Have seen that Diadem by this Tyrant worn,
Which crown'd the sacred Temples of my Father,
And shou'd adorn mine now--shou'd! nay, and must--
Go tell him what I say--'twill be but Death--
Go, Sir,--the Queen's not here.

_Alon_. Do not mistake me, Sir,--or if I wou'd,
I've no old King to tell--the King is dead--
And I am answer'd, Sir, to what I came for,
And so good night.
[_Exit_.

_Abd_. Now all that's brave and villain seize my Soul,
Reform each Faculty that is not ill,
And make it fit for Vengeance, noble Vengeance.
Oh glorious Word! fit only for the Gods,
For which they form'd their Thunder,
Till Man usurp'd their Power, and by Revenge
Sway'd Destiny as well as they, and took their trade of killing.
And thou, almighty Love,
Dance in a thousand forms about my Person,
That this same Queen, this easy Spanish Dame,
May be bewitch'd, and dote upon me still;
Whilst I make use of the insatiate Flame
To set all _Spain_ on fire.--
Mischief, erect thy Throne,
And sit on high; here, here upon my Head.
Let Fools fear Fate, thus I my Stars defy:
The influence of this--must raise my Glory high.
[_Pointing to his Sword.