The King, impatient and enrag'd, broke in
Upon the Cease,  he cried,
Nor dare thus violate my Daughter's ears!
Or thou shalt find, that in a desert, old,
— Unarm'd, ALMANZOR is a King. Lead on!
And since high Heav'n ordains, thy impious Master
Should hold the balance of our fate, obey
His harsh command! tear us asunder! yes!
Drag from the old man's heart, the last sole joy
His woes had left to save him from despair.
Plunge me at once in horror's deep abyss.
Not long — not long, my friends, will you afflict me.
A show'r of tears, that down his furrow'd cheeks
Upon the bosom of OSMIDA fell,
Ended a speech — which men steel'd by long use
Against the touching voice of heav'n-born pity,
Could not unsoften'd hear; but strove to palliate
To their own hearts, in coarse-spun sophistry,
The baseness of their voluntary task.