_Alon_. Yes, Prince, and ‘tis that Knowledge makes me dare; I know thy Fame in Arms; I know in Battels Thou hast perform’d Deeds much above thy Years: My Infant Courage too (By the same Master taught) grew up to thine, When thou in Rage out-didst me, not in Bravery. --I know thou’st greater Power too--thank thy Treachery! _Abd_. Dost thou not fear that Power? _Alon_. By Heaven, not I, Whilst I can this--command. [_Lays his Hand on his Sword_. _Abd_. I too command a Sword. [Abd. _lays his Hand on his, and comes close up to him_. But not to draw on thee, _Alonzo_; Since I can prove thy Accusation false By ways more grateful--take this Ring, _Alonzo_; The sight of it will break down Prison-Gates, And set all free, as was the first-born Man. _Alon_. What means this turn? _Abd_. To enlarge _Philip_; but on such Conditions, As you think fit to make for my Security: And as thou’rt brave, deal with me as I merit. _Alon_. Art thou in earnest? _Abd_. I am, by all that’s sacred. _Leon_. Oh, let me fall before you, and ne’er rise, Till I have made you know what Gratitude Is fit for such a Bounty!-- Haste, my _Alonzo_--haste--and treat with _Philip_; Nor do I wish his Freedom, but on such Terms As may be advantageous to the Moor. _Alon_. Nor I, by Heaven! I know the Prince’s Soul, Though it be fierce, has Gratitude and Honour; And for a Deed like this, will make returns, Such as are worthy of the brave Obliger. [_Exit_ Alon. _Abd_. Yes, if he be not gone to Heaven before you come. [_Aside_. --What will become of _Abdelazer_ now, Who with his Power has thrown away his Liberty? _Leon_. Your Liberty! Oh, Heaven forbid that you, Who can so generously give Liberty, Should be depriv’d of it! It must not be whilst _Leonora_ lives. _Abd_. ‘Tis she that takes it from me. _Leon_. I! Alas, I wou’d not for the World Give you one minute’s Pain. _Abd_. You cannot help it, ‘tis against your Will; Your Eyes insensibly do wound and kill. _Leon_. What can you mean? and yet I fear to know. _Abd_. Most charming of your Sex! had Nature made This clouded Face, like to my Heart, all Love, It might have spar’d that Language which you dread; Whose rough harsh sound, unfit for tender Ears, Will ill express the Business of my Life. _Leon_. Forbear it, if that Business, Sir, be Love. _Abd_. Gods! Because I want the art to tell my Story In that soft way, which those can do whose Business Is to be still so idly employ’d, I must be silent and endure my Pain, Which Heaven ne’er gave me so much lameness for. Love in my Soul is not that gentle thing It is in other Breasts; instead of Calms, It ruffles mine into uneasy Storms. --I wou’d not love, if I cou’d help it, Madam; But since ‘tis not to be resisted here-- You must permit it to approach your Ear. _Leon_. Not when I cannot hear it, Sir, with Honour.