_Abd_. Sir, I have done, and beg your royal Pardon.
_King_. Come, _Philip_, give him your Hand.
_Phil_. I can forgive without a Ceremony.
_King_. And to confirm ye Friends, I invite you all to Night to banquet with me; Pray see you give Attendance--Come, Brother, You must along with us.
[_Exeunt all but_ Abd. Queen _and Women_.
_Qu_. Leave me-- [_To the Women, who go out_.
Now my dear Moor.
_Abd_. Madam.
_Qu_. Why dost thou answer with that cold Reserve-- Is that a Look--an Action for a Lover?
_Abd_. Ah, Madam--
_Qu_. Have I not taken off thy Banishment?
Restor'd thee to thy former State and Honours?
Nay, and heap'd new ones too, too mighty for thy Hopes; And still to raise thee equal to this Heart, Where thou must ever reign.
_Abd_. 'Tis true, my bounteous Mistress, all this you've done-- But--
_Qu_. But what, my _Abdelazer_?
_Abd_. I will not call it to your Memory.
_Qu_. What canst thou mean?
_Abd_. Why was the King remov'd?
_Qu_. To make thy way more easy to my Arms.
_Abd_. Was that all?
_Qu_. All!
_Abd_. Not but it is a Blessing Gods would languish for-- But as you've made it free, so make it just.
_Qu_. Thou mean'st, marry thee.
_Abd_. No, by the Gods-- [_Aside_.
Not marry thee, unless I were a King.
_Qu_. What signifies the Name to him that rules one?
_Abd_. What use has he of Life, that cannot live Without a Ruler?
_Qu_. Thou wouldst not have me kill him.
_Abd_. Oh, by no means, not for my wretched Life!
What, kill a King!--forbid it, Heaven: Angels stand like his Guards about his Person.
The King!
Not so many Worlds as there be Stars Twinkling upon the embroider'd Firmament!
The King!
He loves my Wife _Florella_, shou'd he die-- I know none else durst love her.
_Qu_. And that's the Reason you wou'd send him hence.
_Abd_. I must confess, I wou'd not bear a wrong: But do not take me for a Villain, Madam; He is my King, and may do what he pleases.
_Qu_. 'Tis well, Sir.
_Abd_. Again that Frown, it renders thee more charming Than any other Dress thou could'st put on.
_Qu_. Away, you do not love me.
_Abd_. Now mayst thou hate me, if this be not pretty.
_Qu_. Oh, you can flatter finely--
_Abd_. Not I, by Heaven: Oh, that this Head were circled in a Crown, And I were King, by Fortune, as by Birth!
And that I was, till by thy Husband's Power I was divested in my Infancy-- Then you shou'd see, I do not flatter ye.
But I, instead of that, must see my Crown Bandy'd from Head to Head, and tamely see it: And in this wretched state I live, 'tis true; But with what Joy, you, if you lov'd, might guess.
_Qu_. We need no Crowns; Love best contented is In shady Groves, and humble Cottages, Where when 'twould sport, it safely may retreat, Free from the Noise and Danger of the Great; Where Victors are ambitious of no Bays, But what their Nymphs bestow on Holy-days; Nor Envy can the amorous Shepherd move, Unless against a Rival in his Love.
_Abd_. Love and Ambition are the same to me, In either I'll no Rivals brook.
_Qu_. Nor I: And when the King you urge me to remove, It may be from Ambition, not from Love.
_Abd_. Those Scruples did not in your Bosom dwell, When you a King did in a Husband kill.
_Qu_. How, Sir, dare you upbraid me with that Sin, To which your Perjuries first drew me in?
_Abd_. You interrupt my Sense; I only meant A Sacrifice to Love so well begun Shou'd not Devotion want to finish it; And if that stop to all our Joys were gone, The envying World wou'd to our Power submit: But Kings are sacred, and the Gods alone Their Crimes must judge, and punish too, or none-- Yet he alone destroys his Happiness.
_Qu_. There's yet one more--
_Abd_. One more! give me his Name, And I will turn it to a Magick Spell, To bind him ever fast.
_Qu. Florella_.
_Abd. Florella_! Oh, I cou'd gnaw my Chains That humble me so low as to adore her: [_Aside_.
But the fond Blaze must out--while I erect A nobler Fire more fit for my Ambition. --_Florella_ dies--a Victim to your Will.
I will not let you lose one single Wish, For a poor Life, or two; Tho I must see my Glories made a Prey, And not demand 'em from the Ravisher; Nor yet complain--because he is my King: But _Philip's_ Brow no sacred Ointment deifies, If he do wrong, stands fair for the Revenger.