--_Alonzo_, was it thou?--her Brother!
_Alon_. When she was good, I own'd that Title, Sir.
_King_. Good!--by all the Gods, she was as chaste as Vestals, As Saints translated to Divine Abodes.
I offer'd her to be my Queen, _Alonzo_, To share the growing Glories of my Youth; But uncorrupted she my Crown contemn'd, And on her Virtue's Guard stood thus defended.
[Alon. _weeps_.
--Oh my _Florella_! let me here lie fix'd, [_Kneels_.
And never rise, till I am cold and pale As thou, fair Saint, art now--But sure She cou'd not die;--that noble generous Heart, That arm'd with Love and Honour, did rebate All the fierce Sieges of my amorous Flame, Might sure defend it self against those Wounds Given by a Woman's Hand,--or rather 'twas a Devil's.
[_Rises_.
--What dost thou merit for this Treachery?
Thou vilest of thy Sex-- But thou'rt a thing I have miscall'd a Mother, And therefore will not touch thee--live to suffer By a more shameful way;--but here she lies, Whom I, though dead, must still adore as living.
_Alon_. Sir, pray retire, there's danger in your stay; When I reflect upon this Night's Disorder, And the Queen's Art to raise my Jealousy; And after that my Sister's being murder'd, I must believe there is some deeper Plot, Something design'd against your sacred Person.
_King. Alonzo_, raise the Court, I'll find it, [_Ex_. Alonzo.
Tho 'twere hid within my Mother's Soul.
_Qu_. My gentle Son, pardon my kind mistake, I did believe her arm'd against thy Life.
_King_. Peace, Fury! Not ill boding Raven Shrieks, Nor midnight Cries of murder'd Ghosts, are more Ungrateful, than thy faint and dull Excuses.
--Be gone! and trouble not the silent Griefs, Which will insensibly decay my Life, Till like a Marble Statue I am fixt, Dropping continual Tears upon her Tomb.
[_Kneels and--weeps at_ Florella's _Feet_.
_Abd. [Within]_. Guard all the Chamber-Doors--Fire and Confusion Consume the _Spanish_ Dogs--was I for this Sent to fetch back a _Philip_, and a Cardinal, To have my Wife abus'd?
_Enter_ Abdelazer.
_Qu_. Patience, dear _Abdelazer_.
_Abd_. Patience and I am Foes: where's my _Florella_?
The King! and in _Florella's_ Bed-Chamber!
_Florella_ dead too!-- Rise, thou eternal Author of my Shame; Gay thing--to you I speak, [King _rises_.
And thus throw off Allegiance.
_Qu_. Oh, stay your Fury, generous _Abdelazer_.
_Abd_. Away, fond Woman.
[_Throws her from him_.
_King_. Villain, to me this Language?
_Abd_. To thee, young amorous King.
How at this dead and silent time of Night, Durst you approach the Lodgings of my Wife?
_King_. I scorn to answer thee.
_Abd_. I'll search it in thy Heart then.
[_They fight_, Queen _and_ Elv. _run out crying Treason_.
_King_. The Devil's not yet ready for his Soul, And will not claim his due.--Oh, I am wounded. [_Falls_.
_Abd_. No doubt on't, Sir, these are no Wounds of Love.
_King_. Whate'er they be, you might have spar'd 'em now, Since those _Florella_ give me were sufficient: --And yet a little longer, fixing thus Thou'dst seen me turn to Earth, without thy aid.
_Florella!--Florella!_--is thy Soul fled so far It cannot answer me, and call me on?
And yet like dying Ecchoes in my Ears, I hear thee cry, my Love--I come--I come, fair Soul.
--Thus at thy Feet--my Heart shall bleeding--lie.
Who since it liv'd for thee--for thee--will die. [_Dies_.
_Abd_. So--thou art gone--there was a King but now, And now a senseless, dull, and breathless nothing.
[_A noise of fighting without_.
_Enter_ Queen _running_.
_Qu_. Oh Heavens! my Son--the King, the King is kill'd!-- Yet I must save his Murderer:--Fly, my Moor;
_Alonzo_, Sir, assisted by some Friends, Has set upon your Guards, And with resistless Fury is making hither.
_Abd_. Let him come on.
_Enter Alonzo and others, led in by Osmin, Zarrack, and Moors_.
Oh, are you fast?
[_Takes away their Swords_.
_Alon_. What mean'st thou, Villain?
_Abd_. To put your Swords to better uses, Sir, Than to defend the cause of Ravishers.
_Alon_. Oh Heavens, the King is murder'd!
_Abd_. Look on that Object, Thy Sister and my Wife, who's doubly murder'd, First in her spotless Honour, then her Life.
_Alon_. Heaven is more guilty than the King in this.
_Qu_. My Lords, be calm; and since your King is murder'd.
Think of your own dear Safeties; chuse a new King, That may defend you from the Tyrant's Rage.
_Alon_. Who should we chuse? Prince _Philip_ is our King.
_Abd_. By Heaven, but _Philip_ shall not be my King; _Philip's_ a Bastard, and Traytor to his Country: He braves us with an Army at our Walls, Threatning the Kingdom with a fatal Ruin.
And who shall lead you forth to Conquest now, But _Abdelazer_, whose Sword reap'd Victory, As oft as 'twas unsheath'd?--and all for _Spain_ --How many Laurels has this Head adorn'd?
Witness the many Battles I have won; In which I've emptied all my youthful Veins!-- And all for _Spain!_--ungrateful of my Favours!
--I do not boast my Birth, Nor will not urge to you my Kingdom's Ruin; But loss of Blood, and numerous Wounds receiv'd-- And still for _Spain!_-- And can you think, that after all my Toils, I wou'd be still a Slave?--to Bastard _Philip_ too?
That dangerous Foe, who with the Cardinal, Threatens with Fire and Sword.--I'll quench those Flames, Such an esteem I still preserve for _Spain_.
_Alon_. What means this long Harangue? what does it aim at?
_Abd_. To be Protector of the Crown of _Spain_, Till we agree about a lawful Successor.