_Sul._ Am I less miserable than she is?--And who shall release me from my sorrows? _Has._ Then let me tell you, Sultan, she is above your power to oblige, or to punish.--Ten years, nay more, confinement in a drear cell has been no greater punishment to her, than had she lived in a pleasant world without the man she loved. _Sul._ Hah! _Has._ And freedom offered she rejects with scorn, because he is not included in the blessing. _Sul._ You talk of prodigies!--[_He makes a sign for the Guards to retire, and they exit._]--and yet I once knew a heart equal to this description. _Has._ Nay, will you see her?--Witness yourself the fact? _Sul._ Why do I tremble?--My busy fancy presents an image---- _Has._ Yes, tremble, indeed! [_Threatening._ _Sul._ Hah! have a care--what tortures are you preparing for me?--My mind shrinks at the idea. _Has._ Your wife you will behold--whom you have kept in want, in wretchedness, in a damp dungeon, for these fourteen years, because you wou'd not listen to the voice of pity.----Dread her look--her frown--not for herself alone, but for hundreds of her fellow sufferers--and while your selfish fancy was searching, with wild anxiety, for her _you_ loved, unpitying, you forgot others might love like you. _Sul._ O! do not bring me to a trial which I have not courage to support. _Has._ She attends without--I sent for her to thank you for the favour she declines.--Nay, be composed--she knows _you_ not--cannot, thus disguised as the Sultan. [_Exit_ Haswell. _Sul._ Oh! my Arabella! could I have thought that your approach wou'd ever impress my mind with horror!--or that, instead of flying to your arms with all the love I bear you, terror and dread shou'd fix me a statue of remorse. _Enter_ Haswell, _leading_ Arabella. _Has._ Here kneel, and return your thanks. _Sul._ My Arabella! worn with grief and anguish! [_Aside._ _Ara._ [_Kneeling to the_ Sultan.] Sultan, the favour you wou'd bestow, I own, and humbly thank you for. _Sul._ Gracious Heaven! [_In much agitation._ _Ara._ But as I am now accustomed to confinement, and the idea of all the world can give, cannot inspire a wish that warms my heart to the enjoyment--I supplicate permission to transfer the blessing you have offered, to one of those who may have friends to welcome their return from bondage, and so make freedom precious.--I have none to rejoice at _my_ release--none to lament my destiny while a prisoner.--And were I free, in this vast world (forlorn and friendless) 'tis but a prison still. _Sul._ What have I done?--[_Throwing himself on a sopha with the greatest emotion._ _Has._ Speak to him again.--He repents of the severity with which he has caused his fellow creatures to be used.--Tell him _you_ forgive him.