_Men_. Madam, you know your Power o’er your Slave, And use it too tyrannically--but dispose The Fate of him, whose Honour, and whose Life, Lies at your Mercy-- I’ll stay and die, since ‘tis your gracious Pleasure. _King. Philip_, upon your Life, Upon your strict Allegiance, I conjure you To remain at Court, till I have reconcil’d you. _Phil_. Never, Sir; Nor can you bend my Temper to that Tameness. _King_. ‘Tis in my Power to charge you as a Prisoner; But you’re my Brother--yet remember too I am your King--No more. _Phil_. I will obey. _King. Abdelazer_, I beg you will forget your Cause of Hate Against my Brother _Philip_, and the Cardinal; He’s young, and rash, but will be better temper’d. _Abd_. Sir, I have done, and beg your royal Pardon. _King_. Come, _Philip_, give him your Hand. _Phil_. I can forgive without a Ceremony. _King_. And to confirm ye Friends, I invite you all to Night to banquet with me; Pray see you give Attendance--Come, Brother, You must along with us. [_Exeunt all but_ Abd. Queen _and Women_. _Qu_. Leave me-- [_To the Women, who go out_. Now my dear Moor. _Abd_. Madam. _Qu_. Why dost thou answer with that cold Reserve-- Is that a Look--an Action for a Lover? _Abd_. Ah, Madam-- _Qu_. Have I not taken off thy Banishment? Restor’d thee to thy former State and Honours? Nay, and heap’d new ones too, too mighty for thy Hopes; And still to raise thee equal to this Heart, Where thou must ever reign. _Abd_. ‘Tis true, my bounteous Mistress, all this you’ve done-- But-- _Qu_. But what, my _Abdelazer_? _Abd_. I will not call it to your Memory. _Qu_. What canst thou mean? _Abd_. Why was the King remov’d? _Qu_. To make thy way more easy to my Arms. _Abd_. Was that all? _Qu_. All! _Abd_. Not but it is a Blessing Gods would languish for-- But as you’ve made it free, so make it just. _Qu_. Thou mean’st, marry thee. _Abd_. No, by the Gods-- [_Aside_. Not marry thee, unless I were a King. _Qu_. What signifies the Name to him that rules one? _Abd_. What use has he of Life, that cannot live Without a Ruler? _Qu_. Thou wouldst not have me kill him. _Abd_. Oh, by no means, not for my wretched Life! What, kill a King!--forbid it, Heaven: Angels stand like his Guards about his Person. The King! Not so many Worlds as there be Stars Twinkling upon the embroider’d Firmament! The King! He loves my Wife _Florella_, shou’d he die-- I know none else durst love her. _Qu_. And that’s the Reason you wou’d send him hence. _Abd_. I must confess, I wou’d not bear a wrong: But do not take me for a Villain, Madam; He is my King, and may do what he pleases. _Qu_. ‘Tis well, Sir. _Abd_. Again that Frown, it renders thee more charming Than any other Dress thou could’st put on. _Qu_. Away, you do not love me. _Abd_. Now mayst thou hate me, if this be not pretty. _Qu_. Oh, you can flatter finely--