Chapter XXV: Act IV: SCENE I.--BENDUCAR'S Palace, in the Castle of Alcazar

BENDUCAR _solus._

_Bend._ My future fate, the colour of my life, My all, depends on this important hour: This hour my lot is weighing in the scales, And heaven, perhaps, is doubting what to do. Almeyda and a crown have pushed me forward: 'Tis fixed, the tyrant must not ravish her; He and Sebastian stand betwixt my hopes; He most, and therefore first to be dispatched. These, and a thousand things, are to be done In the short compass of this rolling night; And nothing yet performed, None of my emissaries yet returned.

_Enter_ HALY, _first Servant._

Oh Haly, thou hast held me long in pain. What hast thou learnt of Dorax? is he dead?

_Haly._ Two hours I warily have watched his palace; All doors are shut, no servant peeps abroad; Some officers, with striding haste, passed in, While others outward went on quick dispatch. Sometimes hushed silence seemed to reign within; Then cries confused, and a joint clamour, followed; Then lights went gliding by, from room to room, And shot, like thwarting meteors, cross the house. Not daring further to inquire, I came With speed, to bring you this imperfect news.

_Bend._ Hence I conclude him either dead, or dying. His mournful friends, summoned to take their leaves, Are thronged about his couch, and sit in council. What those caballing captains may design, I must prevent, by being first in action.-- To Muley-Zeydan fly with speed, desire him To take my last instructions; tell the importance, And haste his presence here.-- [_Exit_ HALY. How has this poison lost its wonted way? It should have burnt its passage, not have lingered In the blind labyrinths and crooked turnings Of human composition; now it moves Like a slow fire, that works against the wind, As if his stronger stars had interposed.--

_Enter_ HAMET.

Well, Hamet, are our friends, the rabble, raised? From Mustapha what message?

_Ham._ What you wish. The streets are thicker in this noon of night, Than at the mid-day sun; a drowsy horror Sits on their eyes, like fear, not well awake; All crowd in heaps, as, at a night alarm, The bees drive out upon each others backs, To imboss their hives in clusters; all ask news; Their busy captain runs the weary round, To whisper orders; and, commanding silence, Makes not noise cease, but deafens it to murmurs.

_Bend._ Night wastes apace; when, when will he appear!

_Ham._ He only waits your summons.

_Bend._ Haste their coming. Let secrecy and silence be enjoined In their close march. What news from the lieutenant?

_Ham._ I left him at the gate, firm to your interest, To admit the townsmen at their first appearance.

_Bend._ Thus far 'tis well: Go, hasten Mustapha. [_Exit_ HAMET.

_Enter_ ORCHAN, _the third Servant._

O, Orchan, did I think thy diligence Would lag behind the rest!--What from the Mufti?

_Orc._ I sought him round his palace; made inquiry Of all the slaves; in short, I used your name, And urged the importance home; but had for answer, That, since the shut of evening, none had seen him.

_Bend._ O the curst fate of all conspiracies! They move on many springs; if one but fail, The restiff machine stops. In an ill hour he's absent; 'Tis the first time, and sure will be the last, That e'er a Mufti was not in the way, When tumults and rebellion should be broached. Stay by me; thou art resolute and faithful; I have employment worthy of thy arm. [_Walks._

_Enter_ MULEY-ZEYDAN.

_Mul. Zeyd._ You see me come, impatient of my hopes, And eager as the courser for the race: Is all in readiness?

_Bend._ All but the Mufti.

_Mul. Zeyd._ We must go on without him.

_Bend._ True, we must; For 'tis ill stopping in the full career, Howe'er the leap be dangerous and wide.

_Orc._ [_Looking out._] I see the blaze of torches from afar, And hear the trampling of thick-beating feet; This way they move.

_Bend._ No doubt, the emperor. We must not be surprised in conference. Trust to my management the tyrant's death, And haste yourself to join with Mustapha. The officer, who guards the gate, is yours: When you have gained that pass, divide your force; Yourself in person head one chosen half, And march to oppress the faction in consult With dying Dorax. Fate has driven them all Into the net; you must be bold and sudden: Spare none; and if you find him struggling yet With pangs of death, trust not his rolling eyes And heaving gasps; for poison may be false,-- The home thrust of a friendly sword is sure.

_Mul. Zeyd._ Doubt not my conduct; they shall be surprised. Mercy may wait without the gate one night, At morn I'll take her in.

_Bend._ Here lies your way; You meet your brother there.

_Mul. Zeyd._ May we ne'er meet! For, like the twins of Leda, when I mount, He gallops down the skies. [_Exit_ MUL. ZEYD.

_Bend._ He comes:--Now, heart, Be ribbed with iron for this one attempt; Set ope thy sluices, send the vigorous blood Through every active limb for my relief; Then take thy rest within thy quiet cell, For thou shalt drum no more.

_Enter Emperor, and Guards attending him._

_Emp._ What news of our affairs, and what of Dorax? Is he no more? say that, and make me happy.

_Bend._ May all your enemies be like that dog, Whose parting soul is labouring at the lips.

_Emp._ The people, are they raised?

_Bend._ And marshalled too; Just ready for the march.

_Emp._ Then I'm at ease.

_Bend._ The night is yours; the glittering host of heaven Shines but for you; but most the star of love, That twinkles you to fair Almeyda's bed. Oh, there's a joy to melt in her embrace, Dissolve in pleasure, And make the gods curse immortality, That so they could not die. But haste, and make them yours.

_Emp._ I will; and yet A kind of weight hangs heavy at my heart; My flagging soul flies under her own pitch, Like fowl in air too damp, and lugs along, As if she were a body in a body, And not a mounting substance made of fire. My senses, too, are dull and stupified, Their edge rebated:--sure some ill approaches, And some kind sprite knocks softly at my soul, To tell me, fate's at hand[6].

_Bend._ Mere fancies all. Your soul has been before-hand with your body, And drunk so deep a draught of promised bliss, She slumbers o'er the cup; no danger's near, But of a surfeit at too full a feast.

_Emp._ It may be so; it looks so like the dream That overtook me, at my waking hour, This morn; and dreams, they say, are then divine, When all the balmy vapours are exhaled, And some o'erpowering god continues sleep. 'Twas then, methought, Almeyda, smiling, came, Attended with a train of all her race, Whom, in the rage of empire, I had murdered: But now, no longer foes, they gave me joy Of my new conquest, and, with helping hands, Heaved me into our holy prophet's arms, Who bore me in a purple cloud to heaven[7].

_Bend._ Good omen, sir; I wish you in that heaven Your dream portends you,-- Which presages death. [_Aside._

_Emp._ Thou too wert there; And thou, methought, didst push me from below, With thy full force, to Paradise.

_Bend._ Yet better.

_Emp._ Ha! what's that grizly fellow, that attends thee?

_Bend._ Why ask you, sir?

_Emp._ For he was in my dream, And helped to heave me up.

_Bend._ With prayers and wishes; For I dare swear him honest.

_Emp._ That may be; But yet he looks damnation.

_Bend._ You forget The face would please you better. Do you love, And can you thus forbear?

_Emp._ I'll head my people, Then think of dalliance when the danger's o'er. My warlike spirits work now another way, And my soul's tuned to trumpets.

_Bend._ You debase yourself, To think of mixing with the ignoble herd; Let such perform the servile work of war, Such who have no Almeyda to enjoy. What, shall the people know their god-like prince Skulked in a nightly skirmish? Stole a conquest, Headed a rabble, and profaned his person, Shouldered with filth, borne in a tide of ordure, And stifled with their rank offensive sweat?

_Emp._ I am off again; I will not prostitute The regal dignity so far, to head them.

_Bend._ There spoke a king. Dismiss your guards, to be employed elsewhere In ruder combats; you will want no seconds In those alarms you seek.

_Emp._ Go, join the crowd;-- [_To the Guards._ Benducar, thou shalt lead them in my place. [_Exeunt Guards._ The God of Love once more has shot his fires Into my soul, and my whole heart receives him. Almeyda now returns with all her charms; I feel her as she glides along my veins, And dances in my blood. So when our prophet Had long been hammering, in his lonely cell, Some dull, insipid, tedious Paradise, A brisk Arabian girl came tripping by; Passing she cast at him a side-long glance, And looked behind, in hopes to be pursued: He took the hint, embraced the flying fair, And, having found his heaven, he fixed it there. [_Exit Emperor._

_Bend._ That Paradise thou never shalt possess. His death is easy now, his guards are gone, And I can sin but once to seize the throne; All after-acts are sanctified by power.

_Orc._ Command my sword and life.

_Bend._ I thank thee, Orchan, And shall reward thy faith. This master-key Frees every lock, and leads us to his person; And, should we miss our blow,--as heaven forbid!-- Secures retreat. Leave open all behind us; And first set wide the Mufti's garden gate, Which is his private passage to the palace; For there our mutineers appoint to meet, And thence we may have aid.--Now sleep, ye stars, That silently o'erwatch the fate of kings! Be all propitious influences barred, And none but murderous planets mount the guard. [_Exit with_ ORCHAN.

SCENE II.--_A Night-Scene of the Mufti's Garden._

_Enter the Mufti alone, in a Slave's Habit, like that of_ ANTONIO.

_Muf._ This it is to have a sound head-piece; by this I have got to be chief of my religion; that is, honestly speaking, to teach others what I neither know nor believe myself. For what's Mahomet to me, but that I get by him? Now for my policy of this night: I have mewed up my suspected spouse in her chamber;--no more embassies to that lusty young stallion of a gardener. Next, my habit of a slave; I have made myself as like him as I can, all but his youth and vigour; which when I had, I passed my time as well as any of my holy predecessors. Now, walking under the windows of my seraglio, if Johayma look out, she will certainly take me for Antonio, and call to me; and by that I shall know what concupiscence is working in her. She cannot come down to commit iniquity, there's my safety; but if she peep, if she put her nose abroad, there's demonstration of her pious will; and I'll not make the first precedent for a churchman to forgive injuries.

_Enter_ MORAYMA, _running to him with a Casket in her hand, and
embracing him._

_Mor._ Now I can embrace you with a good conscience; here are the pearls and jewels, here's my father.

_Muf._ I am indeed thy father; but how the devil didst thou know me in this disguise? and what pearls and jewels dost thou mean?

_Mor._ [_Going back._] What have I done, and what will now become of me!

_Muf._ Art thou mad, Morayma?

_Mor._ I think you'll make me so.

_Muf._ Why, what have I done to thee? Recollect thyself, and speak sense to me.

_Mor._ Then give me leave to tell you, you are the worst of fathers.

_Muf._ Did I think I had begotten such a monster!--Proceed, my dutiful child, proceed, proceed.

_Mor._ You have been raking together a mass of wealth, by indirect and wicked means: the spoils of orphans are in these jewels, and the tears of widows in these pearls.

_Muf._ Thou amazest me!

_Mor._ I would do so. This casket is loaded with your sins; 'tis the cargo of rapines, simony, and extortions; the iniquity of thirty years muftiship converted into diamonds.

_Muf._ Would some rich railing rogue would say as much to me, that I might squeeze his purse for scandal!

_Mor._ No, sir, you get more by pious fools than railers, when you insinuate into their families, manage their fortunes while they live, and beggar their heirs, by getting legacies, when they die. And do you think I'll be the receiver of your theft? I discharge my conscience of it: Here, take again your filthy mammon, and restore it, you had best, to the true owners.

_Muf._ I am finely documented by my own daughter!

_Mor._ And a great credit for me to be so: Do but think how decent a habit you have on, and how becoming your function to be disguised like a slave, and eaves-dropping under the women's windows, to be saluted, as you deserve it richly, with a piss-pot. If I had not known you casually by your shambling gait, and a certain reverend awkwardness that is natural to all of your function, here you had been exposed to the laughter of your own servants; who have been in search of you through the whole seraglio, peeping under every petticoat to find you.

_Muf._ Pr'ythee, child, reproach me no more of human failings; they are but a little of the pitch and spots of the world, that are still sticking on me; but I hope to scour them out in time. I am better at bottom than thou thinkest; I am not the man thou takest me for.

_Mor._ No, to my sorrow, sir, you are not.

_Muf._ It was a very odd beginning though, methought, to see thee come running in upon me with such a warm embrace; pr'ythee, what was the meaning of that violent hot hug?

_Mor._ I am sure I meant nothing by it, but the zeal and affection which I bear to the man of the world, whom I may love lawfully.

_Muf._ But thou wilt not teach me, at this age, the nature of a close embrace?

_Mor._ No, indeed; for my mother-in-law complains, that you are past teaching: But if you mistook my innocent embrace for sin, I wish heartily it had been given where it would have been more acceptable.

_Muf._ Why this is as it should be now; take the treasure again, it can never be put into better hands.

_Mor._ Yes, to my knowledge, but it might. I have confessed my soul to you, if you can understand me rightly. I never disobeyed you till this night; and now, since, through the violence of my passion, I have been so unfortunate, I humbly beg your pardon, your blessing, and your leave, that, upon the first opportunity, I may go for ever from your sight; for heaven knows, I never desire to see you more.

_Muf._ [_Wiping his eyes._] Thou makest me weep at thy unkindness; indeed, dear daughter, we will not part.

_Mor._ Indeed, dear daddy, but we will.

_Muf._ Why, if I have been a little pilfering, or so, I take it bitterly of thee to tell me of it, since it was to make thee rich; and I hope a man may make bold with his own soul, without offence to his own child. Here, take the jewels again; take them, I charge thee, upon thy obedience.

_Mor._ Well then, in virtue of obedience, I will take them; but, on my soul, I had rather they were in a better hand.

_Muf._ Meaning mine, I know it.

_Mor._ Meaning his, whom I love better than my life.

_Muf._ That's me again.

_Mor._ I would have you think so.

_Muf._ How thy good nature works upon me! Well, I can do no less than venture damning for thee; and I may put fair for it, if the rabble be ordered to rise to-night.

_Enter_ ANTONIO, _in a rich African habit._

_Ant._ What do you mean, my dear, to stand talking in this suspicious place, just underneath Johayma's window?--[_To the Mufti._] You are well met, comrade; I know you are the friend of our flight: are the horses ready at the postern gate?

_Muf._ Antonio, and in disguise! now I begin to smell a rat.

_Ant._ And I another, that out-stinks it. False Morayma, hast thou thus betrayed me to thy father!

_Mor._ Alas! I was betrayed myself. He came disguised like you, and I, poor innocent, ran into his hands.

_Muf._ In good time you did so; I laid a trap for a bitch-fox, and a worse vermin has caught himself in it. You would fain break loose now, though you left a limb behind you; but I am yet in my own territories, and in call of company; that's my comfort.

_Ant._ [_Taking him by the throat._] No; I have a trick left to put thee past thy squeaking. I have given thee the quinsy; that ungracious tongue shall preach no more false doctrine.

_Mor._ What do you mean? you will not throttle him? consider he's my father.

_Ant._ Pr'ythee, let us provide first for our own safety; if I do not consider him, he will consider us, with a vengeance, afterwards.

_Mor._ You may threaten him for crying out; but, for my sake, give him back a little cranny of his windpipe, and some part of speech.

_Ant._ Not so much as one single interjection.--Come away, father-in-law, this is no place for dialogues; when you are in the mosque, you talk by hours, and there no man must interrupt you. This is but like for like, good father-in-law; now I am in the pulpit, it is your turn to hold your tongue. [_He struggles._] Nay, if you will be hanging back, I shall take care you shall hang forward. [_Pulls him along the Stage, with his Sword at his Reins._

_Mor._ The other way to the arbour with him; and make haste, before we are discovered.

_Ant._ If I only bind and gag him there, he may commend me hereafter for civil usage; he deserves not so much favour by any action of his life.

_Mor._ Yes, pray bate him one,--for begetting your mistress.

_Ant._ I would, if he had not thought more of thy mother than of thee. Once more, come along in silence, my Pythagorean father-in-law.

_Joh._ [_At the Balcony._] A bird in a cage may peep, at least, though she must not fly.--What bustle's there beneath my window? Antonio, by all my hopes! I know him by his habit. But what makes that woman with him, and a friend, a sword drawn, and hasting hence? This is no time for silence:--Who's within? call there, where are the servants? why, Omar, Abedin, Hassan, and the rest, make haste, and run into the garden; there are thieves and villains; arm all the family, and stop them.

_Ant._ [_Turning back._] O that screech owl at the window! we shall be pursued immediately; which way shall we take?

_Mor._ [_Giving him the Casket._] 'Tis impossible to escape them; for the way to our horses lies back again by the house, and then we shall meet them full in the teeth. Here, take these jewels; thou mayst leap the walls, and get away.

_Ant._ And what will become of thee, then, poor kind soul?

_Mor._ I must take my fortune. When you are got safe into your own country, I hope you will bestow a sigh on the memory of her who loved you.

_Ant._ It makes me mad to think, how many a good night will be lost betwixt us! Take back thy jewels; 'tis an empty casket without thee: besides, I should never leap well with the weight of all thy father's sins about me; thou and they had been a bargain.

_Mor._ Pr'ythee take them, 'twill help me to be revenged on him.

_Ant._ No, they'll serve to make thy peace with him.

_Mor._ I hear them coming; shift for yourself at least; remember I am yours for ever. [_Servants crying,_ "this way, this way," _behind the Scenes._

_Ant._ And I but the empty shadow of myself without thee!--Farewell,
father-in-law, that should have been, if I had not been curst in my
mother's belly.--Now, which way, Fortune?
[_Runs amazedly backwards and forwards.
Servants within,_ "Follow, follow;
yonder are the villains."
O, here's a gate open; but it leads into the castle; yet I must
venture it. [_A shout behind the Scenes, where_
ANTONIO _is going out._
There's the rabble in a mutiny; what, is the devil up at midnight!
However, 'tis good herding in a crowd.
[_Runs out._ MUFTI _runs to_ MORAYMA,
_and lays hold on her, then snatches
away the Casket._

_Muf._ Now, to do things in order, first I seize upon the bag, and then upon the baggage; for thou art but my flesh and blood, but these are my life and soul.

_Mor._ Then let me follow my flesh and blood, and keep to yourself your life and soul.

_Muf._ Both, or none; come away to durance.

_Mor._ Well, if it must be so, agreed; for I have another trick to play you, and thank yourself for what shall follow.

_Enter Servants._

_Joh._ [_From above._] One of them took through the private way into the castle; follow him, be sure, for these are yours already.

_Mor._ Help here quickly, Omar, Abedin! I have hold on the villain that stole my jewels; but 'tis a lusty rogue, and he will prove too strong for me. What! help, I say; do you not know your master's daughter?

_Muf._ Now, if I cry out, they will know my voice, and then I am disgraced for ever. O thou art a venomous cockatrice!

_Mor._ Of your own begetting. [_The Servants seize him._

_1 Serv._ What a glorious deliverance have you had, madam, from this bloody-minded Christian!

_Mor._ Give me back my jewels, and carry this notorious malefactor to
be punished by my father.--I'll hunt the other dry-foot.
[_Takes the jewels, and runs out after_
ANTONIO _at the same passage._

_1 Serv._ I long to be hanselling his hide, before we bring him to my master.

_2 Serv._ Hang him, for an old covetous hypocrite; he deserves a worse punishment himself, for keeping us so hardly.

_1 Serv._ Ay, would he were in this villain's place! thus I would lay him on, and thus. [_Beats him._

_2 Serv._ And thus would I revenge myself of my last beating.
[_He beats him too, and then the rest._

_Muf._ Oh, ho, ho!

_1 Serv._ Now, supposing you were the Mufti, sir.--
[_Beats him again._

_Muf._ The devil's in that supposing rascal!--I can bear no more; and I am the Mufti. Now suppose yourselves my servants, and hold your hands: an anointed halter take you all!

_1 Serv._ My master!--You will pardon the excess of our zeal for you, sir: Indeed we all took you for a villain, and so we used you.

_Muf._ Ay, so I feel you did; my back and sides are abundant testimonies of your zeal.--Run, rogues, and bring me back my jewels, and my fugitive daughter; run, I say. [_They run to the gate, and the first Servant runs back again._

_1 Serv._ Sir, the castle is in a most terrible combustion; you may hear them hither.

_Muf._ 'Tis a laudable commotion; the voice of the mobile is the voice of heaven.--I must retire a little, to strip me of the slave, and to assume the Mufti, and then I will return; for the piety of the people must be encouraged, that they may help me to recover my jewels, and my daughter. [_Exeunt Mufti and Servants._

SCENE III.--_Changes to the Castle Yard,_

_And discovers_ ANTONIO, MUSTAPHA, _and the Rabble shouting. They
come forward._

_Ant._ And so at length, as I informed you, I escaped out of his covetous clutches; and now fly to your illustrious feet for my protection.

_Must._ Thou shalt have it, and now defy the Mufti. 'Tis the first petition that has been made to me since my exaltation to tumult, in this second night of the month Abib, and in the year of the Hegira,--the Lord knows what year; but 'tis no matter; for when I am settled, the learned are bound to find it out for me; for I am resolved to date my authority over the rabble, like other monarchs.

_Ant._ I have always had a longing to be yours again, though I could not compass it before; and had designed you a casket of my master's jewels too; for I knew the custom, and would not have appeared before a great person, as you are, without a present: But he has defrauded my good intentions, and basely robbed you of them; 'tis a prize worthy a million of crowns, and you carry your letters of marque about you.

_Must._ I shall make bold with his treasure, for the support of my new government.--[_The people gather about him._]--What do these vile raggamuffins so near our person? your savour is offensive to us; bear back there, and make room for honest men to approach us: These fools and knaves are always impudently crowding next to princes, and keeping off the more deserving: Bear back, I say.--[_They make a wider circle._]--That's dutifully done! Now shout, to shew your loyalty. [_A great shout._]--Hear'st thou that, slave Antonio? These obstreperous villains shout, and know not for what they make a noise. You shall see me manage them, that you may judge what ignorant beasts they are.--For whom do you shout now? Who's to live and reign; tell me that, the wisest of you?

_1 Rabble._ Even who you please, captain.

_Must._ La, you there! I told you so.

_2 Rabble._ We are not bound to know, who is to live and reign; our business is only to rise upon command, and plunder.

_3 Rabble._ Ay, the richest of both parties; for they are our enemies.

_Must._ This last fellow is a little more sensible than the rest; he has entered somewhat into the merits of the cause.

_1 Rabble._ If a poor man may speak his mind. I think, captain, that yourself are the fittest to live and reign; I mean not over, but next, and immediately under, the people; and thereupon I say, _A Mustapha, a Muatapha!_

_Omnes._ A Mustapha, a Mustapha!

_Must._ I must confess the sound is pleasing, and tickles the ears of my ambition; but alas, good people, it must not be! I am contented to be a poor simple viceroy. But prince Muley-Zeydan is to be the man: I shall take care to instruct him in the arts of government, and in his duty to us all; and, therefore, mark my cry, _A Muley-Zeydan, a Muley-Zeydan!_

_Omnes._ A Muley-Zeydan, a Muley-Zeydan!

_Must._ You see, slave Antonio, what I might have been?

_Ant._ I observe your modesty.

_Must._ But for a foolish promise, I made once to my lord Benducar, to set up any one he pleased.--

_Re-enter the Mufti, with his Servants._

_Ant._ Here's the old hypocrite again.--Now stand your ground and bate him not an inch. Remember the jewels, the rich and glorious jewels; they are designed to be yours, by virtue of prerogative.

_Must._ Let me alone to pick a quarrel; I have an old grudge to him upon thy account.

_Muf._ [_Making up to the Mobile._] Good people, here you are met together.

_1 Rabble._ Ay, we know that without your telling: But why are we met together, doctor? for that's it which no body here can tell.

_2 Rabble._ Why, to see one another in the dark; and to make holiday at midnight.

_Muf._ You are met, as becomes good Mussulmen, to settle the nation; for I must tell you, that, though your tyrant is a lawful emperor, yet your lawful emperor is but a tyrant.

_Ant._ What stuff he talks!

_Must._ 'Tis excellent fine matter, indeed, slave Antonio! He has a rare tongue! Oh, he would move a rock, or elephant!

_Ant._ What a block have I to work upon! [_Aside._]--But still, remember the jewels, sir; the jewels.

_Must._ Nay, that's true, on the other side; the jewels must be mine. But he has a pure fine way of talking; my conscience goes along with him, but the jewels have set my heart against him.

_Muf._ That your emperor is a tyrant, is most manifest; for you were born to be Turks, but he has played the Turk with you, and is taking your religion away.

_2 Rabble._ We find that in our decay of trade. I have seen, for these hundred years, that religion and trade always go together.

_Muf._ He is now upon the point of marrying himself, without your sovereign consent: And what are the effects of marriage?

_3 Rabble._ A scolding domineering wife, if she prove honest; and, if a whore, a fine gaudy minx, that robs our counters every night, and then goes out, and spends it upon our cuckold-makers.

_Muf._ No; the natural effects of marriage are children: Now, on whom would he beget these children? Even upon a Christian! O, horrible! how can you believe me, though I am ready to swear it upon the Alcoran! Yes, true believers, you may believe, that he is going to beget a race of misbelievers.

_Must._ That's fine, in earnest; I cannot forbear hearkening to his enchanting tongue.

_Ant._ But yet remember--

_Must._ Ay, ay, the jewels! Now again I hate him; but yet my conscience makes me listen to him.

_Muf._ Therefore, to conclude all, believers, pluck up your hearts, and pluck down the tyrant. Remember the courage of your ancestors; remember the majesty of the people; remember yourselves, your wives, and children; and, lastly, above all, remember your religion, and our holy Mahomet. All these require your timeous assistance;--shall I say, they beg it? No; they claim it of you, by all the nearest and dearest ties of these three P's, self-preservation, our property, and our prophet.--Now answer me with an unanimous cheerful cry, and follow me, who am your leader, to a glorious deliverance.

_Omnes._ A Mufti, a Mufti! [_Following him off the stage._

_Ant._ Now you see what comes of your foolish qualms of conscience; the jewels are lost, and they are all leaving you.

_Must._ What, am I forsaken of my subjects? Would the rogue purloin my liege people from me!--I charge you, in my own name, come back, ye deserters, and hear me speak.

_1 Rabble._ What, will he come with his balderdash, after the Mufti's eloquent oration?

_2 Rabble._ He's our captain, lawfully picked up, and elected upon a stall; we will hear him.

_Omnes._ Speak, captain, for we will hear you.

_Must._ Do you remember the glorious rapines and robberies you have committed? Your breaking open and gutting of houses, your rummaging of cellars, your demolishing of Christian temples, and bearing off, in triumph, the superstitious plate and pictures, the ornaments of their wicked altars, when all rich moveables were sentenced for idolatrous, and all that was idolatrous was seized? Answer first, for your remembrance of all these sweetnesses of mutiny; for upon those grounds I shall proceed.

_Omnes._ Yes, we do remember, we do remember.

_Must._ Then make much of your retentive faculties.--And who led you to those honey-combs? Your Mufti? No, believers; he only preached you up to it, but durst not lead you: He was but your counsellor, but I was your captain; he only looed you, but, 'twas I that led you.

_Omnes._ That's true, that's true.

_Ant._ There you were with him for his figures.

_Must._ I think I was, slave Antonio. Alas, I was ignorant of my own talent!--Say then, believers, will you have a captain for your Mufti, or a Mufti for your captain? And, further, to instruct you how to cry, will you have _A mufti_, or _No mufti_?

_Omnes._ No Mufti, no Mufti!

_Must._ That I laid in for them, slave Antonio--Do I then spit upon your faces? Do I discourage rebellion, mutiny, rapine, and plundering? You may think I do, believers; but, heaven forbid! No, I encourage you to all these laudable undertakings; you shall plunder, you shall pull down the government; but you shall do this upon my authority, and not by his wicked instigation.

_3 Rabble._ Nay, when his turn is served, he may preach up loyalty again, and restitution, that he might have another snack among us.

_1 Rabble._ He may indeed; for it is but his saying it is sin, and then we must restore; and therefore I would have a new religion, where half the commandments should be taken away, the rest mollified, and there should be little or no sin remaining.

_Omnes._ Another religion, a new religion, another religion!

_Must._ And that may easily be done, with the help of a little inspiration; for I must tell you, I have a pigeon at home, of Mahomet's own breed; and when I have learnt her to pick pease out of my ear, rest satisfied till then, and you shall have another. But, now I think on't, I am inspired already, that 'tis no sin to depose the Mufti.

_Ant._ And good reason; for when kings and queens are to be discarded, what should knaves do any longer in the pack?

_Omnes._ He is deposed, he is deposed, he is deposed!

_Must._ Nay, if he and his clergy will needs be preaching up rebellion, and giving us their blessing, 'tis but justice they should have the first-fruits of it.--Slave Antonio, take him into custody; and dost thou hear, boy, be sure to secure the little transitory box of jewels. If he be obstinate, put a civil question to him upon the rack, and he squeaks, I warrant him.

_Ant._ [_Seizing the Mufti._] Come, my _quondam_ master, you and I must change qualities.

_Muf._ I hope you will not be so barbarous to torture me: we may preach suffering to others, but, alas! holy flesh is too well pampered to endure martyrdom.

_Must._ Now, late Mufti, not forgetting my first quarrel to you, we will enter ourselves with the plunder of your palace: 'tis good to sanctify a work, and begin a God's name.

_1 Rabble._ Our prophet let the devil alone with the last mob.

_Mob._ But he takes care of this himself.

_As they are going out, enter_ BENDUCAR, _leading_ ALMEYDA: _he with
a sword in one hand;_ BENDUCAR'S _Slave follows, with_
MULEY-MOLUCH'S _head upon a spear._

_Must._ Not so much haste, masters; comeback again; you are so bent upon mischief, that you take a man upon the first word of plunder. Here is a sight for you; the emperor is come upon his head to visit you. [_Bowing._] Most noble emperor, now I hope you will not hit us in the teeth, that we have pulled you down; for we can tell you to your face, that we have exalted you. [_They all shout._

_Bend._ Think what I am, and what yourself may be, [_To_ ALMEYDA _apart._ In being mine: refuse not proffered love, That brings a crown.

_Alm._ [_To him._] I have resolved, And these shall know my thoughts.

_Bend._ [_To her._] On that I build.-- [_He comes up to the Rabble._ Joy to the people for the tyrant's death! Oppression, rapine, banishment, and blood, Are now no more; but speechless as that tongue, That lies for ever still. How is my grief divided with my joy, When I must own I killed him! Bid me speak; For not to bid me, is to disallow What for your sakes is done.

_Must._ In the name of the people, we command you speak: but that pretty lady shall speak first; for we have taken somewhat of a liking to her person.--Be not afraid, lady, to speak to these rude raggamuffians; there is nothing shall offend you, unless it be their stink, an't please you. [_Making a leg._

_Alm._ Why should I fear to speak, who am your queen? My peaceful father swayed the sceptre long, And you enjoyed the blessings of his reign, While you deserved the name of Africans. Then, not commanded, but commanding you, Fearless I speak: know me for what I am.

_Bend._ How she assumes! I like not this beginning. [_Aside._

_Alm._ I was not born so base to flatter crowds, And move your pity by a whining tale. Your tyrant would have forced me to his bed; But in the attempt of that foul brutal act, These loyal slaves secured me by his death. [_Pointing to_ BENDUCAR.

_Bend._ Makes she no more of me than of a slave?-- [_Aside._ Madam, I thought I had instructed you [_To_ ALMEYDA. To frame a speech more suiting to the times: The circumstances of that dire design, Your own despair, my unexpected aid, My life endangered by his bold defence, And, after all, his death, and your deliverance, Were themes that ought not to be slighted o'er.

_Must._ She might have passed over all your petty businesses, and no great matter; but the raising of my rabble is an exploit of consequence, and not to be mumbled up in silence, for all her pertness.

_Alm._ When force invades the gift of nature, life, The eldest law of nature bids defend; And if in that defence a tyrant fall, His death's his crime, not ours, Suffice it, that he's dead; all wrongs die with him; When he can wrong no more, I pardon him: Thus I absolve myself, and him excuse, Who saved my life and honour, but praise neither.

_Bend._ 'Tis cheap to pardon, whom you would not pay. But what speak I of payment and reward! Ungrateful woman, you are yet no queen, Nor more than a proud haughty christian slave: As such I seize my right. [_Going to lay hold of her._

_Alm._ [_Drawing a Dagger._] Dare not to approach me!-- Now, Africans, He shows himself to you; to me he stood Confessed before, and owned his insolence To espouse my person, and assume the crown, Claimed in my right; for this, he slew your tyrant; Oh no! he only changed him for a worse; Embased your slavery by his own vileness, And loaded you with more ignoble bonds. Then think me not ungrateful, not to share The imperial crown with a presuming traitor. He says, I am a Christian; true, I am, But yet no slave: If Christians can be thought Unfit to govern those of other faith, 'Tis left for you to judge.

_Bend._ I have not patience; she consumes the time In idle talk, and owns her false belief: Seize her by force, and bear her thence unheard.

_Alm._ [_To the People._] No, let me rather die your sacrifice, Than live his triumph. I throw myself into my people's arms; As you are men, compassionate my wrongs, And, as good men, protect me.

_Ant._ Something must be done to save her. [_Aside to_ MUST.] This is all addressed to you, sir: she singled you out with her eye, as commander in chief of the mobility.

_Must._ Think'st thou so, slave Antonio?

_Ant._ Most certainly, sir; and you cannot, in honour, but protect her: now look to your hits, and make your fortune.

_Must._ Methought, indeed, she cast a kind leer towards me. Our prophet was but just such another scoundrel as I am, till he raised himself to power, and consequently to holiness, by marrying his master's widow. I am resolved I'll put forward for myself; for why should I be my lord Benducar's fool and slave, when I may be my own fool and his master?

_Bend._ Take her into possession, Mustapha.

_Must._ That's better counsel than you meant it: Yes, I do take her into possession, and into protection too. What say you, masters, will you stand by me?

_Omnes._ One and all, one and all.

_Bend._ Hast thou betrayed me, traitor?--Mufti, speak, and mind them of religion. [_MUFTI shakes his head._

_Must._ Alas! the poor gentleman has gotten a cold with a sermon of two hours long, and a prayer of fear; and, besides, if he durst speak, mankind is grown wiser at this time of day than to cut one another's throats about religion. Our Mufti's is a green coat, and the Christian's is a black coat; and we must wisely go together by the ears, whether green or black shall sweep our spoils. [_Drums within, and shouts._

_Bend._ Now we shall see whose numbers will prevail: The conquering troops of Muley-Zeydan come, To crush rebellion, and espouse my cause.

_Must._ We will have a fair trial of skill for it, I can tell him that. When we have dispatched with Muley-Zeydan, your lordship shall march, in equal proportions of your body, to the four gates of the city, and every tower shall have a quarter of you. [ANTONIO _draws them up, and takes_ ALM. by_ the hand. Shouts again, and Drums._

_Enter_ DORAX _and_ SEBASTIAN, _attended by African Soldiers and
Portugueses._ ALMEYDA _and_ SEBASTIAN _run into each others arms,
and both speak together._

_Seb._ and _Alm._ My Sebastian! my Almeyda!

_Alm._ Do you then live?

_Seb._ And live to love thee ever.

_Bend._ How! Dorax and Sebastian still alive! The Moors and Christians joined!--I thank thee, prophet.

_Dor._ The citadel is ours; and Muley-Zeydan Safe under guard, but as becomes a prince. Lay down your arms; such base plebeian blood Would only stain the brightness of my sword, And blunt it for some nobler work behind.

_Must._ I suppose you may put it up without offence to any man here present. For my part, I have been loyal to my sovereign lady, though that villain Benducar, and that hypocrite the Mufti, would have corrupted me; but if those two escape public justice, then I and all my late honest subjects here deserve hanging.

_Bend._ [_To_ DOR.] I'm sure I did my part to poison thee, What saint soe'er has soldered thee again: A dose less hot had burst through ribs of iron.

_Muf._ Not knowing that, I poisoned him once more, And drenched him with a draught so deadly cold, That, hadst not thou prevented, had congealed The channel of his blood, and froze him dry.

_Bend._ Thou interposing fool, to mangle mischief, And think to mend the perfect work of hell!

_Dor._ Thus, when heaven pleases, double poisons cure[8]. I will not tax thee of ingratitude To me, thy friend, who hast betrayed thy prince: Death he deserved indeed, but not from thee. But fate, it seems, reserved the worst of men To end the worst of tyrants.-- Go, bear him to his fate, And send him to attend his master's ghost. Let some secure my other poisoning friend, Whose double diligence preserved my life.

_Ant._ You are fallen into good hands, father-in-law; your sparkling jewels, and Morayma's eyes, may prove a better bail than you deserve.

_Muf._ The best that can come of me, in this condition, is, to have my
life begged first, and then to be begged for a fool afterwards[9].
[_Exeunt_ ANTONIO, _with the Mufti; and, at
the same time,_ BENDUCAR _is carried off._

_Dor._ [_To_ MUST.] You, and your hungry herd, depart untouched; For justice cannot stoop so low, to reach The groveling sin of crowds: but curst be they, Who trust revenge with such mad instruments, Whose blindfold business is but to destroy; And, like the fire, commissioned by the winds, Begins on sheds, but, rolling in a round, On palaces returns. Away, ye scum, That still rise upmost when the nation boils; Ye mongrel work of heaven, with human shapes, Not to be damned or saved, but breathe and perish, That have but just enough of sense, to know The master's voice, when rated, to depart. [_Exeunt_ MUSTAPHA _and Rabble._

_Alm._ With gratitude as low as knees can pay [_Kneeling to him._ To those blest holy fires, our guardian angels, Receive these thanks, till altars can be raised.

_Dor._ Arise, fair excellence, and pay no thanks, [_Raising her up._ Till time discover what I have deserved.

_Seb._ More than reward can answer. If Portugal and Spain were joined to Africa, And the main ocean crusted into land, If universal monarchy were mine, Here should the gift be placed.

_Dor._ And from some hands I should refuse that gift. Be not too prodigal of promises; But stint your bounty to one only grant, Which I can ask with honour.

_Seb._ What I am Is but thy gift; make what thou canst of me, Secure of no repulse.

_Dor._ [_To_ SEB.] Dismiss your train.--
[_To_ ALM.] You, madam, please one moment to retire.
[SEBASTIAN _signs to the Portugueses to go
off;_ ALMEYDA, _bowing to him, gives off
also. The Africans follow her._

_Dor._ [_To the Captain of the Guard._] With you one word in private. [_Goes out with the Captain._

_Seb._ [_Solus._] Reserved behaviour, open nobleness, A long mysterious track of stern bounty: But now the hand of fate is on the curtain, And draws the scene to sight.

_Re-enter_ DORAX, _having taken off his Turban, and put on a Peruke,
Hat, and Cravat._

_Dor._ Now, do you know me?

_Seb._ Thou shouldst be Alonzo.

_Dor._ So you should be Sebastian: But when Sebastian ceased to be himself, I ceased to be Alonzo.

_Seb._ As in a dream, I see thee here, and scarce believe mine eyes.

_Dor._ Is it so strange to find me, where my wrongs, And your inhuman tyranny, have sent me? Think not you dream; or, if you did, my injuries Shall call so loud, that lethargy should wake, And death should give you back to answer me. A thousand nights have brushed their balmy wings Over these eyes; but ever when they closed, Your tyrant image forced them ope again, And dried the dews they brought: The long expected hour is come at length, By manly vengeance to redeem my fame; And, that once cleared, eternal sleep is welcome.

_Seb._ I have not yet forgot I am a king, Whose royal office is redress of wrongs: If I have wronged thee, charge me face to face;-- I have not yet forgot I am a soldier.

_Dor._ 'Tis the first justice thou hast ever done me. Then, though I loath this woman's war of tongues, Yet shall my cause of vengeance first be clear; And, honour, be thou judge.

_Seb._ Honour befriend us both.-- Beware I warn thee yet, to tell thy griefs In terms becoming majesty to hear: I warn thee thus, because I know thy temper Is insolent, and haughty to superiors. How often hast thou braved my peaceful court, Filled it with noisy brawls, and windy boasts; And with past service, nauseously repeated, Reproached even me, thy prince?

_Dor._ And well I might, when you forgot reward, The part of heaven in kings; for punishment Is hangman's work, and drudgery for devils.-- I must, and will reproach thee with my service, Tyrant!--It irks me so to call my prince; But just resentment, and hard usage, coined The unwilling word; and, grating as it is, Take it, for 'tis thy due.

_Seb._ How, tyrant?

_Dor._ Tyrant.

_Seb._ Traitor!--that name thou canst not echo back; That robe of infamy, that circumcision Ill hid beneath that robe, proclaim thee traitor; And, if a name More foul than traitor be, 'tis renegade.

_Dor._ If I'm a traitor, think,--and blush, thou tyrant,-- Whose injuries betrayed me into treason, Effaced my loyalty, unhinged my faith, And hurried me, from hopes of heaven, to hell. All these, and all my yet unfinished crimes, When I shall rise to plead before the saints, I charge on thee, to make thy damning sure.

_Seb._ Thy old presumptuous arrogance again, That bred my first dislike, and then my loathing.-- Once more be warned, and know me for thy king.

_Dor._ Too well I know thee, but for king no more. This is not Lisbon; nor the circle this, Where, like a statue, thou hast stood besieged By sycophants and fools, the growth of courts; Where thy gulled eyes, in all the gaudy round, Met nothing but a lie in every face, And the gross flattery of a gaping crowd, Envious who first should catch, and first applaud, The stuff of royal nonsense: When I spoke, My honest homely words were carped and censured For want of courtly style; related actions, Though modestly reported, passed for boasts; Secure of merit if I asked reward, Thy hungry minions thought their rights invaded, And the bread snatched from pimps and parasites. Henriquez answered, with a ready lie, To save his king's,--the boon was begged before!

_Seb._ What say'st thou of Henriquez? Now, by heaven, Thou mov'st me more by barely naming him, Than all thy foul unmannered scurril taunts.

_Dor._ And therefore 'twas, to gall thee, that I named him. That thing, that nothing, but a cringe and smile; That woman, but more daubed; or, if a man, Corrupted to a woman; thy man-mistress.

_Seb._ All false as hell, or thou.

_Dor._ Yes; full as false As that I served thee fifteen hard campaigns, And pitched thy standard in these foreign fields: By me thy greatness grew, thy years grew with it, But thy ingratitude outgrew them both.

_Seb._ I see to what thou tend'st: but, tell me first, If those great acts were done alone for me? If love produced not some, and pride the rest?

_Dor._ Why, love does all that's noble here below; But all the advantage of that love was thine. For, coming fraughted back, in either hand With palm and olive, victory and peace, I was indeed prepared to ask my own, (For Violante's vows were mine before:) Thy malice had prevention, ere I spoke; And asked me Violante for Henriquez.

_Seb._ I meant thee a reward of greater worth.

_Dor._ Where justice wanted, could reward be hoped? Could the robbed passenger expect a bounty From those rapacious hands, who stripped him first?

_Seb._ He had my promise, ere I knew thy love.

_Dor._ My services deserved thou shouldst revoke it.

_Seb._ Thy insolence had cancelled all thy service: To violate my laws, even in my court, Sacred to peace, and safe from all affronts; Even to my face, and done in my despite, Under the wing of awful majesty, To strike the man I loved!

_Dor._ Even in the face of heaven, a place more sacred, Would I have struck the man, who, prompt by power, Would seize my right, and rob me of my love: But, for a blow provoked by thy injustice, The hasty product of a just despair, When he refused to meet me in the field, That thou shouldst make a coward's cause thy own!

_Seb._ He durst; nay more, desired, and begged with tears, To meet thy challenge fairly: 'Twas thy fault To make it public; but my duty, then, To interpose, on pain of my displeasure, Betwixt your swords.

_Dor._ On pain of infamy, He should have disobeyed.

_Seb._ The indignity, thou didst, was meant to me: Thy gloomy eyes were cast on me with scorn, As who should say,--the blow was there intended: But that thou didst not dare to lift thy hands Against anointed power. So was I forced To do a sovereign justice to myself, And spurn thee from my presence.

_Dor._ Thou hast dared To tell me, what I durst not tell myself: I durst not think that I was spurned, and live; And live to hear it boasted to my face. All my long avarice of honour lost, Heaped up in youth, and hoarded up for age! Has honour's fountain then sucked back the stream? He has; and hooting boys may dry-shod pass, And gather pebbles from the naked ford.-- Give me my love, my honour; give them back-- Give me revenge, while I have breath to ask it!

_Seb._ Now, by this honoured order which I wear, More gladly would I give, than thou dar'st ask it; Nor shall the sacred character of king Be urged, to shield me from thy bold appeal. If I have injured thee, that makes us equal; The wrong, if done, debased me down to thee. But thou hast charged me with ingratitude; Hast thou not charged me? speak!

_Dor._ Thou know'st I have: If thou disown'st that imputation, draw, And prove my charge a lie.

_Seb._ No; to disprove that lie, I must not draw. Be conscious to thy worth, and tell thy soul, What thou hast done this day in my defence. To fight thee after this, what were it else Than owning that ingratitude thou urgest? That isthmus stands between two rushing seas; Which, mounting, view each other from afar, And strive in vain to meet.

_Dor._ I'll cut that isthmus. Thou know'st I meant not to preserve thy life, But to reprieve it, for my own revenge. I saved thee out of honourable malice: Now, draw;--I should be loth to think thou dar'st not: Beware of such another vile excuse.

_Seb._ O patience, heaven!

_Dor._ Beware of patience, too; That's a suspicious word. It had been proper, Before thy foot had spurned me; now 'tis base: Yet, to disarm thee of thy last defence, I have thy oath for my security. The only boon I begged was this fair combat: Fight, or be perjured now; that's all thy choice.

_Seb._ Now can I thank thee as thou would'st be thanked. [_Drawing._ Never was vow of honour better paid, If my true sword but hold, than this shall be. The sprightly bridegroom, on his wedding night, More gladly enters not the lists of love: Why, 'tis enjoyment to be summoned thus. Go, bear my message to Henriquez ghost; And say, his master and his friend revenged him.

_Dor._ His ghost! then is my hated rival dead?

_Seb._ The question is beside our present purpose: Thou seest me ready; we delay too long.

_Dor._ A minute is not much in either's life, When there's but one betwixt us; throw it in, And give it him of us who is to fail.

_Seb._ He's dead; make haste, and thou may'st yet o'ertake him.

_Dor._ When I was hasty, thou delayed'st me longer-- I pr'ythee let me hedge one moment more Into thy promise: For thy life preserved, Be kind; and tell me how that rival died, Whose death, next thine, I wished.

_Seb._ If it would please thee, thou shouldst never know; But thou, like jealousy, enquir'st a truth, Which, found, will torture thee.--He died in fight; Fought next my person; as in concert fought; Kept pace for pace, and blow for every blow; Save when he heaved his shield in my defence, And on his naked side received my wound. Then, when he could no more, he fell at once; But rolled his falling body cross their way, And made a bulwark of it for his prince.

_Dor._ I never can forgive him such a death!

_Seb._ I prophesied thy proud soul could not bear it.-- Now, judge thyself, who best deserved my love? I knew you both; and (durst I say) as heaven Foreknew, among the shining angel host, Who would stand firm, who fall.

_Dor._ Had he been tempted so, so had he fallen; And so had I been favoured, had I stood.

_Seb._ What had been, is unknown; what is, appears. Confess, he justly was preferred to thee.

_Dor._ Had I been born with his indulgent stars, My fortune had been his, and his been mine.-- O worse than hell! what glory have I lost, And what has he acquired, by such a death! I should have fallen by Sebastian's side, My corps had been the bulwark of my king. His glorious end was a patched work of fate, Ill sorted with a soft effeminate life; It suited better with my life than his, So to have died: Mine had been of a piece, Spent in your service, dying at your feet.

_Seb._ The more effeminate and soft his life, The more his fame, to struggle to the field, And meet his glorious fate. Confess, proud spirit, (For I will have it from thy very mouth) That better he deserved my love than thou?

_Dor._ O, whither would you drive me? I must grant,-- Yes, I must grant, but with a swelling soul,-- Henriquez had your love with more desert. For you he fought, and died: I fought against you; Through all the mazes of the bloody field, Hunted your sacred life; which that I missed Was the propitious error of my fate, Not of my soul: My soul's a regicide.

_Seb._ [_More calmly._] Thou might'st have given it a more gentle name. Thou meant'st to kill a tyrant, not a king: Speak, didst thou not, Alonzo?

_Dor._ Can I speak! Alas, I cannot answer to Alonzo!-- No, Dorax cannot answer to Alonzo; Alonzo was too kind a name for me. Then, when I fought and conquered with your arms, In that blest age, I was the man you named: Till rage and pride debased me into Dorax, And lost, like Lucifer, my name above.

_Seb._ Yet twice this day I owed my life to Dorax.

_Dor._ I saved you but to kill you: There's my grief.

_Seb._ Nay, if thou can'st be grieved, thou can'st repent; Thou could'st not be a villain, though thou would'st: Thou own'st too much, in owning thou hast erred; And I too little, who provoked thy crime.

_Dor._ O stop this headlong torrent of your goodness! It comes too fast upon a feeble soul, Half drowned in tears before: Spare my confusion; For pity spare; and say not first, you erred; For yet I have not dared, through guilt and shame, To throw myself beneath your royal feet.-- [_Falls at his feet._ Now spurn this rebel, this proud renegade; 'Tis just you should, nor will I more complain.

_Seb._ Indeed thou should'st not ask forgiveness first; But thou prevent'st me still, in all that's noble. [_Taking him up._ Yes, I will raise thee up with better news. Thy Violante's heart was ever thine; Compelled to wed, because she was my ward, Her soul was absent when she gave her hand; Nor could my threats, or his pursuing courtship, Effect the consummation of his love: So, still indulging tears, she pines for thee, A widow, and a maid.

_Dor._ Have I been cursing heaven, while heaven blest me? I shall run mad with extacy of joy: What! in one moment, to be reconciled To heaven, and to my king, and to my love!-- But pity is my friend, and stops me short, For my unhappy rival:--Poor Henriquez!

_Seb._ Art thou so generous, too, to pity him? Nay, then, I was unjust to love him better. Here let me ever hold thee in my arms; [_Embracing him._ And all our quarrels be but such as these, Who shall love best, and closest shall embrace. Be what Henriquez was,--be my Alonzo.

_Dor._ What, my Alonzo, said you? my Alonzo! Let my tears thank you, for I cannot speak; And, if I could, Words were not made to vent such thoughts as mine.

_Seb._ Some strange reverse of fate must sure attend This vast profusion, this extravagance Of heaven, to bless me thus. 'Tis gold so pure, It cannot bear the stamp, without alloy.-- Be kind, ye powers! and take but half away: With ease the gifts of fortune I resign; But let my love and friend be ever mine. [_Exeunt._