Abd. Then there are those, to whom
The Prophet’s armies not as foes would pass
Yon gates, but as deliverers. Might they not
In some still hour, when weariness takes rest,
Be won to welcome us? Your children’s steps
May yet bound lightly through their father’s halls!
Alph. (indignantly.) Thou treacherous Moor!
Elm. Let me not thus be tried
Beyond all strength, O heaven!
Abd. Now, ’tis for thee,