worth: doubt did misconstrue: Renown was made a lie, and yet a terror: Nothing could calm his Rage, or move Compassion: Mustapha must die. To which end fetched he was, Laden with Hope's, and promises of Favour. So vile a thing is Craft in every heart, As it makes Power it self descend to Art. While Mustapha, that neither hoped, nor feared, Seeing the storms of Rage, and Danger coming, Yet came; and came accompanied with power. But neither Power, which warranted his safety; Nor Safety, that makes Violence a Justice; Could hold him from Obedience to this Throne: A Gulf, which hath devoured many a one. Tyrants! Why swell you thus against your Makers? Is raised Equality so soon grown wild? Dare you deprive your People of Succession, Which Thrones, and Sceptres, on their freedoms built? Have fear, or love, in Greatness no impression? Since people, who did raise you to the Crown, Are ladders standing still to let you down.