_Abd_. Oh, by no means, not for my wretched Life!
What, kill a King!--forbid it, Heaven:
Angels stand like his Guards about his Person.
The King!
Not so many Worlds as there be Stars
Twinkling upon the embroider'd Firmament!
The King!
He loves my Wife _Florella_, shou'd he die--
I know none else durst love her.

_Qu_. And that's the Reason you wou'd send him hence.

_Abd_. I must confess, I wou'd not bear a wrong:
But do not take me for a Villain, Madam;
He is my King, and may do what he pleases.

_Qu_. 'Tis well, Sir.

_Abd_. Again that Frown, it renders thee more charming
Than any other Dress thou could'st put on.

_Qu_. Away, you do not love me.

_Abd_. Now mayst thou hate me, if this be not pretty.

_Qu_. Oh, you can flatter finely--

_Abd_. Not I, by Heaven:
Oh, that this Head were circled in a Crown,