My hands shall right your king on him I seize.
Now let me see whose look but disobeys.

_All._ Long live king Mahomet Boabdelin!

_Almanz._ No more; but hushed as midnight silence go:
He will not have your acclamations now.
Hence, you unthinking crowd!--
[_The Common People go off on both parties._
Empire, thou poor and despicable thing,
When such as these make or unmake a king!

_Abdal._ How much of virtue lies in one great soul, [_Embracing him._
Whose single force can multitudes controul! [_A trumpet within._

_Enter a Messenger._

_Messen._ The Duke of Arcos, sir,
Does with a trumpet from the foe appear.

_Boab._ Attend him; he shall have his audience here.

_Enter the Duke of_ ARCOS.

_D. Arcos._ The monarchs of Castile and Arragon
Have sent me to you, to demand this town.
To which their just and rightful claim is known.

_Boab._ Tell Ferdinand, my right to it appears
By long possession of eight hundred years: