_Abdal._ This, sir, is he, who for the elder fought, And to the juster cause the conquest brought; Till the proud Santo, seated on the throne, Disdained the service he had done to own: Then to the vanquished part his fate he led; The vanquished triumphed, and the victor fled. Vast is his courage, boundless is his mind, Rough as a storm, and humorous as wind: Honour's the only idol of his eyes; The charms of beauty like a pest he flies; And, raised by valour from a birth unknown, Acknowledges no power above his own. [BOABDELIN _coming to_ ALMANZOR. _Boab._ Impute your danger to our ignorance; The bravest men are subject most to chance: Granada much does to your kindness owe; But towns, expecting sieges, cannot show More honour, than to invite you to a foe. _Almanz._ I do not doubt but I have been to blame: But, to pursue the end for which I came, Unite your subjects first; then let us go, And pour their common rage upon the foe. _Boab._ [_to the Factions._] Lay down your arms, and let me beg you cease Your enmities. _Zul._ We will not hear of peace, Till we by force have first revenged our slain. _Abdelm._ The action we have done we will maintain. _Selin._ Then let the king depart, and we will try Our cause by arms. _Zul._ For us and victory. _Boab._ A king entreats you. _Almanz._ What subjects will precarious kings regard? A beggar speaks too softly to be heard: Lay down your arms! 'tis I command you now. Do it--or, by our prophet's soul I vow, My hands shall right your king on him I seize. Now let me see whose look but disobeys. _All._ Long live king Mahomet Boabdelin! _Almanz._ No more; but hushed as midnight silence go: He will not have your acclamations now. Hence, you unthinking crowd!-- [_The Common People go off on both parties._ Empire, thou poor and despicable thing, When such as these make or unmake a king! _Abdal._ How much of virtue lies in one great soul, [_Embracing him._ Whose single force can multitudes controul! [_A trumpet within._ _Enter a Messenger._ _Messen._ The Duke of Arcos, sir, Does with a trumpet from the foe appear. _Boab._ Attend him; he shall have his audience here. _Enter the Duke of_ ARCOS. _D. Arcos._ The monarchs of Castile and Arragon Have sent me to you, to demand this town. To which their just and rightful claim is known. _Boab._ Tell Ferdinand, my right to it appears By long possession of eight hundred years: When first my ancestors from Afric sailed, In Rodrique's death your Gothic title failed. _D. Arcos._ The successors of Rodrique still remain, And ever since have held some part of Spain: Even in the midst of your victorious powers, The Asturias, and all Portugal, were ours. You have no right, except you force allow; And if yours then was just, so ours is now. _Boab._ 'Tis true from force the noblest title springs; I therefore hold from that, which first made kings.