Aben. The name of commonwealth is popular;
But there the people their own tyrants are.
Boab. But kings, who rule with limited command,
Have players' sceptres put into their hand.
Power has no balance, one side still weighs down,
And either hoists the commonwealth or crown;
And those, who think to set the scale more right,
By various turnings but disturb the weight.
Aben. While people tug for freedom, kings for power,
Both sink beneath some foreign conqueror:
Then subjects find too late they were unjust,
And want that power of kings, they durst not trust.
To them Abdelmelech.
Abdelm. The tumult now is high, and dangerous grown:
The people talk of rendering up the town;
And swear that they will force the king's consent.
Boab. What counsel can this rising storm prevent?
Abdelm. Their fright to no persuasions will give ear:
There's a deaf madness in a people's fear.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Their fury now a middle course does take;
To yield the town, or call Almanzor back.
Boab. I'll rather call my death.—
Go and bring up my guards to my defence:
I'll punish this outrageous insolence.