Lyndar. Blind man!  I knew the weakness of the place: 
It was my plot to do your arms this grace. 
Had not my care of your renown been great,
I loved enough to offer you to treat. 
She, who is loved, must little lets create;
But you bold lovers are to force your fate. 
This force, you used, my maiden blush will save;
You seemed to take, what secretly I gave. 
I knew we must be conquered; but I knew
What confidence I might repose in you. 
I knew, you were too grateful to expose
My friends, and soldiers, to be used like foes.

Abdelm. Well, though I love you not, their lives shall be
Spared out of pity and humanity.—­
Alferez, [To a Soldier.] go, and let the slaughter cease.
                                                  [Exit the Alferez.

Lyndar. Then must I to your pity owe my peace?  Is that the tenderest term you can afford?  Time was, you would have used another word.

Abdelm. Then, for your beauty I your soldiers spare:  For, though I do not love you, you are fair.

Lyndar. That little beauty why did heaven impart,
To please your eyes, but not to move your heart! 
I’ll shroud this gorgon from all human view,
And own no beauty, since it charms not you! 
Reverse your orders, and your sentence give;
My soldiers shall not from my beauty live.

Abdelm. Then, from your friendship they their lives shall gain; Tho’ love be dead, yet friendship does remain.

Lyndar. That friendship, which from withered love does shoot,
Like the faint herbage on a rock, wants root. 
Love is a tender amity, refined: 
Grafted on friendship it exalts the kind. 
But when the graff no longer does remain,
The dull stock lives, but never bears again.

Abdelm. Then, that my friendship may not doubtful prove,—­
Fool that I am to tell you so!—­I love. 
You would extort this knowledge from my breast,
And tortured me so long that I confest. 
Now I expect to suffer for my sin;
My monarchy must end, and yours begin.

Lyndar. Confess not love, but spare yourself that shame,
And call your passion by some other name. 
Call this assault, your malice, or your hate;
Love owns no acts so disproportionate. 
Love never taught this insolence you shew,
To treat your mistress like a conquered foe. 
Is this the obedience which my heart should move! 
This usage looks more like a rape than love.

Abdelm. What proof of duty would you I should give?

Lyndar. ’Tis grace enough to let my subjects live! 
Let your rude soldiers keep possession still;
Spoil, rifle, pillage,—­any thing but kill. 
In short, sir, use your fortune as you please;
Secure my castle, and my person seize;
Let your true men my rebels hence remove;
I shall dream on, and think ’tis all your love!