ly till you wake.
Too well I know her blandishments to gain,
Usurper-like, till settled in her reign;
Then proudly she insults, and gives you cares,
And jealousies, short hopes, and long despairs.
To this hard yoke you must hereafter bow,
Howe'er she shines all golden to you now.

_Abdul._ Like him, who on the ice
Slides swiftly on, and sees the water near,
Yet cannot stop himself in his career,
So am I carried. This enchanted place,
Like Circe's isle, is peopled with a race
Of dogs and swine; yet, though their fate I know,
I look with pleasure, and am turning too.
[LYNDARAXA _passes over the Stage._

_Abdelm._ Fly, fly, before the allurements of her face,
Ere she return with some resistless grace,
And with new magic cover all the place.

_Abdal._ I cannot, will not,--nay, I would not fly:
I'll love, be blind, be cozened till I die;
And you, who bid me wiser counsel take,
I'll hate, and, if I can, I'll kill you for her sake.

_Abdelm._ Even I, that counselled you, that choice approve:
I'll hate you blindly, and her blindly love.
Prudence, that stemmed the stream, is out of breath:
And to go down it is the easier death.

LYNDARAXA _re-enters, and smiles on_ ABDALLA. [_Exit_ ABDALLA.

_Abdelm._ That smile on Prince Abdalla seems to say,
You are not in your killing mood to day:
Men brand, indeed, your sex with cruelty,
But you are too good to see poor lovers die.
This god-like pity in you I extol;
And more, because, like heaven's, 'tis general.

_Lyndar._ My smile implies not that I grant his suit:
'Twas but a bare return of his salute.

_Abdelm._ It said, you were engaged, and I in place;
But, to please both, you would divide the grace.

_Lyndar._ You've cause to be contented with your part,
When he has but the look, and you the heart.

_Abdelm._ In giving but that look, you give what's mine:
I'll not one corner of a glance resign.
All's mine; and I am covetous of my store:
I have not love enough, I'll tax you more.

_Lyndar._ I gave not love; 'twas but civility:
He is a prince; that's due to his degree.

_Abdelm._ That prince you smiled on is my rival still,
And should, if me you loved, be treated ill.

_Lyndar._ I know not how to show so rude a spite.

_Abdelm._ That is, you know not how to love aright;
Or, if you did, you would more difference see
Betwixt our souls, than 'twixt our quality.
Mark, if his birth makes any difference,
If to his words i