ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE:

OR, THE

CONQUEST OF GRANADA

BY THE

SPANIARDS.

A TRAGEDY.
THE SECOND PART.

PROLOGUE TO THE SECOND PART.

ALMANZOR AND ALMAHIDE,

OR, THE

CONQUEST OF GRANADA.

THE SECOND PART.

ACT I
SCENE I.—A Camp.

Enter King Ferdinand, Queen Isabella, Alonzo D'Aguilar; Attendants, Men and Women.

K. Ferd. At length the time is come, when Spain shall be
From the long yoke of Moorish tyrants free.
All causes seem to second our design,
And heaven and earth in their destruction join.
When empire in its childhood first appears,
A watchful fate o'ersees its tender years;
Till, grown more strong, it thrusts and stretches out,
And elbows all the kingdoms round about:
The place thus made for its first breathing free,
It moves again for ease and luxury;
Till, swelling by degrees, it has possessed
The greater space, and now crowds up the rest;
When, from behind, there starts some petty state,
And pushes on its now unwieldy fate;
Then down the precipice of time it goes,
And sinks in minutes, which in ages rose.

Q. Isabel. Should bold Columbus in his search succeed,
And find those beds in which bright metals breed;
Tracing the sun, who seems to steal away,
That, miser-like, he might alone survey
The wealth which he in western mines did lay,—
Not all that shining ore could give my heart
The joy, this conquered kingdom will impart;
Which; rescued from these misbelievers' hands,
Shall now, at once, shake off its double bands:
At once to freedom and true faith restored,
Its old religion and its ancient lord.

K. Ferd. By that assault which last we made, I find,
Their courage is with their success declined:
Almanzor's absence now they dearly buy,
Whose conduct crowned their arms with victory.

Alonzo. Their king himself did their last sally guide;
I saw him, glistering in his armour, ride
To break a lance in honour of his bride:
But other thoughts now fill his anxious breast;
Care of his crown his love has dispossest.

To them Abdalla.

Q. Isabel. But see, the brother of the Moorish king:
He seems some news of great import to bring.

K. Ferd. He brings a spacious title to our side:
Those, who would conquer, must their foes divide.

Abdal. Since to my exile you have pity shown,
And given me courage yet to hope a throne;
While you without our common foes subdue,
I am not wanting to myself or you;
But have, within, a faction still alive,
Strong to assist, and secret to contrive,
And watching each occasion to foment
The people's fears into a discontent;
Which, from Almanzor's loss, before were great,
And now are doubled by their late defeat:
These letters from their chiefs the news assures. [Gives letters to the King.

K. Ferd. Be mine the honour, but the profit yours.

To them the Duke of Arcos, with Ozmyn and Benzayda, Prisoners.

K. Ferd. That tertia of Italians did you guide,
To take their post upon the river side?

D. Arcos. All are according to your orders placed:
My chearful soldiers their intrenchments haste;
The Murcian foot hath ta'en the upper ground,
And now the city is beleaguered round.

K. Ferd. Why is not then their leader here again?

D. Arcos. The master of Alcantara is slain;
But he, who slew him, here before you stands:
It is that Moor whom you behold in bands.

K. Ferd. A braver man I had not in my host;
His murderer shall not long his conquest boast:
But, Duke of Arcos, say, how was he slain?

D. Arcos. Our soldiers marched together on the plain;
We two rode on, and left them far behind,
Till, coming where we found the valley wind,
We saw these Moors; who, swiftly as they could,
Ran on to gain the covert of a wood.
This we observed; and, having crossed their way,
The lady, out of breath, was forced to stay:
The man then stood, and straight his faulchion drew;
Then told us, we in vain did those pursue,
Whom their ill fortune to despair did drive,
And yet, whom we should never take alive.
Neglecting this, the master straight spurred on;
But the active Moor his horse's shock did shun,
And, ere his rider from his reach could go,
Finished the combat with one deadly blow.
I, to revenge my friend, prepared to fight;
But now our foremost men were come in sight,
Who soon would have dispatched him on the place,
Had I not saved him from a death so base,
And brought him to attend your royal doom.

K. Ferd. A manly face, and in his age's bloom;
But, to content the soldiers, he must die:
Go, see him executed instantly.

Q. Isabel. Stay; I would learn his name before he go:
You, Prince Abdalla, may the prisoner know.

Abdal. Ozmyn's his name, and he deserves his fate;
His father heads the faction which I hate:
But much I wonder, that with him I see
The daughter of his mortal enemy.

Benz. 'Tis true, by Ozmyn's sword my brother fell;
But 'twas a death he merited too well.
I know a sister should excuse his fault;
But you know too, that Ozmyn's death he sought,

Abdal. Our prophet has declared, by the event,
That Ozmyn is reserved for punishment;
For, when he thought his guilt from danger clear,
He, by new crimes, is brought to suffer here.

Benz. In love, or pity, if a crime you find,
We two have sinned above all human kind.

Ozm. Heaven in my punishment has done a grace;
I could not suffer, in a better place:
That I should die by Christians it thought good,
To save your father's guilt, who sought my blood. [To her.

Benz. Fate aims so many blows to make us fall,
That 'tis in vain to think to ward them all:
And, where misfortunes great and many are,
Life grows a burden, and not worth our care.

Ozm. I cast it from me, like a garment torn,
Ragged, and too indecent to be worn:
Besides, there is contagion in my fate, [To Benz.
It makes your life too much unfortunate.—
But, since her faults are not allied to mine,
In her protection let your favour shine.
To you, great queen, I make this last request,
(Since pity dwells in every royal breast)
Safe, in your care, her life and honour be:
It is a dying lover's legacy.

Benz. Cease, Ozmyn, cease so vain a suit to move;
I did not give you on those terms my love.
Leave me the care of me; for, when you go,
My love will soon instruct me what to do.

Q. Isabel. Permit me, sir, these lovers' doom to give:
My sentence is, they shall together live.
The courts of kings
To all distressed should sanctuaries be,
But most to lovers in adversity.
Castile and Arragon,
Which long against each other war did move,
My plighted lord and I have joined by love;
And, if to add this conquest heaven thinks good,
I would not have it stained with lovers' blood.

K. Ferd. Whatever Isabella shall command
Shall always be a law to Ferdinand.

Benz. The frowns of fate we will no longer fear.
Ill fate, great queen, can never find us here.

Q. Isabel. Your thanks some other time I will receive:
Henceforward safe in my protection live.
Granada is for noble loves renowned:
Her best defence is in her lovers found.
Love's an heroic passion, which can find
No room in any base degenerate mind:
It kindles all the soul with honour's fire,
To make the lover worthy his desire.
Against such heroes I success should fear,
Had we not too an host of lovers here.
An army, of bright beauties come with me;
Each lady shall her servant's actions see:
The fair and brave on each side shall contest;
And they shall overcome, who love the best. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The Alhambra.

Enter Zulema.

Zul. True, they have pardoned me; but do they know
What folly 'tis to trust a pardoned foe?
A blush remains in a forgiven face:
It wears the silent tokens of disgrace.
Forgiveness to the injured does belong;
But they ne'er pardon, who have done the wrong.
My hopeful fortunes lost! and, what's above
All I can name or think, my ruined love!
Feigned honesty shall work me into trust,
And seeming penitence conceal my lust.
Let heaven's great eye of Providence now take
One day of rest, and ever after wake.

Enter Boabdelin, Abenamar, and Guards.

Boab. Losses on losses! as if heaven decreed
Almanzor's valour should alone succeed.

Aben. Each sally we have made, since he is gone,
Serves but to pull our speedy ruin on.

Boab. Of all mankind, the heaviest fate he bears,
Who the last crown of sinking empire wears.
No kindly planet of his birth took care:
Heaven's outcast, and the dross of every star! [A tumultuous noise within.

Enter Abdelmelech.

What new misfortunes do these cries presage?

Abdelm. They are the effects of the mad people's rage.
All in despair tumultuously they swarm:
The fairest streets already take the alarm;
The needy creep from cellars under ground;
To them new cries from tops of garrets sound;
The aged from the chimneys seek the cold;
And wives from windows helpless infants hold.

Boab. See what the many-headed beast demands.— [Exit Abdelm.
Cursed is that king, whose's honour's in their hands.
In senates, either they too slowly grant,
Or saucily refuse to aid my want;
And, when their thrift has ruined me in war,
They call their insolence my want of care.

Aben. Cursed be their leaders, who that rage foment,
And veil, with public good, their discontent:
They keep the people's purses in their hands,
And hector kings to grant their wild demands;
But to each lure, a court throws out, descend,
And prey on those they promised to defend.

Zul. Those kings, who to their wild demands consent,
Teach others the same way to discontent.
Freedom in subjects is not, nor can be;
But still, to please them, we must call them free.
Propriety, which they their idol make,
Or law, or law's interpreters, can shake.

Aben. The name of commonwealth is popular;
But there the people their own tyrants are.

Boab. But kings, who rule with limited command,
Have players' sceptres put into their hand.
Power has no balance, one side still weighs down,
And either hoists the commonwealth or crown;
And those, who think to set the scale more right,
By various turnings but disturb the weight.

Aben. While people tug for freedom, kings for power,
Both sink beneath some foreign conqueror:
Then subjects find too late they were unjust,
And want that power of kings, they durst not trust.

To them Abdelmelech.

Abdelm. The tumult now is high, and dangerous grown:
The people talk of rendering up the town;
And swear that they will force the king's consent.

Boab. What counsel can this rising storm prevent?

Abdelm. Their fright to no persuasions will give ear:
There's a deaf madness in a people's fear.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. Their fury now a middle course does take;
To yield the town, or call Almanzor back.

Boab. I'll rather call my death.—
Go and bring up my guards to my defence:
I'll punish this outrageous insolence.

Aben. Since blind opinion does their reason sway,
You must submit to cure them their own way.
You to their fancies physic must apply;
Give them that chief on whom they most rely.
Under Almanzor prosperously they fought;
Almanzor, therefore, must with prayers be brought.

Enter a second Messenger.

2 Mess. Haste all you can their fury to assuage:
You are not safe from their rebellious rage.

Enter a third Messenger.

3 Mess. This minute, if you grant not their desire,
They'll seize your person, and your palace fire.

Abdelm. Your danger, sir, admits of no delay.

Boab. In tumults people reign, and kings obey.—
Go and appease them with the vow I make,
That they shall have their loved Almanzor back. [Exit Abdel.
Almanzor has the ascendant o'er my fate;
I'm forced to stoop to one I fear and hate:
Disgraced, distressed, in exile, and alone,
He's greater than a monarch on his throne:
Without a realm, a royalty he gains;
Kings are the subjects over whom he reigns. [A shout of acclamations within.

Aben. These shouts proclaim the people satisfied.

Boab. We for another tempest must provide.
To promise his return as I was loth,
So I want power now to perform my oath.
Ere this, for Afric he is sailed from Spain.

Aben. The adverse winds his passage yet detain;
I heard, last night, his equipage did stay
At a small village, short of Malaga.

Boab. Abenamar, this evening thither haste;
Desire him to forget his usage past:
Use all your rhetoric, promise, flatter, pray.

To them Almahide, attended.

Aben. Good fortune shows you yet a surer way:
Nor prayers nor promises his mind will move;
'Tis inaccessible to all, but love.

Boab. Oh, thou hast roused a thought within my breast,
That will for ever rob me of my rest.
Ah jealousy, how cruel is thy sting!
I, in Almanzor, a loved rival bring!
And now, I think, it is an equal strife,
If I my crown should hazard, or my wife.
Where, marriage, is thy cure, which husbands boast,
That in possession their desire is lost?
Or why have I alone that wretched taste,
Which, gorged and glutted, does with hunger last?
Custom and duty cannot set me free,
Even sin itself has not a charm for me.
Of married lovers I am sure the first,
And nothing but a king could be so curst.

Almah. What sadness sits upon your royal heart?
Have you a grief, and must not I have part?
All creatures else a time of love possess;
Man only clogs with cares his happiness:
And, while he should enjoy his part of bliss,
With thoughts of what may be, destroys what is.

Boab. You guess aright; I am oppressed with grief,
And 'tis from you that I must seek relief. [To the company.
Leave us; to sorrow there's a reverence due:
Sad kings, like suns eclipsed, withdraw from view. [The Attendants go off, and chairs are set for the King and Queen.

Almah. So, two kind turtles, when a storm is nigh,
Look up, and see it gathering in the sky:
Each calls his mate, to shelter in the groves,
Leaving, in murmur, their unfinished loves:
Perched on some drooping branch, they sit alone,
And coo, and hearken to each other's moan.

Boab. Since, Almahide, you seem so kind a wife, [Taking her by the hand.
What would you do to save a husband's life?

Almah. When fate calls on that hard necessity,
I'll suffer death, rather than you shall die.

Boab. Suppose your country should in danger be;
What would you undertake to set it free?

Almah. It were too little to resign my breath:
My own free hand should give me nobler death.

Boab. That hand, which would so much for glory do,
Must yet do more; for it must kill me too.
You must kill me, for that dear country's sake;
Or, what's all one, must call Almanzor back.

Almah. I see to what your speech you now direct;
Either my love or virtue you suspect.
But know, that, when my person I resigned,
I was too noble not to give my mind.
No more the shadow of Almanzor fear;
I have no room, but for your image, here.

Boab. This, Almahide, would make me cease to mourn,
Were that Almanzor never to return:
But now my fearful people mutiny;
Their clamours call Almanzor back, not I.
Their safety, through my ruin, I pursue;
He must return, and must be brought by you.

Almah. That hour, when I my faith to you did plight,
I banished him for ever from my sight.
His banishment was to my virtue due;
Not that I feared him for myself, but you.
My honour had preserved me innocent:
But I would, your suspicion to prevent;
Which, since I see augmented in your mind,
I yet more reason for his exile find.

Boab. To your entreaties he will yield alone.
And on your doom depend my life and throne.
No longer, therefore, my desires withstand;
Or, if desires prevail not, my command.

Almah. In his return, too sadly I foresee
The effects of your returning jealousy.
But your command I prize above my life;
'Tis sacred to a subject and a wife:
If I have power, Almanzor shall return.

Boab. Cursed be that fatal hour when I was born! [Letting go her hand, and starting up.
You love, you love him; and that love reveal,
By your too quick consent to his repeal.
My jealousy had but too just a ground;
And now you stab into my former wound.

Almah. This sudden change I do not understand.
Have you so soon forgot your own command?

Boab. Grant that I did the unjust injunction lay,
You should have loved me more than to obey.
I know you did this mutiny design;
But I'll your love-plot quickly countermine.
Let my crown go; he never shall return;
I, like a phœnix, in my nest will burn.

Almah. You please me well; that in one common fate
You wrap yourself, and me, and all your state.
Let us no more of proud Almanzor hear:
'Tis better once to die, than still to fear;
And better many times to die, than be
Obliged, past payment, to an enemy.

Boab. 'Tis better; but you wives have still one way:
Whene'er your husbands are obliged, you pay.

Almah. Thou, heaven, who know'st it, judge my innocence!—
You, sir, deserve not I should make defence.
Yet, judge my virtue by that proof I gave,
When I submitted to be made your slave.

Boab. If I have been suspicious or unkind,
Forgive me; many cares distract my mind:
Love, and a crown!
Two such excuses no one man e'er had;
And each of them enough to make me mad:
But now my reason reassumes its throne,
And finds no safety when Almanzor's gone.
Send for him then; I'll be obliged, and sue;
'Tis a less evil than to part with you.
I leave you to your thoughts; but love me still!
Forgive my passion, and obey my will. [Exit Boabdelin.

Almahide solus.

My jealous lord will soon to rage return;
That fire, his fear rakes up, does inward burn.
But heaven, which made me great, has chose for me,
I must the oblation for my people be.
I'll cherish honour, then, and life despise;
What is not pure, is not for sacrifice.
Yet for Almanzor I in secret mourn!
Can virtue, then, admit of his return?
Yes; for my love I will by virtue square;
My heart's not mine, but all my actions are.
I'll like Almanzor act; and dare to be
As haughty, and as wretched too, as he.
What will he think is in my message meant?
I scarcely understand my own intent:
But, silk-worm like, so long within have wrought,
That I am lost in my own web of thought. [Exit Almahide.

ACT II.
SCENE I.—A Wood.

Enter Ozmyn and Benzayda.

Ozm. 'Tis true, that our protection here has been
The effect of honour in the Spanish queen;
But, while I as a friend continue here,
I to my country must a foe appear.

Benz. Think not, my Ozmyn, that we here remain
As friends, but prisoners to the power of Spain.
Fortune dispenses with your country's right;
But you desert your honour in your flight.

Ozm. I cannot leave you here, and go away;
My honour's glad of a pretence to stay. [A noise within,—Follow, follow, follow!—

Enter Selin, his sword drawn, as pursued.

Selin. I am pursued, and now am spent and done;
My limbs suffice me not with strength to run.
And, if I could, alas! what can I save?
A year, the dregs of life too, from the grave. [Sits down on the ground.
Here will I sit, and here attend my fate,
With the same hoary majesty and state,
As Rome's old senate for the Gauls did wait.

Benz. It is my father; and he seems distressed.

Ozm. My honour bids me succour the oppressed;
That life he sought, for his I'll freely give;
We'll die together, or together live.

Benz. I'll call more succour, since the camp is near,
And fly on all the wings of love and fear. [Exit Benz.

Enter Abenamar, and four or five Moors. He looks and finds Selin.

Aben. You've lived, and now behold your latest hour.

Selin. I scorn your malice, and defy your power.
A speedy death is all I ask you now;
And that's a favour you may well allow.

Ozm. [shewing himself.]
Who gives you death, shall give it first to me;
Fate cannot separate our destiny.— [Knows his father.
My father here! then heaven itself has laid
The snare, in which my virtue is betrayed.

Aben. Fortune, I thank thee! thou hast kindly done,
To bring me back that fugitive, my son;
In arms too? fighting for my enemy!—
I'll do a Roman justice,—thou shalt die!

Ozm. I beg not you my forfeit life would save;
Yet add one minute to that breath you gave.
I disobeyed you, and deserve my fate;
But bury in my grave two houses' hate.
Let Selin live; and see your justice done
On me, while you revenge him for his son:
Your mutual malice in my death may cease,
And equal loss persuade you both to peace.

Aben. Yes, justice shall be done on him and thee.—
Haste and dispatch them both immediately. [To a soldier.

Ozm. If you have honour,—since you nature want,—
For your own sake my last petition grant;
And kill not a disarmed, defenceless foe,
Whose death your cruelty, or fear, will show.
My father cannot do an act so base:—
My father!—I mistake;—I meant, who was.

Aben. Go, then, dispatch him first who was my son!

Ozm. Swear but to save his life, I'll yield my own.

Aben. Nor tears, nor prayers, thy life, or his, shall buy.

Ozm. Then, sir, Benzayda's father shall not die!— [Putting himself before Selin.
And, since he'll want defence when I am gone,
I will, to save his life, defend my own.

Aben. This justice, parricides, like thee, should have!— [Aben. and his party attack them both. Ozm. parries his father's thrusts, and thrusts at the others.

Enter Benzayda, with Abdalla, the Duke of Arcos, and Spaniards.

Benz. O, help my father! and my Ozmyn save!

Abdal. Villains, that death you have deserved is near!

Ozm. Stay, prince! and know, I have a father here!— [Stops Abdalla's hand.
I were that parricide, of whom he spoke,
Did not my piety prevent your stroke.

D. Arcos. to Aben. Depart, then, and thank heaven you had a son.

Aben. I am not with these shows of duty won.

Ozm. to his Father. Heaven knows, I would that life, you seek, resign;
But, while Benzayda lives, it is not mine.
Will you yet pardon my unwilling crime?

Aben. By no entreaties, by no length of time,
Will I be won; but, with my latest breath,
I'll curse thee here, and haunt thee after death. [Exit Aben. with his party.

Ozm. Can you be merciful to that degree, [Kneeling to Selin.
As to forgive my father's faults in me?
Can you forgive
The death of him I slew in my defence,
And from the malice separate the offence?
I can no longer be your enemy:
In short, now kill me, sir, or pardon me. [Offers him his sword.
In this your silence my hard fate appears.

Selin. I'll answer you, when I can speak for tears.
But, till I can,
Imagine what must needs be brought to pass; [Embraces him.
My heart's not made of marble, nor of brass.
Did I for you a cruel death prepare,
And have you, have you made my life your care!
There is a shame contracted by my faults,
Which hinders me to speak my secret thoughts.
And I will tell you—when the shame's removed—
You are not better by my daughter loved.—
Benzayda be yours.—I can no more.

Ozm. Blessed be that breath which does my life restore! [Embracing his knees.

Benz. I hear my father now; these words confess
That name, and that indulgent tenderness.

Selin. Benzayda, I have been too much to blame;
But let your goodness expiate my shame:
You Ozmyn's virtue did in chains adore,
And part of me was just to him before.—
My son!—

Ozm. My father!—

Selin. Since by you I live,
I, for your sake, your family forgive.
Let your hard father still my life pursue,
I hate not him, but for his hate to you;
Even that hard father yet may one day be
By kindness vanquished, as you vanquished me;
Or, if my death can quench to you his rage,
Heaven makes good use of my remaining age.

Abdal. I grieve your joys are mingled with my cares;
But all take interest in their own affairs;
And, therefore, I must ask how mine proceed.

Selin. They now are ripe, and but your presence need:
For Lyndaraxa, faithless as the wind,
Yet to your better fortunes will be kind;
For, hearing that the Christians own your cause,
From thence the assurance of a throne she draws.
And since Almanzor, whom she most did fear,
Is gone, she to no treaty will give ear;
But sent me her unkindness to excuse.

Abdal. You much surprise me with your pleasing news.

Selin. But, sir, she hourly does the assault expect,
And must be lost if you her aid neglect:
For Abdelmelech loudly does declare,
He'll use the last extremities of war,
If she refuse the fortress to resign.

Abdal. The charge of hastening this relief be mine.

Selin. This while I undertook, whether beset,
Or else by chance, Abenamar I met;
Who seemed, in haste, returning to the town.

Abdal. My love must in my diligence be shown.—
And [To Arcos.] as my pledge of faith to Spain, this hour
I'll put the fortress in your master's power.

Selin. An open way from hence to it there lies,
And we with ease may send in large supplies,
Free from the shot and sallies of the town.

D. Arcos. Permit me, sir, to share in your renown;
First to my king I will impart the news,
And then draw out what succours we shall use. [Exit Duke of Arcos.

Abdal. [Aside.]
Grant that she loves me not, at least I see
She loves not others, if she loves not me.—
'Tis pleasure, when we reap the fruit of pain:
'Tis only pride, to be beloved again.
How many are not loved, who think they are!
Yet all are willing to believe the fair;
And, though 'tis beauty's known and obvious cheat,
Yet man's self-love still favours the deceit. [Exit Abdal.

Selin. Farewell, my children! equally so dear,
That I myself am to myself less near:
While I repeat the dangers of the war,
Your mutual safety be each other's care.
Your father, Ozmyn, till the war be done,
As much as honour will permit, I'll shun:
If by his sword I perish, let him know
It was, because I would not be his foe.

Ozm. Goodness and virtue all your actions guide;
You only err in choosing of your side.
That party I, with honour, cannot take;
But can much less the care of you forsake:
I must not draw my sword against my prince,
But yet may hold a shield in your defence.
Benzayda, free from danger, here shall stay,
And for a father and a lover pray.

Benz. No, no! I gave not on those terms my heart,
That from my Ozmyn I should ever part:
That love I vowed, when you did death attend,
'Tis just that nothing but my death should end.
What merchant is it, who would stay behind,
His whole stock ventured to the waves and wind?
I'll pray for both, but both shall be in sight;
And heaven shall hear me pray, and see you fight.

Selin. No longer, Ozmyn, combat a design,
Where so much love, and so much virtue join.

Ozm. [To Benz.]
Then conquer, and your conquest happy be,
Both to yourself, your father, and to me.—
With bended knees our freedom we'll demand
Of Isabel, and mighty Ferdinand:
Then while the paths of honour we pursue,
We'll interest heaven for us, in right of you. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.—The Albayzyn.

An alarm within; then Soldiers running over the stage. Enter Abdelmelech, victorious, with Soldiers.

Abdelm. 'Tis won, 'tis won! and Lyndaraxa, now,
Who scorned to treat, shall to a conquest bow.
To every sword I free commission give;
Fall on, my friends, and let no rebel live.
Spare only Lyndaraxa; let her be
In triumph led, to grace my victory.
Since by her falsehood she betrayed my love,
Great as that falsehood my revenge shall prove.—

Enter Lyndaraxa, as frightened, attended by women.

Go, take the enchantress, bring her to me bound!

Lyndar. Force needs not, where resistance is not found:
I come, myself, to offer you my hands;
And, of my own accord, invite your bands.
I wished to be my Abdelmelech's slave;
I did but wish,—and easy fortune gave.

Abdelm. O, more than woman false!—but 'tis in vain.—
Can you ere hope to be believed again?
I'll sooner trust the hyæna, than your smile;
Or, than your tears, the weeping crocodile.
In war and love none should be twice deceived;
The fault is mine if you are now believed.

Lyndar. Be overwise, then, and too late repent;
Your crime will carry its own punishment.
I am well pleased not to be justified;
I owe no satisfaction to your pride.
It will be more advantage to my fame,
To have it said, I never owned a flame.

Abdelm. 'Tis true, my pride has satisfied itself:
I have at length escaped the deadly shelf.
The excuses you prepare will be in vain,
Till I am fool enough to love again.

Lyndar. Am I not loved?

Abdelm. I must with shame avow,
I loved you once;—but do not love you now.

Lyndar. Have I for this betrayed Abdalla's trust?
You are to me, as I to him, unjust. [Angrily.

Abdelm. 'Tis like you have done much for love of me,
Who kept the fortress of my enemy.

Lyndar. 'Tis true, I took the fortress from his hand;
But, since, have kept it in my own command.

Abdelm. That act your foul ingratitude did show.

Lyndar. You are the ungrateful, since 'twas kept for you.

Abdelm. 'Twas kept indeed; but not by your intent:
For all your kindness I may thank the event.
Blush, Lyndaraxa, for so gross a cheat:
'Twas kept for me,—when you refused to treat! [Ironically.

Lyndar. Blind man! I knew the weakness of the place:
It was my plot to do your arms this grace.
Had not my care of your renown been great,
I loved enough to offer you to treat.
She, who is loved, must little lets create;
But you bold lovers are to force your fate.
This force, you used, my maiden blush will save;
You seemed to take, what secretly I gave.
I knew we must be conquered; but I knew
What confidence I might repose in you.
I knew, you were too grateful to expose
My friends, and soldiers, to be used like foes.

Abdelm. Well, though I love you not, their lives shall be
Spared out of pity and humanity.—
Alferez, [To a Soldier.] go, and let the slaughter cease. [Exit the Alferez.

Lyndar. Then must I to your pity owe my peace?
Is that the tenderest term you can afford?
Time was, you would have used another word.

Abdelm. Then, for your beauty I your soldiers spare:
For, though I do not love you, you are fair.

Lyndar. That little beauty why did heaven impart,
To please your eyes, but not to move your heart!
I'll shroud this gorgon from all human view,
And own no beauty, since it charms not you!
Reverse your orders, and your sentence give;
My soldiers shall not from my beauty live.

Abdelm. Then, from your friendship they their lives shall gain;
Tho' love be dead, yet friendship does remain.

Lyndar. That friendship, which from withered love does shoot,
Like the faint herbage on a rock, wants root.
Love is a tender amity, refined:
Grafted on friendship it exalts the kind.
But when the graff no longer does remain,
The dull stock lives, but never bears again.

Abdelm. Then, that my friendship may not doubtful prove,—
Fool that I am to tell you so!—I love.
You would extort this knowledge from my breast,
And tortured me so long that I confest.
Now I expect to suffer for my sin;
My monarchy must end, and yours begin.

Lyndar. Confess not love, but spare yourself that shame,
And call your passion by some other name.
Call this assault, your malice, or your hate;
Love owns no acts so disproportionate.
Love never taught this insolence you shew,
To treat your mistress like a conquered foe.
Is this the obedience which my heart should move!
This usage looks more like a rape than love.

Abdelm. What proof of duty would you I should give?

Lyndar. 'Tis grace enough to let my subjects live!
Let your rude soldiers keep possession still;
Spoil, rifle, pillage,—any thing but kill.
In short, sir, use your fortune as you please;
Secure my castle, and my person seize;
Let your true men my rebels hence remove;
I shall dream on, and think 'tis all your love!

Abdelm. You know too well my weakness and your power:
Why did heaven make a fool a conqueror!
She was my slave, 'till she by me was shewn
How weak my force was, and how strong her own.
Now she has beat my power from every part,
Made her way open to my naked heart: [To a Soldier.
Go, strictly charge my soldiers to retreat:
Those countermand who are not entered yet.
On peril of your lives leave all things free. [Exit Soldier.
Now, madam, love Abdalla more than me.
I only ask, in duty you would bring
The keys of our Albayzyn to the king:
I'll make your terms as gentle as you please. [Trumpets sound a charge within, and soldiers shout.
What shouts, and what new sounds of war are these?

Lyndar. Fortune, I hope, has favoured my intent, [Aside.
Of gaining time, and welcome succours sent.