_Abd_. To have you kill this King, When next he does pursue thee with his Love-- What, do you weep?-- By Heaven, they shall be bloody Tears then. _Flor_. I shall deserve them--when I suffer Love That is not fit to hear;--but for the King, That which he pays me, is so innocent-- _Abd_. So innocent! damn thy dissembling Tongue; Did I not see, with what fierce wishing Eyes He gazed upon thy Face, whilst yours as wantonly Returned, and understood the amorous Language? _Flor_. Admit it true, that such his Passions were, As (Heaven’s my witness) I’ve no cause to fear; Have not I Virtue to resist his Flame, Without a pointed Steel? _Abd_. Your Virtue!--Curse on the weak Defence; Your Virtue’s equal to his Innocence. Here, take this Dagger, and if this Night he visit thee, When he least thinks on’t--send it to his Heart. _Flor_. If you suspect me, do not leave me, Sir. _Abd_. Oh--I’m dispatch’d away--to leave you free-- About a wonderful Affair--mean time, I know you will be visited--but as you wish to live, At my return let me behold him dead.-- Be sure you do’t--’tis for thy Honour’s safety-- I love thee so, that I can take no rest, Till thou hast kill’d thy Image in his Breast. --Adieu, my dear _Florella_. [Exit_. _Flor_. Murder my King! the Man that loves me too-- What Fiend, what Fury such an act wou’d do? My trembling Hand wou’d not the Weapon bear, And I should sooner strike it here--than there. [_Pointing to her Breast_. No! though of all I am, this Hand alone Is what thou canst command, as being thy own; Yet this has plighted no such cruel Vow; No Duty binds me to obey thee ‘now. To save my King’s, my Life I will expose, No Martyr dies in a more glorious Cause. [_Exit_. SCENE II. _The Queen’s Apartments_. _Enter the_ Queen _in an undress alone, with a Light_. _Qu_. Thou grateful Night, to whom all happy Lovers Make their devout and humble Invocations; Thou Court of Silence, where the God of Love, Lays by the awful Terror of a Deity, And every harmful Dart, and deals around His kind Desires; whilst thou, blest Friend to Joys, Draw’st all thy Curtains, made of gloomy Shades, To veil the Blushes of soft yielding Maids; Beneath thy Covert grant the Love-sick King, May find admittance to _Florella’s_ Arms; And being there, keep back the busy Day; Maintain thy Empire till my Moor returns; Where in her Lodgings he shall find his Wife, Amidst her amorous Dalliance with my Son.-- My watchful Spies are waiting for the Knowledge; Which when to me imparted, I’ll improve, Till my Revenge be equal to my Love. _Enter_ Elvira. --_Elvira_, in thy Looks I read Success; What hast thou learnt? _Elv_. Madam, the King is gone as you imagin’d, To fair _Florella’s_ Lodging. _Qu_. But art thou sure he gain’d Admittance? _Elv_. Yes, Madam; But what Welcome he has found, to me’s unknown; But I believe it must be great, and kind.