_Zul._ True, they have pardoned me; but do they know What folly 'tis to trust a pardoned foe? A blush remains in a forgiven face: It wears the silent tokens of disgrace. Forgiveness to the injured does belong; But they ne'er pardon, who have done the wrong. My hopeful fortunes lost! and, what's above All I can name or think, my ruined love! Feigned honesty shall work me into trust, And seeming penitence conceal my lust. Let heaven's great eye of Providence now take One day of rest, and ever after wake. _Enter_ BOABDELIN, ABENAMAR, _and Guards._ _Boab._ Losses on losses! as if heaven decreed Almanzor's valour should alone succeed. _Aben._ Each sally we have made, since he is gone, Serves but to pull our speedy ruin on. _Boab._ Of all mankind, the heaviest fate he bears, Who the last crown of sinking empire wears. No kindly planet of his birth took care: Heaven's outcast, and the dross of every star! [_A tumultuous noise within._ _Enter_ ABDELMELECH. What new misfortunes do these cries presage? _Abdelm._ They are the effects of the mad people's rage. All in despair tumultuously they swarm: The fairest streets already take the alarm; The needy creep from cellars under ground; To them new cries from tops of garrets sound; The aged from the chimneys seek the cold; And wives from windows helpless infants hold. _Boab._ See what the many-headed beast demands.-- [_Exit_ ABDELM. Cursed is that king, whose's honour's in their hands. In senates, either they too slowly grant, Or saucily refuse to aid my want; And, when their thrift has ruined me in war, They call their insolence my want of care. _Aben._ Cursed be their leaders, who that rage foment, And veil, with public good, their discontent: They keep the people's purses in their hands, And hector kings to grant their wild demands; But to each lure, a court throws out, descend, And prey on those they promised to defend. _Zul._ Those kings, who to their wild demands consent, Teach others the same way to discontent. Freedom in subjects is not, nor can be; But still, to please them, we must call them free. Propriety, which they their idol make, Or law, or law's interpreters, can shake. _Aben._ The name of commonwealth is popular; But there the people their own tyrants are. _Boab._ But kings, who rule with limited command, Have players' sceptres put into their hand. Power has no balance, one side still weighs down, And either hoists the commonwealth or crown; And those, who think to set the scale more right, By various turnings but disturb the weight. _Aben._ While people tug for freedom, kings for power, Both sink beneath some foreign conqueror: Then subjects find too late they were unjust, And want that power of kings, they durst not trust. _To them_ ABDELMELECH. _Abdelm._ The tumult now is high, and dangerous grown: The people talk of rendering up the town; And swear that they will force the king's consent.