Chapter 21

_The scene at Alcazar, representing a market-place under the Castle._

_Enter_ MULEY-ZEYDAN _and_ BENDUCAR.

_M. Zey._ Now Africa's long wars are at an end, And our parched earth is drenched in Christian blood; My conquering brother will have slaves enow, To pay his cruel vows for victory.-- What hear you of Sebastian, king of Portugal?

_Bend._ He fell among a heap of slaughtered Moors, Though yet his mangled carcase is not found. The rival of our threatened empire, Mahomet, Was hot pursued; and, in the general rout, Mistook a swelling current for a ford, And in Mucazar's flood was seen to rise: Thrice was he seen: At length his courser plunged, And threw him off; the waves whelmed over him, And, helpless, in his heavy arms he drowned.

_M. Zey._ Thus, then, a doubtful title is extinguished; Thus Moluch, still the favourite of fate, Swims in a sanguine torrent to the throne, As if our prophet only worked for him: The heavens, and all the stars, are his hired servants; As Muley-Zeydan were not worth their care, And younger brothers but the draff of nature.

_Bend._ Be still, and learn the soothing arts of court: Adore his fortune, mix with flattering crowds; And, when they praise him most, be you the loudest. Your brother is luxurious, close, and cruel; Generous by fits, but permanent in mischief. The shadow of a discontent would ruin us; We must be safe, before we can be great. These things observed, leave me to shape the rest.

_M. Zey._ You have the key; he opens inward to you.

_Bend._ So often tried, and ever found so true, Has given me trust; and trust has given me means Once to be false for all. I trust not him; For, now his ends are served, and he grown absolute, How am I sure to stand, who served those ends? I know your nature open, mild, and grateful: In such a prince the people may be blest, And I be safe.

_M. Zey._ My father! [_Embracing him._

_Bend._ My future king, auspicious Muley-Zeydan! Shall I adore you?--No, the place is public: I worship you within; the outward act Shall be reserved till nations follow me, And heaven shall envy you the kneeling world.-- 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._ But always out of humour,--

_Dor._ I have cause: Though all mankind is cause enough for satire.

_Bend._ Why, then, thou hast revenged thee on mankind. They say, in fight, thou hadst a thirsty sword, And well 'twas glutted there.

_Dor._ I spitted frogs; I crushed a heap of emmets; A hundred of them to a single soul, And that but scanty weight too. The great devil Scarce thanked me for my pains; he swallows vulgar Like whipped cream,--feels them not in going down.

_Bend._ Brave renegade!--Could'st thou not meet Sebastian? Thy master had been worthy of thy sword.

_Dor._ My master!--By what title? Because I happened to be born where he Happened to be king?--And yet I served him; Nay, I was fool enough to love him too.-- You know my story, how I was rewarded For fifteen hard campaigns, still hooped in iron, And why I turned Mahometan. I'm grateful; But whosoever dares to injure me, Let that man know, I dare to be revenged.

_Bend._ Still you run off from bias:--Say, what moves Your present spleen?

_Dor._ You marked not what I told you. I killed not one that was his maker's image; I met with none but vulgar two-legged brutes: Sebastian was my aim; he was a man: Nay,--though he hated me, and I hate him, Yet I must do him right,--he was a man, Above man's height, even towering to divinity: Brave, pious, generous, great, and liberal; Just as the scales of heaven, that weigh the seasons. He loved his people; him they idolized; And thence proceeds my mortal hatred to him; That, thus unblameable to all besides, He erred to me alone: His goodness was diffused to human kind, And all his cruelty confined to me.

_Bend._ You could not meet him then?

_Dor._ No, though I sought Where ranks fell thickest.--'Twas indeed the place To seek Sebastian.--Through a track of death I followed him, by groans of dying foes; But still I came too late; for he was flown, Like lightning, swift before me to new slaughters. I mowed across, and made irregular harvest, Defaced the pomp of battle, but in vain; For he was still supplying death elsewhere. This mads me, that perhaps ignoble hands Have overlaid him,--for they could not conquer: Murdered by multitudes, whom I alone Had right to slay. I too would have been slain; That, catching hold upon his flitting ghost, I might have robbed him of his opening heaven, And dragged him down with me, spite of predestination.

_Bend._ 'Tis of as much import as Africk's worth, To know what came of him, and of Almeyda, The sister of the vanquished Mahomet, Whose fatal beauty to her brother drew The land's third part, as Lucifer did heaven's.

_Dor._ I hope she died in her own female calling, Choked up with man, and gorged with circumcision. As for Sebastian, we must search the field; And, where we see a mountain of the slain, Send one to climb, and, looking down below, There he shall find him at his manly length, With his face up to heaven, in the red monument, Which his true sword has digged.

_Bend._ Yet we may possibly hear farther news; For, while our Africans pursued the chace, The captain of the rabble issued out, With a black shirtless train, to spoil the dead, And seize the living.

_Dor._ Each of them an host, A million strong of vermin every villain: No part of government, but lords of anarchy, Chaos of power, and privileged destruction.

_Bend._ Yet I must tell you, friend, the great must use them Sometimes, as necessary tools of tumult.

_Dor._ I would use them Like dogs in times of plague; outlaws of nature, Fit to be shot and brained, without a process, To stop infection; that's their proper death.

_Bend._ No more;-- Behold the emperor coming to survey The slaves, in order to perform his vow.

_Enter_ MULEY-MOLUCH _the Emperor, with Attendants; the Mufti, and_ MULEY-ZEYDAN.

_M. Mol._ Our armours now may rust; our idle scymiters Hang by our sides for ornament, not use: Children shall beat our atabals and drums, And all the noisy trades of war no more Shall wake the peaceful morn; the Xeriff's blood No longer in divided channels runs, The younger house took end in Mahomet: Nor shall Sebastian's formidable name Be longer used to lull the crying babe.

_Muf._ For this victorious day, our mighty prophet Expects your gratitude, the sacrifice Of Christian slaves, devoted, if you won.

_M. Mol._ The purple present shall be richly paid; That vow performed, fasting shall be abolished; None e'er served heaven well with a starved face: Preach abstinence no more; I tell thee, Mufti, Good feasting is devout; and thou, our head, Hast a religious, ruddy countenance. We will have learned luxury; our lean faith Gives scandal to the christians; they feed high: Then look for shoals of converts, when thou hast Reformed us into feasting.

_Muf._ Fasting is but the letter of the law, Yet it shews well to preach it to the vulgar; Wine is against our law; that's literal too, But not denied to kings and to their guides; Wine is a holy liquor for the great.

_Dor._ [_Aside._] This Mufti, in my conscience, is some English renegado, he talks so savourily of toping.

_M. Mol._ Bring forth the unhappy relicks of the war.

_Enter_ MUSTAPHA, _Captain of the Rabble, with his followers of the Black Guard, &c. and other Moors; With them a Company of Portuguese Slaves, without any of the chief Persons._

_M. Mol._ These are not fit to pay an emperor's vow; Our bulls and rams had been more noble victims: These are but garbage, not a sacrifice.

_Muf._ The prophet must not pick and chuse his offerings; Now he has given the day, 'tis past recalling, And he must be content with such as these.

_M. Mol._ But are these all? Speak you, that are their masters.

_Must._ All, upon my honour; if you will take them as their fathers got them, so; if not, you must stay till they get a better generation. These christians are mere bunglers; they procreate nothing but out of their own wives, and these have all the looks of eldest sons.

_M. Mol._ Pain of your lives, let none conceal a slave.

_Must._ Let every man look to his own conscience; I am sure mine shall never hang me.

_Bend._ Thou speak'st as if thou wert privy to concealments; then thou art an accomplice.

_Must._ Nay, if accomplices must suffer, it may go hard with me: but here's the devil on't, there's a great man, and a holy man too, concerned with me; now, if I confess, he'll be sure to escape between his greatness and his holiness, and I shall be murdered, because of my poverty and rascality.

_Muf._ [_Winking at him._] Then, if thy silence save the great and holy, 'Tis sure thou shalt go straight to paradise.

_Must._ 'Tis a fine place, they say; but, doctor, I am not worthy on't. I am contented with this homely world; 'tis good enough for such a poor, rascally Mussulman, as I am; besides, I have learnt so much good manners, doctor, as to let my betters be served before me.

_M. Mol._ Thou talk'st as if the Mufti were concerned.

_Must._ Your majesty may lay your soul on't. But, for my part, though I am a plain fellow, yet I scorn to be tricked into paradise; I would he should know it. The truth on't is, an't like you, his reverence bought of me the flower of all the market: these--these are but dogs-meat to them; and a round price he paid me, too, I'll say that for him; but not enough for me to venture my neck for. If I get paradise when my time comes, I can't help myself; but I'll venture nothing before-hand, upon a blind bargain.

_M. Mol._ Where are those slaves? produce them.

_Muf._ They are not what he says.

_M. Mol._ No more excuses. [_One goes out to fetch them._ Know, thou may'st better dally With a dead prophet, than a living king.

_Muf._ I but reserved them to present thy greatness An offering worthy thee.

_Must._ By the same token there was a dainty virgin, (virgin, said I! but I wont be too positive of that, neither) with a roguish leering eye! he paid me down for her upon the nail a thousand golden sultanins, or he had never had her, I can tell him that; now, is it very likely he would pay so dear for such a delicious morsel, and give it away out of his own mouth, when it had such a farewell with it too?

_Enter_ SEBASTIAN, _conducted in mean Habit, with_ ALVAREZ, ANTONIO, _and_ ALMEYDA, _her Face veiled with a Barnus._

_M. Mol._ Ay; these look like the workmanship of heaven; This is the porcelain clay of human kind, And therefore cast into these noble moulds.

_Dor._ By all my wrongs, [_Aside, while the Emperor whispers Benducar._ 'Tis he! damnation seize me, but 'tis he! My heart heaves up and swells; he's poison to me; My injured honour, and my ravished love, Bleed at their murderer's sight.

_Ben._ [_Aside to Dor._] The emperor would learn these prisoners' names; You know them?

_Dor._ Tell him, no; And trouble me no more--I will not know them. Shall I trust heaven, that heaven which I renounced, With my revenge? Then, where's my satisfaction? No; It must be my own, I scorn a proxy. [_Aside._

_M. Mol._ 'Tis decreed; These of a better aspect, with the rest, Shall share one common doom, and lots decide it. For every numbered captive, put a ball Into an urn; three only black be there, The rest, all white, are safe.

_Muf._ Hold, sir; the woman must not draw.

_M. Mol_ O Mufti, We know your reason; let her share the danger.

_Muf._ Our law says plainly, women have no souls.

_M, Mol._ 'Tis true; their souls are mortal, set her by; Yet, were Almeyda here, though fame reports her The fairest of her sex, so much, unseen, I hate the sister of our rival-house, Ten thousand such dry notions of our Alcoran Should not protect her life, if not immortal; Die as she could, all of a piece, the better That none of her remain. [_Here an Urn is brought in; the Prisoners approach with great concernment, and among the rest,_ SEBASTIAN, ALVAREZ, _and_ ANTONIO, _who come more chearfully._

_Dor._ Poor abject creatures, how they fear to die! These never knew one happy hour in life, Yet shake to lay it down. Is load so pleasant? Or has heaven hid the happiness of death, That men may dare to live?--Now for our heroes. [_The Three approach._ O, these come up with spirits more resolved. Old venerable Alvarez;--well I know him, The favourite once of this Sebastian's father; Now minister, (too honest for his trade) Religion bears him out; a thing taught young, In age ill practised, yet his prop in death. O, he has drawn a black; and smiles upon't, As who should say,--My faith and soul are white, Though my lot swarthy: Now, if there be hereafter, He's blest; if not, well cheated, and dies pleased.

_Anton._ [_Holding his lot in his clenched hand._] Here I have thee; Be what thou wilt, I will not look too soon: Thou hast a colour; if thou prov'st not right, I have a minute good ere I behold thee. Now, let me roll and grubble thee: Blind men say, white feels smooth, and black feels rough; Thou hast a rugged skin, I do not like thee.

_Dor._ There's the amorous airy spark, Antonio, The wittiest woman's toy in Portugal: Lord, what a loss of treats and serenades! The whole she-nation will be in mourning for him.

_Anton._ I've a moist sweaty palm; the more's my sin: If it be black, yet only dyed, not odious Damned natural ebony, there's hope, in rubbing, To wash this Ethiop white.--[_Looks._] Pox o'the proverb! As black as hell;--another lucky saying! I think the devil's in me;--good again! I cannot speak one syllable, but tends To death or to damnation. [_Holds up his ball._

_Dor._ He looks uneasy at his future journey, [_Aside._ And wishes his boots off again, for fear Of a bad road, and a worse inn at night. Go to bed, fool, and take secure repose, For thou shalt wake no more. [SEBASTIAN _comes up to draw._

_M. Mol._ [_To Ben._] Mark him, who now approaches to the lottery: He looks secure of death, superior greatness, Like Jove, when he made Fate, and said, Thou art The slave of my creation.--I admire him.

_Bend._ He looks as man was made; with face erect, That scorns his brittle corpse, and seems ashamed He's not all spirit; his eyes, with a dumb pride, Accusing fortune that he fell not warm; Yet now disdains to live. [SEBAST. _draws a black._

_M. Mol._ He has his wish; And I have failed of mine.

_Dor._ Robbed of my vengeance, by a trivial chance! [_Aside._ Fine work above, that their anointed care Should die such little death! or did his genius Know mine the stronger dæmon, feared the grapple, And looking round him, found this nook of fate, To skulk behind my sword?--Shall I discover him?-- Still he would not die mine; no thanks to my Revenge; reserved but to more royal shambles. 'Twere base, too, and below those vulgar souls, That shared his danger, yet not one disclosed him, But, struck with reverence, kept an awful silence. I'll see no more of this;--dog of a prophet! [_Exit_ DORAX.

_M. Mol._ One of these three is a whole hecatomb, And therefore only one of them shall die: The rest are but mute cattle; and when death Comes like a rushing lion, couch like spaniels, With lolling tongues, and tremble at the paw: Let lots again decide it. [_The Three draw again; and the Lot falls on_ SEBASTIAN.

_Sebast._ Then there's no more to manage: if I fall, It shall be like myself; a setting sun Should leave a track of glory in the skies.-- Behold Sebastian, king of Portugal.

_M. Mol._ Sebastian! ha! it must be he; no other Could represent such suffering majesty. I saw him, as he terms himself, a sun Struggling in dark eclipse, and shooting day On either side of the black orb that veiled him.

_Sebast._ Not less even in this despicable now, Than when my name filled Afric with affright, And froze your hearts beneath your torrid zone.

_Bend._ [_To M. Mol._] Extravagantly brave! even to an impudence Of greatness.

_Sebast._ Here satiate all your fury: Let fortune empty her whole quiver on me; I have a soul, that, like an ample shield, Can take in all, and verge enough for more. I would have conquered you; and ventured only A narrow neck of land for a third world, To give my loosened subjects room to play. Fate was not mine, Nor am I fate's. Now I have pleased my longing, And trod the ground which I beheld from far, I beg no pity for this mouldering clay; For, if you give it burial, there it takes Possession of your earth; If burnt and scattered in the air, the winds, That strow my dust, diffuse my royalty, And spread me o'er your clime: for where one atom Of mine shall light, know, there Sebastian reigns.

_M. Mol._ What shall I do to conquer thee?

_Sebast._ Impossible! Souls know no conquerors.

_M. Mol._ I'll shew thee for a monster through my Afric.

_Sebast._ No, thou canst only shew me for a man: Afric is stored with monsters; man's a prodigy, Thy subjects have not seen.

_M. Mol._ Thou talk'st as if Still at the head of battle.

_Sebast._ Thou mistakest, For then I would not talk.

_Bend._ Sure he would sleep.

_Sebast._ Till doomsday, when the trumpet sounds to rise; For that's a soldier's call.

_M. Mol._ Thou'rt brave too late; Thou shouldst have died in battle, like a soldier.

_Sebast._ I fought and fell like one, but death deceived me; I wanted weight of feeble Moors upon me, To crush my soul out.

_M. Mol._ Still untameable! In what a ruin has thy head-strong pride, And boundless thirst of empire, plunged thy people!

_Sebast._ What sayst thou? ha! no more of that.

_M. Mol._ Behold, What carcases of thine thy crimes have strewed, And left our Afric vultures to devour.

_Bend._ Those souls were those thy God intrusted with thee, To cherish, not destroy.

_Sebast._ Witness, O heaven, how much This sight concerns me! would I had a soul For each of these; how gladly would I pay The ransom down! But since I have but one, 'Tis a king's life, and freely 'tis bestowed. Not your false prophet, but eternal justice Has destined me the lot, to die for these: 'Tis fit a sovereign so should pay such subjects; For subjects such as they are seldom seen, Who not forsook me at my greatest need; Nor for base lucre sold their loyalty, But shared my dangers to the last event, And fenced them with their own. These thanks I pay you; [_Wipes his eyes._ And know, that, when Sebastian weeps, his tears Come harder than his blood.

_M. Mol._ They plead too strongly To be withstood. My clouds are gathering too, In kindly mixture with his royal shower. Be safe; and owe thy life, not to my gift, But to the greatness of thy mind, Sebastian. Thy subjects too shall live; a due reward For their untainted faith, in thy concealment.

_Muf._ Remember, sir, your vow. [_A general shout._

_M. Mol._ Do thou remember Thy function, mercy, and provoke not blood.

_Mul. Zeyd._ One of his generous fits, too strong to last. [_Aside to_ BENDUCAR.

_Bend._ The Mufti reddens; mark that holy cheek. [_To him._ He frets within, froths treason at his mouth, And churns it thro' his teeth; leave me to work him.

_Seb._ A mercy unexpected, undesired, Surprises more: you've learnt the art to vanquish. You could not,--give me leave to tell you, sir,-- Have given me life but in my subjects' safety: Kings, who are fathers, live but in their people.

_M. Mol._ Still great, and grateful; that's thy character.-- Unveil the woman; I would view the face, That warmed our Mufti's zeal: These pious parrots peck the fairest fruit: Such tasters are for kings. [_Officers go to_ ALMEYDA _to unveil her._

_Alm._ Stand off, ye slaves! I will not be unveiled.

_M. Mol_ Slave is thy title:--force her.

_Sebast._ On your lives, approach her not.

_M. Mol._ How's this!

_Sebast._ Sir, pardon me, And hear me speak.--

_Aim._ Hear me; I will be heard. I am no slave; the noblest blood of Afric Runs in my veins; a purer stream than thine: For, though derived from the same source, thy current Is puddled and defiled with tyranny.

_M. Mol._ What female fury have we here!

_Aim._ I should be one, Because of kin to thee. Wouldst thou be touched By the presuming hands of saucy grooms? The same respect, nay more, is due to me: More for my sex; the same for my descent. These hands are only fit to draw the curtain. Now, if thou dar'st, behold Almeyda's face. [_Unveils herself._

_Bend._ Would I had never seen it! [_Aside._

_Alm._ She whom thy Mufti taxed to have no soul; Let Afric now be judge. Perhaps thou think'st I meanly hope to 'scape, As did Sebastian, when he owned his greatness. But to remove that scruple, know, base man, My murdered father, and my brother's ghost, Still haunt this breast, and prompt it to revenge. Think not I could forgive, nor dar'st thou pardon.

_M. Mol._ Wouldst thou revenge thee, trait'ress, hadst thou power?

_Alm._ Traitor, I would; the name's more justly thine; Thy father was not, more than mine, the heir Of this large empire: but with arms united They fought their way, and seized the crown by force; And equal as their danger was their share: For where was eldership, where none had right But that which conquest gave? 'Twas thy ambition Pulled from my peaceful father what his sword Helped thine to gain; surprised him and his kingdom, No provocation given, no war declared.

_M. Mol._ I'll hear no more.

_Alm._ This is the living coal, that, burning in me, Would flame to vengeance, could it find a vent; My brother too, that lies yet scarcely cold In his deep watery bed;--my wandering mother, Who in exile died-- O that I had the fruitful heads of Hydra, That one might bourgeon where another fell! Still would I give thee work; still, still, thou tyrant, And hiss thee with the last.

_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.

_1st Mer._ What virtues has he to deserve that price?

_Must._ Marry come up, sir! virtues, quotha! I took him in the king's company; he's of a great family, and rich; what other virtues wouldst thou have in a nobleman?

_1st Mer._ I buy him with another man's purse, that's my comfort. My lord Dorax, the governor, will have him at any rate:--There's hansel. Come, old fellow, to the castle.

_Alvar._ To what is miserable age reserved! [_Aside._ But oh the king! and oh the fatal secret! Which I have kept thus long to time it better, And now I would disclose, 'tis past my power. [_Exit with his Master._

_Must._ Something of a secret, and of the king, I heard him mutter: a pimp, I warrant him, for I am sure he is an old courtier. Now, to put off t'other remnant of my merchandize.--Stir up, sirrah! [_To_ ANT.

_Ant._ Dog, what wouldst thou have?

_Must._ Learn better manners, or I shall serve you a dog-trick; come down upon all-four immediately; I'll make you know your rider.

_Ant._ Thou wilt not make a horse of me?

_Must._ Horse or ass, that's as thy mother made thee: but take earnest, in the first place, for thy sauciness.--[_Lashes him with his Whip._]--Be advised, friend, and buckle to thy geers: Behold my ensign of royalty displayed over thee.

_Ant._ I hope one day to use thee worse in Portugal.

_Must._ Ay, and good reason, friend; if thou catchest me a-conquering on thy side of the water, lay on me lustily; I will take it as kindly as thou dost this.-- [_Holds up his Whip._

_Ant._ [_Lying down._] Hold, my dear Thrum-cap: I obey thee cheerfully.--I see the doctrine of non-resistance is never practised thoroughly, but when a man can't help himself.

_Enter a second Merchant._

_2d Mer._ You, friend, I would see that fellow do his postures.

_Must._ [_Bridling_ ANT.] Now, sirrah, follow, for you have rope enough: To your paces, villain, amble trot, and gallop:--Quick about, there.--Yeap! the more money's bidden for you, the more your credit. [ANTONIO _follows, at the end of the Bridle, on his Hands and Feet, and does all his Postures._

_2d Mer._ He is well chined, and has a tolerable good back; that is half in half.--[_To_ MUST.]--I would see him strip; has he no diseases about him?

_Must._ He is the best piece of man's flesh in the market, not an eye-sore in his whole body. Feel his legs, master; neither splint, spavin, nor wind-gall. [_Claps him on the Shoulder._

_Mer._ [_Feeling about him, and then putting his Hand on his Side._] Out upon him, how his flank heaves! The whore-son is broken-winded.

_Must._ Thick-breathed a little; nothing but a sorry cold with lying out a-nights in trenches; but sound, wind and limb, I warrant him.--Try him at a loose trot a little. [_Puts the Bridle into his Hand, he strokes him._

_Ant._ For heaven's sake, owner, spare me: you know I am but new broken.

_2d Mer._ 'Tis but a washy jade, I see: what do you ask for this bauble?

_Must._ Bauble, do you call him? he is a substantial true-bred beast; bravely forehanded. Mark but the cleanness of his shapes too: his dam may be a Spanish gennet, but a true barb by the sire, or I have no skill in horseflesh:--Marry, I ask six hundred xeriffs for him.

_Enter_ MUFTI.

_Mufti._ What is that you are asking, sirrah?

_Must._ Marry, I ask your reverence six hundred pardons; I was doing you a small piece of service here, putting off your cattle for you.

_Mufti._ And putting the money into your own pocket.

_Must._ Upon vulgar reputation, no, my lord; it was for your profit and emolument. What! wrong the head of my religion? I was sensible you would have damned me, or any man, that should have injured you in a single farthing; for I knew that was sacrifice.

_Mufti._ Sacrilege, you mean, sirrah,--and damning shall be the least part of your punishment: I have taken you in the manner, and will have the law upon you.

_Must._ Good my lord, take pity upon a poor man in this world, and damn me in the next.

_Mufti._ No, sirrah, so you may repent and escape punishment: Did not you sell this very slave amongst the rest to me, and take money for him?

_Must._ Right, my lord.

_Mufti._ And selling him again? take money twice for the same commodity? Oh, villain! but did you not know him to be my slave, sirrah?

_Must._ Why should I lie to your honour? I did know him; and thereupon, seeing him wander about, took him up for a stray, and impounded him, with intention to restore him to the right owner.

_Mufti._ And yet at the same time was selling him to another: How rarely the story hangs together!

_Must._ Patience, my lord. I took him up, as your herriot, with intention to have made the best of him, and then have brought the whole product of him in a purse to you; for I know you would have spent half of it upon your pious pleasures, have hoarded up the other half, and given the remainder in charities to the poor.

_Mufti._ And what's become of my other slave? Thou hast sold him too, I have a villainous suspicion.

_Must._ I know you have, my lord; but while I was managing this young robustious fellow, that old spark, who was nothing but skin and bone, and by consequence very nimble, slipt through my fingers like an eel, for there was no hold-fast of him, and ran away to buy himself a new master.

_Muft._ [_To_ ANT.] Follow me home, sirrah:--[_To_ MUST.] I shall remember you some other time. [_Exit_ MUFTI _with_ ANT.

_Must._ I never doubted your lordship's memory for an ill turn: And I shall remember him too in the next rising of the mobile for this act of resumption; and more especially for the ghostly counsel he gave me before the emperor, to have hanged myself in silence to have saved his reverence. The best on't is, I am beforehand with him for selling one of his slaves twice over; and if he had not come just in the nick, I might have pocketed up the other; for what should a poor man do that gets his living by hard labour, but pray for bad times when he may get it easily? O for some incomparable tumult! Then should I naturally wish that the beaten party might prevail; because we have plundered the other side already, and there is nothing more to get of them. Both rich and poor for their own interest pray, 'Tis ours to make our fortune while we may; For kingdoms are not conquered every day. [_Exit._