_Seb._ Thou hast a right in heaven.
But why these prayers for me?
_Alv._ A door is open yet for your deliverance.--
Now you, my countrymen, and you, Almeyda,
Now all of us, and you, my all in one,
May yet be happy in that captive's life.
_Seb._ We have him here an honourable hostage
For terms of peace; what more he can contribute
To make me blest, I know not.
_Ah._ Vastly more;
Almeyda may be settled in the throne,
And you review your native clime with fame.
A firm alliance and eternal peace,
The glorious crown of honourable war,
Are all included in that prince's life.
Let this fair queen be given to Muley-Zeydan,
And make her love the sanction of your league.
_Seb._ No more of that; his life's in my dispose,
And prisoners are not to insist on terms;
Or, if they were, yet he demands not these.
_Alv._ You should exact them.
_Alm._ Better may be made,
These cannot: I abhor the tyrant's race,--
My parents' murderers, my throne's usurpers.
But, at one blow, to cut off all dispute,
Know this, thou busy, old, officious man,--
I am a Christian; now be wise no more;
Or, if thou wouldst be still thought wise, be silent.
_Alv._ O, I perceive you think your interest touched:
'Tis what before the battle I observed;
But I must speak, and will.
_Seb._ I pr'ythee, peace;
Perhaps she thinks they are too near of blood.
_Alv.
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