That led thee to thy country, raised thee up,
It should appear, to rank and riches. I
Suffered the cruel destiny that hangs
Upon my hapless race; was sold to chains,
Dragged out an abject servitude, for long
And weary years, till the kind charity
Of pious Christians wrought my slow release.
Giovanni.
And dost thou plead to me, stained and defiled
By the embrace of Infidels? I know
How sacred female purity would be
Within a harem's walls. We are divorced
By Heaven's own law. I pity thee; my wealth
Shall shield thy future life from misery,
But we must never meet again.
Rosmunda.
Before
The face of Heaven, I swear, a spotless bride,
A faithful, oh most faithful wife, hath dared
To call thee husband. We are one; the church,
