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.