ut you, my lord, are good at a retreat.
I have no Moors behind me.

_Bert._ Death and hell!
Dare to speak thus when you come out again.

_Tor._ Dare to provoke me thus, insulting man!

_Enter_ TERESA.

_Ter._ My lords, you are too loud so near the queen;
You, Torrismond, have much offended her.
'Tis her command you instantly appear,
To answer your demeanour to the prince.
[_Exit_ TERESA; BERTRAN, _with his company,
follow her._

_Tor._ O, Pedro, O, Alphonso, pity me!
A grove of pikes,
Whose polished steel from far severely shines,
Are not so dreadful as this beauteous queen.

_Alph._ Call up your courage timely to your aid,
And, like a lion, pressed upon the toils,
Leap on your hunters. Speak your actions boldly;
There is a time when modest virtue is
Allowed to praise itself.

_Ped._ Heart! you were hot enough, too hot, but now;
Your fury then boiled upward to a foam;
But since this message came, you sink and settle,
As if cold water had been poured upon you.

_Tor._ Alas! thou know'st not what it is to love!
When we behold an angel, not to fear,
Is to be impudent: No, I am resolved,
Like a led victim, to my death I'll go,
And, dying, bless the hand, that gave the blow. [_Exeunt._

_The_ SCENE _draws, and shews the Queen sitting in state;_ BERTRAN
_standing next to her; then_ TERESA, _&c. She rises, and comes to
the front._

_Leonora._ [_To_ BERT.]
I blame not you, my lord; my father's will,
Your own deserts, and all my people's voice,
Have placed you in the view of sovereign power.
But I would learn the cause, why Torrismond,
Within my palace-walls, within my hearing,
Almost within my sight,--affronts a prince,
Who shortly shall command him.

_Bert._ He thinks you owe him more than you can pay;
And looks as he were lord of human kind.

_Enter_ TORRISMOND, ALPHONSO, PEDRO. TORRISMOND _bows low, then
looks earnestly on the Queen, and keeps at Distance._

_Teresa._ Madam, the general.--

_Leo._ Let me view him well.
My father sent him early to the frontiers;
I have not often seen him; if I did,
He passed unmarked by my unheeding eyes:--
But where's the fierceness, the disdainful pride,
The haughty port, the fiery arrogance?--
By all these marks, this is not, sure, the man.

_Bert._ Yet this is he, who filled your court with tumult,
Whose fierce demeanour, and whose insolence,
The patience of a god could not supp