_Phil_. We must not part so, Madam;
I first must let you know your Sin and Shame;--
Nay, hear me calmly--for, by Heav'n, you shall--
My Father whilst he liv'd, tir'd his strong Arm
With numerous Battles 'gainst the Enemy,
Wasting his Brains in warlike Stratagems;
To bring Confusion on the faithless Moors,
Whilst you, lull'd in soft Peace at home, betray'd
His Name to everlasting Infamy;
Suffer'd his Bed to be defil'd with Lust,
Gave up your self, your Honour, and your Vows,
To wanton in yon sooty Lecher's Arms.
[_Points to_ Abd.

_Abd_. Me, dost thou mean?

_Phil_. Yes, Villain, thee, thou Hell-begotten Fiend,
'Tis thee I mean.

_Qu_. Oh most unnatural, to dishonour me!

_Phil_. That Dog you mean, that has dishonour'd you,
Dishonour'd me, these Lords, nay, and all Spain;
This Devil's he, that--

_Abd_. That--what--Oh pardon me if I throw off
All Ties of Duty:--wert thou ten King's Sons,
And I as many Souls as I have Sins,
Thus I would hazard all.
[Draws, they all run between.