She makes me each day a new martyrdom prove,
And makes me grow jealous each hour:
But let her each minute torment my poor mind,
I had rather love Phyllis, both false and unkind.
Than ever be freed from her power._

_Enter_ ABDALLA, _with guards._

_Abdal._ Now, madam, at your feet a king you see;
Or, rather, if you please, a sceptered slave:
'Tis just you should possess the power you gave.
Had love not made me yours, I yet had been
But the first subject to Boabdelin.
Thus heaven declares the crown I bring your due;
And had forgot my title, but for you.

_Lyndar._ Heaven to your merits will, I hope, be kind;
But, sir, it has not yet declared its mind.
'Tis true, it holds the crown above your head;
But does not fix it 'till your brother's dead.

_Abdal._ All, but the Alhambra, is within my power;
And that my forces go to take this hour.

_Lyndar._ When, with its keys, your brother's head you bring,
I shall believe you are indeed a king.

_Abdal._ But since the events of all things doubtful are,
And, of events, most doubtful those of war;
I beg to know before, if fortune frown,