_M. Mol._ Something, I know not what, comes over me:
Whether the toils of battle, unrepaired
With due repose, or other sudden qualm.--
Benducar, do the rest. [_Goes off, the court follows him._
_Bend._ Strange! in full health! this pang is of the soul;
The body's unconcerned: I'll think hereafter.--
Conduct these royal captives to the castle;
Bid Dorax use them well, till further order. [_Going off, stops._
The inferior captives their first owners take,
To sell, or to dispose.--You Mustapha,
Set ope the market for the sale of slaves. [_Exit_ BEND.
[_The Masters and Slaves come forward, and
Buyers of several Qualities come in, and
chaffer about the several Owners, who
make their slaves do Tricks[1]._
_Must._ My chattels are come into my hands again, and my conscience
will serve me to sell them twice over; any price now, before the Mufti
come to claim them.
_1st Mer._ [_To_ MUST.] What dost hold that old fellow at?--[_Pointing
to_ ALVAR.] He's tough, and has no service in his limbs.
_Must._ I confess he's somewhat tough; but I suppose you would not
boil him, I ask for him a thousand crowns.
_1st Mer._ Thou mean'st a thousand marvedis.
_Must._ Pr'ythee, friend, give me leave to know my own meaning.
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