SCENE III. _Another part of the Prison.

_A kind of sopha with an old man sleeping upon it_--Elvirus _sitting attentively by him_.

_Enter_ Keeper _and_ Haswell.

_Keep._ That young man, you see there, watching his aged father as he sleeps, by the help of fees gains his admission--and he never quits the place, except to go and purchase cordials for the old man, who, (though healthy and strong when he first became a prisoner) is now become ill and languid.

_Has._ Are they from Europe?

_Keep._ No--but descended from Europeans--see how the youth holds his father's hand!--I have sometimes caught him bathing it with tears.

_Has._ I'll speak to the young man. [_Going to him._

_Keep._ He will speak as soon as he sees me--he has sent a petition to the Sultan about his father, and never fails to inquire if a reply is come. [_They approach_--Elvirus _starts, and comes forward_]

_Elv._ [_To_ Haswell] Sir, do you come from the Court? has the Sultan received my humble supplication? Can you tell?--softly--let not my father hear you speak.

_Has._ I come but as a stranger, to see the prison.

_Elv._ No answer yet, keeper?

_Keep._ No--I told you it was in vain to write--they never read petitions sent from prisons--their hearts are hardened to such worn-out tales of sorrow. [Elvirus _turns towards his Father and weeps_.

_Has._ Pardon me, Sir--but what is the request you are thus denied?

_Elv._ Behold my father! but three months has he been confined here; and yet--unless he breathes a purer air--O, if _you_ have influence at Court, Sir, pray represent what passes in this dreary prison--what passes in my heart.----My supplication is to remain a prisoner here, while my father, released, shall be permitted to retire to humble life; and never more take arms in a cause the Sultan may suspect--which engagement broken, _my life_ shall be the forfeit.--Or if the Sultan wou'd allow me to serve him as a soldier--

_Has._ You would fight against the party your father fought for?

_Elv._ [_Starting._] No--but in the forests--or on the desert sands--amongst those slaves who are sent to battle with the wild Indians--there I wou'd go--and earn the boon I ask----or in the mines--

_Has._ Give me your name--I will, at least, present your suit--and, perhaps--

_Elv._ Sir! do you think it is likely? Joyful hearing!

_Has._ Nay, be not too hasty in your hopes--I cannot _answer_ for my success. [_Repeats_] "Your father humbly implores to be released from prison--and, in his stead, _you_ take his chains--or, for the Sultan's service, fight as a slave, or dig in his mines?"

_Elv._ Exactly, Sir--that is the petition--I thank you, Sir.

_Keep._ You don't know, young man, what it _is_ to dig in mines--or fight against foes, who make their prisoners die by unheard-of tortures.

_Elv._ _You_ do not know, Sir, what it _is_,--to see a parent suffer.

_Has._ [_Writing_] Your name, Sir?

_Elv._ Elvirus Casimir.--

_Has._ Your father's?

_Elv._ The same--one who followed agriculture in the fields of Symria--but, induced by the call of freedom--

_Has._ How? have a care.

_Elv._ No--his son, by the call of nature, supplicates his freedom.

_Keep._ The rebel, you find, breaks out.

_Elv._ [_Aside to the Keeper._] Silence--silence! he forgives it--don't remind him of it--don't undo my hopes.

_Has._ I will serve you if I can.

_Elv._ And I will merit it--indeed I will--you shall not complain of me--I will be--

_Has._ Retire--I trust you. [Elvirus _bows lowly, and retires_.]

_Keep._ Yonder cell contains a female prisoner.

_Has._ A female prisoner!

_Keep._ Without a friend or comforter, she has existed there these many years--nearly fifteen.

_Has._ Is it possible!

_Keep._ Wou'd you wish to see her?

_Has._ If it won't give her pain.

_Keep._ At least, she'll not resent it--for she seldom complains, except in moans to herself--[_Goes to the cell._] Lady, here is one come to visit all the prisoners--please to appear before him.

_Has._ I thank you--you speak with reverence and respect to her.

_Keep._ She has been of some note, though now so totally unfriended--at least, we _think_ she has, from her gentle manners; and our governor is in the daily expectation of some liberal ransom for her, which makes her imprisonment without a hope of release, till that day arrives--[_Going to the cell_]--Lend me your hand--you are weak. [_He leads her from the cell--she appears faint--and as if the light affected her eyes_--Haswell _pulls off his hat, and, after a pause_--

_Has._ I fear you are not in health, Lady?----

[_She looks at him solemnly for some time._

_Keep._ Speak--Madam, speak.

_Pris._ No--not very well. [_Faintingly._

_Has._ Where are your friends? When do you expect your ransom?

_Pris._ [_Shaking her head._] Never.

_Keep._ She persists to say so; thinking by that declaration, we shall release her _without_ a ransom.

_Has._ Is that your motive?

_Pris._ I know no motive for a falsehood.

_Has._ I was to blame--pardon me.

_Keep._ Your answers are somewhat prouder than usual.

[_He retires up the stage._

_Pris._ They are.--[_To_ Haswell] Forgive me--I am mild with all of these--but from a countenance like yours--I could not bear reproach.

_Has._ You flatter me.

_Pris._ Alas! Sir, and what have I to hope from such a meaness?--You do not come to ransom me.

_Has._ Perhaps I do.

_Pris._ Oh! do not say so--unless--unless--I am not to be deceived --pardon in your turn this suspicion--but when I have so much to hope for--when the sun, the air, fields, woods, and all that wonderous world, wherein I have been so happy, is in prospect; forgive me, if the vast hope makes me fear.

_Has._ Unless your ransom is fixed at something beyond my power to give, I _will_ release you.

_Pris._ Release me! Benevolent!

_Has._ How shall I mark you down in my petition? [_Takes out his book._] what name?

_Pris._ 'Tis almost blotted from my memory. [_Weeping._

_Keep._ It is of little note--a female prisoner, taken with the rebel party, and in these cells confined for fifteen years.

_Pris._ During which time I have demeaned myself with all humility to my governors--neither have I distracted my fellow prisoners with a complaint that might recall to their memory their own unhappy fate--I have been obedient, patient; and cherished hope to chear me with vain dreams, while despair possess'd my reason.

_Has._ Retire--I will present the picture you have given.

_Pris._ Succeed too--or, never let me see you more--[_She goes up the stage._

_Has._ You never shall.

_Pris._ [_Returns_] Or, if you shou'd miscarry in your views [for who forms plans that do not sometimes fail?] I will not reproach you even to _myself_----no--nor will I suffer _much_ from the disappointment --merely that you may not have, what I suffer, to account for. [_Exit to her cell._

_Has._ Excellent mind!

_Keep._ In this cell--[_Going to another._

_Has._ No--take me away--I have enough to do--I dare not see more at present.--[_Exeunt._