Chapter 7

_Enter the_ King, _leading in_ Florella _all in fear_.

_Flor_. Ah, Sir, the Gods and you would be more merciful, If by a Death less cruel than my Fears, You would preserve my Honour; begin it quickly, And after that I will retain my Duty, And at your Feet breathe Thanks in dying Sighs.

_King_. Where learnt you, Fairest, so much Cruelty To charge me with the Power of injuring thee? Not from my Eyes, where Love and Languishment Too sensibly inform thee of my Heart.

_Flor_. Call it not Injury, Sir, to free my Soul From fears which such a Visit must create, In dead of Night, when nought but frightful Ghosts Of restless Souls departed walk the Round.

_King_. That fleeting thing am I, whom all Repose, All Joys, and every good of Life abandon’d, That fatal Hour thou gavest thy self away; And I was doom’d to endless Desperation: Yet whilst I liv’d, all glorious with my hopes, Some sacred Treasures in thy Breast I hid, And near thee still my greedy Soul will hover.

_Flor_. Ah, rather like a Ravisher you come, With Love and Fierceness in your dangerous Eyes; And both will equally be fatal to me.

_King_. Oh, do not fear me, as the fair _Lucretia_ Did the fierce Roman Youth; I mean no Rapes, Thou canst not think that I wou’d force those Joys, Which cease to be so, when compell’d, _Florella_-- No, I would sooner pierce this faithful Heart, Whose Flame appears too criminal for your Mercy.

_Flor_. Why do you fright me, Sir? methinks your Looks All pale, your Eyes thus fixt, and trembling Hands, The awful Horror of the dark and silent Night, Strike a cold Terror round my fainting Heart, That does presage some fatal Accident.

_King_. ‘Tis in your cruel Eyes the Danger lies-- Wou’d you receive me with that usual Tenderness, Which did express it self in every Smile, I should dismiss tin’s Horror from my Face, And place again its native Calmness there; And all my Veins shall re-assume their Heat, And with a new and grateful Ardour beat.

_Flor_. Sir, all my Soul is taken up with fear, And you advance your Fate, by staying here-- Fly, fly, this place of Death--if _Abdelazer_ Shou’d find you here--all the Divinity About your sacred Person could not guard you.

_King_. Ah, my _Florella_, cease thy needless Fear, And in thy Soul let nothing reign but Love; Love, that with soft Desires may fill thy Eyes, And save thy Tongue the pain t’ instruct my Heart, In the most grateful Knowledge Heaven can give me.

_Flor_. That Knowledge, Sir, wou’d make us both more wretched, Since you, I know, wou’d still be wishing on, And I shou’d grant, till we were both undone. And, Sir, how little she were worth your care, Cou’d part with all her honourable Fame, For an inglorious Life--short and despis’d--

_King_. Canst thou believe a Flame thy Eyes have kindled, Can urge me to an infamous pursuit?-- No, my _Florella_, I adore thy Virtue, And none profane those Shrines, to whom they offer; --Say but thou lov’st--and I thus low will bow-- [_Kneels_. And sue to thee, to be my Sovereign Queen? I’ll circle thy bright Forehead with the Crowns Of _Castile, Portugal_, and _Arragon_; And all those petty Kingdoms, which do bow Their Tributary Knees to thy Adorer.

_Flor_. Ah, Sir! have you forgot my sacred Vow? All that I am, is _Abdelazer’s_ now.

_King_. By Heav’n, it was a sacrilegious Theft; But I the Treasure from his Breast will tear, And reach his Heart, though thou art seated there.

_Flor_. A Deed like that my Virtue wou’d undo, And leave a Stain upon your Glories too; A Sin, that wou’d my Hate, not Passion move; I owe a Duty, where I cannot love.

_King_. Thou think’st it then no Sin to kill thy King; For I must die, without thy Love, _Florella_.

_Flor_. How tamely, Sir, you with the Serpent play, Whose fatal Poison must your Life betray; And though a King, cannot divine your Fate; Kings only differ from the Gods in that.-- See, Sir, with this--I am your Murderer made; [_Holds up a Dagger_. By those we love, we soonest are betray’d.

_King_. How! can that fair Hand acquaint it self with Death? --What wilt thou do, _Florella_?

_Flor_. Your Destiny divert, And give my Heart those Wounds design’d for yours. --If you advance, I’ll give the deadly Blow.

_King_. Hold!--I command thee hold thy impious Hand, My Heart dwells there, and if you strike--I die.

_Enter_ Queen, Alonzo, _and_ Elvira.

_Qu. Florella_! arm’d against the King? [_Snatches the Dagger and stabs her: the_ King _rises_. Oh Traitress!

_King_. Hold, hold, inhuman Murdress; What hast thou done, most barbarous of thy Sex! [_Takes_ Flor. _in his Arms_.

_Qu_. Destroy’d thy Murdress,--and my too fair Rival. [_Aside_.

_King_. My Murdress!--what Devil did inspire thee With Thoughts so black and sinful? cou’d this fair Saint Be guilty of a Murder?--No, no, too cruel Mother, With her Eyes, her charming lovely Eyes, She might have kill’d, and her too virtuous Cruelty. --Oh my _Florella_! Sacred lovely Creature!

_Flor_. My Death was kind, since it prevented yours, And by that Hand, which sav’d mine from a Guilt. [_Points to the_ Queen. --That Dagger I receiv’d of _Abdelazer_, To stab that Heart,--he said, that lov’d me best; But I design’d to overcome your Passion, And then to have vanquish’d _Abdelazer’s_ Jealousy: But finding you too faithful to be happy, I did resolve to die--and have my wish. --Farewel--my King--my Soul begins its flight, --And now--is hovering--in eternal--Night. [Dies.

_King_. She’s gone--she’s gone--her sacred Soul is fled To that Divinity, of which it is a part; Too excellent to inhabit Earthly Bodies.

_Alon_. Oh, Sir, you grieve too much, for one so foul.

_King_. What profane Breath was that pronounc’d her foul? Thy Mother’s Soul, though turn’d into a Cherubim, Was black to hers--Oh, she was all divine. --_Alonzo_, was it thou?--her Brother!

_Alon_. When she was good, I own’d that Title, Sir.

_King_. Good!--by all the Gods, she was as chaste as Vestals, As Saints translated to Divine Abodes. I offer’d her to be my Queen, _Alonzo_, To share the growing Glories of my Youth; But uncorrupted she my Crown contemn’d, And on her Virtue’s Guard stood thus defended. [Alon. _weeps_. --Oh my _Florella_! let me here lie fix’d, [_Kneels_. And never rise, till I am cold and pale As thou, fair Saint, art now--But sure She cou’d not die;--that noble generous Heart, That arm’d with Love and Honour, did rebate All the fierce Sieges of my amorous Flame, Might sure defend it self against those Wounds Given by a Woman’s Hand,--or rather ‘twas a Devil’s. [_Rises_. --What dost thou merit for this Treachery? Thou vilest of thy Sex-- But thou’rt a thing I have miscall’d a Mother, And therefore will not touch thee--live to suffer By a more shameful way;--but here she lies, Whom I, though dead, must still adore as living.

_Alon_. Sir, pray retire, there’s danger in your stay; When I reflect upon this Night’s Disorder, And the Queen’s Art to raise my Jealousy; And after that my Sister’s being murder’d, I must believe there is some deeper Plot, Something design’d against your sacred Person.

_King. Alonzo_, raise the Court, I’ll find it, [_Ex_. Alonzo. Tho ‘twere hid within my Mother’s Soul.

_Qu_. My gentle Son, pardon my kind mistake, I did believe her arm’d against thy Life.

_King_. Peace, Fury! Not ill boding Raven Shrieks, Nor midnight Cries of murder’d Ghosts, are more Ungrateful, than thy faint and dull Excuses. --Be gone! and trouble not the silent Griefs, Which will insensibly decay my Life, Till like a Marble Statue I am fixt, Dropping continual Tears upon her Tomb. [_Kneels and--weeps at_ Florella’s _Feet_.

_Abd. [Within]_. Guard all the Chamber-Doors--Fire and Confusion Consume the _Spanish_ Dogs--was I for this Sent to fetch back a _Philip_, and a Cardinal, To have my Wife abus’d?

_Enter_ Abdelazer.

_Qu_. Patience, dear _Abdelazer_.

_Abd_. Patience and I am Foes: where’s my _Florella_? The King! and in _Florella’s_ Bed-Chamber! _Florella_ dead too!-- Rise, thou eternal Author of my Shame; Gay thing--to you I speak, [King _rises_. And thus throw off Allegiance.

_Qu_. Oh, stay your Fury, generous _Abdelazer_.

_Abd_. Away, fond Woman. [_Throws her from him_.

_King_. Villain, to me this Language?

_Abd_. To thee, young amorous King. How at this dead and silent time of Night, Durst you approach the Lodgings of my Wife?

_King_. I scorn to answer thee.

_Abd_. I’ll search it in thy Heart then.

[_They fight_, Queen _and_ Elv. _run out crying Treason_.

_King_. The Devil’s not yet ready for his Soul, And will not claim his due.--Oh, I am wounded. [_Falls_.

_Abd_. No doubt on’t, Sir, these are no Wounds of Love.

_King_. Whate’er they be, you might have spar’d ‘em now, Since those _Florella_ give me were sufficient: --And yet a little longer, fixing thus Thou’dst seen me turn to Earth, without thy aid. _Florella!--Florella!_--is thy Soul fled so far It cannot answer me, and call me on? And yet like dying Ecchoes in my Ears, I hear thee cry, my Love--I come--I come, fair Soul. --Thus at thy Feet--my Heart shall bleeding--lie. Who since it liv’d for thee--for thee--will die. [_Dies_.

_Abd_. So--thou art gone--there was a King but now, And now a senseless, dull, and breathless nothing. [_A noise of fighting without_. _Enter_ Queen _running_.

_Qu_. Oh Heavens! my Son--the King, the King is kill’d!-- Yet I must save his Murderer:--Fly, my Moor;

_Alonzo_, Sir, assisted by some Friends, Has set upon your Guards, And with resistless Fury is making hither.

_Abd_. Let him come on.

_Enter Alonzo and others, led in by Osmin, Zarrack, and Moors_.

Oh, are you fast? [_Takes away their Swords_.

_Alon_. What mean’st thou, Villain?

_Abd_. To put your Swords to better uses, Sir, Than to defend the cause of Ravishers.

_Alon_. Oh Heavens, the King is murder’d!

_Abd_. Look on that Object, Thy Sister and my Wife, who’s doubly murder’d, First in her spotless Honour, then her Life.

_Alon_. Heaven is more guilty than the King in this.

_Qu_. My Lords, be calm; and since your King is murder’d. Think of your own dear Safeties; chuse a new King, That may defend you from the Tyrant’s Rage.

_Alon_. Who should we chuse? Prince _Philip_ is our King.

_Abd_. By Heaven, but _Philip_ shall not be my King; _Philip’s_ a Bastard, and Traytor to his Country: He braves us with an Army at our Walls, Threatning the Kingdom with a fatal Ruin. And who shall lead you forth to Conquest now, But _Abdelazer_, whose Sword reap’d Victory, As oft as ‘twas unsheath’d?--and all for _Spain_ --How many Laurels has this Head adorn’d? Witness the many Battles I have won; In which I’ve emptied all my youthful Veins!-- And all for _Spain!_--ungrateful of my Favours! --I do not boast my Birth, Nor will not urge to you my Kingdom’s Ruin; But loss of Blood, and numerous Wounds receiv’d-- And still for _Spain!_-- And can you think, that after all my Toils, I wou’d be still a Slave?--to Bastard _Philip_ too? That dangerous Foe, who with the Cardinal, Threatens with Fire and Sword.--I’ll quench those Flames, Such an esteem I still preserve for _Spain_.

_Alon_. What means this long Harangue? what does it aim at?

_Abd_. To be Protector of the Crown of _Spain_, Till we agree about a lawful Successor.

_Alon_. Oh Devil!

_Qu_. We are betray’d, and round beset with Horrors; If we deny him this--the Power being his, We’re all undone, and Slaves unto his Mercy.-- Besides--Oh, give me leave to blush when I declare, That _Philip_ is--as he has rendred him.-- But I in love to you, love to my _Spain_, Chose rather to proclaim my Infamy, Than an ambitious Bastard should be crown’d.

_Alon_. Here’s a fine Plot, What Devil reigns in Woman, when she doats? [_Aside_.

_Rod_. My Lords, I see no remedy but he must be Protector.

_Alon_. Oh, Treachery--have you so soon forgot The noble _Philip_, and his glorious Heir, The murder’d _Ferdinand?_-- And, Madam, you so soon forgot a Mother’s Name, That you wou’d give him Power that kill’d your Son?

_Abd_. The Modesty wherewith I’ll use that Power, Shall let you see, I have no other Interest But what’s intirely _Spain’s_.--Restore their Swords, And he amongst you all who is dissatisfy’d, I set him free this minute.

_Alon_. I take thee at thy word-- And instantly to _Philip’s_ Camp will fly. [_Exit_.

_Abd_. By all the Gods my Ancestors ador’d, But that I scorn the envying World shou’d think I took delight in Blood--I wou’d not part so with you. --But you, my Lords, who value _Spain’s_ Repose, Must for it instantly with me take Arms. Prince _Philip_, and the Cardinal, now ride Like _Jove_ in Thunder; we in Storms must meet them. To Arms! to Arms! and then to Victory, Resolv’d to conquer, or resolv’d to die.

[_Exeunt_.