Abd. Here in the Court.
Osm. By whom, great Sir?
Abd. By thee—I know thou darst.
Osm. Whatever you command.
Abd. Good!—then see it be perform’d. Osmin, how goes the Night?
Osm. About the hour of Eight, And you’re expected at the Banquet, Sir: Prince Philip storms, and swears you’re with the Queen.
Abd. Let him storm on; the Tempest will be laid— Where’s my Wife?
Osm. In the Presence, Sir, with the Princess and Other Ladies.
Abd. She’s wondrous forward!—what the King—
(I am not jealous tho)—but he makes court to her.
—Hah, Osmin!
He throws out Love from Eyes all languishing;—
Come tell me,—he does sigh to her,—no matter if he do—
And fawns upon her Hand,—and kneels;—tell me, Slave!
Osm. Sir, I saw nothing like to Love; he only treats her Equal to her Quality.