aid, did I for this rebel?
I say no more; but I have loved too well.

_Lyndar._ Who but yourself did that rebellion move:
Did I e'er promise to receive your love?
Is it my fault you are not fortunate?
I love a king, but a poor rebel hate.

_Abdal._ Who follow fortune, still are in the right;
But let me be protected here this night.

_Lyndar._ The place to-morrow will be circled round;
And then no way will for your flight be found.

_Abdal._ I hear my enemies just coming on; [_Trampling within._
Protect me but one hour, till they are gone.

_Lyndar._ They'll know you have been here; it cannot be;
That very hour you stay, will ruin me:
For if the foe behold our interview,
I shall be thought a rebel too, like you.
Haste hence; and, that your flight may prosperous prove,
I'll recommend you to the powers above. [_Exit_ LYND. _from above._

_Abdal._ She's gone: Ah, faithless and ungrateful maid!--
I hear some tread; and fear I am betrayed.
I'll to the Spanish king; and try if he,
To countenance his own right, will succour me:
There is more faith in Christian dogs, than thee. [_Exit._

_Enter_ OZMYN, BENZAYDA, _and_ ABENAMAR.

_Benz._ I wish
(To merit all these thanks) I could have said,
My pity only did his virtue aid;
'Twas pity, but 'twas of a love-sick maid.
His manly suffering my esteem did move;
That bred compassion, and compassion love.

_Ozm._ O blessing sold me at too cheap a rate!
My danger was the benefit of fate. [_To his father._
But that you may my fair deliverer know,
She was not only born our house's foe,
But to my death by powerful reasons led;
At least, in justice, she might wish me dead.

_Aben._ But why thus long do you her name conceal?

_Ozm._ To gain belief for what I now reveal:
Even thus prepared, you scarce can think it true,
The saver of my life from Selin drew
Her birth; and was his sister whom I slew.

_Aben._ No more; it cannot, was not, must not be:
Upon my blessing, say not it was she.
The daughter of the only man I hate!
Two contradictions twisted in a fate!

_Ozm._ The mutual hate, which you and Selin bore,
Does but exalt her generous pity more.
Could she a brother's death forgive to me,
And cannot you forget her family?
Can you so ill requite the life I owe,
To reckon her, who gave it, still your foe?
It lends too great a lustre to her line,
To let her virtue ours so much out-shine.

_Aben._ Thou gav'st her line the advan