_Abd_. The Queen with me! Because, Sir, I am married to your Sister, You, like your Sister, must be jealous too: The Queen with me! with me! a Moor! a Devil! A Slave of _Barbary_! for so Your gay young Courtiers christen me--But, Don, Altho my Skin be black, within my Veins Runs Blood as red, and royal as the best.-- My Father, Great _Abdela_, with his Life Lost too his Crown; both most unjustly ravish’d By Tyrant _Philip_, your old King I mean. How many Wounds his valiant Breast receiv’d E’er he would yield to part with Life and Empire: Methinks I see him cover’d o’er with Blood, Fainting amidst those numbers he had conquer’d. I was but young, yet old enough to grieve, Tho not revenge, or to defy my Fetters: For then began my Slavery; and e’er since Have seen that Diadem by this Tyrant worn, Which crown’d the sacred Temples of my Father, And shou’d adorn mine now--shou’d! nay, and must-- Go tell him what I say--’twill be but Death-- Go, Sir,--the Queen’s not here. _Alon_. Do not mistake me, Sir,--or if I wou’d, I’ve no old King to tell--the King is dead-- And I am answer’d, Sir, to what I came for, And so good night. [_Exit_. _Abd_. Now all that’s brave and villain seize my Soul, Reform each Faculty that is not ill, And make it fit for Vengeance, noble Vengeance. Oh glorious Word! fit only for the Gods, For which they form’d their Thunder, Till Man usurp’d their Power, and by Revenge Sway’d Destiny as well as they, and took their trade of killing. And thou, almighty Love, Dance in a thousand forms about my Person, That this same Queen, this easy Spanish Dame, May be bewitch’d, and dote upon me still; Whilst I make use of the insatiate Flame To set all _Spain_ on fire.-- Mischief, erect thy Throne, And sit on high; here, here upon my Head. Let Fools fear Fate, thus I my Stars defy: The influence of this--must raise my Glory high. [_Pointing to his Sword. [Exit_. SCENE II. _A Room in the Palace_. _Enter_ Ferdinand _weeping_, Ordonio _bearing the Crown, followed by_ Alonzo, _leading_ Leonora _weeping_; Florella, Roderigo, Mendozo, _met by the_ Queen _weeping_; Elvira _and Women_. _Qu_. What doleful Cry was that, which like the Voice Of angry Heav’n struck thro my trembling Soul? Nothing but horrid Shrieks, nothing but Death; Whilst I, bowing my Knees to the cold Earth, Drowning my Cheeks in Rivulets of Tears, Sending up Prayers in Sighs, t’ implore from Heaven Health for the Royal Majesty of _Spain_-- All cry’d, the Majesty of _Spain_ is dead. Whilst the sad Sound flew through the ecchoing Air, And reach’d my frighted Soul--Inform my Fears, Oh my _Fernando_, oh my gentle Son-- [_Weeps_.