_Ara._ [_Going to him._] Believe me, Emperor, I forgive all who have ever wronged me--all who have ever caused my sufferings.--Pardon _you_!--Alas! I have pardoned even those who tore me from my husband!--Oh, Sultan! all the tortures you have made me suffer, compared to such a pang as that--did I say I had forgiven it?--Oh! I am afraid--afraid I have not yet. _Sul._ Forgive it now, then, for he is restored.--[_Taking off his turban._]--Behold him in the Sultan, and once more seal his pardon.--[_She faints on_ Haswell.]--Nay, pronounce it quickly, or my remorse for what you have undergone, will make my present tortures greater than any my cruelties have ever yet inflicted. _Ara._ [_Recovering._] Is this the light you promised?--[_To_ Haswell.]--Dear precious light!--Is this my freedom? to which I bind myself a slave for ever.--[_Embracing the_ Sultan.]--Was I _your_ captive?--Sweet captivity!--more precious than an age of liberty! _Sul._ Oh, my Arabella! through the amazing changes of my fate, (which I will soon disclose) think not but I have searched for _thee_ with unceasing care; but the blessing to behold you once again was left for my kind monitor alone to bestow.----Oh, Haswell! had I, like you, made others' miseries my concern, like you sought out the wretched, how many days of sorrow had I spared myself as well as others--for I long since had found my Arabella. _Ara._ Oh, Heaven! that weighest our sufferings with our joys, and as our lives decline seest in the balance thy blessings far more ponderous than thy judgements--be witness, I complain no more of what I have endured, but find an ample recompence this moment. _Has._ I told you, Sir, how you might be happy. _Sul._ ----Take your reward--(to a heart like yours, more valuable than treasure from my coffers)--this signet, with power to redress the _wrongs_ of all who suffer. _Has._ Valuable indeed!---- _Ara._ [_To_ Haswell.] Oh, virtuous man!--to reward _thee_ are we made happy--to give thy pitying bosom the joy to see us so, has Heaven remitted its intended punishment of continued separation. _Sul._ Come, my beloved wife!--come to my palace--there, equally, my dearest blessing, as when the cottage gave its fewer joys--and in him [_To_ Haswell.] we not only find our present happiness, but dwell securely on our future hopes--for here, I vow, before he leaves our shores, I will adopt every measure he shall point out--and that period of my life whereon he shall lay his censure, that will I fix apart for penitence.--[_Exit_ Sultan _and_ Arabella.--Haswell _bows to Heaven with thanks_. _Enter_ Keeper. _Keep._ An English prisoner, just now condemned to lose his head, one Henry Twineall, humbly begs permission to speak a few short sentences, his last dying words, to Mr. Haswell. _Has._ Condemned to lose his head?--Lead me to him. _Keep._ O, Sir, you need not hurry yourself--it is off by this time, I dare say. _Has._ Off?