Dor. Thou know'st I have;

If thou disown'st that imputation, draw,
And prove my charge a lie.

Seb. No; to disprove that lie, I must not
draw:

Be conscious to thy worth, and tell thy soul What thou hast done this day in my defence: To fight thee after this, what were it else, Than owning that ingratitude thou urgest? That isthmus stands betwixt two rushing seas, Which, mounting, view each other from afar, And strive in vain to meet.

Dor. I'll cut that isthmus. Thou know'st I meant not to preserve thy life, But to reprieve it, for my own revenge. I sav'd thee out of honourable malice: Now draw; I should be loth to think thou dar'st not:

Beware of such another vile excuse.

Seb. O patience, heaven!

Dor. Beware of patience too;
That's a suspicious word; it had been proper
Before thy foot had spurn'd me; now 'tis base.
Yet, to disarm thee of thy last defence,
I have thy oath for my security:
The only boon I begg'd was this fair combat;
Fight or be perjur'd now; that's all thy choice.
Seb. [Drawing] Now I can thank thee as thou
would'st be thank'd;

Never was vow of honour better paid,
If my true sword but hold, than this shall be.
The sprightly bridegroom, on his wedding night,
More gladly enters not the lists of love.
Why 'tis enjoyment to be summon'd thus.
Go; bear my message to Henriquez' ghost,
And say his master and his friend reveng'd him.
Dor. His ghost! then is my hated rival dead?
Seb. The question is beside our present

pose;

Thou seest me ready; we delay too long.

Now, judge thyself, who best deserv'd my love.
I knew you both; and (durst I say) as heaven
Foreknew among the shining angel host
Who would stand firm, who fall.

Dor. Had he been tempted so, so had he
fallen;

And, so had I been favour'd, had I stood. Seb. What had been is unknown; what is ap pears;

Confess he justly was preferr'd to thee.

Dor. Had I been born with his indulgent
stars,

My fortune had been his, and his been mine.
O, worse than hell! what glory have I lost,
And what has he acquired, by such a death!
I should have fallen by Sebastian's side;
My corps had been the bulwark of my king.
His glorious end was a patch'd work of fate,
Ill sorted with a soft effeminate life;
It suited better with my life than his
So to have died; mine had been of a piece,
Spent in your service, dying at your feet.

Seb. The more effeminate and soft his life, The more his fame, to struggle to the field, And meet his glorious fate. Confess, proud spirit,

(For I will have it from thy very mouth) That better he deserv'd my love than thou. Dor. O, whither would you drive me! I

must grant,

Dor. A minute is not much in either's life, When there's but one betwixt us; throw it in, And give it him of us, who is to fall.

Seb. He's dead; make haste, and thou may'st yet o'ertake him.

Dor. When I was hasty, thou delay'dst me longer.

I prithee let me hedge one moment more
Into thy promise, for thy life preserv'd;
Be kind, and tell me how that rival died,
Whose death next thine I wish'd.

Seb. If it would please thee, thou should'st never know;

But thou, like jealousy, enquir'st a truth,
Which, found, will torture thee: He died in

fight;

Fought next my person; as in concert fought;
Kept pace for pace, and blow for every blow;
Save when he heav'd his shield in my defence,
And on his naked side receiv'd my wound.
Then, when he could no more, he fell at once;
But roll'd his falling body cross their way,
And made a bulwark of it for his prince.

Dor. I never can forgive him such a death!

Seb. [More calmly.] Thou might'st have given it a more gentle name: Thou meant'st to kill a tyrant, not a king; Speak, didst thou not, Alonzo?

Dor. Can I speak!

goodness;

It comes too fast upon a feeble soul, Half drown'd in tears before; spare my confusion;

For pity spare, and say not, first, you err'd. For yet I have not dar'd, through guilt and shame, [Falls at his feet. To throw myself beneath your royal feet. Now spurn this rebel, this proud renegade; 'Tis just you should, nor will I more complain. Seb. Indeed thou should'st not ask forgiveness first, [Taking him up. But thou prevent'st me still, in all that's noble; Yet I will raise thee up with better news: Thy Violante's heart was ever thine; Compell'd to wed, because she was my ward, Her soul was absent when she gave her hand: Nor could my threats, or his pursuing courtship, Effect the consummation of his love: So, still indulging tears, she pines for thee, A widow and a maid.

Dor. Have I been cursing heav'n, while heav'n blest me!

I shall run mad with extasy of joy;

To heaven, and to my king, and to my love!
But pity is my friend, and stops me short,
For my unhappy rival: poor Henriquez !
Seb. Art thou so generous too, to pity him?
Nay, then I was unjust to love him better,
[Embracing him.

Here let me ever hold thee in my arms:
And all our quarrels be but such as these,
Who shall love best, and closest shall embrace:
Be what Henriquez was; be my Alonzo.

Dor. What, my Alonzo said you? my Alonzo! Let my tears thank you; for I cannot speak: And if I could,

Words were not made to vent such thoughts as mine.

Seb. Thou canst not speak, and I can ne'er

be silent.

Some strange reverse of fate must sure attend
This vast profusion, this extravagance
Of heaven, to bless me thus. "Tis gold so pure,
It cannot bear the stamp, without allay.
Be kind, ye powers, and take but half away;
With ease the gifts of fortune I resign;
But let my love and friend be ever mine.

[Exeunt,

Such joy have I, both in myself and friends; And double joy, that I have made them happy. Ant. Pleasure has been the business of my life;

And every change of fortune easy to me,

Because I still was easy to myself.

The loss of her I lov'd would touch me nearest; Yet, if I found her, I might love too much;

And that's uneasy pleasure.

Dor. If she be fated

Save that one villain who betray'd the gate.
Our diligence prevented the surprise
We justly fear'd: so Muley-Zeydan found us
Drawn up in battle, to receive the charge.

Ant. But how the Moors and Christian slaves were join'd, You have not yet unfolded.

Dor. That remains.

We knew their interest was the same with ours:
And though I hated more than death, Sebastian,
I could not see him die by vulgar hands;
But, prompted by my angel, or by his,
Freed all the slaves, and plac'd him next myself,
Because I would not have his person known.
I need not tell the rest; th' event declares it.
Ant. Your conquest came of course; their

men were raw,

Predestinated ills are never lost.

Ant. I had forgot

To enquire before, but long to be inform❜d, How, poison'd and betray'd, and round beset, You could unwind yourself from all these

gers,

And move so speedily to our relief?

Who, known, had added courage to his men? Dor. I would not hazard civil broils, betwixt His friends and mine, which might prevent our

combat:

Dor. The double poisons, after a short combat, Expell'd each other in their civil war, By nature's benefit; and rous'd my thoughts To guard that life which now I found attack'd. I summon'd all my officers in haste, On whose experienc'd faith I might rely: All came; resolv'd to die in my defence,

VOL. I.

Ant. What manner of woman is she? Does she not want two of the four elements? has she any thing about her but air and fire?

Sero. Truly, she flies about the room, as if she had wings instead of legs; I believe she's just turning into a bird: a house-bird, I warrant her, and so hasty to fly to you, that, rather than fail of entrance, she would come tumbling down the chimney, like a swallow.

Enter MORAYMA.

Ant. [Running to her and embracing her.] Look if she be not here already: what, no denial, it seems, will serve your turn? why! thou little dun, is thy debt so pressing?

Mor. Little devil if you please: your lease is out, good Mr Conjurer; and I am come to fetch you, soul and body; not an hour of lewdness longer in this world for you.

Ant. Where the devil hast thou been? and how the devil didst thou find me here?

Mor. I follow'd you into the castle-yard: but there was nothing but tumult and confusion : and I was bodily afraid of being pick'd up by some of the rabble: considering I had a doublecharge about me—my jewels and my maidenhead.

Ant. Both of 'em intended for my worship's sole use and property.

Mor. And what was poor little I among 'em all? Ant. Not a mouthful a piece: 'twas too much odds in conscience.

Mor. So seeking for shelter, I naturally ran to the old place of assignation, the garden-house; where, for want of instinct, you did not follow me.

Ant. Well, for thy comfort, I have secur'd thy father; and I hope thou hast secur'd his effects for us.

Mor. Yes, truly,I had the prudent foresight to consider that, when we grow old, and weary of solacing one another, we might have, at least, wherewithal to make merry with the world; and take up with a worse pleasure of eating and drinking, when we were disabled for a better.

Ant. Thy fortune will be e'en too good for thee: for thou art going into the country of serenades and gallantries; where the street will be haunted every night with thy foolish lovers and my rivals; who will be sighing and singing under thy inexorable windows, lamentable ditties, and call thee cruel, and goddess, and moon, and stars, and all the poetical names of wicked rhyme: while thou and I are minding our business, and jogging on, and laughing at 'em at leisure minutes, which will be very few, take that by way of threatening.

Mor. I am afraid you are not very valiant, that you huff so much before-hand: but, they say, your churches are fine places for love-devotion: many a she-saint is there worshipp❜d.

Ant. Temples are there, as they are in all other countries, good conveniences for dumb interviews: I hear the protestants an't much reform'd in that point neither; for their sectaries

| call their churches by the natural name of meeting-houses. Therefore I warn thee in good time, not more of devotion than needs must, good future spouse, and always in a veil; for those eyes of thine are damn'd enemies to mortification.

Mor. The best thing I have heard of Christendom is, that we women are allow'd the privilege of having souls; and, I assure you, I shall make bold to bestow mine upon some lover, whenever you begin to go astray, and, if I find no convenience in a church, a private chamber will serve the turn.

Ant. When that day comes, I must take my revenge, and turn gardener again: for I find I am much given to planting.

Mor. But take heed, in the mean time, that some young Antonio does not spring up in your own family, as false as his father, though of another man's planting.

Re-enter DORAX, with SEBASTIAN and ALMEYDA; SEBASTIAN enters speaking to DoRAX, while in the mean time ANTONIO presents MORAYMA to ALMEYDA.

Seb. How fares our royal prisoner, Muley Zey. dan?

Dor. Dispos'd to grant whatever I desire, To gain a crown and freedom: well I know him,, Of easy temper, naturally good, And faithful to his word.

Seb. Yet one thing wants To fill the measure of my happiness : I'm still in pain for poor Alvarez' life. Dor. Release that fear; the good old man is safe:

I paid his ransom,

And have already order'd his attendance.
Seb. O bid him enter, for I long to see him.

Enter ALVAREZ with a Servant, who departs

Alv. knees.]

when ALVAREZ is entered. [Falling down and embracing the king's Now by my soul, and by these hoary hairs,

I am so o'erwhelm'd with pleasure, that I feel A latter spring within my with'ring limbs, That shoots me out again.

Seb. [Raising him.] Thou good old man! Thou hast deceiv'd me into more, more joys, Who stood brimful before.

Alv. O, my dear child!
(I love thee so, I cannot call thee king,)
Whom I so oft have dandled in these arms!
What, when I gave thee lost to find thee living!
'Tis like a father, who himself had scap'd
A falling house, and, after anxious search,
Hears from afar his only son within,
And digs through rubbish, till he drags him out
To see the friendly light.

Such is my haste, so trembling is my joy,
To draw thee forth from underneath thy fate.
Seb. The tempest is o'erblown; the skies are

clear,

And the sea charm'd into a calm so still,

Alo. The powers above

Be prais'd for that! My prayers for my good master I hope are heard.

Seb. Thou hast a right in heav'n;

But why these prayers for me?

Alv. A door is open yet for your delivʼrance. Now you, my countrymen, and you, Almeyda, Now all of us, and you (my all in one) May yet be happy in that captive's life.

Seb. We have him here an honourable hostage For terms of peace: what more he can contribute To make me blest, I know not.

Alv. Vastly more:

Almeyda may be settled in the throne,
And you review your native clime with fame:
A firm alliance, and eternal peace,
(The glorious crown of honourable war,)
Are all included in that prince's life:
Let this fair queen be giv'n to Muley-Zeydan,
And make her love the sanction of your league.
Seb. No more of that: his life's in my dispose,
And pris'ners are not to insist on terms;
Or, if they were, yet he demands not these.
Alv. You should exact 'em.
Alm. Better may be made;

These cannot I abhor the tyrant's race;
My parents' murderers, my throne's usurpers.
But, at one blow, to cut off all dispute,
Know this, thou busy, old, officious man,
I am a Christian; now be wise no more;
Or, if thou would'st be still thought wise, be silent.
Alv. O! I perceive you think your interest
touch'd;

'Tis what before the battle I observ'd:
But I must speak, and will.

Seb. I prithee, peace;

Perhaps she thinks they are too near of blood.
Alo. I wish she may not wed to blood more near.
Seb. What if I make her mine?
Alv. Now heav'n forbid!

Seb. Wish rather heav'n may grant:
For, if I could deserve, I have deserv'd her:
My toils, my hazards, and my subjects' lives,
(Provided she consent) may claim her love;
And, that once granted, I appeal to these,
If better I could chuse a beauteous bride.
Ant. The fairest of her sex.
Mor. The pride of nature.

Dor. He only merits her, she only him;
So pair'd, so suited in their minds and persons,
That they were fram'd the tallies for each other.
If any alien love had interpos'd,

It must have been an eye-sore to beholders,
And to themselves a curse.

lo. And to themselves,

Th greatest curse that can be were to join.
Seb. Did I not love thee past a change to hate,
That word had been thy ruin; but no more,
I charge thee on thy life, perverse old man!

Alv. Know, sir, I would be silent if I durst:
But, if on shipboard I should see my friend
Grown frantic in a raging calenture,
And he, imagining vain flowery fields,
Would headlong plunge himself into the deep,
Should I not hold him from that mad attempt,
Till his sick fancy were by reason cur'd?

Seb. I pardon thee th' effects of doting age; Vain doubts, and idle cares, and over-caution; The second nonage of a soul, more wise; But now decay'd, and sunk into the socket, Peeping by fits, and giving feeble light. Alv. Have you forgot?

Seb. Thou mean'st my father's will, In bar of marriage to Almeyda's bed: Thou seest my faculties are still entire, Tho' thine are much impair'd; I weigh'd that will, And found 'twas grounded on our diff'rent faiths; But, had he lived to see her happy change, He would have cancell'd that harsh interdict, And join'd our hands himself.

Alv. Still had he lived and seen this change, He still had been the same.

Seb. I have a dark remembrance of my father; His reasonings and his actions both were just; And, granting that, he must have chang'd his

measures.

Alv. Yes, he was just, and therefore could not change.

Seb. 'Tis a base wrong thou offer'st to the dead.
Alv. Now, heav'n forbid,

That I should blast his pious memory!
No, I am tender of his holy fame;
For, dying, he bequeath'd it to my charge.
Believe I am, and seek to know no more,
But pay a blind obedience to his will;
For, to preserve his fame, I would be silent.

Seb. Craz'd fool, who would'st be thought an

oracle,

Come down from off thy tripos, and speak plain!
My father shall be justified, he shall :
'Tis a son's part to rise in his defence,
And to confound thy malice, or thy dotage.

Alv. It does not grieve me that you hold me
craz❜d;

But, to be clear'd at my dead master's cost,
O there's the wound! but let me first adjure you,
By all you owe that dear departed soul,
No more to think of marriage with Almeyda.

Seb. Not heav'n and earth combin'd can hin-
der it.

Alv. Then, witness heav'n and earth, how
loth I am

To say, you must not, nay, you cannot wed.
And since not only a dead father's fame,
But more, a lady's honour must be touch'd,
Which, nice as ermines, will not bear a soil,
Let all retire, that you alone may hear
What ev'n in whispers I would tell your ear.
[All are going out.