_Almah._ I do your merit all the right I can; Admiring virtue in a private man: I only wish the king may grateful be, And that my father with my eyes may see. Might I not make it as my last request,-- Since humble carriage suits a suppliant best,-- That you would somewhat of your fierceness hide-- That inborn fire--I do not call it pride? _Almanz._ Born, as I am, still to command, not sue, Yet you shall see that I can beg for you; And if your father will require a crown, Let him but name the kingdom, 'tis his own. I am, but while I please, a private man; I have that soul which empires first began. From the dull crowd, which every king does lead, I will pick out whom I will chuse to head: The best and bravest souls I can select, And on their conquered necks my throne erect. [_Exeunt._ ACT V. SCENE I. ABDALLA _alone, under the walls of the Albayzyn._ _Abdal._ While she is mine, I have not yet lost all, But in her arms shall have a gentle fall: Blest in my love, although in war o'ercome, I fly, like Antony from Actium, To meet a better Cleopatra here.-- You of the watch! you of the watch! appear. _Sold._ [_above._] Who calls below? What's your demand? _Abdal._ 'Tis I: Open the gate with speed; the foe is nigh. _Sold._ What orders for admittance do you bring? _Abdal._ Slave, my own orders; look, and know the king. _Sold._ I know you; but my charge is so severe, That none, without exception, enter here. _Abdal._ Traitor, and rebel! thou shalt shortly see Thy orders are not to extend to me. _Lyndar._ [_above._] What saucy slave so rudely does exclaim, And brands my subject with a rebel's name? _Abdal._ Dear Lyndaraxa, haste; the foes pursue. _Lyndar._ My lord, the Prince Abdalla, is it you? I scarcely can believe the words I hear; Could you so coarsely treat my officer? _Abdal._ He forced me; but the danger nearer draws: When I am entered, you shall know the cause. _Lyndar._ Entered! Why, have you any business here? _Abdal._ I am pursued, the enemy is near. _Lyndar._ Are you pursued, and do you thus delay To save yourself? Make haste, my lord, away. _Abdal._ Give me not cause to think you mock my grief: What place have I, but this, for my relief? _Lyndar._ This favour does your handmaid much oblige, But we are not provided for a siege: My subjects few; and their provision thin; The foe is strong without, we weak within. This to my noble lord may seem unkind, But he will weigh it in his princely mind; And pardon her, who does assurance want So much, she blushes when she cannot grant. _Abdal._ Yes, you may blush; and you have cause to weep. Is this the faith you promised me to keep? Ah yet, if to a lover you will bring No succour, give your succour to a king.