_Zul._ Would you so please, fate yet a way would find; Man makes his fate according to his mind. The weak low spirit, fortune makes her slave; But she's a drudge, when hectored by the brave: If fate weaves common thread, he'll change the doom, And with new purple spread a nobler loom. _Abdal._ No more!--I will usurp the royal seat; Thou, who hast made me wicked, make me great. _Zul._ Your way is plain: the death of Tarifa Does on the king our Zegrys' hatred draw; Though with our enemies in show we close, 'Tis but while we to purpose can be foes. Selin, who heads us, would revenge his son; But favour hinders justice to be done. Proud Ozmyn with the king his power maintains, And, in him, each Abencerrago reigns. _Abdal._ What face of any title can I bring? _Zul._ The right an eldest son has to be king. Your father was at first a private man, And got your brother ere his reign began; When, by his valour, he the crown had won, Then you were born a monarch's eldest son. _Abdal._ To sharp-eyed reason this would seem untrue; But reason I through love's false optics view. _Zul._ Love's mighty power has led me captive too; I am in it unfortunate as you. _Abdal._ Our loves and fortunes shall together go; Thou shalt be happy, when I first am so. _Zul._ The Zegrys at old Selin's house are met, Where, in close council, for revenge they sit: There we our common interest will unite; You their revenge shall own, and they your right. One thing I had forgot, which may import: I met Almanzor coming back from court, But with a discomposed and speedy pace, A fiery colour kindling all his face: The king his prisoner's freedom has denied, And that refusal has provoked his pride. _Abdal._ 'Would he were ours!-- I'll try to gild the injustice of his cause, And court his valour with a vast applause. _Zul._ The bold are but the instruments o'the wise; They undertake the dangers we advise: And, while our fabric with their pains we raise, We take the profit, and pay them with praise. [_Exeunt._ ACT III. SCENE I. _Enter_ ALMANZOR _and_ ABDALLA. _Almanz._ That he should dare to do me this disgrace!-- Is fool, or coward, writ upon my face? Refuse my prisoner!--I such means will use, He shall not have a prisoner to refuse. _Abdal._ He said, you were not by your promise tied; That he absolved your word, when he denied. _Almanz._ He break my promise, and absolve my vow! 'Tis more than Mahomet himself can do!-- The word, which I have given, shall stand like fate; Not like the king's, that weather-cock of state. He stands so high, with so unfixed a mind, Two factions turn him with each blast of wind: But now, he shall not veer! my word is past; I'll take his heart by the roots, and hold it fast.