_Lyndar._ [_above._] What saucy slave so rudely does exclaim,
And brands my subject with a rebel's name?

_Abdal._ Dear Lyndaraxa, haste; the foes pursue.

_Lyndar._ My lord, the Prince Abdalla, is it you?
I scarcely can believe the words I hear;
Could you so coarsely treat my officer?

_Abdal._ He forced me; but the danger nearer draws:
When I am entered, you shall know the cause.

_Lyndar._ Entered! Why, have you any business here?

_Abdal._ I am pursued, the enemy is near.

_Lyndar._ Are you pursued, and do you thus delay
To save yourself? Make haste, my lord, away.

_Abdal._ Give me not cause to think you mock my grief:
What place have I, but this, for my relief?

_Lyndar._ This favour does your handmaid much oblige,
But we are not provided for a siege:
My subjects few; and their provision thin;
The foe is strong without, we weak within.
This to my noble lord may seem unkind,
But he will weigh it in his princely mind;
And pardon her, who does assurance want
So much, she blushes when she cannot grant.