human
Omar (she cried) you bleed, unhappy youth, 75 And sure that look unfolds some fatal truth:
gpt
Speak, pitying speak, my frantic fears forgive, Say, does my father, does my Zamor live?
human
All, all is lost, (the dying Omar said)
gpt
And endless griefs are thine, dear wretched maid; 80 I saw thy aged sire a captive bound,
human
I saw thy Zamor press the crimson ground