D.  Arcos. All are according to your orders placed:  My chearful soldiers their intrenchments haste; The Murcian foot hath ta’en the upper ground, And now the city is beleaguered round.

K.  Ferd. Why is not then their leader here again?

D.  Arcos. The master of Alcantara is slain; But he, who slew him, here before you stands:  It is that Moor whom you behold in bands.

K.  Ferd. A braver man I had not in my host; His murderer shall not long his conquest boast:  But, Duke of Arcos, say, how was he slain?

D.  Arcos. Our soldiers marched together on the plain;
We two rode on, and left them far behind,
Till, coming where we found the valley wind,
We saw these Moors; who, swiftly as they could,
Ran on to gain the covert of a wood. 
This we observed; and, having crossed their way,
The lady, out of breath, was forced to stay: 
The man then stood, and straight his faulchion drew;
Then told us, we in vain did those pursue,
Whom their ill fortune to despair did drive,
And yet, whom we should never take alive. 
Neglecting this, the master straight spurred on;
But the active Moor his horse’s shock did shun,
And, ere his rider from his reach could go,
Finished the combat with one deadly blow. 
I, to revenge my friend, prepared to fight;
But now our foremost men were come in sight,
Who soon would have dispatched him on the place,
Had I not saved him from a death so base,
And brought him to attend your royal doom.

K.  Ferd. A manly face, and in his age’s bloom; But, to content the soldiers, he must die:  Go, see him executed instantly.

Q.  Isabel. Stay; I would learn his name before he go:  You, Prince Abdalla, may the prisoner know.

Abdal. Ozmyn’s his name, and he deserves his fate;
His father heads the faction which I hate: 
But much I wonder, that with him I see
The daughter of his mortal enemy.

Benz. ’Tis true, by Ozmyn’s sword my brother fell;
But ’twas a death he merited too well. 
I know a sister should excuse his fault;
But you know too, that Ozmyn’s death he sought,

Abdal. Our prophet has declared, by the event,
That Ozmyn is reserved for punishment;
For, when he thought his guilt from danger clear,
He, by new crimes, is brought to suffer here.

Benz. In love, or pity, if a crime you find, We two have sinned above all human kind.

Ozm. Heaven in my punishment has done a grace;
I could not suffer, in a better place: 
That I should die by Christians it thought good,
To save your father’s guilt, who sought my blood. [To her.

Benz. Fate aims so many blows to make us fall,
That ’tis in vain to think to ward them all: 
And, where misfortunes great and many are,
Life grows a burden, and not worth our care.