_Leon_. With Horrors I am grown of late familiar; I saw my Father die, and liv’d the while; I saw my beauteous Friend, and thy lov’d Sister, _Florella_, whilst her Breast was bleeding fresh; Nay, and my Brother’s too, all full of Wounds, The best and kindest Brother that ever Maid was blest with; Poor _Philip_ bound, and led like Victims for a Sacrifice; All this I saw and liv’d-- And canst thou hope for Pity from that Heart, Whose harden’d Sense is Proof ‘gainst all these Miseries? This Moor, _Alonzo_, is a subtle Villain, Yet of such Power we scarce dare think him such. _Alon_. ‘Tis true, my charming Fair, he is that Villain, As ill and powerful too; yet he has a Heart That may be reach’d with this--but ‘tis not time, [_Points to his Sword_. We must dissemble yet, which is an Art Too foul for Souls so innocent as thine. _Enter_ Abdelazer. The Moor! Hell! will he not allow us sorrowing time? _Abd_. Madam, I come to pay my humblest Duty, And know what Service you command your Slave. _Leon_. Alas, I’ve no Commands; or if I had, I am too wretched now to be obey’d. _Abd_. Can one so fair, and great, ask any thing Of Men, or Heaven, they wou’d not grant with Joy? _Leon_. Hea’vns Will I’m not permitted to dispute, And may implore in vain; but ‘tis in you To grant me what may yet preserve my Life. _Abd_. In me! in me! the humblest of your Creatures! By yon bright Sun, or your more splendid Eyes, I wou’d divest my self of every Hope, To gratify one single Wish of yours. --Name but the way. _Leon_. I am so unhappy, that the only thing I have to ask, is what you must deny; --The Liberty of _Philip_-- _Abd_. How! _Philip’s_ Liberty--and must I grant it? I (in whose Hands Fortune had put the Crown) Had I not lov’d the Good and Peace of _Spain_, Might have dispos’d it to my own Advantage; And shall that Peace, Which I’ve preferr’d above my proper Glories, Be lost again in him, in him a Bastard? _Alon_. That he’s a Bastard, is not, Sir, believ’d; And she that cou’d love you, might after that Do any other Sin, and ‘twas the least Of all the Number to declare him Bastard. _Abd_. How, Sir! that you’d love me! what is there here, Or in my Soul, or Person, may not be belov’d? _Alon_. I spoke without Reflection on your Person, But of dishonest Love, which was too plain, From whence came all the Ills we have endur’d; And now being warm in Mischiefs, Thou dost pursue the Game, till all be thine. _Abd_. Mine! _Alon_. Yes, thine-- The little humble Mask which you put on Upon the Face of Falshood, and Ambition, Is easily seen thro; you gave a Crown, But you’ll command the Kingly Power still, Arm and disband, destroy or save at Pleasure. _Abd_. Vain Boy, (whose highest Fame, Is that thou art the great _Alvaro’s_ Son) Where learnt you so much daring, to upbraid My generous Power thus falsly--do you know me?