Ferdinand.

What, Almeh! thou’rt here? Dost thou indeed await me?

Al. Didst thou think I should play truant like an idle child, Who when the clock has struck cannot be found, And must be dragged to school?

Fer. O nay. But in this world, Where all things move outside our reckoning, To find the least desire hath come to pass Will seem a miracle.

Al. What is thy desire? What is the miracle?

Fer. O beauteous Almeh! If I might call thee Christian!

Al. Nay, I know not: But what I have learned makes me desire the name.

Fer. Now is the purpose of my expedition Revealed: for this I sailed to Africa: For this I was defeated, and for this Brought captive here. ’Tis thou that art my prize.

Al. ’Twere a poor prize for so much war: but tell me, How came it thou’rt a soldier?

Fer. Thou hast thought My failure shames that title?

Al. Nay, I ask How, being a Christian, thou professest arms. Why hast thou come against us, with no plea Save thy religion, and that happy gospel Thou hast trampled on in coming, Peace on earth?

Fer. Too late to ask. When conscience, like an angel, Stood in the way to bar my setting forth, Zeal and ambition blinded me; tho’yet Against the voice of them that urged me on There lacked not prodigies of heaven to stay me. For as we sailed from Lisbon, all the host That lined the shore with banners and gay music, Was changed before my eyes to funeral trains Of black and weeping mourners, who with wails And screams affrighted us. The sun in heaven Turned to blood-red, and doleful mists of grey Shut us in darkness, while the sucking ebb Dragged us to doom. And here now that I stand In the rebuke of judgment, I have no plea Save that I suffer: unless thou be found My unsought prize.

Al. Thou missest the conclusion, Considering but thyself, not those thou hast wronged. Thou must surrender Ceuta: ’tis a debt To justice and to peace: my father’s honour. Thy duty towards thy wretched countrymen, And thine own freedom—

Fer. Let no words between us Be spoke in vain, as these words now must be.

Al. Were thy words true, my words were not in vain.

Fer. Lady, were Ceuta mine, had my sword won it, Thy words might move, though not thy father’s threats.

Al. I hear the gate: some one comes forth. I pray Retire, ere we be seen. [Exeunt R.

Enter Sala and Tarudante.