Cut-throats and needy idlers--and so the tumult ends--
Azarque lies in prison, forsaken by his friends.
For, ah, both arms and reason powerless prove
To turn the purpose of a king in love.
Alone does Celindaja the coward crowd implore,
"Oh, save him, save him, generous friends, give back to me my Moor."
She stands upon the balcony and from that lofty place
Would fling herself upon the stones to save him from disgrace.
Her mother round the weeping girl has flung her withered arm.
"O fool," she whispers in her ear, "in Mary's name be calm!"