Abdal. Those thoughts, you will not know, too well declare.
You mean to wait the final doom of war.
Lyndar. I find you come to quarrel with me now;
Would you know more of me than I allow?
Whence are you grown that great divinity,
That with such ease into my thoughts can pry?
Indulgence does not with some tempers suit;
I see I must become more absolute.
Abdal. I must submit,
On what hard terms soe'er my peace be bought.
Lyndar. Submit!—you speak as you were not in fault.—
'Tis evident the injury is mine;
For why should you my secret thoughts divine?
Abdal. Yet if we might be judged by reason's laws—
Lyndar. Then you would have your reason judge my cause!—
Either confess your fault, or hold your tongue;
For I am sure I'm never in the wrong.
Abdal. Then I acknowledge it.
Lyndar. Then I forgive.
Abdal. Under how hard a law poor lovers live!
Who, like the vanquished, must their right release,
And with the loss of reason buy their peace.— [Aside.
Madam, to show that you my power command,
I put my life and safety in your hand:—
Dispose of the Albayzyn as you please,
To your fair hands I here resign the keys.
Lyndar. I take your gift, because your love it shows,
And faithful Selin for alcade chuse.