Almah. Can you think this, and would you go away?

Almanz. What recompence attends me, if I stay?

Almah. You know I am from recompence debarred,
But I will grant your merit a reward;
Your flame’s too noble to deserve a cheat,
And I too plain to practise a deceit. 
I no return of love can ever make,
But what I ask is for my husband’s sake;
He, I confess, has been ungrateful too,
But he and I are ruined if you go: 
Your virtue to the hardest proof I bring;—­
Unbribed, preserve a mistress and a king.

Almanz. I’ll stop at nothing that appears so brave: 
I’ll do’t, and now I no reward will have. 
You’ve given my honour such an ample field,
That I may die, but that shall never yield. 
Spite of myself I’ll stay, fight, love, despair;
And I can do all this, because I dare. 
Yet I may own one suit—­
That scarf, which, since by you it has been borne,
Is blessed, like relicks which by saints were worn.

Almah. Presents like this my virtue durst not make, But that ’tis given you for my husband’s sake. [Gives the scarf.

Almanz. This scarf to honourable rags I’ll wear,
As conquering soldiers tattered ensigns bear;
But oh, how much my fortune I despise,
Which gives me conquest, while she love denies! [Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I.—­The Alhambra.

  Enter ALMAHIDE and ESPERANZA.

Esper. Affected modesty has much of pride;
That scarf he begged, you could not have denied;
Nor does it shock the virtue of a wife,
When given that man, to whom you owe your life.

Almah. Heaven knows, from all intent of ill ’twas free,
Yet it may feed my husband’s jealousy;
And for that cause I wish it were not done.

  To them BOABDELIN, and walks apart.

See, where he comes, all pensive and alone;
A gloomy fury has o’erspread his face: 
’Tis so! and all my fears are come to pass.

Boab. Marriage, thou curse of love, and snare of life, [Aside
That first debased a mistress to a wife! 
Love, like a scene, at distance should appear,
But marriage views the gross-daubed landscape near. 
Love’s nauseous cure! thou cloyest whom thou should’st please;
And, when thou cur’st, then thou art the disease. 
When hearts are loose, thy chain our bodies ties;
Love couples friends, but marriage enemies. 
If love like mine continues after thee,
’Tis soon made sour, and turned by jealousy;
No sign of love in jealous men remains,
But that which sick men have of life—­their pains.

Almah. Has my dear lord some new affliction had? [Walking to him. Have I done any thing that makes him sad?

Boab. You! nothing:  You!  But let me walk alone.