heaven the indictment draws,
And, pleading guilty, justifies the laws.
Let fate be fate; the lover and the brave
Are ranked, at least, above the vulgar slave.
Love makes me willing to my death to run;
And courage scorns the death it cannot shun.

_Enter_ ALMAHIDE _with a taper._

_Almah._ My light will sure discover those who talk.--
Who dares to interrupt my private walk?

_Almanz._ He, who dares love, and for that love must die,
And, knowing this, dares yet love on, am I.

_Almah._ That love which you can hope, and I can pay,
May be received and given in open day:
My praise and my esteem you had before;
And you have bound yourself to ask no more.

_Almanz._ Yes, I have bound myself; but will you take
The forfeit of that bond, which force did make?

_Almah._ You know you are from recompence debarred;
But purest love can live without reward.

_Almanz._ Pure love had need be to itself a feast;
For, like pure elements, 'twill nourish least.

_Almah._ It therefore yields the only pure content;
For it, like angels, needs no nourishment.
To eat and drink can no perfection be;
All appetite implies necessity.

_Almanz._ 'Twere well, if I could like a spirit live;
But, do not angels food to mortals give?
What if some demon should my death foreshow,
Or bid me change, and to the Christians go;
Will you not think I merit some reward,
When I my love above my life regard?

_Almah._ In such a case your change must be allowed:
I would myself dispense with what you vowed.

_Almanz._ Were I to die that hour when I possess,
This minute shall begin my happiness.

_Almah._ The thoughts of death your passion would remove;
Death is a cold encouragement to love.

_Almanz._ No; from my joys I to my death would run,
And think the business of my life well done:
But I should walk a discontented ghost,
If flesh and blood were to no purpose lost.

_Almah._ You love me not, Almanzor; if you did,
You would not ask what honour must forbid.

_Almanz._ And what is honour, but a love well hid?

_Almah._ Yes, 'tis the conscience of an act well done,
Which gives us power our own desires to shun;
The strong and secret curb of headlong will;
The self-reward of good, and shame of ill.

_Almanz._ These, madam, are the maxims of the day,
When honour's present, and when love's away.
The duty of poor honour were too hard,
In arms all day, at night to mount the guard.
Let him, in pity, now to rest retire;
Let these soft hours be