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The REVENGE.
Ye Spirits, which delight in just Revenge!
Let Europe and her palid Sons go weep,
Let Africk and her Hundred Thrones rejoyce.
O my dear Countrymen! Look down, and see,
How I bestride your prostrate Conqueror!
I tread on Haughty Spain, and all her Kings.
But this is Mercy, this is my Indulgence,
'Tis Peace, 'tis Refuge from my Indignation.
I must awake him into Horrors. Hoa!
Alonzo, Hoa! the Moor is at the Gate:
Awake, Invincible, Omnipotent!
Thou who dost all subdue.
Let Europe and her palid Sons go weep,
Let Africk and her Hundred Thrones rejoyce.
O my dear Countrymen! Look down, and see,
How I bestride your prostrate Conqueror!
I tread on Haughty Spain, and all her Kings.
But this is Mercy, this is my Indulgence,
'Tis Peace, 'tis Refuge from my Indignation.
I must awake him into Horrors. Hoa!
Alonzo, Hoa! the Moor is at the Gate:
Awake, Invincible, Omnipotent!
Thou who dost all subdue.
Alon.Inhuman Slave!
Zan.Fall'n Christian, thou mistak'st my Character.
Look on me. Who am I? I know, thou say'st,
The Moor, a Slave, an abject, beaten Slave,
(Eternal Woes to him that made me so.)
But look again. Has six Years cruel Bondage
Extinguish'd Majesty so far, that nought
Shines here, to give an Awe of one above thee?
When the great Moorish King Abdalla fell,
Fell by thy Hand accurst, I fought fast by him,
His Son, tho' thro' his Fondness in Disguise,
Less to expose me to th'Ambitious Foe.
Ha! does it wake thee? O'er my Father's Corse
I stood astride, till I had clove thy Crest,
And then was made the Captive of a Squadron,
And sunk into thy Servant———But Oh! what?
What were my Wages? Hear nor Heav'n, nor Earth!
My Wages were a Blow, by Heav'n, a Blow,
And from a Mortal Hand.
Look on me. Who am I? I know, thou say'st,
The Moor, a Slave, an abject, beaten Slave,
(Eternal Woes to him that made me so.)
But look again. Has six Years cruel Bondage
Extinguish'd Majesty so far, that nought
Shines here, to give an Awe of one above thee?
When the great Moorish King Abdalla fell,
Fell by thy Hand accurst, I fought fast by him,
His Son, tho' thro' his Fondness in Disguise,
Less to expose me to th'Ambitious Foe.
Ha! does it wake thee? O'er my Father's Corse
I stood astride, till I had clove thy Crest,
And then was made the Captive of a Squadron,
And sunk into thy Servant———But Oh! what?
What were my Wages? Hear nor Heav'n, nor Earth!
My Wages were a Blow, by Heav'n, a Blow,
And from a Mortal Hand.
Alon.O Villain! Villain!
Zan.All Strife is vain. [Shewing a Dagger.
Alon.Is thus my Love return'd?
Is this my Recompence? Make Friends of Tygers!
Lay not your Young, O Mothers, on the Breast,
Is this my Recompence? Make Friends of Tygers!
Lay not your Young, O Mothers, on the Breast,
For