LEO. I will attend you. -

Enter ALONZO. -

ALON. The Lord Gonsalez comes to tell your Highness

Of the King's approach.

ALM. Conduct him in. [Exit ALON.

That's his Pretence, I know his Errand is

To fill my Ears with Garcia's valiant Deeds;

And with his artful Tongue, to gild and magnifie

His Son's Exploits.

But I am arm'd with Ice around my Heart,

Not to be warm'd with Words, nor idle Eloquence. -

Enter GONSALEZ. [Bowing very humbly. -

GONS. Be ev'ry Day of your long Life like this.

The Sun, bright Conquest, and your brighter Eyes,

Have all conspir'd to blaze promiscuous Light,

And bless this Day with most unequal Lustre.

Your Royal Father, my Victorious Lord,

Loaden with Spoils, and ever-living Lawrel,

Is entring now, in Martial Pomp the Pallace.

Five hundred Mules precede his solemn March,

Which groan beneath the Weight of Moorish Wealth.

Chariots of War, adorn'd with glittering Gems,

Succeed; and next, a Hundred neighing Steeds,

White as the fleecy Rain on Alpine Hills;

That bound, and foam, and champ the Golden Bit,

As they disdain'd the Victory they grace.

Prisoners of War in shining Fetters follow;

And Captains of the Noblest Blood of Africk

Sweat by his Chariot Wheel, and lick and grind,

With gnashing Teeth, the Dust his Triumphs raise.

The swarming Populace spread every Wall,

And cling, as if with Claws they did enforce

Their Hold, thro' clifted Stones, stretching and staring,

As if they were all of Eyes, and every Limb

Would feed his Faculty of Admiration.

While you alone retire, and shun this Sight;

This Sight, which is indeed not seen (tho' twice

The Multitude should gaze)

In Absence of your Eyes.

ALM. My Lord, my Eyes ungratefully behold

The gilded Trophies of exterior Honours.

Nor will my Ears be charm'd with sounding Words,

Or pompous Phrase; the Pageantry of Souls.

But that my Father is return'd in Safety,

I bend to Heav'n with Thanks and humble Praise.

GONS. Excellent Princess!

But 'tis a Task unfit for my weak Age,

With dying Words, to offer at your Praise.

Garcia, my Son, your Beauties lowest Slave,

Has better done;

In proving with his Sword, upon your Foes,

The Force and Influence of your matchless Charms.

ALM. I doubt not of the Worth of Garcia's Deeds,

Which had been brave, tho' I had ne'er been born.

LEO. Madam, the King. [Flourish.

ALM. My Women. I wou'd meet him.

[Attendants to ALMERIA enter in Mourning.

ACT I. SCENE II.

The Same. -

Symphony of Warlike Musick. Enter the KING, attended by GARCIA and several Officers. Files of Prisoners in Chains, and Guards, who are ranged in Order round the Stage. ALMERIA meets the KING, and kneels; afterwards GONSALEZ kneels and kisses the KING'S Hand, while GARCIA does the same to the Princess. -

KING. Almeria, rise- My best Gonsalez rise.

What, Tears! my good old Friend.-

GONS. But Tears of Joy. To see you thus, has fill'd

My Eyes with more Delight than they can hold.

KING. By Heav'n thou lov'st me, and I'm pleas'd thou dost:

Take it for Thanks, Old Man, that I rejoice

To see thee weep on this Occasion- But some

Here are who seem to mourn at our Success!

How is it, Almeria, that you meet our Eyes,

Upon this solemn Day, in these sad Weeds?

You and yours, are all, in opposition

To my Brightness, like Daughters of Affliction.

ALM. Forgive me, Sir, if I offend.

The Year, which I have vow'd to pay to Heav'n,

In Mourning and strict Life, for my Deliverance

From Death, and Wreck of the tempestuous Sea,

Wants yet to be expired.

KING. Your Zeal to Heav'n is great; so is your Debt:

Yet something too is due to me, who gave

That Life, which Heav'n preserv'd. A Day bestow'd

In Filial Duty, had atton'd and giv'n

A Dispensation to your Vow- No more.

'Twas weak and wilful- and a Woman's Errour.

Yet- upon thought, it doubly wounds my Sight,

To see that Sable worn upon the Day

Succeeding that, in which our deadliest Foe,

Hated Anselmo, was interr'd- By Heav'n,

It looks as thou didst mourn for him: Just as

Thy senseless Vow appear'd to bear its Date,

Not from that Hour wherein thou wert preserv'd,

But that wherein the curs'd Alphonso perish'd.

Ha! what? thou dost not weep to think of that?

GONS. Have Patience, Royal Sir, the Princess weeps

To have offended you. If Fate decreed,

One 'pointed Hour should be Alphonso's Loss,

And her Deliverance; Is she to blame?

KING. I tell thee she's to blame, not to have feasted

When my first Foe was laid in Earth, such Enmity,

Such Detestation, bears my Blood to his;

My Daughter should have revell'd at his Death.

She should have made these Pallace Walls to shake,

And all this high and ample Roof to ring

With her Rejoicings. What, to mourn, and weep;

Then, then, to weep, and pray, and grieve? By Heav'n,

There's not a Slave, a shackled Slave of mine,

But should have smil'd that Hour, through all his Care,

And shook his Chains in Transport and rude Harmony.

GONS. What she has done, was excess of Goodness;

Betray'd by too much Piety, to seem