_Abdal._ Howe'er imperious in her words she were, Her parting looks had nothing of severe; A glancing smile allured me to command, And her soft fingers gently pressed my hand: I felt the pleasure glide through every part; Her hand went through me to my very heart. For such another pleasure, did he live, I could my father of a crown deprive.-- What did I say?-- Father!--That impious thought has shocked my mind: How bold our passions are, and yet how blind!-- She's gone; and now, Methinks, there is less glory in a crown: My boiling passions settle, and go down. Like amber chafed, when she is near, she acts; When farther oft, inclines, but not attracts. _Enter_ ZULEMA. Assist me, Zulema, if thou wouldst be That friend thou seem'st, assist me against me. Betwixt my love and virtue I am tossed; This must be forfeited, or that be lost. I could do much to merit thy applause,-- Help me to fortify the better cause; My honour is not wholly put to flight, But would, if seconded, renew the fight. _Zul._ I met my sister, but I do not see What difficulty in your choice can be: She told me all; and 'tis so plain a case, You need not ask what counsel to embrace. _Abdal._ I stand reproved, that I did doubt at all; My waiting virtue staid but for thy call: 'Tis plain that she, who, for a kingdom, now Would sacrifice her love, and break her vow, Not out of love, but interest, acts alone, And would, even in my arms, lie thinking of a throne. _Zul._ Add to the rest, this one reflection more: When she is married, and you still adore, Think then,--and think what comfort it will bring,-- She had been mine, Had I but only dared to be a king! _Abdal._ I hope you only would my honour try; I'm loth to think you virtue's enemy. _Zul._ If, when a crown and mistress are in place, Virtue intrudes, with her lean holy face, Virtue's then mine, and not I virtue's foe. Why does she come where she has nought to do? Let her with anchorites, not with lovers, lie; Statesmen and they keep better company. _Abdal._ Reason was given to curb our head-strong will. _Zul._ Reason but shews a weak physician's skill; Gives nothing, while the raging fit does last, But stays to cure it, when the worst is past. Reason's a staff for age, when nature's gone; But youth is strong enough to walk alone, _Abdal._ In cursed ambition I no rest should find, But must for ever lose my peace of mind. _Zul._ Methinks that peace of mind were bravely lost; A crown, whate'er we give, is worth the cost. _Abdal._ Justice distributes to each man his right; But what she gives not, should I take by might? _Zul._ If justice will take all, and nothing give, Justice, methinks, is not distributive. _Abdal._ Had fate so pleased, I had been eldest born, And then, without a crime, the crown had worn!--