_Boab._ Then with the day let war and tumult cease; The night be sacred to our love and peace: 'Tis just some joys on weary kings should wait; 'Tis all we gain by being slaves to state. [_Exeunt._ ACT II. SCENE I. _Enter_ ABDALLA, ABDELMELECH, OZMYN, ZULEMA, _and_ HAMET, _as returning from the sally._ _Abdal._ This happy day does to Granada bring A lasting peace, and triumphs to the king!-- The two fierce factions will no longer jar, Since they have now been brothers in the war. Those who, apart, in emulation fought, The common danger to one body brought; And, to his cost, the proud Castilian finds Our Moorish courage in united minds. _Abdelm._ Since to each others aid our lives we owe, Lose we the name of faction, and of foe; Which I to Zulema can bear no more, Since Lyndaraxa's beauty I adore. _Zul._ I am obliged to Lyndaraxa's charms, Which gain the conquest I should lose by arms; And wish my sister may continue fair, That I may keep a good, Of whose possession I should else despair. _Ozm._ While we indulge our common happiness, He is forgot, by whom we all possess; The brave Almanzor, to whose arms we owe All that we did, and all that we shall do; Who, like a tempest, that out-rides the wind, Made a just battle ere the bodies joined. _Abdelm._ His victories we scarce could keep in view, Or polish them so fast as he rough-drew. _Abdal._ Fate, after him, below with pain did move, And victory could scarce keep pace above: Death did at length so many slain forget, And lost the tale, and took them by the great. _Enter_ ALMANZOR, _with the Duke of_ ARCOS, _prisoner._ _Hamet._ See, here he comes, And leads in triumph him, who did command The vanquished army of king Ferdinand. _Almanz._ [_To the Duke._] Thus far your master's arms a fortune find Below the swelled ambition of his mind; And Alha shuts a misbeliever's reign From out the best and goodliest part of Spain. Let Ferdinand Calabrian conquests make, And from the French contested Milan take; Let him new worlds discover to the old, And break up shining mountains, big with gold; Yet he shall find this small domestic foe, Still sharp and pointed, to his bosom grow. _D. Arcos._ Of small advantages too much you boast; You beat the out-guards of my master's host: This little loss, in our vast body, shows So small, that half have never heard the news. Fame's out of breath, ere she can fly so far, To tell them all, that you have e'er made war. _Almanz._ It pleases me your army is so great; For now I know there's more to conquer yet. By heaven! I'll see what troops you have behind: I'll face this storm, that thickens in the wind; And, with bent forehead, full against it go, 'Till I have found the last and utmost foe.