_Dor._ Slaves are the growth of Africk, not of Europe.--
By heaven! I will not lay down my commission;
Not at his foot, I will not stoop so low:
But if there be a part in all his face
More sacred than the rest, I'll throw it there.
_Bend._ You may; but then you lose all future means
Of vengeance on Sebastian, when no more
Alcayde of this fort.
_Dor._ That thought escaped me.
_Bend._ Keep your command, and be revenged on both:
Nor sooth yourself; you have no power to affront him;
The emperor's love protects him from insults;
And he, who spoke that proud, ill-natured word,
Following the bent of his impetuous temper,
May force your reconcilement to Sebastian;
Nay, bid you kneel, and kiss the offending foot,
That kicked you from his presence.--
But think not to divide their punishment;
You cannot touch a hair of loathed Sebastian,
While Muley-Moluch lives.
_Dor._ What means this riddle?
_Bend._ 'Tis out;--there needs no OEdipus to solve it.
Our emperor is a tyrant, feared and hated;
I scarce remember, in his reign, one day
Pass guiltless o'er his execrable head.
He thinks the sun is lost, that sees not blood:
When none is shed, we count it holiday.
We, who are most in favour, cannot call
This hour our own.--You know the younger brother,
Mild Muley-Zeydan?
_Dor._ Hold, and let me think.
_Bend._ The soldiers idolize you;
He trusts you with the castle,
The key of all his kingdom.
Pages:
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388