_Qu. Elvira_ saw the King enter her Lodgings, With Lover's haste, and Joy.
_Alon_. Her Lodgings!--when?
_Qu_. Now, not an Hour ago, Now, since the Moor departed.
_Alon_. Damnation on her! can she be thus false?
Come, lead me to the Lodgings of this Strumpet, And make me see this truth, [_To_ Elvira.
Or I will leave thee dead, for thus abusing me.
_Qu_. Nay, dear _Alonzo_, do not go inrag'd, Stay till your Temper wears a calmer look; That if, by chance, you shou'd behold the Wantons, In little harmless Dalliance, such as Lovers (Aided with Silence, and the shades of Night) May possibly commit, You may not do that which you may repent of.
_Alon_. Gods! should I play the Pander!
And with my Patience, aid the amorous Sin-- No, I shall scarce have so much Tameness left, To mind me of my Duty to my King.
Ye Gods! behold the Sacrifice I make To my lost Honour: behold, and aid my Justice.
[_Ex_. Alon.
_Qu_. It will concern me too to see this Wonder, For yet I scarce can credit it.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE III. Florella's _Lodgings_.
_Enter the_ King, _leading in_ Florella _all in fear_.
_Flor_. Ah, Sir, the Gods and you would be more merciful, If by a Death less cruel than my Fears, You would preserve my Honour; begin it quickly, And after that I will retain my Duty, And at your Feet breathe Thanks in dying Sighs.
_King_. Where learnt you, Fairest, so much Cruelty To charge me with the Power of injuring thee?
Not from my Eyes, where Love and Languishment Too sensibly inform thee of my Heart.
_Flor_. Call it not Injury, Sir, to free my Soul From fears which such a Visit must create, In dead of Night, when nought but frightful Ghosts Of restless Souls departed walk the Round.
_King_. That fleeting thing am I, whom all Repose, All Joys, and every good of Life abandon'd, That fatal Hour thou gavest thy self away; And I was doom'd to endless Desperation: Yet whilst I liv'd, all glorious with my hopes, Some sacred Treasures in thy Breast I hid, And near thee still my greedy Soul will hover.
_Flor_. Ah, rather like a Ravisher you come, With Love and Fierceness in your dangerous Eyes; And both will equally be fatal to me.
_King_. Oh, do not fear me, as the fair _Lucretia_ Did the fierce Roman Youth; I mean no Rapes, Thou canst not think that I wou'd force those Joys, Which cease to be so, when compell'd, _Florella_-- No, I would sooner pierce this faithful Heart, Whose Flame appears too criminal for your Mercy.
_Flor_. Why do you fright me, Sir? methinks your Looks All pale, your Eyes thus fixt, and trembling Hands, The awful Horror of the dark and silent Night, Strike a cold Terror round my fainting Heart, That does presage some fatal Accident.
_King_. 'Tis in your cruel Eyes the Danger lies-- Wou'd you receive me with that usual Tenderness, Which did express it self in every Smile, I should dismiss tin's Horror from my Face, And place again its native Calmness there; And all my Veins shall re-assume their Heat, And with a new and grateful Ardour beat.
_Flor_. Sir, all my Soul is taken up with fear, And you advance your Fate, by staying here-- Fly, fly, this place of Death--if _Abdelazer_ Shou'd find you here--all the Divinity About your sacred Person could not guard you.
_King_. Ah, my _Florella_, cease thy needless Fear, And in thy Soul let nothing reign but Love; Love, that with soft Desires may fill thy Eyes, And save thy Tongue the pain t' instruct my Heart, In the most grateful Knowledge Heaven can give me.
_Flor_. That Knowledge, Sir, wou'd make us both more wretched, Since you, I know, wou'd still be wishing on, And I shou'd grant, till we were both undone.
And, Sir, how little she were worth your care, Cou'd part with all her honourable Fame, For an inglorious Life--short and despis'd--
_King_. Canst thou believe a Flame thy Eyes have kindled, Can urge me to an infamous pursuit?-- No, my _Florella_, I adore thy Virtue, And none profane those Shrines, to whom they offer; --Say but thou lov'st--and I thus low will bow-- [_Kneels_.
And sue to thee, to be my Sovereign Queen?
I'll circle thy bright Forehead with the Crowns Of _Castile, Portugal_, and _Arragon_; And all those petty Kingdoms, which do bow Their Tributary Knees to thy Adorer.
_Flor_. Ah, Sir! have you forgot my sacred Vow?
All that I am, is _Abdelazer's_ now.
_King_. By Heav'n, it was a sacrilegious Theft; But I the Treasure from his Breast will tear, And reach his Heart, though thou art seated there.
_Flor_. A Deed like that my Virtue wou'd undo, And leave a Stain upon your Glories too; A Sin, that wou'd my Hate, not Passion move; I owe a Duty, where I cannot love.
_King_. Thou think'st it then no Sin to kill thy King; For I must die, without thy Love, _Florella_.
_Flor_. How tamely, Sir, you with the Serpent play, Whose fatal Poison must your Life betray; And though a King, cannot divine your Fate; Kings only differ from the Gods in that.-- See, Sir, with this--I am your Murderer made; [_Holds up a Dagger_.
By those we love, we soonest are betray'd.
_King_. How! can that fair Hand acquaint it self with Death?
--What wilt thou do, _Florella_?
_Flor_. Your Destiny divert, And give my Heart those Wounds design'd for yours.
--If you advance, I'll give the deadly Blow.
_King_. Hold!--I command thee hold thy impious Hand, My Heart dwells there, and if you strike--I die.
_Enter_ Queen, Alonzo, _and_ Elvira.
_Qu. Florella_! arm'd against the King?
[_Snatches the Dagger and stabs her: the_ King _rises_.
Oh Traitress!
_King_. Hold, hold, inhuman Murdress; What hast thou done, most barbarous of thy Sex!
[_Takes_ Flor. _in his Arms_.
_Qu_. Destroy'd thy Murdress,--and my too fair Rival. [_Aside_.
_King_. My Murdress!--what Devil did inspire thee With Thoughts so black and sinful? cou'd this fair Saint Be guilty of a Murder?--No, no, too cruel Mother, With her Eyes, her charming lovely Eyes, She might have kill'd, and her too virtuous Cruelty.
--Oh my _Florella_! Sacred lovely Creature!
_Flor_. My Death was kind, since it prevented yours, And by that Hand, which sav'd mine from a Guilt.
[_Points to the_ Queen.
--That Dagger I receiv'd of _Abdelazer_, To stab that Heart,--he said, that lov'd me best; But I design'd to overcome your Passion, And then to have vanquish'd _Abdelazer's_ Jealousy: But finding you too faithful to be happy, I did resolve to die--and have my wish.
--Farewel--my King--my Soul begins its flight, --And now--is hovering--in eternal--Night.
[Dies.
_King_. She's gone--she's gone--her sacred Soul is fled To that Divinity, of which it is a part; Too excellent to inhabit Earthly Bodies.
_Alon_. Oh, Sir, you grieve too much, for one so foul.
_King_. What profane Breath was that pronounc'd her foul?
Thy Mother's Soul, though turn'd into a Cherubim, Was black to hers--Oh, she was all divine.