_Flor_. Alas, Sir!--what to do?

_Abd_. To stab a Heart, _Florella_, a Heart that loves thee.

_Flor_. Heaven forbid!

_Abd_. No matter what Heaven will, I say it must--

_Flor_. What must?

_Abd_. That Dagger must enter the Heart of him
That loves thee best, _Florella_;--guess the Man.

_Flor_. What means my Moor?
Wouldst thou have me kill thy self?

_Abd_. Yes--when I love thee better than the King.

_Flor_. Ah, Sir! what mean you?

_Abd_. To have you kill this King,
When next he does pursue thee with his Love--
What, do you weep?--
By Heaven, they shall be bloody Tears then.

_Flor_. I shall deserve them--when I suffer Love
That is not fit to hear;--but for the King,
That which he pays me, is so innocent--