_Al._ Thy meaning? _Za._ The general hath the keeping of the castle, And he would work thy way in any wish, Howe’er preposterous. _Al._ And thou sayst not ill. Sala is approachable and kind at heart: ’Tis pity he is away. [_Trumpets heard without._ _Za._ Here comes the king; He bade me shew thee hither in the garden, And here will look to find thee. _Al._ Go, I bid thee, And tell him that I am here. [_Exit Zapel._ Now shall I know why I was sent for hither. 70 Would ’twere to take this castle for my own, With no more retinue than might suffice To till this garden, and to cook my food. I’d win these Christian captives to my service For ministers and minstrels; ay, and they Should row me on the water. I’d have my books In the northern tower, where set on high my lamp, Forestalling darkness with its seaward ray, Sailors should look for, and on tranquil nights Hear solemn music faintly, and believe 80 There was enchantment. Could I have my will, So would I live. And where’s the gain to be The daughter of a king, if every wish Nearest one’s heart is of like course denied, As to the meanest peasant ... when one word, One nod could grant it? _Enter King._ _KING._ Almeh! my rose of June! Queen of my gardens, flower of all my kingdom! _Al._ Honour be thine, my sire. _K._ I bring thee joy. Hast thou not wondered why I sent for thee? _Al._ Why was it? I long to know. _K._ (_giving_). See for thyself. 90 _Al._ A picture! _K._ ’Tis a portrait. _Al._ And of whom? _K._ Dost thou not guess who this young Kaled is: This high and dauntless brow, this stalwart arm, Keen eye and martial poise? _Al._ If this be he, Who made of late entreaty for my hand, Prince Tarudante ... _K._ A happy omen. Ay, Look, girl, and love him, for he wooes thee well With all Morocco. _Al._ Yet I cannot love Thy wish to banish me so far. _K._ Thy marriage Will bring Morocco nearer, and renew 100 Our old alliance: for thy valiant lover Comes not with gold to woo thee, but sharp steel. His flag is black, his ceremonious train Are twenty thousand horsemen sworn to avenge The Prophet.... Ceuta will be mine. _Al._ Ah, sire! I like not love that comes with war to woo. _K._ But war that shall bring peace, whose lasting olive May not be sceptred in my hand, until This fallen jewel be set back in my crown. Thy marriage with Morocco shall wipe out 110 The old dishonour that hath vexed my reign. _Al._ And yet doth Ceuta, sire, in all thy kingdom Rank as a little town.