--
You know the alcade of Alcazar, Dorax?
_M. Zey._ The gallant renegade you mean?
_Bend._ The same.
That gloomy outside, like a rusty chest,
Contains the shining treasure, of a soul
Resolved and brave: He has the soldiers' hearts,
And time shall make him ours.
_M. Zey._ He's just upon us.
_Bend._ I know him from afar,
By the long stride, and by the sullen port.--
Retire, my lord.
Wait on your brother's triumph; yours is next:
His growth is but a wild and fruitless plant;
I'll cut his barren branches to the stock,
And graft you on to bear.
_M. Zey._ My oracle! [_Exit_ M. ZEY.
_Bend._ Yes, to delude your hopes.--Poor credulous fool!
To think that I would give away the fruit
Of so much toil, such guilt, and such damnation!
If I am damned, it shall be for myself.
This easy fool must be my stale, set up
To catch the people's eyes: He's tame and merciful;
Him I can manage, till I make him odious
By some unpopular act; and then dethrone him.
_Enter_ DORAX.
Now, Dorax.
_Dor._ Well, Benducar.
_Bend._ Bare Benducar!
_Dor._ Thou would'st have titles; take them 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 pr'ythee 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.
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