_D. Arcos._ Our soldiers marched together on the plain;
We two rode on, and left them far behind,
Till, coming where we found the valley wind,
We saw these Moors; who, swiftly as they could,
Ran on to gain the covert of a wood.
This we observed; and, having crossed their way,
The lady, out of breath, was forced to stay:
The man then stood, and straight his faulchion drew;
Then told us, we in vain did those pursue,
Whom their ill fortune to despair did drive,
And yet, whom we should never take alive.
Neglecting this, the master straight spurred on;
But the active Moor his horse's shock did shun,
And, ere his rider from his reach could go,
Finished the combat with one deadly blow.
I, to revenge my friend, prepared to fight;
But now our foremost men were come in sight,
Who soon would have dispatched him on the place,
Had I not saved him from a death so base,
And brought him to attend your royal doom.

_K. Ferd._ A manly face, and in his age's bloom;
But, to content the soldiers, he must die:
Go, see him executed instantly.

_Q. Isabel._ Stay; I would learn his name before he go:
You, Prince Abdalla, may the prisoner know.

_Abdal._ Ozmyn's his name, and he deserves his fate;