Aben. Since blind opinion does their reason sway,
You must submit to cure them their own way. 
You to their fancies physic must apply;
Give them that chief on whom they most rely. 
Under Almanzor prosperously they fought;
Almanzor, therefore, must with prayers be brought.

  Enter a second Messenger.

2 Mess. Haste all you can their fury to assuage:  You are not safe from their rebellious rage.

  Enter a third Messenger.

3 Mess. This minute, if you grant not their desire, They’ll seize your person, and your palace fire.

Abdelm. Your danger, sir, admits of no delay.

Boab. In tumults people reign, and kings obey.—­
Go and appease them with the vow I make,
That they shall have their loved Almanzor back. [Exit ABDEL. 
Almanzor has the ascendant o’er my fate;
I’m forced to stoop to one I fear and hate: 
Disgraced, distressed, in exile, and alone,
He’s greater than a monarch on his throne: 
Without a realm, a royalty he gains;
Kings are the subjects over whom he reigns.
                                    [A shout of acclamations within.

Aben. These shouts proclaim the people satisfied.

Boab. We for another tempest must provide. 
To promise his return as I was loth,
So I want power now to perform my oath. 
Ere this, for Afric he is sailed from Spain.

Aben. The adverse winds his passage yet detain; I heard, last night, his equipage did stay At a small village, short of Malaga.

Boab. Abenamar, this evening thither haste;
Desire him to forget his usage past: 
Use all your rhetoric, promise, flatter, pray.

  To them ALMAHIDE, attended.

Aben. Good fortune shows you yet a surer way:  Nor prayers nor promises his mind will move; ’Tis inaccessible to all, but love.

Boab. Oh, thou hast roused a thought within my breast,
That will for ever rob me of my rest. 
Ah jealousy, how cruel is thy sting! 
I, in Almanzor, a loved rival bring! 
And now, I think, it is an equal strife,
If I my crown should hazard, or my wife. 
Where, marriage, is thy cure, which husbands boast,
That in possession their desire is lost? 
Or why have I alone that wretched taste,
Which, gorged and glutted, does with hunger last? 
Custom and duty cannot set me free,
Even sin itself has not a charm for me. 
Of married lovers I am sure the first,
And nothing but a king could be so curst.

Almah. What sadness sits upon your royal heart? 
Have you a grief, and must not I have part? 
All creatures else a time of love possess;
Man only clogs with cares his happiness: 
And, while he should enjoy his part of bliss,
With thoughts of what may be, destroys what is.