. . . . . . . . . [PERSEDA, _however, will not yield to his amorous proposals._] _Soliman._ Then kneel thee down, And at my hands receive the stroke of death, Doom'd to thyself by thine own wilfulness. _Perseda._ Strike, strike; thy words pierce deeper than thy blows. _Soliman._ Brusor, hide her; for her looks withhold me. [_Then_ BRUSOR _hides her with a veil._] O Brusor, thou hast not hid her lips; For there sits Venus with Cupid on her knee, And all the graces smiling round about her, So craving pardon, that I cannot strike. _Brusor._ Her face is cover'd over quite, my lord. _Soliman._ Why, so. O Brusor, seest thou not Her milkwhite neck, that alabaster tower? 'Twill break the edge of my keen scimitar, And pieces, flying back, will wound myself. _Brusor._ Now she is all covered, my lord. _Soliman._ Why, now at last she dies. _Perseda._ O Christ, receive my soul! _Soliman._ Hark, Brusor; she calls on Christ: I will not send her to him. Her words are music, The selfsame music that in ancient days Brought Alexander from war to banqueting, And made him fall from skirmishing to kissing. No, my dear love would not let me kill thee, Though majesty would turn desire to wrath: There lies my sword, humbled at thy feet; And I myself, that govern many kings, Entreat a pardon for my rash misdeed. (2) [BASILISCO _is asked to declare his country and past achievements._] _Basilisco_. Sooth to say, the earth is my country, As the air to the fowl or the marine moisture To the red-gill'd fish. I repute myself no coward, For humility shall mount; I keep no table To character my fore passed conflicts. As I remember, there happened a sore drought In some part of Belgia, that the juicy grass Was sear'd with the Sun-God's element. I held it policy to put the men-children Of that climate to the sword, That the mother's tears might relieve the parched earth: The men died, the women wept, and the grass grew; Else had my Friesland horse perished, Whose loss would have more grieved me Than the ruin of that whole country. * * * * *