_Muza_. Herein his vow indeed is ratified; Yet faithful ears have heard this offer made, And weighty was the conference that ensued And long—not dubious—for what mortal e’er Refus’d alliance with illustrious power? Tho’ some have given its enjoyments up, Tired and enfeebled by satiety. His friends and partisans, ’twas his pretence, Should pass uninterrupted; hence his camp Is open, every day, to enemies. You look around, O queen, as tho’ you fear’d Their entrance—Julian I pursue no more; You conquer him—return we; I bequeath Ruin, extermination, not reproach. How we may best attain your peace and will We must consider in some other place, Not, lady, in the midst of snares and wiles How to supplant your charms and seize your crown. [_He takes her hand_. I rescue it, fear not: yes, we retire. [_She is reluctant to go with him_. Whatever is your wish becomes my own, Nor is there in this land but who obeys. [_Sternly—he leads her away_. ACT III. SCENE 1. _Palace in_ XERES. RODERIGO _and_ OPAS. _Rod._ Impossible! she could not thus resign Me, for a miscreant of Barbary, A mere adventurer—but that citron face Shall bleach and shrivel the whole winter long; There, on yon cork-tree by the sallyport. She shall return. _Opas_. To fondness and to faith? Dost thou retain them, if she could return? _Rod._ Retain them? she has forfeited by this All right to fondness, all to royalty. _Opas_. Consider, and speak calmly: she deserves Some pity, some reproof. _Rod._ To speak then calmly, Since thine eyes open and can see her guilt— —Infamous and atrocious! let her go— Chains— _Opas_. What! in Muza’s camp? _Rod._ My scorn supreme! _Opas_. Say, pity. _Rod._ Aye, aye, pity—that suits best, I loved her, but _had_ loved her; three whole years Of pleasure, and of varied pleasure too, Had worne the soft impression half away. What I once felt, I would recall; the faint Responsive voice grew fainter each reply: Imagination sunk amid the scenes It labour’d to create; the vivid joy Of fleeting youth I followed, and posest. ’Tis the first moment of the tenderest hour, ’Tis the first mien on entering new delights, We give our peace, our power, our souls, for these. _Opas_. Thou hast; and what remains? _Rod._ Myself—Roderigo— Whom hatred cannot reach, nor love cast down.