_Abd_. With Honour! Nay, I can talk in the Defence of that: By all that’s sacred, ‘tis a Flame as virtuous, As every Thought inhabits your fair Soul, And it shall learn to be as gentle too; --For I must merit you-- _Leon_. I will not hear this Language; merit me! _Abd_. Yes--why not? You’re but the Daughter of the King of _Spain_, And I am Heir to great Abdela, Madam; I can command this Kingdom you possess, (Of which my Passion only made you Queen) And re-assume that which your Father took From mine--a Crown as bright as that of _Spain_. _Leon_. You said you wou’d be gentle-- _Abd_. I will; this sullen Heart shall learn to bow, And keep it self within the Bounds of Love; Its Language I’ll deliver out in Sighs, Soft as the Whispers of a yielding Virgin. I cou’d transform my Soul to any Shape; Nay, I could even teach my Eyes the Art To change their natural Fierceness into Smiles; --What is’t I wou’d not do to gain that Heart! _Leon_. Which never can be yours! that and my Vows, Are to _Alonzo_ given; which he lays claim to By the most sacred Ties, Love and Obedience; All _Spain_ esteems him worthy of that Love. _Abd_. More worthy it than I! it was a Woman, A nice, vain, peevish Creature that pronounc’d it; Had it been Man, ‘t had been his last Transgression. --His Birth! his glorious Actions! are they like mine? _Leon_. Perhaps his Birth wants those Advantages, Which Nature has laid out in Beauty on his Person. _Abd_. Ay! there’s your Cause of Hate! Curst be my Birth, And curst be Nature that has dy’d my Skin With this ungrateful Colour! cou’d not the Gods Have given me equal Beauty with _Alonzo_! --Yet as I am, I’ve been in vain ador’d, And Beauties great as thine have languish’d for me. The Lights put out, thou in thy naked Arms Will find me soft and smooth as polish’d Ebony; And all my Kisses on thy balmy Lips as sweet, As are the Breezes, breath’d amidst the Groves Of ripening Spices in the height of Day: As vigorous too, As if each Night were the first happy Moment I laid thy panting Body to my Bosom. Oh, that transporting Thought-- See--I can bend as low, and sigh as often, [Kneels. And sue for Blessings only you can grant; As any fair and soft _Alonzo_ can-- If you could pity me as well-- But you are deaf, and in your Eyes I read [_Rises with Anger_. A Scorn which animates my Love and Anger; Nor know I which I should dismiss or cherish. _Leon_. The last is much more welcome than the first; Your Anger can but kill; but, Sir, your Love-- Will make me ever wretched, since ‘tis impossible I ever can return it.