_Flor._ No! no! There is a portal By which the trembling victim may escape From thy fierce tiger gripe--There is a way Unto the weak, and though a giant grasp, He shall but seize with eager cruel hand The white reflection other fluttering robe, Leaving her pure and undefil'd to Heaven-- Angels have whisper'd it to me-- _Basil._ Forsworn?-- _Flor._ Nay! traitor to thy God and king! My hand I've pledg'd thee ere a short month have elaps'd, And thou shalt claim it then, if then thou wilt. _Basil._ What mean'st thou, maiden? There is a strange light In the sweet lustre of thy thrilling eye, There is a bright spot on thy velvet cheek; Thy throat of arched fall is now thrown back, As one had check'd a white Arabian steed; Thy nostril wide dilates, Sibylline, grand; Thy moist and crimson lip tempts wildly--come! For thou art beautiful, and thy light step Shall on the hills be glorious, when thou'rt given A help-mate unto Israel-- _Flor._ Never! _Basil._ How?-- Hast thou not sworn? _Flor._ There is a point where all That binds the struggling wretch to aught on earth, Be it a bond of hate and grief like mine, Or sweet communion of young hearts that love, Be it a sacrifice to infamy, or pride Of mothers in their offspring, or the work Of master-spirits' high philosophy, Doth rank with things that were-- _Basil._ Thou speakest riddles. _Flor._ A colder hand than thine is on my heart, I am another's bride! A month must pass Ere thou can'st claim me. Was not that the bond? _Basil._ In these brisk times, a month goes quickly by. _Flor._ Within a week I'll wed, but not with thee. Pray, sir, go hence, you do distract my thoughts From my lov'd bridegroom. _Basil._ Speak, whom mean'st thou? _Flor._ Death. A thousand deaths, ere wed with thee. Dost hear? I am faint. Lo! thy cruel, eager gaze Grows grimly dark and indistinct. Pray Heaven I shall not see it any more. Farewell, I pardon thee. _Basil._ Not so! May curses blight me, If I do lose thee thus. [_Seizes her._] _Flor._ Help! _Basil._ Wilt thou budge Thus from thy promise?--Nay then-- _Flor._ Help! O help! _Enter ARTHUR, Soldiers, WILLIAM, HOST, &c., U.E.R. After them WYCKOFF, who stands at a little distance. Loud cries of "Pardon, a free pardon from the Protector."_ _Basil._ What does this mean? Look to your prisoner: seize him. _An Officer._ [_Seizing Basil._] In the Protector's name, we do! _Basil._ Away! Let go! _An Officer._ [_Points to Arthur._] 'Twere best ask him for mercy. 'Tis For him to say--