Almanz. No; wert thou freed, I would not threaten thee;
This arm should then—but now it is too late!
I could redeem thee to a nobler fate.
As some huge rock,
Rent from its quarry, does the waves divide,
So I
Would souse upon thy guards, and dash them wide:
Then, to my rage left naked and alone,
Thy too much freedom thou should'st soon bemoan:
Dared like a lark, that, on the open plain
Pursued and cuffed, seeks shelter now in vain;
So on the ground wouldst thou expecting lie,
Not daring to afford me victory.
But yet thy fate's not ripe; it is decreed,
Before thou diest, that Almahide be freed.
My honour first her danger must remove,
And then revenge on thee my injured love. [Exeunt severally.
SCENE II.
The Scene changes to the Vivarambla, and appears filled with Spectators; a Scaffold hung with black.
Enter the Queen guarded, with Esperanza.
Almah. See how the gazing people crowd the place,
All gaping to be filled with my disgrace. [A shout within.
That shout, like the hoarse peals of vultures, rings,
When over fighting fields they beat their wings.—
Let never woman trust in innocence,
Or think her chastity its own defence;
Mine has betrayed me to this public shame,
And virtue, which I served, is but a name.
Esper. Leave then that shadow, and for succour fly
To Him we serve, the Christian's Deity.
Virtue's no god, nor has she power divine:
But He protects it, who did first enjoin.
Trust then in Him; and from his grace implore
Faith to believe, what rightly we adore.
Almah. Thou Power unknown, if I have erred, forgive!
My infancy was taught what I believe.
But if the Christians truly worship thee,
Let me thy Godhead in thy succour see:
So shall thy justice in my safety shine,
And all my days, which thou shalt add, be thine!
Enter the King, Abenamar, Lyndaraxa, Benzayda: then Abdelmelech guarded; and after him Selin and Alabez, as Judges of the Field.
Boab. You, judges of the field, first take your place.—
The accusers and accused bring face to face.
Set guards, and let the lists be opened wide;
And may just heaven assist the juster side!
Almah. What! not one tender look, one passing word?
Farewell, my much unkind, but still loved lord!
Your throne was for my humble fate too high,
And therefore heaven thinks fit that I should die.
My story be forgot, when I am dead,
Lest it should fright some other from your bed;
And, to forget me, may you soon adore
Some happier maid,—yet none could love you more.
But may you never think me innocent,
Lest it should cause you trouble to repent.