_Rod_. How, Sir!--
_Abd_. Thou dar'st not sure pretend to any Virtue; Had Hell inspir'd thee with less Excellency Than Arts of killing Kings, thou'dst ne'er been rais'd To that exalted Height, t' have known my Secrets.
_Rod_. But, Sir--
_Abd_. Slave, look back upon the Wretchedness I took thee from; What Merits had thou to deserve my Bounty, But Vice, brave prosperous Vice?
Thou'rt neither wise, nor valiant.
_Rod_. I own my self that Creature rais'd by you, And live but to repay you, name the way.
_Abd_. My business is--to have the Queen remov'd; She does expect my coming this very Hour; And when she does so, 'tis her Custom to be retir'd, Dismissing all attendance, but _Elvira_.
_Rod_. The rest I need not be instructed in.
[_Ex_. Rod.
_Enter_ Osmin.
_Osm_. The Cardinal, Sir, is close confin'd with _Philip_.
_Abd_. 'Tis well.
_Osm_. And do you think it fit, Sir, they shou'd live?
_Abd_. No, this day they both must die, some sort of Death, That may be thought was given them by themselves: I'm sure I give them cause--_Osmin_, view well this Ring; Whoever brings this Token to your Hands, Without considering Sex, or Quality, Let 'em be kill'd.
_Osm_. Your Will shall be obey'd in every thing.
[_Exeunt severally_.
SCENE II. _A fine Chamber. A Table and Chair_.
_Enter_ Queen _and_ Elvira.
_Qu. Elvira_, hast thou drest my Lodgings up, Fit to receive my Moor?
Are they all gay, as Altars, when some Monarch Is there to offer up rich Sacrifices?
Hast thou strew'd all the Floor his Feet must press, With the soft new-born Beauties of the Spring?
_Elv_. Madam, I've done as you commanded me.
_Qu_. Let all the Chambers too be fill'd with Lights; There's a Solemnity methinks in Night, That does insinuate Love into the Soul, And make the bashful Lover more assur'd.
_Elv_. Madam, You speak as if this were your first Enjoyment.
_Qu_. My first! Oh _Elvira_, his Power, like his Charms, His Wit, or Bravery, every hour renews; Love gathers Sweets like Flow'rs, which grow more fragrant, The nearer they approach Maturity.
[_Knock_.
--Hark! 'tis my Moor,--give him admittance strait, The Thought comes o'er me like a gentle Gale, Raising my Blood into a thousand Curls.
_Elv_. Madam, it is a Priest--
_Qu_. A Priest! Oh, send him quickly hence; I wou'd not have so cold and dull an Object, Meet with my nobler Sense, 'tis mortifying.
_Elv_. Perhaps 'tis some Petition from the Cardinal.
_Qu_. Why, what have I to do with Priest or Cardinal?
Let him not enter--
[Elv. _goes out, and returns with_ Roderigo _drest like a Fryar_.
_Elv_. From _Abdelazer_, Madam.
_Qu_. H'as named a Word will make all Places free.
_Rod_. Madam, be pleas'd to send your Woman hence, I've something to deliver from the Moor, Which you alone must be acquainted with.
_Qu_. Well, your Formality shall be allowed--retire-- [_To_ Elv. _Exit_ Elv.
What have you to deliver to me now?
_Rod_. This--
[_Shews a Dagger, and takes her roughly by the Hands_.
_Qu_. Hah!--
_Rod_. You must not call for help, unless to Heaven.
_Qu_. What daring thing art thou?
_Rod_. One that has now no time to answer thee.
[_Stabs her, she struggles, her Arm bleeds_.
_Qu_. Oh, hold thy killing Hand! I am thy Queen.
_Rod_. Thou may'st be Devil too, for ought I know; I'll try thy Substance thus-- [_Stabs again_.
_Qu_. Oh, _Abdelazer_!-- Thou hast well reveng'd me--on my Sins of Love;-- [_He seats her in the Chair_.
But shall I die thus tamely unrcveng'd?
--Help--murder--help-- [_He offers to stab again_.
_Enter_ Elvira, _and other Women_.
_Elv_. Oh Heavens! the Queen is murder'd--help the Queen!
[Rod. _offers to stab_ Elv.
_Enter_ Abdelazer.
_Abd_. Hah! the Queen! what sacrilegious Hand, Or Heart so brutal-- Durst thus profane the Shrine ador'd by me?