Chapter II: Part 2

_Za._ I say but what I see.
The infidel is dazzled by thy beauty; 1030
And if thou dost not love his flatteries,
How is it that thou art found so oft alone
Where he must walk? that now these three days past
At break of dawn, ere thou wast used to stir
Thou must go forth, because the moon is bright,
Or dwindling stars should be beheld, or flowers
Gathered in dew; and I, who must be roused
To bear thee company, am in haste dismissed,
Or sent on useless errands, while the prince 1039
Steals in my place? If I should say ’twas love....

_Al._ Folly! what folly in thee. And if ’twere true,
Should I need thee to tell me?
Go fetch my yellow roses.

_Za._ And in time:
See here he comes.

_Al._ Begone.

_Za._ Ay, I must go.
(_Aside._) But I can send another. [_Exit._

_Al._ What is it I resent? that others see us
Is our life’s evidence: loving as being
Needs this conviction.

_Enter Ferdinand._

_FERDINAND._

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

_Al._ Didst thou think
I should play truant like an idle child, 1050
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: 1060
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, 1070
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 1080
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— 1090

_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._

_SALA._

I owe him life, your highness, and would stake it
A thousand times upon his princely worth.
As are his manners, you shall find his honour.
I will go fetch him.

_TARUDANTE._

Stay, I understand 1100
Something, and know that now he is in the grounds
With the princess alone. Go if thou wilt.
Assure thyself: I need to see no more.

_Sa._ Await me here then while I go. I pray thee
Judge not so hastily.

_Tar._ I judge not hastily.

_Sa._ Then wait me here.

_Tar._ I wait for no man, Sala;
Save out of courtesy; in which I hope
I have not lacked hitherto.

_Sa._ You have rather set us
In everlasting debt.

_Tar._ Speak not of that.

_Sa._ Then mock not our repayment. 1110

_Tar._ Look you, Sala;
I understand to seize a prize by force,
Or kindly take a gift, but not to sue.

_Sa._ Yet women must be wooed.

_Tar._ Ay, that’s a game:
But if ’tis more than play, I’ve no mind for it.
Patch up the matter as you can. For me,
I cry To horse.

_Sa._ Wait but a moment longer;
I will fetch Ferdinand. (_Aside._) To have two rivals,
Tho’both be princes, may be better yet
Than to have only one. [_Exit._

_Tar._ By heaven, they trifle with me, and by waiting
I allow it; cherishing an idle softness 1121
That fools me to take slights, yet cannot soothe
My pride to competition. Nay, nor would I
Rob grey-haired Sala of it, if he has dreamed
His heirs shall reign in Fez.... But the infidel—
How should the general countenance him,—altho’
There be some tie of chivalry between them?
A riddle it is; a riddle I leave it. Now
To save engagèd honour I must feign
Some exigency. I will go warn my men 1130
That they break camp at sunrise. In three days
All is forgotten. [_Exit._

_Re-enter Sala with Ferdinand._

_Fer._ He is not here.

_Sa._ ’Tis well.

_Fer._ What wouldst thou, Sala?

_Sa._ For thy safety, prince,
And for my honour both, accept the terms,
And go hence while thou mayst.

_Fer._ Now spare thy words;
For I am firm.

_Sa._ Then if thou close the door,
Thou must o’erleap the wall.

_Fer._ What mean’st thou?

_Sa._ Fly.
Feign sickness. I will let thee forth to-night.
Thou shalt be safe beyond pursuit to-morrow, 1139
While yet ’tis thought thou keep’st thy chamber.

_Fer._ Nay.

_Sa._ As men will risk their lives to save their lives,
Risk thou thine honour now to save thine honour,—
Ay, and thy life. ’Tis looked for of no man
To make his tongue his executioner;
Nor any hath this right, to bind his brother
To die when it shall please him.

_Fer._ O honest Sala,
We wrong thee much in Spain: there art thou deemed
A heartless soldier; not a bloody tale
That would pass current, but usurps thy name:
Men curse by thee.

_Sa._ I pray you now return, 1150
And disabuse your friends.

_Fer._ Ay, that and more
When I return.

_Sa._ Thou never wilt return,
Unless thou fly at once.

_Fer._ Tell me the worst.

_Sa._ What think you, should I slay you with these hands?

_Fer._ Thou, Sala! why?

_Sa._ I spake not empty words.

_Fer._ Their darkness is to me as emptiness.

_Sa._ By heaven, I would not now unseal my lips,
But I know him I speak to, and my speech
Shall win thee. Hark, I have been for twenty years
Familiar with the king, one of his house; 1160
I have known the princess Almeh from her cradle:
Her father’s only child, she hath been to me
My single joy no less: from the first words
She lisped upon my knee, unto this day,
Her sayings and doings have been still the events
Which measured time to me: her childish ways,
Her growth, well-being, happiness, were mine,
Part of my life. Whene’er I have been away
On distant service, the same couriers
That carried my despatches to the king, 1170
Returned to me with tidings of the child,
Writ for my use, the careful chronicle
Of prattle, with whatever pretty message
She had devised to send me: as she grew
I watched her, taught her, was her friend; and while
I trod in blood, and heard the mortal gasp
Of foes my scimitar struck down to hell,
I suffered nothing to approach my soul
But what might too be hers. Sala is stern,
Men say, and register my actions bluntly 1180
To common qualities,—I serve my age
In such a tedious practice,—but in truth
Sala is gentle as the tend’rest plant
That noonday withers, or the night frosts pinch.
I tell thee what I would not dare tell any,
Lest he should smile at me, and I should slay him:
I tell it thee, knowing thou wilt not smile.
Now late it happed that I returned to Fez
After some longer absence than was wont;
And looking still to meet the child I left, 1190
I found her not. She had made a dizzy flight
From prettiest to fairest. Slow-working time
Had leapt in a miracle: ere one could say,
From being a child suddenly she was a woman,
Changed beyond hope, to me past hope unchanged.
Maybe thou hast never tasted, prince, this sorrow,
When fortune smiling upon those we love
Removes them from our reach—when we awake
To our small reckoning in the circumstance
We are grown to lean on.—Cursèd be the day 1200
Whereon we met: or would thou hadst slain me there—
My wrongs are worse than death.

_Fer._ How! can it be?
Tell me but truth. Art thou my rival, Sala?
Thou art: thou art. Yet ’twas thyself deceived me.
Thou’st ever spoken of her as of a daughter.
Forgive me, Sala; thy familiarity
And thy years blinded me. If, ere I came
Her heart was thine, and I by pity’s softness
Have stolen the passion that was thine before,
Now by mine honour I will do thy bidding: 1210
If ’tis the only way, I’ll fly to-night.
Thy word, and I will fly. Were ye betrothed?

_Sa._ Nay, prince ...

_Fer._ Nay?... Yet if not betrothed, maybe
Almeh hath loved thee, shewn thee preference,
Some promise ...

_Sa._ Nay.

_Fer._ Then, Sala, in plain words,
How have I wronged thee? what can be the cause
Why thou didst threat to kill me?

_Sa._ I said not that.

_Fer._ Esteem’st thou then a prince of Portugal
So much less than Morocco? ...

_Sa._ Dream’st thou the king
Would wed his daughter to ...

_Fer._ An infidel, 1220
Thou’dst say.

_Sa._ Is’t not impossible?

_Fer._ ’Twould seem
No miracle to me shouldst thou thyself
Turn Christian.

_Sa._ By Allah! Hush! here is the king. Begone,
Lest my goodwill to thee be more suspected
Than it deserve.

_Fer._ I’ll speak with thee again. [_Exit._

_Sa._ (_solus_). I have shot my best bolt forth, and missed my aim.

_Enter King._

_KING._

Sala, what dost thou here? I sent for thee.

_Sa._ No message, sire, hath reached me.

_K._ I am come myself
To find thee; I need thy counsel, and I desire
Thou wilt put off the manner of advisers, 1230
Who affect disapprobation of whatever
Is done without their sanction; in which humour
Thou hast looked grudgingly upon the marriage
’Twixt Almeh and Morocco.

_Sa._ My dislike
Hath better ground.

_K._ Whate’er it be, I bid thee
Put thy dislike aside: the business threatens
To fail without our aid.

_Sa._ How so?

_K._ The prince
Hath been with us five days: ’tis now full time
He spoke his mind; and yet he hath said no word.

_Sa._ Well, sire? 1240

_K._ The cause: I’ll tell thee first my thoughts.

_Sa._ The fancy of a maid is as the air—
Light, uncontrollable.

_K._ What dream is this?
’Tis not her liking that I count. The day
That Tarudante asks her she is his:
’Tis that he doth not ask.—I have myself perceived
A melancholy habit that hath come
Upon my daughter of late, and grows apace.
I thought awhile ’twas love, but now I fear
’Tis a deep disaffection: such behaviour,
So foreign to her years, might well repel 1250
So fine a lover.

_Sa._ That is not the cause.

_K._ I say it is. I have watched her with the prince
Now for two days, and marked in her behaviour
Indifference and abstraction.

_Sa._ And if ’tis so?

_K._ Find some device to drive these humours off.
Did I but know, could we discover, Sala,
What lies the nearest to her heart, a prompt
And unforeseen indulgence would restore
Her spirit to cheerfulness.

_Sa._ (_aside_). Now here is hope.
If I could work him to my purpose now. 1260

_K._ What say’st thou?

_Sa._ Sire, the sufferings of the captives
First hurt your daughter’s spirit. Would you heal it,
Release them.

_K._ Eh! Wellah! I think thou’rt right.
Twice hath she knelt before me for these men:
I had never thought of it.

_Sa._ (_aside_). Heaven give my tongue
Persuasion.

_K._ I’ll do it, Sala: ’tis worth the price.

_Sa._ There is yet one captive whom you cannot free.

_K._ Who’s he?

_Sa._ The prince.

_K._ He counts not with the rest.

_Sa._ Nay, since his wrong and claim stand above all.

_K._ Thou art pleading for thyself, Sala: thou knowest
I hold the prince for Ceuta.

_Sa._ So, sire; for never 1271
Will you hold Ceuta for the prince. You asked
My advice: you have it. Where my honour weighed not,
Nor my long service finds me any favour,
Suspect not I would use a lady’s tears:
Tho’true it be, the grief that Almeh felt
Hath been tenfold increased, since the good prince
Who gave me life was asked to buy his own.

_K._ But if I free the rest and keep the prince?

_Sa._ A stinted favour brings no gladness. Yet 1280
You could not more, you cannot, nay you are pledged.

_K._ Hark, Sala: I care not if he live or die.
Did I not offer him his liberty
On a condition? Since to win Morocco
Is to have Ceuta, I may change my terms,
And use him for that purpose, tho’it stand
One remove from my object: and I see
How I can make a bargain. Fetch my daughter,
For the same day she marries Tarudante
The prince and all the captives shall be hers: 1290
And she shall know it. Send her hither.

_Sa._ I go.
(_Aside._) Yet the condition mars the gift for all.

[_Exit Sala._

_K._ Nay, he shall not dissuade me. ’Twas good counsel
Slipped from him unawares; and tho’I swore
To keep the prince till he surrendered Ceuta,
That oath turned ’gainst myself I will cast o’er,
Making his liberty my tool; and what
Self-interest persuades I’ll do with grace.—
That men are strong or weak, foolish or wise,
According to the judgment of their fellows, 1300
Is doctrine for the multitude. For me
I would possess my wisdom as my health,
In verity, not semblance.

_Re-enter Almeh._

_Al._ My father sent for me?

_K._ Come hither, Almeh.
I have news for thee.

_Al._ Good news?

_K._ Thou shalt say good.
Guess.

_Al._ There hath something happened?

_K._ Something shall be.

_Al._ Is it peace with Portugal?

_K._ Nay, not so far.

_Al._ Tell me.

_K._ The Christian captives.

_Al._ Dare I guess
They may go free?

_K._ ’Tis that.

_Al._ O kindest father,
Thou healest my heart, that hath the chief enlargement
In this deliverance. If they know it not, 1311
May I go tell them?

_K._ Stay. There’s one condition.
It lies with thee to fix the day.

_Al._ With me?
I say to-day.

_K._ Thou canst not say to-day.

_Al._ How soon?

_K._ ’Tis thus. I make their liberty
A gift to thee the day thou shalt be married
To Tarudante.

_Al._ Ah!

_K._ The smile that came
So quickly to thy face hath fled again.
Is the condition hard?

_Al._ ’Tis like denial.

_K._ Denial!

_Al._ To do the thing I never wished, 1320
And if I wished lies not in me to do.

_K._ Thou dost not wish, sayst thou? It lies not in thee?

_Al._ ’Tis true I do not wish this marriage, sire.

_K._ Well, well. To wish to leave thy home and me
Were undesired: but to obey my will,
To trust thy welfare to my guidance, girl;
Not to oppose my dictates....

_Al._ Truly, father,
I have found as little occasion to oppose,
As I have power to stand against thy will. 1329

_K._ I know it, child: but for that hold thee to blame:
Thou hast not wished: ’tis in thy power to wish.
Marriage thou dost not wish: but thou must wish
What is my will; which to make more thine own
I add this boon. Was’t not thy chief desire?
Dost thou not thank me?

_Al._ Alas....

_K._ ’Tis no small gift, the lives of fifty men.

_Al._ Tell me, sire; with the captives dost thou reckon
Prince Ferdinand of Portugal?

_K._ I knew
Thou wouldst ask this, and am content to grant it.
See how I yield. I will go fetch thy lover: 1340
Be ready to receive him: what thou dost
Ruleth his happiness as well as mine,
And theirs whose life I give thee. Await him here.

[_Going._

_Al._ Stay, father, stay!

_K._ Well, child!

_Al._ (_aside_). It cannot be:
I dare not tell—

_K._ What wouldst thou say?

_Al._ I know not.
I have not well understood; not yet considered.

_K._ What is there to consider?

_Al._ Dost thou promise
The Christian captives and prince Ferdinand
Shall all, the day I am married, be set free?

_K._ I do.

_Al._ And if I marry not Morocco, 1350
What is their fate?

_K._ They die; unless the prince
Surrender Ceuta to me.

_Al._ O sire, the prince
Spared Sala’s life: thou owest as much to him:
Thou mayst not kill him.

_K._ See, if that’s a scruple,
How thou mayst gratify thyself and Sala.
I put this in thy power. Canst not thou thank me,
And smile on Tarudante?

_Al._ I thank thee, sire.
If I seemed not to thank thee, ’twas the effect
Of suddenness, nothing but suddenness.
I am glad to do it.

_K._ I knew thou wouldst be glad. 1360
I shall go fetch thy lover. I shall not grudge
These hogs for him. [_Exit._

_Al._ Death, said he? He would slay him!
My gentlest prince! O bloody spirit of war,
That hast no ear where any pitiful plea
Might dare to knock.—Alas, my dismal blindness!
I am but as others are, selfish, O selfish,
That thought myself in converse with the skies;
So shamed, so small in spirit. What is my love,
My yesterday’s desire, but death to him?
And what to me? What but an empty fancy 1370
Nursed against reason? which I cling to now
In spite of duty. Duty ... Ah, I remember
I had a childish fondness for that name,
Dreamed I would serve God willingly. But now,
Now ’tis impossible.... Now if I serve,
I do his bidding with unwilling will;
Yet must I do it.

_Re-enter Ferdinand._

_Fer._ Princess, I come to beg.... Alas! thy sorrow
Shews me a greater care.

_Al._ Nay; ask thy wish.

_Fer._ ’Tis changed to learn thy grief, and why that brightness, 1380
That shone to cheer my life, now clouds with rain.

_Al._ Each hath his private grief, prince: why should I
Be wondered at, or questioned of my tears?
Enough the world is sad, and I am sad.

_Fer._ A twofold error, lady: the world is gay,
And thou art half its splendour. When I first
Beheld thee in this earthly paradise,
What wondrous jewels, thought I, God hath strewn
About the world, which in our count of it
Stand out of reckoning, being unseen.

_Al._ And then 1390
If I was light of spirit, I knew not why;
Now,—but thou speakest of some favour: tell me.

_Fer._ Since my request is guilty of my coming,—
’Twas for my countrymen: to-day the gate
Hath not been opened to them.

_Al._ I am happy, prince,
Their woes are ended. Ere thou camest hither
The king was here; and in his kindest mood
Granted their liberty.

_Fer._ Thy prayers, lady,
Must be the sweetest incense that from earth
Perfumes God’s mercy-seat: He bends to soften
The heart that thou beseechest.

_Al._ Stay, ’tis thus. 1401
They are given to me to grace my bridal.

_Fer._ How!
Thy bridal?

_Al._ When I am married where thou knowest,
The prisoners shall be mine.

_Fer._ And when thy bridal?

_Al._ Whene’er Morocco, that is come to woo me,
Shall ask to wed me.

_Fer._ Lady, forbid me not.
It needs no skill to read thy sorrow now:
For coldly speak’st thou, and with trembling tongue—

_Al._ What think’st thou then?

_Fer._ Forgive me, if I am bold:
Thou dost not love him thou art bid to wed. 1410

_Al._ That were my blame, since he is worthy of me.

_Fer._ Nay, ’tis not that: but if I have guessed the truth,
O if thou hast now consented, and wilt sell
Thyself for pity of these wretched men,
Now I forbid the odious sacrifice.
Perchance thou thinkest that these many souls
Against thy single welfare, must make up
The greater stake. Not so; they’re mites and scraps
'Gainst thy immeasurable worth: a thousand
Would not complete the thousandth part of thee;
And were I where their base ill-natured wills 1421
Obey me, thou shouldst tell them for thy slaves
As hairs upon thy head. ’Twere heavy tidings
That thou shouldst love Morocco, and being so far
Won to the faith, shouldst willingly renounce
Thy saintly liberty: but rather so,
Than that by one thou lov’st not, against thy will,
Thou shouldst be harnessed 'neath the common yoke.

_Al._ My will is nothing, prince, and if Morocco
Already hath three wives, I shall rank first. 1430

_Fer._ Monstrous! Wilt thou stoop to such servile change?

_Al._ Unwittingly thou speak’st against thyself.

_Fer._ Alas! what words have injured me with thee?

_Al._ None: but thy fate is knit in one with theirs,
Whose happiness thou bidst me now not weigh.

_Fer._ On that day shall I too be given to thee?

_Al._ Betray me not, I pray.

_Fer._ O Mockery!
What hast thou done?

_Al._ The best for thee.

_Fer._ For me!
O nay. And for thyself?

_Al._ Think not of me. 1439

_Fer._ Not think of thee! My very thoughts of heaven
Are thoughts of thee. ’Tis now so short a time,
Nor have I on my part any desert
To challenge favour at thy gracious hands,
That I should dare to speak: nor any words
That man hath e’er invented, to combine
In sentences that mock mortality,
Are proud enough to tell thee; therefore—
I say in plainest speech, Almeh, I love thee.
For thy goodwill I thank thee: but my fate,
If thou dost love me not, or art another’s,— 1450
Life or death, misery and imprisonment,
Slavery or freedom, count as little with me,
As when I shall be dead, where I may lie.
Say, if thou canst, thou lov’st me: and if not,
Thou shalt at least have heard, and I have told,
My tale; how to prince Ferdinand of Portugal
Thou didst appear the only being on earth
Worth his devotion; that for thy possessing
He would have given all else, to live with thee
As Christians use, in state of man and wife, 1460
Which God hath blessed.

_Al._ No more, I pray no more.
The graveyard ghosts are not so waste and dead
As is thy phantom picture.

_Fer._ Dost thou love me?

_Al._ Why ask me? Yet be this an hour of truth,
Tho’all time lie. I love thee, Ferdinand,
Even as thou lovest me; would be thy wife,
To live alone with thee as Christians use.

_Fer._ Almeh! Weep not. Fear nothing, if thou art mine.

_Al._ I am nought that is not thine: only thy hope
I cannot share.

_Fer._ How canst thou love and fear? 1470
See, I can teach thee how to trust in love
Now with this kiss.

_Re-enter King, Tarudante, and Sala._

_Al._ (_seeing K._). Away! My father! my father!

_K._ What see I?

_Sa._ (_aside_). Now could I slay him.

_K._ (_to Tar._). These white-faced Christians
Have most uncultured manners. (_To F._) By my soul,
Prince Ferdinand, thou usest thy liberty
With small restraint. (_To S._) Sala, conduct the prince
Into the dungeon tower: see him there locked.

_Tar._ (_aside_). ’Tis as I thought.

_K._ Begone, I say: my passion
Brooks not his presence. [_Exit Sala with Ferdinand._

_Tar._ (_aside_). But what word for her,
The greater culprit?

_K._ (_to Al._). As for thee, my daughter, 1480
Retire thou too. Thy blush cannot be cured
But by this felon’s punishment. Moreover,
Thou dost not well to walk even in these grounds
Unveiled without attendant. [_Exit Almeh._

_Tar._ (_aside_). ’Tis well said,
Without attendant. (_To K._) With us, your majesty,
The women all go veiled.

_K._ And so with us
The custom is approved, and general.
But license hath been granted to my daughter
And her attendants, when within the walls.
Nor wilt thou find her modesty is touched 1490
By such concession. As for Ferdinand,
Thou shalt decree his punishment.

_Tar._ Nay, sire;
I shall not ask that. I have here a letter
Writ by my father, urging my return:
He needs my troops. I look for your permission
To take my leave to-night. As for the matter
Which brought me here, the services already
Rendered your majesty have given me
Much pleasure, as the recital will my father,
And should confirm our friendship. I confess 1500
’Tis disappointment to me that the league
Cannot be knit by marriage, and to have seen
The princess hath much sharpened my regret.
Could she have loved me, I had held myself
Not so unworthy of her grace.

_K._ Stay, stay.
Pray misinterpret not this fool’s presumption
As her consent.

_Tar._ O nay.

_K._ I see thou’rt wronged.
I bear thee no ill-will for thy resentment:
I should feel shame for thee wert thou not shamed:
But all shall be atoned for: the unbeliever 1510
Shall pay full penalty. Thou shalt decree it.

_Tar._ Might that rest with me, I’d be quit of him;
Deal courteously, and send him home to Spain
To wive among his kin.

_K._ Be not so hasty.
Make not so much of this. I promise thee
All shall be well. Stay, prince, and Ferdinand
Shall lose his head this very day.

_Tar._ Your majesty
Mistakes me; I cannot sue. My troops are warned.

_K._ Cannot I stay thee? Now, by God, ill done.
I am wronged, wronged. 1520

_Tar._ Farewell, sire: in such a soreness
Few words are wisest. What Allah forbids
Must be renounced. ’Tis of necessity
I now depart. Yet should you need me again,
Send, and I come. God’s peace be with you. [_Exit._

_K._ He is gone—
Incredible! Consenting: I could not gloss it:
Before my eyes, the eyes of Africa.
Is this her secret? this her melancholy
That cannot love? Treachery and apostasy! 1528
Or that sick passion is it, which some have suffered
For things strange and detestable. I will see her:
She shall renounce it.—Hola! (_Calling._) Ho! within—
No cure but that: immediate disavowal,
Ere ’tis too late. O shame! (_Calls._) Ho there, within!

_Enter Servant._

(_To servant._) Give word that the princess attend me here.
[_Exit servant._
That devil knows; he looked as if he knew.
And Sala knew it. ’Twas for this he urged
The villain’s liberty. He shall go free....
To hell ... and I will grant such liberty
To all who have seen him. There’s one hiding-place
Where I may stow dishonour. But for her, 1540
My daughter; if yet perchance there is any spot
In all her heart untainted by this shame
Which I may reach, that natural piety
May feel my yearning sorrow.... Tenderly,

_Re-enter Almeh._

Tenderly must I work. Lo, where she comes,
Her shameful head bowed down with consciousness.
Come, Almeh, come; come nearer. See:
Thy tender grace, thy beauty’s perfect flower,
The vesture of thy being; all thy motions,
Thoughts, and imaginations, thy desires, 1550
Fancies, and dreams; whate’er from day to day
Thou art, and callst thyself, what is it all
But part of me? Art thou the beauteous branch,
I am the gnarlèd trunk that bore and bears thee;
The root that feeds. I call thee not to judgment;
Only to save what most I prize, thy name,
And mine: there’s one way that can be: Morocco
Hath taken his leave: before he leave must thou
Beg him to see thy injury avenged,
And for thine honour’s sake must on thy knees 1560
Bid me revenge it. If on the same day
The Christian prince insulted thee he die,
And die at thy request, before the eyes
That saw thy shame, ere busy tongues can tell
A tale in the ear, such speedy penalty
Will fright the scandal to a tale of terror,
And save our name. Withal he is a prince,
And that a prince should die may well atone.
What sayst thou, child?

_Al._ Bid me not speak.

_K._ Thy tears
And sobs I cannot read. I bid thee speak. 1570

_Al._ O father!

_K._ Speak!

_Al._ Thy words, recall thy words.

_K._ What words?

_Al._ Thy words of blood.

_K._ Ah, Almeh! Almeh!
Art thou my daughter?

_Al._ O sire, on my knees
I beg.

_K._ Well, what?

_Al._ His life! his life!

_K._ Ah, traitress.

_Al._ Was not thy first condition hard enough,
To save prince Ferdinand that I should marry
Another? and I consented: but when now
Thou knowest I love him....

_K._ Love him. Thou confessest!

_Al._ I hid it from thee but to save his life;
Now I avow it to save him. If thou’rt wronged, 1580
’Tis I have wronged thee: so if one must die
Let it be me.

_K._ Then perish all of us.

_Al._ Nay, why, when peace hath such a simple way,
When kindness would cure all? If thou wouldst see
How noble he is, how true....

_K._ Silence! speak not
What thou hast dared to think, lest I should curse thee.
I in my house to see God’s holy laws
Reversed; my blood contaminate abroad
With infidels! Fly quickly. What thou hast said
Will keep thee prisoned till thy heart is changed.
Go to thy chamber. I will send thee soon 1591
Physic to cure thee. From my sight! Away,
Traitress, apostate.

_Al._ O father, by thy love....

_K._ Away! away!

_Al._ By all God’s pity I pray thee:
For pity of me.

_K._ Begone, lest I should strike thee.

_Al._ Strike me, and I will bear it. I did the wrong.
Punish me and pardon. I only ask for him,
Take not his life.

_K._ The more thou pleadest for him,
The more I hate him.

_Al._ Heaven will soften thee.
Thou must relent. Thou wilt not slay us both. 1600

_K._ Begone, I say. [_Exit Almeh._
May all the plagues of hell
Torture these Christians evermore. I see
No safe revenge. Kill him? and the worst believed?
And he my hope of Ceuta? I cannot kill him.
It needs considerate action. Hola there. (_Calling._)
I’ll speak with Sala. Hola there, hola!

_Enter Servant._

Bid Sala attend me here. [_Exit servant._
And if he blame me,
Because I harked not to him at the first,
He will not thwart my resolution now,
When policy and revenge are bound together. 1610
’Tis changed. The Christian now hath done a wrong,
For which his death is due: I have my plan:
I’ll starve him till he yield. I’ll force him to it
By chains and torture till his stubborn pride
Pay down his ransom humbly.

_Re-enter Sala._

_Sa._ Peace be with you.

_K._ The devil take thy mocking salutation.
I have three matters for thee: attend. The first
Is that Morocco leaves us, and with him
Our army is gone; whereon the second follows:
Thou must send forth with speed to all the towns
To levy succours; and thy forces here, 1621
Disordered in the war, visit thyself,
Reform, and make report. The third is this,
My will concerning Ferdinand,—and let that
Be first in thine attention;—’tis his death.
My hospitality which he hath wronged,
I now withhold ... to death—thou understandest?
And more, ’tis death to any that shall give him
A crust or drop of water: and I will change
His entertainment. Set him in the stables 1630
To serve the grooms: put chains upon his feet:
Appoint a guard to enforce his tasks, and make
Mouleh their serjeant. For the execution
I hold thee liable. Let not his life
Outdrag three days. But hark: in spite of vengeance,
And in remembrance of his claim on thee,
He may go quit upon the old condition,
Ceuta:—thou understandest? Go tell him this,
The only hope my clemency allows,
But of my provocation not a word. 1640
Be thou in time prepared to clear thyself
Of having known this mischief and concealed it.

_Sa._ My liege....

_K._ Begone and do my will. Thy words
Save to persuade the prince. Speak not to me.
It angers me to see thee. Go. I have done.

[_Exit Sala._

Three days I said; three days. Within that time,
Unless I have my town, I’ll be revenged.

ACT · IV

_ZAPEL and SALA, meeting._

_SALA._

What tidings, Zapel? I have been all day away,
And had no word.

_ZAPEL._

There’s none of good to tell.
She hath neither ate nor slept.

_Sa._ Will she not eat? 1650

_Za._ Nothing.

_Sa._ ’Tis the third day.

_Za._ Nor will she sleep.
She fights ’gainst sleep, as if ’twere death. Like one
That must keep watch against its soft approaches,
Sitting upon her couch with head inclined
She mourneth to herself, and ’twixt her sighs
What words may be distinguished overlook
Her own distress, and squander their laments
Upon an unknown sorrow, which she says
Enwraps the world. Or sometimes she will sing
The melancholy strains which she hath heard 1660
The Christian captives use.

_Sa._ ’Tis a brain-sickness:
Miserable.

_Za._ And ever, when I have tried to cheer her,
Hath she rebuked me, as she is wont; but gently,
And bid me leave her: Then to meet her humour
I have gone, but made occasion to return,
Bringing such simple food as best she likes,
Freshly prepared to tempt her; and with tears
I pray her but to taste: yet she endures,
And saith, 'I thank thee, Zapel: tho’I eat not,
Thy skill is not misspent stretching the rack 1670
That proves my constancy. I prithee, girl,
Set fresh and fresh before me.’Hearing this
I weep for pity: but she saith, 'Be sure
I shall not taste thy dishes, till one eat
Who is now denied.’

_Sa._ Doth she not speak his name?

_Za._ Rarely and reverently, as a name of God.
Then I am sent to learn the last; if yet
He lives, and whether he hath spoke of her. This morn,
As I returned from such unhappy quest,
She gave me this: See, ’tis a letter for him.... 1680

[_Shewing letter._

_Sa._ Thou darest!

_Za._ O sir, the piteous prayer she made,
Kneeling and clasping me about the knees,
Went to my heart. But now I have it I fear
To have broke the king’s command. I prithee take it.

_Sa._ Give’t me. [_Takes._

_Za._ To see her thus, Allah forgive me,
I wish well to the infidel. What word
Shall I take back?

_Sa._ Say truth. I will deliver it.
And tell her prince Enrique is returned:
He is camped a league away, and in such force
As makes me hope I may persuade the king 1690
To yield to his demand. Since there’s this hope,
Bid her preserve her strength bravely, nor thus
Prejudge God’s will. His blessing aid thy words.

[_Exit Zapel._

I said there’s hope. ’Twas hope that bade me lie,
For none I see. And this is misery,
To cherish consolations, and be happy
Doing the loathèd thing. Am I content
To bear a letter of Almeh’s to her lover?
Allah is great. My best desire is only 1699
To save her,—my one hope that the prince should yield:
And no persuasion but her love will move him.
This letter will entreat him; I must carry it.

_Enter King._

_KING._

Sala, make haste: a herald from Enrique.
This to me: Read. Edward of Portugal
Is dead. His eldest son being but a babe,
A regency now governs, and the rulers
Are prince Enrique and this Ferdinand.
The other I cannot read, and ’tis addressed
To Ferdinand. I doubt not that it urges
Acceptance of my terms and quick return. 1710

_Sa._ I pray it be so. Is it your pleasure, sire,
To speak with Ferdinand?

_K._ Ay, fetch him hither.
The dog being master now may change his mind.

_Sa._ And will you see him in his shameful dress?

_K._ Nay, that is past:—his own, and with his sword.

_Sa._ And his despatch; shall I not bear it to him?

_K._ Ay. Give it him; take it. Stay. (_Aside._) I never know
What it may say. Better to try him first
Without its knowledge. Should I fail ’twere time
To use it then. (_To Sala._) Give it me. I’ll keep it back.
What is this other paper? [_Seeing A.'s letter._

_Sa._ I pray, my liege, 1721
Ask not.

_K._ I’ll know.

_Sa._ I pray you trust me, sire.

_K._ Trust thee! what means this?

_Sa._ ’Tis a forbidden paper.
’Twould anger you to see it.

_K._ By heaven, I am angered
Before I see it. What is it thou wouldst hide?

_Sa._ It is a letter which I have intercepted
From Almeh to the prince. If you have pity
On your own flesh, beseech you, let me use it
As I judge fit.

_K._ And well discovered now. 1729
By God, wouldst thou play carrier? Give it to me.

_Sa._ It hath not been five minutes in my hands.

_K._ And shall not be. (_Takes._) Go fetch the prince.

_Sa._ If you should read it, sire, and find therein
Messages of such softness as might melt
The stubbornness of Ferdinand, I pray you,
For her sweet sake that writ it, let it go
And do its errand.

_K._ Go thou and do thine. [_Exit Sala._
Will he too plot against me! Let us see
What style she dares. _Thy death, O my beloved,
Already is avenged._—O very tenderly, 1740
And most determined.—_Willingly I suffer
What pains of thine I may. ’Tis all my joy
To have taken neither food nor rest
Since first thou wert deprived; nor will I take
Till thou be respited._—Why this might move him.
_Oh, if thou diest!_—Ah, great heavens,
What read I here? Now I see all. Baptized!
_Baptized in secret by thy countrymen._
Baptized! Then let her perish. She is dead.
I cast her off. _Till now I hid this from thee,_ 1750
_Doubting my worthiness._—He doth not know it.
He shall not know. None shall know. We will die.
I will slay all. I will go down to the grave,
And plead my cause before the holy angels,
Whether it may be permitted for a princess,
Against her father and faith....—Nay, is’t not writ
There is there no vain discourse nor charge of sin,
But pleasure to the faithful? And I to die
With house and kingdom shamed! How would my crown
Shine ’mong the blessed caliphs, and the martyrs
Who fell in fight upon the road of God? 1761
How would they look upon me,
If ’mong their moonbright scimitars I came,
My child’s blood on my head? and she not there,
The fair flower of my life, the bud of grace,
Which my long-withering and widowed tree
Held to the face of heaven,
Now from my own trunk by my own hands torn.
Better the bole be split: heaven’s lightning rend me:
All curses seize me. Almeh, thou must not die. 1770

_Re-enter Sala._

_Sa._ Prince Ferdinand will come.

_K._ Is he not here?

_Sa._ He comes.

_K._ Why look’st thou thus upon me, Sala?

_Sa._ Because, sire, thou’st dishonoured me, and slain
A noble warrior, who gave me life.

_K._ Slain him!

_Sa._ Ay, king: except thou raise the dead.
For tho’he breathes, ’tis with such failing gasps
As mastering death allows to his sure prey.

_K._ Thou art over-fearful; three days without food
Should make him weak and faint, but not to death.
Nay, I am determined now he shall not die. 1780
Food will restore him. Set me here a table
With meat and drink: here in the garden set it,
And he shall eat at once. See it be done,
And quickly.

_Sa._ Sire, I obey: tho’’tis too late. [_Exit._

_During the King’s following speech, servants come in with table, etc., which they set down, and go out._

_K._ He must not die, since only by his life
I can save Almeh: and ’tis not too late.
The sight of food will tempt, the taste restore him:
He will yield. I have here too what will move him,
This letter; were he built of Atlas stone,
For Almeh’s sake he must relent. I know, 1790
I see what must be done. I can consent:
For such alliance with an ancient foe
Is honourable. Peace between the realms,
Happiness to both houses—bought may be
With sacrifice on my side—yet there’s pride
On both to balance: and, this way refused,
’Tis hell and death. And he will thank me too.
He is brave and noble; and the stoutest foes
Are won to stoutest friendship. See, he comes.

_Enter Fer., upborne between two Moorish soldiers._

Prince Ferdinand, our quarrel comes to end. 1800
A message has arrived from prince Enrique.
Your brother Edward, that was king, is dead.
Wherefore the power which I have used on thee
I now relax. I have a gentler purpose
And a persuasion thou mayst guess; while thou,
Owing no loyalty but to thyself,
I am well assured wilt not be slow to meet me.
Sit with me first and eat: when thou’rt restored
We will compose these matters at our leisure:
Which done, and peace agreed, thou mayst return
In time to pay thy brother’s memory 1811
The sorrow it deserves: and in his place
Govern the Portuguese. See, there’s thy life,
Thy strength and restoration. Sit and eat.

_FERDINAND._

I feel no hunger, sire. The time is past
When thou couldst save my life.

_K._ Despair not.

_Fer._ Nay,
I do not know the word.

_K._ This is despair.
Come, sit and eat.

_Fer._ I say the wish is past.

_K._ Dost thou not then believe? See in this paper
Writ to thyself. (_Gives._)
(_Aside._) Life doth not tempt this man. 1820
The call to rule his people yet may move him.
What readst thou now therein?

_Fer._ What thou hast said.
My brother Edward’s soul rest in God’s peace!

_K._ Is nought else in thy paper?

_Fer._ Ay, there’s more.
I’d not conceal it. Prince Enrique writes,
If I return not to his camp to-night,
He comes himself in force to rescue me.

_K._ Trust not to such deliverance.

_Fer._ Nay, O king:
For cometh he at even or at morn,
To-morrow or to-day, he cometh late. 1830
My eves and morns are passed, and my deliverance
Is nearer than his coming: yet for that,
Tho’I shall see him not when he doth come,
Not the less will he come; for so he saith.

_K._ Thou wilt not eat and live?

_Fer._ I thank thee, sire.

_K._ (_to attendants_). Set the prince in the chair, and all go out;
And send the guard within.

[_They obey. As they go out they take with them the sentinel from the pit gate. From this point the stage gradually begins to darken to end of act._

Now, prince, we are left alone, eat what I give thee.

[_Puts food towards him._

_Fer._ Why should I eat?

_K._ (_pouring_). Myself I pour the wine.
Drink with me. ’Tis thy life.

_Fer._ Why should I live? 1840

_K._ Canst thou not guess? I’ll tell thee then, and speak
Not as a foe. Thy will hath conquered mine;
And if I wronged thee, thou hast wronged me more.
Thou hast loved my daughter, and strangely won her love
Away from him whom for my son I had chosen,
And pillar of my house: thou hast driven away
My best ally, and left my kingdom naked:—
For this thy death would be but fair revenge.
And there’s a secret cause why I should hate thee
Above all this: thou hast suborned my daughter:
She hath denied her faith. See there: (_gives letter_) see there, 1851
What she hath writ. Read all. Seest thou not now?
’Tis true, she kills herself; she dies for thee.
Yet I’ll forgive thee; tho’she is none of mine,
Apostate, disobedient.—Yet for her
I will forgive thee. See, ’tis for her sake
I pray thee eat.

_Fer._ Too late, ’twould be too late.

_K._ Say not too late: that word is death. Thou’rt brave.
Tho’not for me, yet for her sake I bid thee
Eat, drink, and live. So she may live, and thou—
The altitude of thrones may overlook 1861
Such differences—I give her thee to wife.
Save us, I pray.

_Fer._ What hear I? wouldst thou then
Have given me in good faith Almeh to wife?

[_Makes motions towards food._

_K._ And will. Ay, drink.

_Fer._ And Ceuta?

_K._ That is mine,
Her price.

_Fer._ (_thrusting things from him_). Ah, never.

_K._ Dost thou then refuse?

_Fer._ It cheereth death to spend my last breath thus.

_K._ Sittest thou there balanced ’twixt death and life,
Daintily making choice, and to my offer
Of all that God could grant thee, life and love, 1870
Wrung from me by my sorrow, to my shame
Preferrest the Christian hell? O Infidel
Apostatizing dog, lest now thy mouth
Should find the power to gasp one broken speech
Of triumph over me, die at my hand.
Death shall not rob me of thy blood that’s left.

[_Stabs Fer. across the table._

Thus let thy brother find thee, if I fail
To send him also thither, where thou goest
To thine idolatrous and thieving sires. [_Exit._

_Enter from pit Chorus.... Twilight._

CHORUS (_inter se_).

We come with laboured breath 1880
Climbing from underground:—
In fear we creep and quake:—
What voice with furious sound,
Choking in wrath outspake
The names of blood and death?—
Who is here?—Look around.—
Hearken!—the broken moan
Of the ever-murmuring sea
Reaches my ear alone—
Come forward, ye may dare, 1890
All is quite still and free.—
Ah, stay! behold him there,
That sitteth with his head
Upon his breast bent low—
The prince—the prince.—Forbear,
He sleepeth.—Nay, I fear,
Now may the truth strike dead
My terror—step thou near—
Gently.—Alas! woe, woe,
Woe, woe, woe, woe, he is dead. 1900
He sits dead in his chair.

See at his heart, where yet
The murderous wound is wet.—
Our prince, our prince is dead—
They have slain him in their spite—
Ai, ai, ai, ai! Who now
Can save us? We are lost men, friends; we are lost—
And thou, who saidst that we should live to fight,
Where are thy arms? Didst thou not make a boast
That thou couldst see God’s will?—We are quite forsaken, 1910
Forgotten—(1.) Refrain, refrain. Can God forget?

_Ch._ Who could refrain? Alas! Hath not long woe
Crushed us so low?—Ah me! This is our pain.—
Now we deplore, alas!—Hell and despair!—
Now it is plain—O woe—we are no more
What once we were.—

(1.) Renew your courage, and devote your care
In solemn duty to the dead. Upraise
This noble corpse, and bear it to the bower;
Where, roofed by rose and jasmine, it may lie 1920
Hid from the dews of swift descending night.
Take ye the feet, while I uplift the head,
And, grasping in the midst, ye, by his robe,
Bear him with slow accommodated step,
Where we may best dispose his limbs in peace.

[_Exeunt bearers with Fer.'s body to bower._

_Bearers._ Alas, ah! noble prince,
What burial wilt thou have?
Far from where thy fathers lie,
In a heathen grave,
If grave they give thee at all. 1930
Yet will thy country mourn;
And where victorious banners hang,
And hymns of Christian joy are sung,
Upraise thine empty tomb.

_The others._ We see our fate to-night. Thus shall we die.—
If thus they treated him, how shall we fare?—
Who bids us hope?—There is no hope, no hope:
I’ll mask my thought no more.

_Bearers re-enter from bower._

_Ch._ (1.) (_Who has Fer.'s letter and sword._)
We are saved! we are saved!

_Ch._ How saved?—How so?—Tell us!—

(1.) This letter here.

_Ch._ What letter? say. 1940

(1.) ’Tis from the prince Enrique.

_Ch._ Read! read!

(1.) ’Tis written to prince Ferdinand,
In our home speech. ’Twas in his grasp.

_Ch._ Read! read!

(1.) _Unless I have thee in my camp to-night,
At morn I rescue thee._

_Ch._ Where is the camp?

(1.) A league hence to the west, he writes.

_Ch._ Alas!
Now they have slain his brother he will not come.—
Or, should he come, then in the siege he makes
Hunger will slay us all.—

(1.) Hark then to me. (_Stage darkens more._)
He lying so near we may escape to him.

_Ch._ How shall we escape?—The guards upon the walls 1950
Would see us.—They would send pursuit of horse
To cut us down.—

(1.) Not now. I said not now;
But later in darkest night.

_Ch._ And how to escape?

(1.) See here the prince’s sword: with this in hand
To creep at midnight on our sentinel,
And slay him: then in darkness unperceived
To climb out o’er the wall.

_Ch._ Now sayst thou well.

(1.) Ye trust me now?

_Ch._ Ay, ay: if thou canst kill him.

(1.) Obey me, and I will lead you forth to-night.

_Ch._ What to do? 1960

(1.) Hush ye! Our careless sentinel
Must soon return. Let him not see us here.
Begone, and some take up this food and wine,
Which we may share below to help our strength,
Hiding it 'neath your garments, as do I
The sword. With silent step troop to your shades.

[_Exeunt. As they go out the stage darkens quite._

_Re-enter K. and Sala, Left. There is light on them from the doorway, where they stand awhile._

_K._ Come forth and see!

_Sa._ The night hath wrapped thy deed
In fourfold darkness, that I should not see.

_K._ Thine eyes are straitened by the light within:
’Tis not so dark but we shall see anon.

_Sa._ I have loved thee, sire, so well: served thee so long.... 1970

_K._ What sayst thou?

_Sa._ I complain ’tis ill-repaid.
I am ill-repaid.

_K._ Sala!

_Sa._ Prince Ferdinand
Had given me life.

_K._ Stay. Why harbourest thou still
That grudge against me? Didst thou read her letter
I gave thee?

_Sa._ I did.

_K._ Thou didst: and canst not guess?
To save her life I yielded. I consented
To make this man my son. If he would live
And give up Ceuta, then I promised him
Almeh to wife.

_Sa._ What hear I?

_K._ When he refused,
I smote him through.

_Sa._ Refused!

_K._ There where he sits. 1980

_Sa._ Can this be truth?

_K._ Ay, by the prophet. Ha!
He is gone.

_Sa._ Nay, none is here.

_K._ He hath yet found strength
To crawl away to die. ’Twill not be far.
Hark! heardst thou that? Again. [_Sighing heard._

_Sa._ ’Twas some one sighed.

_K._ ’Twas that way, Sala: seek about.

_Sa._ The moon
Is up, but curtained by yon inky cloud,
Cannot shine forth. Let me go fetch a lantern.

_K._ Go, go. I will watch here. [_Exit Sala._
Why should I fear?
I’ll draw my sword. (_Calling._) Ferdinand!
(_The sighing again._) If thou canst speak, say where thou art. 1990
Answer me: Dost thou live? nay, sigh not so.
If yet thou livest I think I would abate. (_The sighing._)
Now ’tis here, now ’tis there. Thank heaven, the moon:

(_Moon appears, and shews ghost of Ferdinand midway back._)

I see him. He stands upright! Prince Ferdinand!
He walketh from me. Stay. I bid thee stand,—
By heaven, or I will slay thee. Villain, traitor!

[_Goes after ghost, makes a lunge at him, and ghost vanishes._

_Re-enter Sala._

_Sa._ What noise is that? What, sire: with thy sword drawn!

_K._ Didst thou not see him?

_Sa._ The Prince?

_K._ Ay.

_Sa._ Was it the prince
You spake with?

_K._ Ay, he lives.

_Sa._ And drew you upon him?

_K._ I called to him, Sala, and he made away: 2000
I followed him to stay him.

_Sa._ Thank God, he lives.
You did not strike him.

_K._ Nay, I struck him not.

_Sa._ ’Tis now like day. I see him nowhere, sire.

_K._ He hath hid himself. Look, Sala; search about.
I’ll sit awhile. See; why the food is gone,
The food that he refused. He hath eaten all.
His weakness was but feigned.

_Sa._ I’ll search about.

_K._ He stood and walked upright as if unhurt.
Yet how, unless he be a devil in flesh
Could he have 'scaped my mortal thrust?

_Sa._ (_in the arbour_). Alas! 2010
He is here, he is dead.

_K._ How now! he is dead? [_Goes to arbour._

_Sa._ (_coming out_). He is slain.
May heaven forgive thee! (_Aside._) Murdered, most basely murdered,
And by this shifty, inconsiderate king.
Murdered for pride; because he would not take
The gift that was begrudged. Oh, Almeh, Almeh,
Thou hadst a noble and a gentle lover.

_K._ (_re-entering_). How came he there, Sala? How could I see him?
’Tis true he is dead and cold.