_Ozm._ Stay, prince! and know, I have a father here!-- [_Stops_ ABDALLA'S _hand._ I were that parricide, of whom he spoke, Did not my piety prevent your stroke. _D. Arcos._ to _Aben._ Depart, then, and thank heaven you had a son. _Aben._ I am not with these shows of duty won. _Ozm._ to his _Father._ Heaven knows, I would that life, you seek, resign; But, while Benzayda lives, it is not mine. Will you yet pardon my unwilling crime? _Aben._ By no entreaties, by no length of time, Will I be won; but, with my latest breath, I'll curse thee here, and haunt thee after death. [_Exit_ ABEN. _with his party._ _Ozm._ Can you be merciful to that degree, [_Kneeling to_ SELIN. As to forgive my father's faults in me? Can you forgive The death of him I slew in my defence, And from the malice separate the offence? I can no longer be your enemy: In short, now kill me, sir, or pardon me. [_Offers him his sword._ In this your silence my hard fate appears. _Selin._ I'll answer you, when I can speak for tears. But, till I can, Imagine what must needs be brought to pass; [_Embraces him._ My heart's not made of marble, nor of brass. Did I for you a cruel death prepare, And have you, have you made my life your care! There is a shame contracted by my faults, Which hinders me to speak my secret thoughts. And I will tell you--when the shame's removed-- You are not better by my daughter loved.-- Benzayda be yours.--I can no more. _Ozm._ Blessed be that breath which does my life restore! [_Embracing his knees._ _Benz._ I hear my father now; these words confess That name, and that indulgent tenderness. _Selin._ Benzayda, I have been too much to blame; But let your goodness expiate my shame: You Ozmyn's virtue did in chains adore, And part of me was just to him before.-- My son!-- _Ozm._ My father!-- _Selin._ Since by you I live, I, for your sake, your family forgive. Let your hard father still my life pursue, I hate not him, but for his hate to you; Even that hard father yet may one day be By kindness vanquished, as you vanquished me; Or, if my death can quench to you his rage, Heaven makes good use of my remaining age. _Abdal._ I grieve your joys are mingled with my cares; But all take interest in their own affairs; And, therefore, I must ask how mine proceed. _Selin._ They now are ripe, and but your presence need: For Lyndaraxa, faithless as the wind, Yet to your better fortunes will be kind; For, hearing that the Christians own your cause, From thence the assurance of a throne she draws. And since Almanzor, whom she most did fear, Is gone, she to no treaty will give ear; But sent me her unkindness to excuse. _Abdal._ You much surprise me with your pleasing news.