_K._ Thou art a woman; How can I show thee? This anemone, ’Tis beautiful, nor canst thou say its grace Resides in this part nor in that: but look; I pluck a petal from it.—Thou beholdest My kingdom without Ceuta. Wouldst thou wish To set this back unto the perfect flower? _Al._ How could I do it? _K._ I must tell thee all. 120 Our ancestors, thou knowest, blest be their names, Long ruled in Spain, and made that coign of the earth The glory of all; but to the peaceful arts Turning their genius when they sat to rule, Their prudence slept: for that half-barbarous race, Whom conquering they had spared, grew up more apt In arms, and rising ’gainst our easy folk O’erthrew and dispossest them;—and, not content To have driven us out of Spain, pursued us hither, Where in our southern bounds we lived retired 130 Behind the ocean as an ample shield. ’Twas in thy grandsire’s time, ere thou wert born, They did this wrong; the boastful Portuguese Swoln with malevolence,—why should I say it?— King Joam and his sons, all unprovoked, For we had oaths of peace, attacked us here With sudden treacherous assault, and seized Ceuta, our strongest barrier thitherward. Impregnable we deemed it, and indeed Impregnable have found it ’gainst ourselves 140 For twenty years besieging it in vain. Then should this shame, unbearable to us, Prove but incitement to our foes, a foothold For further wresting. Two months have not passed Since that a new Armada sailed from Tagus Against Tangiers, and both by land and sea Beleaguering would have reft that city too, And added my dishonour to my father’s, Had not Ben Sala’s generalship o’ermatched Their most infernal malice. Praised be Allah! 150 They fell, they fled; and such as fled not lie Dead on our sands, or in our dungeons chained. _Al._ Are those the captives in the castle pit?