_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.
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