by John Dryden
And yet, whom we should never take alive.
Neglecting this, the master straight spurred on;
But the active Moor his horse’s shock did shun,
And, ere his rider from his reach could go,
Finished the combat with one deadly blow.
I, to revenge my friend, prepared to fight;
But now our foremost men were come in sight,
Who soon would have dispatched him on the place,
Had I not saved him from a death so base,
And brought him to attend your royal doom.
K. Ferd. A manly face, and in his age’s bloom;
But, to content the soldiers, he must die:
Go, see him executed instantly.
Q. Isabel. Stay; I would learn his name before he go:
You, Prince Abdalla, may the prisoner know.
Abdal. Ozmyn’s his name, and he deserves his fate;
His father heads the faction which I hate:
But much I wonder, that with him I see
The daughter of his mortal enemy.
Benz. ’Tis true, by Ozmyn’s sword my brother fell;
But ’twas a death he merited too well.
I know a sister should excuse his fault;
But you know too, that Ozmyn’s death he sought,
Abdal. Our prophet has declared, by the event,
That Ozmyn is reserved for punishment;
For, when he thought his guilt from danger clear,
He, by new crimes, is brought to suffer here.
Benz. In love, or pity, if a crime you find,
We two have sinned above all human kind.
Ozm. Heaven in my punishment has done a grace;
I could not suffer, in a better place:
That I should die by Christians it thought good,
To save your father’s guilt, who sought my blood. [To her.
Benz. Fate aims so many blows to make us fall,
That ’tis in vain to think to ward them all:
And, where misfortunes great and many are,
Life grows a burden, and not worth our care.
Ozm. I cast it from me, like a garment torn,
Ragged, and too indecent to be worn:
Besides, there is contagion in my fate, [To Benz.
It makes your life too much unfortunate. —
But, since her faults are not allied to mine,
In her protection let your favour shine.
To you, great queen, I make this last request,
(Since pity dwells in every royal breast)
Safe, in your care, her life and honour be:
It is a dying lover’s legacy.
Benz. Cease, Ozmyn, cease so vain a suit to move;
I did not give you on those terms my love.
Leave me the care of me; for, when you go,
My love will soon instruct me what to do.
Q. Isabel. Permit me, sir, these lovers’ doom to give:
My sentence is, they shall together live.
The courts of kings
To all distressed should sanctuaries be,
But most to lovers in adversity.
Castile and Arragon,
Which long against each other war did move,
My plighted lord and I have joined by love;
And, if to add this conquest heaven thinks good,
I would not have it stained with lovers’ blood.
K. Ferd. Whatever Isabella shall command
Shall always be a law to Ferdinand.
Benz. The frowns of fate we will no longer fear.
Ill fate, great queen, can never find us here.
Q. Isabel. Your thanks some other time I will receive:
Henceforward safe in my protection live.
Granada is for noble loves renowned:
Her best defence is in her lovers found.
Love’s an heroic passion, which can find
No room in any base degenerate mind:
It kindles all the soul with honour’s fire,
To make the lover worthy his desire.
Against such heroes I success should fear,
Had we not too an host of lovers here.
An army, of bright beauties come with me;
Each lady shall her servant’s actions see:
The fair and brave on each side shall contest;
And they shall overcome, who love the best. [Exeunt.
SCENE II. — The Alhambra.
Enter Zulema.
Zul. True, they have pardoned me; but do they know
What folly ’tis to trust a pardoned foe?
A blush remains in a forgiven face:
It wears the silent tokens of disgrace.
Forgiveness to the injured does belong;
But they ne’er pardon, who have done the wrong.
My hopeful fortunes lost! and, what’s above
All I can name or think, my ruined love!
Feigned honesty shall work me into trust,
And seeming penitence conceal my lust.
Let heaven’s great eye of Providence now take
One day of rest, and ever after wake.
Enter Boabdelin, Abenamar, and Guards.
Boab. Losses on losses! as if heaven decreed
Almanzor’s valour should alone succeed.
Aben. Each sally we have made, since he is gone,
Serves but to pull our speedy ruin on.
Boab. Of all mankind, the heaviest fate he bears,
Who the last crown of sinking empire wears.
No kindly planet of his birth took care:
Heaven’s outcast, and the dross of every star! [A tumultuous noise within.
Enter Abdelmelech.
What new misfortunes do these cries presage?
Abdelm. They are the effects of the mad people’s rage.
All in despair tumultuously they swarm:
The fairest streets already take the alarm;
The needy creep from cellars under ground;
To them new cries from tops of garrets sound;
The aged from the chimneys seek the cold;
And wives from windows helpless infants hold.
Boab. See what the many-headed beast demands. — [Exit Abdelm.
Cursed is that king, whose’s honour’s in their hands.
In senates, either they too slowly grant,
Or saucily refuse to aid my want;
And, when their thrift has ruined me in war,
They call their insolence my want of care.
Aben. Cursed be their leaders, who that rage foment,
And veil, with public good, their discontent:
They keep the people’s purses in their hands,
And hector kings to grant their wild demands;
But to each lure, a court throws out, descend,
And prey on those they promised to defend.
Zul. Those kings, who to their wild demands consent,
Teach others the same way to discontent.
Freedom in subjects is not, nor can be;
But still, to please them, we must call them free.
Propriety, which they their idol make,
Or law, or law’s interpreters, can shake.
Aben. The name of commonwealth is popular;
But there the people their own tyrants are.
Boab. But kings, who rule with limited command,
Have players’ sceptres put into their hand.
Power has no balance, one side still weighs down,
And either hoists the commonwealth or crown;
And those, who think to set the scale more right,
By various turnings but disturb the weight.
Aben. While people tug for freedom, kings for power,
Both sink beneath some foreign conqueror:
Then subjects find too late they were unjust,
And want that power of kings, they durst not trust.
To them Abdelmelech.
Abdelm. The tumult now is high, and
dangerous grown:
The people talk of rendering up the town;
And swear that they will force the king’s consent.
Boab. What counsel can this rising storm prevent?
Abdelm. Their fright to no persuasions will give ear:
There’s a deaf madness in a people’s fear.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Their fury now a middle course does take;
To yield the town, or call Almanzor back.
Boab. I’ll rather call my death. —
Go and bring up my guards to my defence:
I’ll punish this outrageous insolence.
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.
Mess. Haste all you can their fury to assuage:
You are not safe from their rebellious rage.
Enter a third Messenger.
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.
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.
Almah. This sudden change I do not understand.
Have you so soon forgot your own command?
Boab. Grant that I did the unjust injunction lay,
You should have loved me more than to obey.
I know you did this mutiny design;
But I’ll your love-plot quickly countermine.
Let my crown go; he never shall return;
I, like a phœnix, in my nest will burn.
Almah. You please me well; that in one common fate
You wrap yourself, and me, and all your state.
Let us no more of proud Almanzor hear:
’Tis better once to die, than still to fear;
And better many times to die, than be
Obliged, past payment, to an enemy.
Boab. ’Tis better; but you wives have still one way:
Whene’er your husbands are obliged, you pay.
Almah. Thou, heaven, who know’
st it, judge my innocence! —
You, sir, deserve not I should make defence.
Yet, judge my virtue by that proof I gave,
When I submitted to be made your slave.
Boab. If I have been suspicious or unkind,
Forgive me; many cares distract my mind:
Love, and a crown!
Two such excuses no one man e’er had;
And each of them enough to make me mad:
But now my reason reassumes its throne,
And finds no safety when Almanzor’s gone.
Send for him then; I’ll be obliged, and sue;
’Tis a less evil than to part with you.
I leave you to your thoughts; but love me still!
Forgive my passion, and obey my will. [Exit Boabdelin.
Almahide solus.
My jealous lord will soon to rage return;
That fire, his fear rakes up, does inward burn.
But heaven, which made me great, has chose for me,
I must the oblation for my people be.
I’ll cherish honour, then, and life despise;
What is not pure, is not for sacrifice.
Yet for Almanzor I in secret mourn!
Can virtue, then, admit of his return?
Yes; for my love I will by virtue square;
My heart’s not mine, but all my actions are.
I’ll like Almanzor act; and dare to be
As haughty, and as wretched too, as he.
What will he think is in my message meant?
I scarcely understand my own intent:
But, silk-worm like, so long within have wrought,
That I am lost in my own web of thought. [Exit Almahide.
ACT II.
SCENE I. — A Wood.
Enter Ozmyn and Benzayda.
Ozm. ’Tis true, that our protection here has been
The effect of honour in the Spanish queen;
But, while I as a friend continue here,
I to my country must a foe appear.
Benz. Think not, my Ozmyn, that we here remain
As friends, but prisoners to the power of Spain.
Fortune dispenses with your country’s right;
But you desert your honour in your flight.
Ozm. I cannot leave you here, and go away;
My honour’s glad of a pretence to stay. [A noise within, — Follow, follow, follow! —
Enter Selin, his sword drawn, as pursued.
Selin. I am pursued, and now am spent and done;
My limbs suffice me not with strength to run.
And, if I could, alas! what can I save?
A year, the dregs of life too, from the grave. [Sits down on the ground.
Here will I sit, and here attend my fate,
With the same hoary majesty and state,
As Rome’s old senate for the Gauls did wait.
Benz. It is my father; and he seems distressed.
