Emp. She’s all that thou canst say, or I can think; But the perverseness of her clamourous tongue Strikes pity deaf.

Seb. Then only hear her eyes! 
Though they are mute, they plead; nay, more, command;
For beauteous eyes have arbitrary power. 
All females have prerogative of sex;
The she’s even of the savage herd are safe;
And when they snarl or bite, have no return
But courtship from the male.

Emp. Were she not she, and I not Muley-Moluch,
She’s mistress of inevitable charms,
For all but me; nor am I so exempt,
But that—­I know not what I was to say—­
But I am too obnoxious to my friends,
And swayed by your advice.

Seb. Sir, I advised not; By heaven, I never counselled love, but pity.

Emp. By heaven thou didst; deny it not, thou didst: 
For what was all that prodigality
Of praise, but to inflame me?

Seb. Sir—­

Emp. No more; Thou hast convinced me that she’s worth my love.

Seb. Was ever man so ruined by himself? [Aside.

Alm. Thy love!  That odious mouth was never framed
To speak a word so soft: 
Name death again, for that thou canst pronounce
With horrid grace, becoming of a tyrant. 
Love is for human hearts, and not for thine,
Where the brute beast extinguishes the man.

Emp. Such if I were, yet rugged lions love,
And grapple, and compel their savage dames.—­
Mark my Sebastian, how that sullen frown, [She frowns.
Like flashing lightning, opens angry heaven,
And, while it kills, delights!—­But yet, insult not
Too soon, proud beauty!  I confess no love.

Seb. No, sir; I said so, and I witness for you,
Not love, but noble pity, moved your mind: 
Interest might urge you too to save her life;
For those, who wish her party lost, might murmur
At shedding royal blood.

Emp. Right, thou instruct’st me; Interest of state requires not death, but marriage, To unite the jarring titles of our line.

Seb. Let me be dumb for ever; all I plead, [Aside. Like wildfire thrown against the winds, returns With double force to burn me.

Emp. Could I but bend, to make my beauteous foe The partner of my throne, and of my bed—­

Alm. Still thou dissemblest; but, I read thy heart, And know the power of my own charms; thou lov’st, And I am pleased, for my revenge, thou dost.

Emp. And thou hast cause.

Alm. I have, for I have power to make thee wretched.  Be sure I will, and yet despair of freedom.

Emp. Well then, I love;
And ’tis below my greatness to disown it;
Love thee implacably, yet hate thee too;
Would hunt thee barefoot, in the mid-day sun,
Through the parched desarts and the scorching sands,
To enjoy thy love, and, once enjoyed, to kill thee.