Chapter 1

_A Table with Lights_, Abdelazer _sullenly leaning his Head on his Hands: after a little while, still Musick plays_.

SONG.

_Love _in fantastick Triumph sat, Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow’d, For whom fresh Pains he did create, And strange Tyrannick Pow’r he shewed; From thy bright Eyes he took his Fires, Which round about in sport he hurl’d; But ‘twas from mine he took Desires, Enough t’undo the amorous World.

From me he took his Sighs and Tears, From thee his Pride and Cruelty; From me his Languishments and Fears, And ev’ry killing Dart from thee: Thus thou, and I, the God have arrri’d, And set him up a Deity; But my poor Heart alone is harm’d, Whilst thine the Victor is, and free_.

[_After which he rouzes, and gazes_.

_Abd_. On me this Musick lost?--this Sound on me That hates all Softness?--What, ho, my Slaves!

_Enter_ Osmin, Zarrack.

_Osm_. My gracious Lord--

[_Enter_ Queen, Elvira.

_Qu_. My dearest _Abdelazer_--

_Abd_. Oh, are you there?--Ye Dogs, how came she in? Did I not charge you on your Lives to watch, That none disturb my Privacy?

_Qu_. My gentle _Abdelazer_, ‘tis thy Queen, Who ‘as laid aside the Business of her State, To wanton in the kinder Joys of Love-- Play all your sweetest Notes, such as inspire The active Soul with new and soft Desire, [_To_ the Musick, they play softly. Whilst we from Eyes--thus dying, fan the Fire. [_She sits down by him_.

_Abd_. Cease that ungrateful Noise. [_Musick_ ceases.

_Qu_. Can ought that I command displease my Moor?

_Abd_. Away, fond Woman.

_Qu_. Nay, prithee be more kind.

_Abd_. Nay, prithee, good Queen, leave me--I am dull, Unfit for Dalliance now.

_Qu_. Why dost thou frown?--to whom was that Curse sent?

_Abd_. To thee--

_Qu_. To me?--it cannot be--to me, sweet Moor?-- No, no, it cannot--prithee smile upon me-- Smile, whilst a thousand Cupids shall descend And call thee Jove, and wait upon thy Smiles, Deck thy smooth Brow with Flowers; Whilst in my Eyes, needing no other Glass, Thou shalt behold and wonder at thy Beauty.

_Abd_. Away, away, be gone--

_Qu_. Where hast thou learnt this Language, that can say But those rude Words--Away, away, be gone? Am I grown ugly now?

_Abd_. Ugly as Hell--

_Qu_. Didst thou not love me once, and swore that Heav’n Dwelt in my Face and Eyes?

_Abd_. Thy Face and Eyes!--Baud, fetch me here a Glass, [_To_ Elvira. And thou shalt see the Balls of both those Eyes Burning with Fire of Lust: That Blood that dances in thy Cheeks so hot, That have not I to cool it Made an Extraction even of my Soul, Decay’d my Youth, only to feed thy Lust? And wou’dst thou still pursue me to my Grave?

_Qu_. All this to me, my _Abdelazer_?

_Abd_. I cannot ride through the _Castilian_ Streets, But thousand Eyes throw killing Looks at me, And cry--That’s he that does abuse our King-- There goes the Minion of the _Spanish_ Queen, Who, on the lazy Pleasures of his Love, Spends the Revenues of the King of _Spain_-- This many-headed Beast your Lust has arm’d.

_Qu_. How dare you, Sir, upbraid me with my Love?

_Abd_. I will not answer thee, nor hear thee speak.

_Qu_. Not hear me speak!--Yes, and in Thunder too; Since all my Passion, all my soft Intreaties Can do no good upon thee, I’ll see (since thou hast banish’d all thy Love, That Love, to which I’ve sacrific’d my Honour) If thou hast any Sense of Gratitude, For all the mighty Graces I have done thee.

_Abd_. Do;--and in thy Story too, do not leave out How dear those mighty Graces I have purchas’d; My blooming Youth, my healthful vigorous Youth, Which Nature gave me for more noble Actions Than to lie fawning at a Woman’s Feet, And pass my Hours in Idleness and Love-- If I cou’d blush, I shou’d thro all this Cloud Send forth my Sense of Shame into my Cheeks.

_Qu_. Ingrate! Have I for this abus’d the best of Men, My noble Husband? Depriving him of all the Joys of Love, To bring them all intirely to thy Bed; Neglected all my Vows, and sworn ‘em here a-new, Here, on thy Lips-- Exhausted Treasures that wou’d purchase Crowns, To buy thy Smiles--to buy a gentle Look; And when thou didst repay me--blest the Giver? Oh, _Abdelazer_, more than this I’ve done-- This very Hour, the last the King can live, Urg’d by thy Witch-craft, I his Life betray’d; And is it thus my Bounties are repaid? Whate’er a Crime so great deserves from Heav’n, By _Abdelazer_ might have been forgiven: [_Weeps_. But I will be reveng’d by penitence, And e’er the King dies, own my black Offence-- And yet that’s not enough--_Elvira_-- [_Pauses_. Cry murder, murder, help, help.

[_She and her Women cry aloud, he is surpriz’d, the_ Queen _falls_, _he draws a Dagger_ at Elvira.

_Elv_. Help, murder, murder!--

_Abd_. Hell, what’s this?--peace, Baud--’sdeath, They’ll raise the Court upon me, and then I’m lost-- My Queen--my Goddess--Oh raise your lovely Eyes, I have dissembled Coldness all this while; And that Deceit was but to try thy Faith. [_Takes her up, sets her in a Chair, then kneels_. Look up--by Heav’n,’.was Jealousy-- Pardon your Slave--pardon your poor Adorer.

_Qu_. Thou didst upbraid me with my shameful Passion.

_Abd_. I’ll tear my Tongue out for its Profanation.

_Qu_. And when I woo’d thee but to smile upon me, Thou cry’st--Away, I’m dull, unfit for Dalliance.

_Abd_. Call back the frighted Blood into thy Cheeks, And I’ll obey the Dictates of my Love, And smile, and kiss, and dwell for ever here-- _Enter_ Osmin hastily. How now--why star’st thou so?

_Osm_. My Lord--the King is dead.

_Abd_. The King dead!--’Twas time then to dissemble. [_Aside_. What means this Rudeness?-- [_One knocks_.

_Enter_ Zarrack.

_Zar_. My Lord--the Cardinal inquiring for the Queen, The Court is in an uproar, none can find her.

_Abd_. Not find the Queen! and wou’d they search her here?

_Qu_. What shall I do? I must not here be found.

_Abd_. Oh, do not fear--no Cardinal enters here; No King--no God, that means to be secure-- Slaves guard the Doors, and suffer none to enter, Whilst I, my charming Queen, provide for your Security-- You know there is a Vault deep under Ground, Into the which the busy Sun ne’er enter’d, But all is dark, as are the Shades of Hell, Thro which in dead of Night I oft have pass’d, Guided by Love, to your Apartment, Madam-- They knock agen--thither, my lovely Mistress, [_Knock_. Suffer your self to be conducted--

_Osmin_, attend the Queen--descend in haste, [Queen, Osm. _and_ Elv. _descend the Vault_. My Lodgings are beset.

_Zar_. I cannot guard the Lodgings longer-- Don _Ordonio_, Sir, to seek the Queen--

_Abd_. How dare they seek her here?

_Zar_. My Lord, the King has swounded twice, And being recover’d, calls for her Majesty.

_Abd_. The King not dead!--go, _Zafrack_, and aloud Tell Don _Ordonio_ and the Cardinal, He that dares enter here to seek the Queen, [_Puts his Hand to his Sword_. Had better snatch the She from the fierce side Of a young amorous Lion, and ‘twere safer.-- Again, more knocking!-- [_Knocking_.

_Zar_. My gracious Lord, it is your Brother, Don _Alonzo_.

_Abd_. I will not have him enter--I am disorder’d.

_Zar_. My Lord, ‘tis now too late. _Enter_ Alonzo.

_Alon_. Saw you not the Queen, my Lord?

_Abd_. My Lord!

_Alon_. Was not the Queen here with you?

_Abd_. The Queen with me! Because, Sir, I am married to your Sister, You, like your Sister, must be jealous too: The Queen with me! with me! a Moor! a Devil! A Slave of _Barbary_! for so Your gay young Courtiers christen me--But, Don, Altho my Skin be black, within my Veins Runs Blood as red, and royal as the best.-- My Father, Great _Abdela_, with his Life Lost too his Crown; both most unjustly ravish’d By Tyrant _Philip_, your old King I mean. How many Wounds his valiant Breast receiv’d E’er he would yield to part with Life and Empire: Methinks I see him cover’d o’er with Blood, Fainting amidst those numbers he had conquer’d. I was but young, yet old enough to grieve, Tho not revenge, or to defy my Fetters: For then began my Slavery; and e’er since Have seen that Diadem by this Tyrant worn, Which crown’d the sacred Temples of my Father, And shou’d adorn mine now--shou’d! nay, and must-- Go tell him what I say--’twill be but Death-- Go, Sir,--the Queen’s not here.

_Alon_. Do not mistake me, Sir,--or if I wou’d, I’ve no old King to tell--the King is dead-- And I am answer’d, Sir, to what I came for, And so good night. [_Exit_.

_Abd_. Now all that’s brave and villain seize my Soul, Reform each Faculty that is not ill, And make it fit for Vengeance, noble Vengeance. Oh glorious Word! fit only for the Gods, For which they form’d their Thunder, Till Man usurp’d their Power, and by Revenge Sway’d Destiny as well as they, and took their trade of killing. And thou, almighty Love, Dance in a thousand forms about my Person, That this same Queen, this easy Spanish Dame, May be bewitch’d, and dote upon me still; Whilst I make use of the insatiate Flame To set all _Spain_ on fire.-- Mischief, erect thy Throne, And sit on high; here, here upon my Head. Let Fools fear Fate, thus I my Stars defy: The influence of this--must raise my Glory high. [_Pointing to his Sword.

[Exit_.