Aben. You must be driven where you refuse to go; And taught, by force, your happiness to know.

Almah. To force me, sir, is much unworthy you,
                                                [Smiling scornfully.
And, when you would, impossible to do. 
If force could bend me, you might think, with shame,
That I debase the blood from whence I came. 
My soul is soft, which you may gently lay
In your loose palm; but, when ’tis pressed to stay,
Like water, it deludes your grasp, and slips away.

Boab. I find I must revoke what I decreed: 
Almanzor’s death my nuptials must precede. 
Love is a magic which the lover ties;
But charms still end when the magician dies. 
Go; let me hear my hated rival’s dead; [To his Guard.
And, to convince my eyes, bring back his head.

Almah. Go on:  I wish no other way to prove
That I am worthy of Almanzor’s love. 
We will in death, at least, united be: 
I’ll shew you I can die as well as he.

Boab. What should I do! when equally I dread
Almanzor living and Almanzor dead!—­
Yet, by your promise, you are mine alone.

Almah. How dare you claim my faith, and break your own?

Aben. This for your virtue is a weak defence: 
No second vows can with your first dispense. 
Yet, since the king did to Almanzor swear,
And in his death ungrateful may appear,
He ought, in justice, first to spare his life,
And then to claim your promise as his wife.

Almah. Whate’er my secret inclinations be,
To this, since honour ties me, I agree: 
Yet I declare, and to the world will own,
That, far from seeking, I would shun the throne. 
And with Almanzor lead a humble life: 
There is a private greatness in his wife.

Boab. That little love I have, I hardly buy;
You give my rival all, while you deny: 
Yet, Almahide, to let you see your power,
Your loved Almanzor shall be free this hour. 
You are obeyed; but ’tis so great a grace,
That I could wish me in my rival’s place.
                                        [Exeunt KING and ABENAMAR.

Almah. How blessed was I before this fatal day,
When all I knew of love, was to obey! 
’Twas life becalmed, without a gentle breath;
Though not so cold, yet motionless as death. 
A heavy quiet state; but love, all strife,
All rapid, is the hurricane of life. 
Had love not shewn me, I had never seen
An excellence beyond Boabdelin. 
I had not, aiming higher, lost my rest;
But with a vulgar good been dully blest: 
But, in Almanzor, having seen what’s rare,
Now I have learnt too sharply to compare;
And, like a favourite quickly in disgrace,
Just knew the value ere I lost the place.

To her ALMANZOR, bound and guarded.