For want of petticoat I've put on buff, Well, I may march, thought I, and fight and trudge, Here they will pay for leave to find a fault, Honour in danger, blood and wounds is sought. Lost virtue, whither fled, or where's thy dwelling? Who can reveal? at least 'tis past my telling, SCENE I.-The Scene at Alcazar, representing a Market-place under the Castle. Enter MULEY-ZEYDAN and BENDUCAR. Mul. Zeyd. Now Africa's long wars are at an end, And our parch'd earth is drenched in Christian blood, My conquering brother will have slaves enough, To pay his cruel vows for victory. What hear you of Sebastian, king of Portugal! Bend. He fell among a heap of slaughtered Moors; Though yet his mangled carcase is not found. As Muley-Zeydan were not worth their care, Adore his fortune, mix with flattering crowds, Bend. So often tried, and ever found so true, How am I sure to stand who serv'd those ends? Mul. Zeyd. My father! [Embracing him. Now, Dorax! Enter DORAX. Dor. Well, Benducar. Bend. Bare Benducar? Dor. Thou wouldst have titles? take 'em then; chief minister, First hangman of the state. Bend. Some call me favourite. Dor. What's that, his minion? Thou art too old to be a catamite. Now prithee tell me, and abate thy pride, Is not Benducar bare a better name In a friend's mouth, than all those gaudy titles, Which I disdain to give the man I love! Bend. But always out of humour. Dor. I have cause: Though all mankind is cause enough for satire. Bend. Why then thou hast reveng'd thee on mankind. Like whipp'd cream, feels 'em not in going down. Bend. My future king! auspicious Muley-Thy master had been worthy of thy sword. Zeydan! Shall I adore you? No, the place is public, That gloomy outside, like a rusty chest, Mul. He's just upon us. By the long stride and by the sullen port: Wait on your brother's triumph; your's is next; Mul. Zeyd. My oracle! Dor. My master! by what title? Because I happen'd to be born where he Happen'd to be a king? and yet I serv❜d him, Nay, I was fool enough to love him too. You know my story, how I was rewarded, For fifteen hard campaigns, still hoop'd in iron, And why I turn'd Mahometan. I'm grateful; But whosoever dares to injure me, Let that man know, I dare to be reveng'd. Bend. Still you run off from bias; say what moves Your present spleen? Dor. You mark'd not what I told you: His goodness was diffus'd to human kind, Bend. You could not meet him then? Like lightning, swift before me to new slaugh ters; I mow'd across, and made irregular harvest, Had right to slay; I too would have been slain, Bend. 'Tis of as much import as Afric's worth, Choak'd up with man, and gorg'd with circum cision. As for Sebastian, we must search the field, Which his true sword has digg'd. Bend. Yet we may possibly hear farther news; Dor. Each of 'em an host, A million strong of vermin ev'ry villain : Sometimes as necessary tools of tumult. Dor. I would use 'em Like dogs in times of plague, outlaws of nature, Bend. No more; Behold the emperor coming to survey Hang by our sides, for ornament not use: Be longer us'd to lull the crying babe! M. Mol. The purple present shall be richly That vow perform'd, fasting shall be abolish'd: Muf. Fasting is but the letter of the law: Dor. [Aside.] This Mufti, in my conscience, is some English Renegade, he talks so savourly of toping. Mol. Bring forth th' unhappy relicks of the war. Enter MUSTAPHA, captain of the rabble, with his followers of the black guard, &c. and other Moors: with them a company of Portuguese slaves, without any of the chief persons. M. Mol. These are not fit to pay an emperor's Must. All, upon my honour. If you'll take 'em as their fathers got 'em, so; if not, you must stay till they get a better generation: these Christians are mere bunglers; they procreate nothing but out of their own wives; and these have all the looks of eldest sons. M. Mol. Pain of your lives, let none conceal a slave. Must. Let every man look to his own conscience; I am sure mine shall never hang me. Bend. Thou speak'st as thou wert privy to concealments: then thou art an accomplice. Must. Nay, if accomplices must suffer, it may go hard with me; but here's the devil on't, there's a great man and a holy man too, concern'd with me. Now if I confess, he'll be sure to 'scape between his greatness and his holiness, and I shall be murder'd, because of my poverty and rascality. Muf. [Winking at him. Then if thy silence save the great and holy, 'Tis sure thou shalt go straight to paradise. Must. 'Tis a fine place, they say; but, doctor, I am not worthy on't: I am contented with this homely world; 'tis good enough for such a poor rascally mussulman as I am: besides I have learnt Muj. For this victorious day our mighty pro- so much good manners, doctor, as to let my bet phet Expects your gratitude, the sacrifice Of Christian slaves, devoted, if you won. VOL. I. ters be serv'd before me. M. Mol. Thou talk'st as if the Mufti were concern'd. 9 A Must. Your majesty may lay your soul on't: but for my part, though I am a plain fellow, yet I scorn to be trick'd into paradise: I would he should know it. The troth on't is, an't like you, his reverence bought of me the flower of all the market; these — these are but dogs' meat to 'em, and a round price he paid me too, I'll say that for bim; but not enough for me to venture my neck for: If I get paradise when my time comes, I can't help myself; but I'll venture nothing before-hand, upon a blind bargain. M. Mol. Where are those slaves? produce 'em. [One goes out to fetch them. ness An off'ring worthy thee. Must. By the same token there was a dainty virgin, (Virgin! said I? but I won't be too positive of that neither) with a roguish leering eye! he paid me down for her upon the nail a thousand golden sultanins, or he had never had her, I can tell him that. Now is it very likely he would pay so dear for such a delicious morsel, and give it away out of his own mouth, when it had such a farewel with it too? Enter SEBASTIAN, conducted in mean habit, with ALVAREZ, ANTONIO, and ALMEYDA: her face veiled with a Burnus. M. Mol. Ay; these look like the wormanship This is the porcelain clay of human kind, 'Tis he; damnation seize me but 'tis he! Shall I trust heav'n, that heav'n which I renounc'd, [Aside. With my revenge? then, where's my satisfaction? No, it must be my own; I scorn a proxy. M. Mol. 'Tis decreed, These of a better aspect, with the rest Shall share one common doom, and lots decide it. Muf. Hold, sir, the woman must not draw. We know your reason-let her share the danger. Muf. Our law says plainly, women have no souls. M. Mol. 'Tis true, their souls are mortal; set her by: Yet were Almeyda here, though fame reports her Here an Urn is brought in: the prisoners ap- Dor. Poor abject creatures, how they fear to die! [Aside. These never knew one happy hour in life, Yet shake to lay it down: is load so pleasant? Or has heav'n hid the happiness of death, That men may bear to live?—Now for our heroes. [The three approach. O, these come up with spirits more resolv'd! He's blest; if not, well cheated, and dies pleas'd. Be what thou wilt, I will not look too soon. Thou hast a rugged skin; I do not like thee. The wittiest woman's toy in Portugal. If it be black, yet only dy'd, not odious, As black as hell: another lucky saying! And wishes his boots off again, for fear [SEB. comes up to draw. M. Mol. [To BEN Mark him who now approaches to the lott'ry; He looks secure of death, superior greatness, Like Jove, when he made Fate, and said thou art The slave of my creation; I admire him. Bend. He looks as man was made, with face erect, That scorns his brittle corpse, and seems asham'd Dar. Robb'd of my vengeance, by a trivial chance! [Aside. Fine work above, that their anointed care And, looking round him, found this nook of fate To skulk behind my sword!-shall I discover him? Still he would die not mine, no thanks to my Revenge; reserv'd but to more royal shambles. "Twere base too, and below those vulgar souls, That shar'd his danger, yet not one disclos'd him, But, struck with rev'rence, kept an awful silence. I'll see no more of this: dog of a prophet! Erit DOR. M. Mol. One of these three is a whole hecatomb; And therefore only one of 'em shall die: [The three draw again, and the lot falls on SEB. Seb. Then there's no more to manage! if I fall, It shall be like myself; a setting sun M. Mol. Sebastian! ha! it must be he; no Could represent such suff'ring majesty: Of greatness. Seb. Here satiate all your fury; Let fortune empty her whole quiver on me; Nor am I Fate's: Now Lhave pleas'd my longing, Of mine shall light, know there Sebastian reigns. M. Mol. What shall I do to conquer thee? Seb. Impossible! Souls know no conquerors. M. Mol. I'll show thee for a monster through my Afric. Seb. No, thou canst only show me for a man: Afric is stor❜d with monsters; man's a prodigy, Thy subjects have not seen. M. Mol. Thou talk'st as if Still at the bead of battle. Seb. Thou mistak❜st, For then I would not talk. Bend. Sure he would sleep. Seb. Till dooms-day, when the trumpet sounds to rise; For that's a soldier's call. M. Mol. Thou'rt brave too late: Thou should'st have died in battle, like a soldier. Seb. I fought and fell like one, but death de ceiv'd me; I wanted weight of feeble Moors upon me, M. Mol. Still untameable? In what a ruin has thy head-strong pride And.boundless thirst of empire plung'd thy people! Seb. What say'st thou? ha! No more of that. M. Mol. Behold, What carcases of thine thy crimes have strew'd, And left our Afric vultures to devour. Bend. Those souls were those thy God entrusted with thee, To cherish, not destroy. Seb. Witness, O heaven! how much This sight concerns me! Would I had a soul For each of these: How gladly would I pay The ransom down! But since I have but one, 'Tis a king's life, and freely 'tis bestow'd. Not your false prophet, but eternal justice, Has destin'd me the lot, to die for these: 'Tis fit a sovereign so should pay such subjects For subjects such as they are seldom seen, Who not forsook me at my greatest need, Nor for base lucre sold their loyalty, But shar'd my dangers to the last event, And fenc'd 'em with their own: These thanks I pay you: [Wipes his eyes. And know, that, when Sebastian weeps, his tears Come harder than his blood. M. Mol. They plead too strongly To be withstood: My clouds are gath'ring too, In kindly mixture with this royal shower. Be safe, and owe thy life, not to my gift, But to the greatness of thy mind, Sebastian: Thy subjects too shall live; a due reward For their untainted faith, in thy concealment. Muf. Remember, sir, your vow. 1A general shout. |