_Emp._ Not break the chain; but change a rotten link, And rivet one to last. Think'st thou I come to argue right and wrong?-- Why lingers Dorax thus? Where are my guards, [BENDUCAR _goes out for the Guards, and returns._ To drag that slave to death?-- [_Pointing to_ SEB. Now storm and rage; Call vainly on thy prophet, then defy him For wanting power to save thee. _Seb._ That were to gratify thy pride. I'll shew thee How a man should, and how a king dare die! So even, that my soul shall walk with ease Out of its flesh, and shut out life as calmly As it does words; without a sign to note One struggle, in the smooth dissolving frame. _Alm._ [_To the Emp._] Expect revenge from heaven, inhuman wretch! Nor hope to ascend Sebastian's holy bed. Flames, daggers, poisons, guard the sacred steps: Those are the promised pleasures of my love. _Emp._ And these might fright another, but not me; Or me, if I designed to give you pleasure. I seek my own; and while that lasts, you live.-- _Enter two of the Guards._ Go, bear the captive to a speedy death, And set my soul at ease. _Alm._ I charge you hold, ye ministers of death!-- Speak my Sebastian; Plead for thy life; Oh, ask it of the tyrant: 'Tis no dishonour; trust me, love, 'tis none. I would die for thee, but I cannot plead; My haughty heart disdains it, even for thee.-- Still silent! Will the king of Portugal Go to his death like a dumb sacrifice? Beg him to save my life in saving thine. _Seb._ Farewell; my life's not worth another word. _Emp._ [_To the Guards._] Perform your orders. _Alm._ Stay, take my farewell too! Farewell the greatness of Almeyda's soul!-- Look, tyrant, what excess of love can do; It pulls me down thus low as to thy feet; [_Kneels to him._ Nay, to embrace thy knees with loathing hands, Which blister when they touch thee: Yet even thus, Thus far I can, to save Sebastian's life. _Emp._ A secret pleasure trickles through my veins: It works about the inlets of my soul, To feel thy touch, and pity tempts the pass: But the tough metal of my heart resists; 'Tis warmed with the soft fire, not melted down. _Alm._ A flood of scalding tears will make it run. Spare him, Oh spare! Can you pretend to love, And have no pity? Love and that are twins. Here will I grow; Thus compass you with these supplanting cords, And pull so long till the proud fabrick falls. _Emp._ Still kneel, and still embrace: 'Tis double pleasure, So to be hugged, and see Sebastian die.