Q.  Isabel. Fear not your love should find so sad success,
While I have power to be your patroness. 
I am her parent now, and may command
So much of duty as to give her hand. [Gives him ALMAHIDE’S hand.

Almah. Madam, I never can dispute your power,
Or as a parent, or a conqueror;
But, when my year of widowhood expires,
Shall yield to your command, and his desires.

Almanz. Move swiftly, sun, and fly a lover’s pace; Leave weeks and months behind thee in thy race!

K.  Ferd. Mean time, you shall my victories pursue, The Moors in woods and mountains to subdue.

Almanz. The toils of war shall help to wear each day,
And dreams of love shall drive my nights away.—­
Our banners to the Alhambra’s turrets bear;
Then, wave our conquering crosses in the air,
And cry, with shouts of triumph,—­Live and reign,
Great Ferdinand and Isabel of Spain! [Exeunt.

EPILOGUE.

  They, who have best succeeded on the stage,
  Have still conformed their genius to their age. 
  Thus Jonson did mechanic humour show,
  When men were dull, and conversation low. 
  Then comedy was faultless, but ’twas coarse: 
  Cobb’s tankard was a jest, and Otter’s horse[1]. 
  And, as their comedy, their love was mean;
  Except, by chance, in some one laboured scene,
  Which must atone for an ill-written play. 
  They rose, but at their height could seldom stay. 
  Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped;
  And they have kept it since, by being dead. 
  But, were they now to write, when critics weigh
  Each line, and every word, throughout a play,
  None of them, no not Jonson in his height,
  Could pass, without allowing grains for weight. 
  Think it not envy, that these truths are told;
  Our poet’s not malicious, though he’s bold. 
  ’Tis not to brand them, that their faults are shown,
  But, by their errors, to excuse his own. 
  If love and honour now are higher raised,
  ’Tis not the poet, but the age is praised. 
  Wit’s now arrived to a more high degree;
  Our native language more refined and free. 
  Our ladies and our men now speak more wit
  In conversation, than those poets writ. 
  Then, one of these is, consequently, true;
  That what this poet writes comes short of you,
  And imitates you ill (which most he fears),
  Or else his writing is not worse than theirs. 
  Yet, though you judge (as sure the critics will),
  That some before him writ with greater skill,
  In this one praise he has their fame surpast,
  To please an age more gallant than the last.

Footnote: 
1.  The characters alluded to are Cobb, the water bearer, in “Every Man
   in his Humour;” and Captain Otter, in “Epicene, or the Silent
   Woman,” whose humour it was to christen his drinking cups by the
   names of Horse, Bull, and Bear.]