_K._ Cannot I stay thee? Now, by God, ill done. I am wronged, wronged. 1520 _Tar._ Farewell, sire: in such a soreness Few words are wisest. What Allah forbids Must be renounced. ’Tis of necessity I now depart. Yet should you need me again, Send, and I come. God’s peace be with you. [_Exit._ _K._ He is gone— Incredible! Consenting: I could not gloss it: Before my eyes, the eyes of Africa. Is this her secret? this her melancholy That cannot love? Treachery and apostasy! 1528 Or that sick passion is it, which some have suffered For things strange and detestable. I will see her: She shall renounce it.—Hola! (_Calling._) Ho! within— No cure but that: immediate disavowal, Ere ’tis too late. O shame! (_Calls._) Ho there, within! _Enter Servant._ (_To servant._) Give word that the princess attend me here. [_Exit servant._ That devil knows; he looked as if he knew. And Sala knew it. ’Twas for this he urged The villain’s liberty. He shall go free.... To hell ... and I will grant such liberty To all who have seen him. There’s one hiding-place Where I may stow dishonour. But for her, 1540 My daughter; if yet perchance there is any spot In all her heart untainted by this shame Which I may reach, that natural piety May feel my yearning sorrow.... Tenderly, _Re-enter Almeh._ Tenderly must I work. Lo, where she comes, Her shameful head bowed down with consciousness. Come, Almeh, come; come nearer. See: Thy tender grace, thy beauty’s perfect flower, The vesture of thy being; all thy motions, Thoughts, and imaginations, thy desires, 1550 Fancies, and dreams; whate’er from day to day Thou art, and callst thyself, what is it all But part of me? Art thou the beauteous branch, I am the gnarlèd trunk that bore and bears thee; The root that feeds. I call thee not to judgment; Only to save what most I prize, thy name, And mine: there’s one way that can be: Morocco Hath taken his leave: before he leave must thou Beg him to see thy injury avenged, And for thine honour’s sake must on thy knees 1560 Bid me revenge it. If on the same day The Christian prince insulted thee he die, And die at thy request, before the eyes That saw thy shame, ere busy tongues can tell A tale in the ear, such speedy penalty Will fright the scandal to a tale of terror, And save our name. Withal he is a prince, And that a prince should die may well atone. What sayst thou, child? _Al._ Bid me not speak. _K._ Thy tears And sobs I cannot read. I bid thee speak. 1570 _Al._ O father! _K._ Speak! _Al._ Thy words, recall thy words. _K._ What words? _Al._ Thy words of blood. _K._ Ah, Almeh! Almeh! Art thou my daughter?