n he considered me.
He still declined the combat where you were;
And you well know it was not out of fear.

_Benz._ Alas, my lord, where can your vengeance fall?
Your justice will not let it reach us all.
Selin and Ozmyn both would sufferers be;
And punishment's a favour done to me.
If we are foes, since you have power to kill,
'Tis generous in you not to have the will;
But, are we foes? Look round, my lord, and see;
Point out that face which is your enemy.
Would you your hand in Selin's blood embrue?
Kill him unarmed, who, armed, shunned killing you?
Am I your foe? Since you detest my line,
That hated name of Zegry I resign:
For you, Benzayda will herself disclaim;
Call me your daughter, and forget my name.

_Selin._ This virtue would even savages subdue;
And shall it want the power to vanquish you?

_Ozm._ It has, it has; I read it in his eyes;
'Tis now not anger, 'tis but shame denies;
A shame of error, that great spirits find,
When keeps down virtue struggling in the mind.

_Aben._ Yes, I am vanquished! The fierce conflict's past,
And shame itself is now o'ercome at last.
'Twas long before my stubborn mind was won;
But, melting once, I on the sudden run;
Nor can I hold my headlong kindness more,
Than I could curb my cruel rage before.
[_Runs to_ BENZ., _and embraces her._
Benzayda, 'twas your virtue vanquished me;
That could alone surmount my cruelty.
[_Runs to_ SELIN, _and unbinds him._
Forgive me, Selin, my neglect of you;
But men, just waking, scarce know what they do.

_Ozm._ O father!

_Benz._ Father!

_Aden._ Dare I own that name!
Speak, speak it often, to remove my shame. [_They all embrace him._
O Selin, O my children, let me go!
I have more kindness than I yet can show.
For my recovery I must shun your sight;
Eyes used to darkness cannot bear the light.
[_He runs in, they following him._

SCENE II.--_The Albayzyn._

_Enter_ ALMANZOR, ABDELMELECH, _Soldiers._

_Almanz._ 'Tis war again, and I am glad 'tis so;
Success shall now by force and courage go.
Treaties are but the combat of the brain,
Where still the stronger lose, and weaker gain.

_Abdelm._ On this assault, brave sir, which we prepare,
Depends the sum and fortune of the war.
Encamped without the fort the Spaniard lies,
And may, in spite of us, send in supplies.
Consider yet, ere we attack the place,
What 'tis to