_Ozm._ No, sir, your Ozmyn lives; and lives to own [_Kneeling to his father._ A father's piety to free his son. _Aben._ My Ozmyn!--O, thou blessing of my age! [_Embracing him._ And art thou safe from their deluded rage!-- Whom must I praise for thy deliverance? Was it thy valour, or the work of chance? _Ozm._ Nor chance, nor valour, could deliver me; But 'twas a noble pity set me free.-- My liberty, and life, And what your happiness you're pleased to call, We to this charming beauty owe it all. _Aben._ Instruct me, visible divinity!-- [_To her._ Instruct me by what name to worship thee! For to thy virtue I would altars raise, Since thou art much above all human praise. But see,-- _Enter_ ALMANZOR, _his sword bloody, leading in_ ALMAHIDE _attended by_ ESPERANZA. My other blessing, Almahide, is here!-- I'll to the king, and tell him she is near: You, Ozmyn, on your fair deliverer wait, And with your private joys the public celebrate. [_Exeunt_ ABEN. OZM. _and_ BENZ. _Almanz._ The work is done; now, madam, you are free; At least, if I can give you liberty: But you have chains which you yourself have chose; And, O, that I could free you too from those! But you are free from force, and have full power To go, and kill my hopes and me, this hour.-- I see, then, you will go; but yet my toil May he rewarded with a looking while. _Almah._ Almanzor can from every subject raise New matter for our wonder and his praise. You bound and freed me; but the difference is, That showed your valour; but your virtue this. _Almanz._ Madam, you praise a funeral victory, At whose sad pomp the conqueror must die. _Almah._ Conquest attends Almanzor every where; I am too small a foe for him to fear: But heroes still must be opposed by some, Or they would want occasion to o'ercome. _Almanz._ Madam, I cannot on bare praises live: Those, who abound in praises, seldom give. _Almah._ While I to all the world your worth make known, May heaven reward the pity you have shown! _Almanz._ My love is languishing, and starved to death; And would you give me charity--in breath? Prayers are the alms of churchmen to the poor: They send's to heaven, but drive us from their door. _Almah._ Cease, cease a suit So vain to you, and troublesome to me, If you will have me think that I am free. If I am yet a slave, my bonds I'll bear; But what I cannot grant, I will not hear. _Almanz._ You will not hear!--You must both hear and grant; For, madam, there's an impudence in want. _Almah._ Your way is somewhat strange to ask relief You ask with threatening, like a begging thief.-- Once more, Almanzor, tell me, am I free?