Boab. As some fair tulip, by a storm oppressed, [To Almah.
Shrinks up, and folds its silken arms to rest;
And, bending to the blast, all pale and dead,
Hears, from within, the wind sing round its head,—
So, shrouded up, your beauty disappears:
Unveil, my love, and lay aside your fears.
The storm, that caused your fright, is passed and done. [Almahide unveiling, and looking round for Almanzor.
Almah. So flowers peep out too soon, and miss the sun. [Turning from him.
Boab. What mystery in this strange behaviour lies?
Almah. Let me for ever hide these guilty eyes,
Which lighted my Almanzor to his tomb;
Or, let them blaze, to show me there a room.
Boab. Heaven lent their lustre for a nobler end;
A thousand torches must their light attend,
To lead you to a temple and a crown.
Why does my fairest Almahide frown?
Am I less pleasing then I was before,
Or, is the insolent Almanzor more?
Almah. I justly own that I some pity have,
Not for the insolent, but for the brave.
Aben. Though to your king your duty you neglect,
Know, Almahide, I look for more respect:
And, if a parent's charge your mind can move,
Receive the blessing of a monarch's love.
Almah. Did he my freedom to his life prefer,
And shall I wed Almanzor's murderer?
No, sir; I cannot to your will submit;
Your way's too rugged for my tender feet.
Aben. You must be driven where you refuse to go;
And taught, by force, your happiness to know.
Almah. To force me, sir, is much unworthy you, [Smiling scornfully.
And, when you would, impossible to do.
If force could bend me, you might think, with shame,
That I debase the blood from whence I came.
My soul is soft, which you may gently lay
In your loose palm; but, when 'tis pressed to stay,
Like water, it deludes your grasp, and slips away.