Volume Ii Part 11 (1/2)

_Flor_. Why dost thou dress thy Eyes in such unusual wonder?

There's nothing here that is a stranger to thee, Or what is not intirely thine own.

_Abd_. Mine!

_Flor_. Thou canst not doubt it.

_Abd_. No,--and for a proof that thou art so,--take this Dagger.

_Flor_. Alas, Sir!--what to do?

_Abd_. To stab a Heart, _Florella_, a Heart that loves thee.

_Flor_. Heaven forbid!

_Abd_. No matter what Heaven will, I say it must--

_Flor_. What must?

_Abd_. That Dagger must enter the Heart of him That loves thee best, _Florella_;--guess the Man.

_Flor_. What means my Moor?

Wouldst thou have me kill thy self?

_Abd_. Yes--when I love thee better than the King.

_Flor_. Ah, Sir! what mean you?

_Abd_. To have you kill this King, When next he does pursue thee with his Love-- What, do you weep?-- By Heaven, they shall be b.l.o.o.d.y Tears then.

_Flor_. I shall deserve them--when I suffer Love That is not fit to hear;--but for the King, That which he pays me, is so innocent--

_Abd_. So innocent! d.a.m.n thy dissembling Tongue; Did I not see, with what fierce wis.h.i.+ng Eyes He gazed upon thy Face, whilst yours as wantonly Returned, and understood the amorous Language?

_Flor_. Admit it true, that such his Pa.s.sions were, As (Heaven's my witness) I've no cause to fear; Have not I Virtue to resist his Flame, Without a pointed Steel?

_Abd_. Your Virtue!--Curse on the weak Defence; Your Virtue's equal to his Innocence.

Here, take this Dagger, and if this Night he visit thee, When he least thinks on't--send it to his Heart.

_Flor_. If you suspect me, do not leave me, Sir.

_Abd_. Oh--I'm dispatch'd away--to leave you free-- About a wonderful Affair--mean time, I know you will be visited--but as you wish to live, At my return let me behold him dead.-- Be sure you do't--'tis for thy Honour's safety-- I love thee so, that I can take no rest, Till thou hast kill'd thy Image in his Breast.

--Adieu, my dear _Florella_.

[Exit_.

_Flor_. Murder my King! the Man that loves me too-- What Fiend, what Fury such an act wou'd do?

My trembling Hand wou'd not the Weapon bear, And I should sooner strike it here--than there.

[_Pointing to her Breast_.

No! though of all I am, this Hand alone Is what thou canst command, as being thy own; Yet this has plighted no such cruel Vow; No Duty binds me to obey thee 'now.

To save my King's, my Life I will expose, No Martyr dies in a more glorious Cause.