Flor. What must?
Abd. That Dagger must enter the Heart of him That loves thee best, Florella;—guess the Man.
Flor. What means my Moor? Wouldst thou have me kill thy self?
Abd. Yes—when I love thee better than the King.
Flor. Ah, Sir! what mean you?
Abd. To have you kill this King,
When next he does pursue thee with his Love—
What, do you weep?—
By Heaven, they shall be bloody Tears then.
Flor. I shall deserve them—when I suffer Love That is not fit to hear;—but for the King, That which he pays me, is so innocent—
Abd. So innocent! damn thy dissembling Tongue;
Did I not see, with what fierce wishing Eyes
He gazed upon thy Face, whilst yours as wantonly
Returned, and understood the amorous Language?
Flor. Admit it true, that such his Passions were,
As (Heaven’s my witness) I’ve no cause to fear;
Have not I Virtue to resist his Flame,
Without a pointed Steel?
Abd. Your Virtue!—Curse on the weak Defence;
Your Virtue’s equal to his Innocence.
Here, take this Dagger, and if this Night he visit thee,
When he least thinks on’t—send it to his Heart.