Boab. You guess aright; I am oppressed with grief,
And ’tis from you that I must seek relief. [To the company.
Leave us; to sorrow there’s a reverence due: 
Sad kings, like suns eclipsed, withdraw from view.
                       [The Attendants go off, and chairs are set for
                        the King and Queen.

Almah. So, two kind turtles, when a storm is nigh,
Look up, and see it gathering in the sky: 
Each calls his mate, to shelter in the groves,
Leaving, in murmur, their unfinished loves: 
Perched on some drooping branch, they sit alone,
And coo, and hearken to each other’s moan.

Boab. Since, Almahide, you seem so kind a wife,
                                            [Taking her by the hand.
What would you do to save a husband’s life?

Almah. When fate calls on that hard necessity, I’ll suffer death, rather than you shall die.

Boab. Suppose your country should in danger be; What would you undertake to set it free?

Almah. It were too little to resign my breath:  My own free hand should give me nobler death.

Boab. That hand, which would so much for glory do, Must yet do more; for it must kill me too.  You must kill me, for that dear country’s sake; Or, what’s all one, must call Almanzor back.

Almah. I see to what your speech you now direct;
Either my love or virtue you suspect. 
But know, that, when my person I resigned,
I was too noble not to give my mind. 
No more the shadow of Almanzor fear;
I have no room, but for your image, here.

Boab. This, Almahide, would make me cease to mourn,
Were that Almanzor never to return: 
But now my fearful people mutiny;
Their clamours call Almanzor back, not I.
Their safety, through my ruin, I pursue;
He must return, and must be brought by you.

Almah. That hour, when I my faith to you did plight,
I banished him for ever from my sight. 
His banishment was to my virtue due;
Not that I feared him for myself, but you. 
My honour had preserved me innocent: 
But I would, your suspicion to prevent;
Which, since I see augmented in your mind,
I yet more reason for his exile find.

Boab. To your entreaties he will yield alone. 
And on your doom depend my life and throne. 
No longer, therefore, my desires withstand;
Or, if desires prevail not, my command.

Almah. In his return, too sadly I foresee
The effects of your returning jealousy. 
But your command I prize above my life;
’Tis sacred to a subject and a wife: 
If I have power, Almanzor shall return.

Boab. Cursed be that fatal hour when I was born!
                              [Letting go her hand, and starting up.
You love, you love him; and that love reveal,
By your too quick consent to his repeal. 
My jealousy had but too just a ground;
And now you stab into my former wound.