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.
Enter the Alferez.