The Works of Aphra Behn Volume Ii Part 6

_Abd_. Sir, I have done, and beg your royal Pardon.

_King_. Come, _Philip_, give him your Hand.

_Phil_. I can forgive without a Ceremony.

_King_. And to confirm ye Friends, I invite you all to Night to banquet with me; Pray see you give Attendance--Come, Brother, You must along with us.

[_Exeunt all but_ Abd. Queen _and Women_.

_Qu_. Leave me-- [_To the Women, who go out_.

Now my dear Moor.

_Abd_. Madam.

_Qu_. Why dost thou answer with that cold Reserve-- Is that a Look--an Action for a Lover?

_Abd_. Ah, Madam--

_Qu_. Have I not taken off thy Banishment?

Restor'd thee to thy former State and Honours?

Nay, and heap'd new ones too, too mighty for thy Hopes; And still to raise thee equal to this Heart, Where thou must ever reign.

_Abd_. 'Tis true, my bounteous Mistress, all this you've done-- But--

_Qu_. But what, my _Abdelazer_?

_Abd_. I will not call it to your Memory.

_Qu_. What canst thou mean?

_Abd_. Why was the King remov'd?

_Qu_. To make thy way more easy to my Arms.

_Abd_. Was that all?

_Qu_. All!

_Abd_. Not but it is a Blessing G.o.ds would languish for-- But as you've made it free, so make it just.

_Qu_. Thou mean'st, marry thee.

_Abd_. No, by the G.o.ds-- [_Aside_.

Not marry thee, unless I were a King.

_Qu_. What signifies the Name to him that rules one?

_Abd_. What use has he of Life, that cannot live Without a Ruler?

_Qu_. Thou wouldst not have me kill him.

_Abd_. Oh, by no means, not for my wretched Life!

What, kill a King!--forbid it, Heaven: Angels stand like his Guards about his Person.

The King!

Not so many Worlds as there be Stars Twinkling upon the embroider'd Firmament!

The King!

He loves my Wife _Florella_, shou'd he die-- I know none else durst love her.

_Qu_. And that's the Reason you wou'd send him hence.

_Abd_. I must confess, I wou'd not bear a wrong: But do not take me for a Villain, Madam; He is my King, and may do what he pleases.

_Qu_. 'Tis well, Sir.

_Abd_. Again that Frown, it renders thee more charming Than any other Dress thou could'st put on.

_Qu_. Away, you do not love me.

_Abd_. Now mayst thou hate me, if this be not pretty.

_Qu_. Oh, you can flatter finely--

_Abd_. Not I, by Heaven: Oh, that this Head were circled in a Crown, And I were King, by Fortune, as by Birth!

And that I was, till by thy Husband's Power I was divested in my Infancy-- Then you shou'd see, I do not flatter ye.

But I, instead of that, must see my Crown Bandy'd from Head to Head, and tamely see it: And in this wretched state I live, 'tis true; But with what Joy, you, if you lov'd, might guess.

_Qu_. We need no Crowns; Love best contented is In shady Groves, and humble Cottages, Where when 'twould sport, it safely may retreat, Free from the Noise and Danger of the Great; Where Victors are ambitious of no Bays, But what their Nymphs bestow on Holy-days; Nor Envy can the amorous Shepherd move, Unless against a Rival in his Love.

_Abd_. Love and Ambition are the same to me, In either I'll no Rivals brook.

_Qu_. Nor I: And when the King you urge me to remove, It may be from Ambition, not from Love.

_Abd_. Those Scruples did not in your Bosom dwell, When you a King did in a Husband kill.

_Qu_. How, Sir, dare you upbraid me with that Sin, To which your Perjuries first drew me in?

_Abd_. You interrupt my Sense; I only meant A Sacrifice to Love so well begun Shou'd not Devotion want to finish it; And if that stop to all our Joys were gone, The envying World wou'd to our Power submit: But Kings are sacred, and the G.o.ds alone Their Crimes must judge, and punish too, or none-- Yet he alone destroys his Happiness.

_Qu_. There's yet one more--

_Abd_. One more! give me his Name, And I will turn it to a Magick Spell, To bind him ever fast.

_Qu. Florella_.

_Abd. Florella_! Oh, I cou'd gnaw my Chains That humble me so low as to adore her: [_Aside_.

But the fond Blaze must out--while I erect A n.o.bler Fire more fit for my Ambition. --_Florella_ dies--a Victim to your Will.

I will not let you lose one single Wish, For a poor Life, or two; Tho I must see my Glories made a Prey, And not demand 'em from the Ravisher; Nor yet complain--because he is my King: But _Philip's_ Brow no sacred Ointment deifies, If he do wrong, stands fair for the Revenger.