University of Virginia Library

Act I.

Scene I.

The Scene at Alcazar, representing a Market-Place under the Castle.
Muley-Zeydan, Benducar.
Muly-Zeyd.
Now Affrica's long Wars are at an end;
And our parch'd earth is drench'd 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?

Benducar.
He fell among a heap of slaughter'd Moors;
Though yet his mangled Carcase is not found.
The Rival of our threatned Empire, Mahumet,
Was hot pursued; and in the general rout,
Mistook a swelling Current for a Foord;
And in Mucazer's Flood was seen to rise;
Thrice was he seen; at length his Courser plung'd,
And threw him off; the Waves whelm'd over him,
And helpless in his heavy arms he drownd.

Mul. Zeyd.
Thus, then, a doubtful Title is extinguish'd:
Thus, Moluch, still the Favorite of Fate,
Swims in a sanguine torrent to the Throne.
As if our Prophet only work'd for him:
The Heavens and all the Stars are his hir'd 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 wou'd ruin us;
We must be safe before we can be great:
These things observ'd, leave me to shape the rest.

Mul. Zeyd.
You have the Key, he opens inward to you.

Bend.
So often try'd, 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 serv'd, and he grown absolute,
How am I sure to stand who serv'd those ends?
I know your nature open, mild, and grateful;
In such a Prince the People may be blest,
And I be safe.

Mul. Zeyd.
My Father!

[Embracing him.
Bend.
My future King! (auspicious Muley-Zeydan:)
Shall I adore you? No, the place is publick;
I worship you within; the outward act
Shall be reserv'd till Nations follow me,
And Heaven shall envy you the kneeling World.
You know th'Alcald of Alcazar, Dorax?

Mul. Zeyd.
The gallant Renegade you mean?

Bend.
The same:
That gloomy outside, like a rusty Chest,
Contains the shining Treasure of a Soul,
Resolv'd and brave; he has the Souldiers hearts,
And time shall make him ours.

Mul.
He's just upon us.

Bend.
I know him from a far,
By the long stride and by the sullen port:
Retire my Lord.
Wait on your Brothers 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.

Mul. Zeyd.
My Oracle!
[Exit Muley-Zeyd.

Bend.
Yes, to delude your hopes, poor credulous Fool,
To think that I wou'd give away the Fruit
Of so much toil, such guilt, and such damnation;
If I am damn'd, it shall be for my self:
This easie Fool must be my Stale, set up
To catch the Peoples 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!

Dorax,
Well Bemboucar!

Bend.
Bare Bemboucar!

Dor.
Thou wouldst have Titles, take 'em then, Chief Minister,
First Hangman of the State.

Bend.
Some call me Favourite.

Dorax,
What's that, his Minion?
Thou art too old to be a Catamite!
Now prithee tell me, and abate thy pride,
Is not Benducar Bare, a better Name
In a Friend's mouth, than all those gawdy Titles,
Which I disdain to give the Man I love?

Bend.
But always out of humor,—

Dorax,
I have cause:
Tho all mankind is cause enough for Satyr.

Bend.
Why then thou hast reveng'd thee on mankind,
They say in fight, thou hadst a thirsty Sword,
And well 'twas glutted there.

Dorax,
I spitted Frogs, I crush'd a heap of Emmets,
A hundred of 'em to a single Soul,
And that but scanty weight too: the great Devil
Scarce thank'd me for my pains; he swallows Vulgar
Like whip'd Cream, feels 'em not in going down.

Bend.
Brave Renegade! cou'dst thou not meet Sebastian?
Thy Master had been worthy of thy Sword.

Dorax,
My Master? By what title,
Because I happen'd to be born where he
Happen'd to be a King? And yet I serv'd him,
Nay, I was fool enough to love him too.
You know my story, how I was rewarded,
For Fifteen hard Campaigns, still hoop'd in Iron,
And why I turn'd Mahometan: I'm grateful,
But whosoever dares to injure me,
Let that man know, I dare to be reveng'd.

Bend.
Still you run off from biass; say what moves
Your present spleen?

Dorax,
You mark'd not what I told you:
I kill'd not one that was his Makers Image;
I met with none but vulgar two-leg'd 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, ev'n towring to Divinity.
Brave, pious, generous, great, and liberal:
Just as the Scales of Heaven that weigh the Seasons,
He lov'd his People, him they idoliz'd:
And thence proceeds my mortal hatred to him,
That thus unblameable to all besides
He err'd to me alone:
His goodness was diffus'd to human kind,
And all his cruelty confin'd to me.

Bend.
You cou'd not meet him then?

Dorax,
No, though I sought
Where ranks fell thickest; 'twas indeed the place
To seek Sebastian: through a track of Death
I follow'd him, by Groans of dying Foes,
But still I came too late, for he was flown
Like Ligtning, swift before me to new Slaughters,
I mow'd across, and made irregular Harvest,
Defac'd the pomp of Battel, but in vain,
For he was still supplying Death elsewhere:
This mads me that perhaps ignoble hands
Have overlaid him, for they cou'd not conquer:
Murder'd by Multitudes, whom I alone
Had right to slay; I too wou'd have been slain,
That catching hold upon his flitting Ghost
I might have robb'd him of his opening Heav'n;
And drag'd him down with me, spight of Predestination.

Bend.
'Tis of as much import as Affric's worth
To know what came of him, and of Almeyda
The Sister of the Vanquish'd Mahumet,
Whose fatal Beauty to her Brother drew
The Lands third part, as Lucifer did Heav'ns.

Dor.
I hope she dy'd in her own Female calling,
Choak'd up with Man, and gorg'd 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 Heav'n, in the red Monument,
Which his true Sword has digg'd.

Bend.
Yet we may possibly hear farther news;
For while our Affricans pursu'd the Chase,
The Captain of the Rabble issued out,
With a black shirt-less train to spoil the dead,
And seize the living.

Dor.
Each of 'em an Hoast,
A Million strong of Vermine ev'ry Villain:
No part of Government, but Lords of Anarchy,
Chaos of Power, and priviledg'd destruction.

Bend.
Yet I must tell you Friend the Great must use 'em,
Sometimes as necessary tools of tumult.

Dor.
I wou'd use 'em
Like Dogs in times of Plague, out-laws of Nature,
Fit to be shot and brain'd; 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 Mufty, and Muley-Zeydan.
Moluch.
Our Armours now may rust, our idle scymitars
Hang by our sides, for Ornament not use:
Children shall beat our Atabals and Drums,
And all the noisie trades of War, no more
Shall wake the peaceful morn: the Xeriffs blood
No longer in divided Channels runs,
The younger House took end in Mahumet.
Nor shall Sebastian's formidable Name,
Be longer us'd to lull the crying babe!

Mufty.
For this Victorious day our Mighty Prophet
Expects your gratitude, the Sacrifice
Of Christian Slaves, devoted, if you won.

Mol.
The purple present shall be richly paid:
That Vow perform'd, fasting shall be abolish'd:
None ever serv'd Heav'n well with a starv'd face:
Preach Abstinence no more; I tell thee Mufty
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
Reform'd us into feasting.

Muf.
[Dorax aside.

Mol.
Bring forth th'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 Emperors Vow;
Our Bulls and Rams had been more noble Victims;
These are but garbidge not a Sacrifice.

Muf.
The Prophet must not pick and choose his Offrings;
Now he has giv'n the Day, 'tis past recalling:
And he must be content with such as these.

M. Mol.
But are these all? Speak you who are their Masters.

Musta.

All upon my Honour: If you'll take 'em as their
Fathers got 'em, 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 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, concern'd with me. Now if I confess, he'll
be sure to scape between his Greatness and his Holiness, and
I shall be murder'd, because of my Poverty and Rascality.

Mufti 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 Musulman as I am: Besides I have learnt
so much good manners, Doctor, as to let my Betters be serv'd
before me.

M. Mol.

Thou talk'st as if the Musty were concern'd:

Must.

Your Majesty may lay your Soul on't: but for my

part, though I am a plain Fellow, yet I scorn to be trick'd into
Paradice, I wou'd he shou'd know it. The troth 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 'em, and
a round price he pay'd me too I'll say that for him; but not
enough for me to venture my neck for: If I get Paradice
when my time comes I can't help my self; but I'll venture
nothing before-hand, upon a blind Bargain.

M. Mol.
Where are those Slaves? produce 'em.

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 reserv'd 'em to present thy Greatness
An Off'ring worthy thee.

Must.

By the same token there was a dainty Virgin, (Virgin
said I! but I won't 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 farewel with it too?

Enter Sebastian conducted in mean habit, with Alvarez, Antonio, and Almeyda: her face veil'd with a Barnus.
M. Mol.
Ay; These look like the Workmanship of Heav'n:
This is the porcelain clay of human kind,
And therefore cast into these noble moulds.

Dorax
aside while the Emperor whispers Benducar.
By all my wrongs
'Tis he; damnation seize me but 'tis he!
My heart heaves up and swells; he's poyson to me;
My injur'd honour, and my ravish'd love,
Bleed at their Murderers sight.

[Bend. to Dor. aside.
The Emperor wou'd learn these Pris'ners names;
You know 'em.

Dor.
Tell him, no.
And trouble me no more.—I will not know 'em.
Shall I trust Heav'n, that Heav'n which I renounc'd,
[Aside.
With my revenge? then, where's my satisfaction?
No, it must be my own; I scorn a Proxy.

M. Mol.
'Tis decreed,
These of a better aspect, with the rest
Shall share one common Doom, and Lots decide it.
For ev'ry number'd 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
Shou'd not protect her life; if not Immortal:
Dye as she cou'd, all of a piece, the better,
That none of her remain.

Here an Urn is brought in: the Pris'ners approach with great concernment; and among the rest Sebastian, Alvarez and Antonio; who come more chearfully.
Dor.
Poor abject Creatures how they fear to dye!
[Aside.
These never knew one happy hour in life,
Yet shake to lay it down: is load so pleasant?
Or has Heav'n hid the happiness of Death
That Men may bear to live?—Now for our Heroes.
The three approach.
O, these come up with Spirits more resolv'd!
Old venerable Alvarez, well I know him,
The Fav'rite once of this Sebastian's Father;
Now Minister; (too honest for his Trade)
Religion bears him out, a thing taught young,
In Age ill practis'd, yet his prop in Death.
O, he has drawn a black; and smiles upon't,
As who shou'd say my Faith and Soul are white
Tho my Lot swarthy: Now if there be hereafter
He's blest; if not, well cheated, and dyes pleas'd.

Anton.
holding his Lot in his clench'd 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 rowl, 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 th'Amorous airy spark, Antonio;
The wittiest Womans toy in Portugal.
Lord what a loss of Treats and Serenades!
The whole She Nation will b' in mourning for him.

Antonio.
I've a moist sweaty palm; the more's my Sin;
If it be black, yet only dy'd, not odious
Damn'd Natural Ebony, there's hope in rubbing
To wash this Ethiope white.—(Looks) Pox of the Proverb!
As black as Hell: another lucky saying!
I think the Devils in me:—good again,
I cannot speak one syllable, but tends
To Death or to Damnation.

[Holds up his ball.
Dor.
He looks uneasie 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 Lott'ry,
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 Corps, and seems asham'd
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 fail'd of mine!

Dor.
Robb'd of my Vengeance, by a trivial chance!
[Aside.
Fine work above, that their anointed care
Shou'd dye such little Death: or did his Genius
Know mine the stronger Demon, fear'd the grapple,
And looking round him, found this nook of fate
To skulk behind my Sword; shall I discover him?
Still he wou'd dye not mine: no thanks to my
Revenge: reserv'd but to more royal shambles.
'Twere base too; and below those Vulgar Souls,
That shar'd his danger, yet not one disclos'd him:
But struck with Rev'rence kept an awful silence.
I'll see no more of this: Dog of a Prophet!
[Exit Dorax.

Mul. Mol.
One of these Three is a whole Hecatomb;
And therefore only one of 'em shall dye.
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 my self; a setting Sun
Shou'd leave a track of Glory in the Skies.
Behold Sebastian King of Portugal.

M. Mol.
Sebastian! ha! it must be he; no other
Cou'd represent such suff'ring Majesty:
I saw him, as he terms himself, a Sun
Strugling in dark Eclipse, and shooting day
On either side of the black Orb that veil'd him.

Sebast.
Not less ev'n in this despicable now,
Than when my Name fill'd Affrick with affrights,
And froze your hearts beneath your torrid Zone.

Bend.
to M. Mol.
Extravagantly brave! ev'n 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 wou'd have conquer'd you; and ventur'd only
A narrow neck of Land for a third World;
To give my loosen'd Subjects room to play.
Fate was not mine,
Nor am I Fate's: Now I have pleas'd my longing,
And trod the ground which I beheld from far,
I beg no pity for this mouldring Clay:
For if you give it burial there it takes
Possession of your Earth:
If burnt and scatter'd in the air: the Winds
That strow my dust, diffuse my royalty,
And spread me o'er your Clime: for where one Atome
Of mine shall light; know there Sebastian Reigns.

M. Mol.
What shall I do to conquer thee?

Seb.
Impossible!
Souls know no Conquerors.

M. Mol.
I'll show thee for a Monster through my Affrick.

Seb.
No thou canst only show me for a Man:
Affrick is stor'd with Monsters; Man's a Prodigy,
Thy Subjects have not seen.

Mul. M.
Thou talk'st as if
Still at the head of Battel.

Seb.
Thou mistak'st,
For then I would not talk.

Bend.
Sure he wou'd sleep.

Sebast.
Till Dooms-day; when the Trumpet sounds to rise;
For that's a Soldiers call,

M. Mol.
Thou'rt brave too late:
Thou shou'dst have dy'd in battel, like a Soldier,

Seb.
I fought and fell like one, but Death deceiv'd me,
I wanted weight of feeble Moors upon me,
To crush my Soul out.

M. Mol.
Still untameable!
In what a ruine has thy head-strong Pride,
And boundless thirst of Empire plung'd thy People.

Sebast.
What say'st thou, ha! No more of that.

M. Mol.
Behold,
What Carcases of thine thy Crimes has strew'd,
And left our Affric 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! Wou'd I had a Soul
For each of these: How gladly wou'd I pay
The Ransom down: But since I have but one,
'Tis a King's life, and freely 'tis bestow'd.
Not your false Prophet, but eternal Justice
Has destin'd me the Lot, to dye for these:
'Tis fit a Sovereign so shou'd 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 shar'd my dangers to the last event,
And fenc'd 'em 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 gath'ring too,
In kindly mixture with this Royal showr:
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.

Mufti,
Remember, Sir, your Vow.

[A general shout.
Mul. M.
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 through his teeth; leave me to work him.

Sebast.
A mercy unexpected, undesir'd,
Surprizes more: You've learnt the art to vanquish:
You cou'd not (give me leave to tell you Sir)
Have giv'n 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 wou'd view the Face
That warm'd our Mufti's Zeal:
These pious Parrots peck the fairest Fruit:
Such Tasters are for Kings.

[Officers go to Almeyda to unveil her.
Almeyda,
Stand off ye Slaves, I will not be unveil'd.

M. Mol.
Slave is thy Title: Force her.

Seb.
On your lives,
Approach her not.

M. Mol.
How's this!

Seb.
Sir pardon me,
And hear me speak.—

Almeyda,
Hear me; I will be heard:
I am no Slave; the noblest blood of Affric
Runs in my Veins; a purer stream than thine;
For, though deriv'd from the same Source, thy Current
Is puddl'd, and defil'd with Tyranny.

M. Mol.
What Female Fury have we here!

Almeyda,
I shou'd be one,
Because of kin to thee: Wou'dst thou be touch'd
By the presuming hands of sawcy 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 Almeydas face.

[Unveils her self.
Bend.
Wou'd I had never seen it!

[aside.
Almeyda,
She whom thy Mufti tax'd to have no Soul;
Let Affric now be judg;
Perhaps thou think'st I meanly hope to 'scape,
As did Sebastian when he own'd his greatness.
But to remove that scruple know, base Man,
My murther'd Father, and my Brother's Ghost
Still haunt this Brest, and prompt it to revenge.
Think not I cou'd forgive nor dare thou pardon.

M. Mol.
Woud'st thou revenge thee, Trait'ress, hadst thou pow'r?

Alm.
Traitor, I wou'd; 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 seiz'd 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
Pull'd from my peaceful Father what his Sword
Help'd thine to gain: Surpriz'd him and his Kingdom,
No provocation given, no War declar'd.

M. Mol.
I'll hear no more.

Alm.
This is the living Coal that burning in me
Wou'd flame to vengeance, cou'd it find a vent.
My Brother too, that lies yet scarcely cold
In his deep watry bed: My wandring Mother,
Who in exile died.
O that I had the fruitful Heads of Hydra,
That one might bourgeon where another fell!
Still wou'd 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 Toyls of Battel, unrepaird
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 unconcern'd: I'll think hereafter.
Conduct these Royal Captives to the Castle;
Bid Dorax use 'em well, till farther 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 Benducar.

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.
Mustapha,

My Chattels are come into my hands again, and
my Conscience will serve me to sell 'em twice over; any price
now, before the Mufti comes to claim 'em.

First Merchant
to Mustapha.
What do'st hold that old Fellow at?
[Pointing to Alvarez.
He's tough, and has no service in his limbs.

Must.

I confess he's somewhat tough; but I suppose you
wou'd not boyl him. I ask for him a thousand Crowns.

1st. Mer.

Thou mean'st a thousand Marvedi's.

Must.

Prithee 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 quoth ah! I took him in
the King's Company; he's of a great Family, and rich, What
other Virtues wou'dst thou have in a Noble-man?

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 Handsel.
Come, old Fellow, to the Castle.

Alvar.
To what is miserable Age reserv'd!
[Aside.
But oh the King! And oh the fatal Secret!
Which I have kept thus long, to time it better,
And now I wou'd disclose, 'tis past my pow'r.

[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 Antonio.
Anton.
Dog, what wou'dst thou have!

Must.

Learn better manners, or I shall serve you a Dogtrick;
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 Sawcyness.
[Lashes him with his Whip.

Be advis'd Friend, and buckle to thy Geers: Behold my Ensign
of Royalty display'd 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 me on lustily, I'll take
it as kindly as thou dost this.—

[Holds up his Whip.
Antonio
lying down.

Hold my dear Thrum-cap: I obey thee chearfully,
I see the Doctrine of Non-Resistance is never practis'd thoroughly
but when a Man can't help himself.

Enter a Second Merchant.
2d. Merchant.

You, Friend, I wou'd see that Fellow do his
Postures.

Mustapha
bridling Antonio.
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. Merch.

He's well chin'd, and has a tolerable good back;
that's half in half. [To Mustapha.]
I wou'd see him strip,
has he no Diseases about him?

Must.

He's 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.
Merchant feeling about him, and then putting his hand to his side.

Out upon him, how his flank heaves! The Whorson's
broken-winded.

Must.

Thick breath'd 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.
Anton.

For Heaven's sake Owner spare me; you know I am
but new broken.

2d. Merch.

'Tis but a washy Jade, I see: What do you ask for
this Bauble?

Must.

Bauble do you call him; he's 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 Horse-flesh.—

Marry I ask Six Hundred Xeriffs for him.

Enter Mufti.
Mufti,
What's 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
Chattel for you.

Mufti,

And putting the Mony 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 wou'd have damn'd me, or any man that shou'd
have injur'd you in a single Farthing; for I knew that was Sacrifice.

Mufti,

Sacriledge 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 scape punishment:
Did not you sell this very Slave amongst the rest to me, and
take Mony for him.

Must.

Right my Lord.

Mufti,

And selling him again? Take Mony twice for the same
Commodity? Oh, Villain!

But did you not know him to be my Slave, Sirrah?

Must.

Why shou'd I lye to your Honor, I did know him; and
thereupon, seeing him wander about; I 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 Heriot, 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 wou'd 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 robustous 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.

Mufti
to Antonio.

Follow me home, Sirrah: [to Must.]
I shall remember you
some other time.

[Exit Mufti with Antonio.
Must.

I never doubted your Lordships 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
hang'd my self in silence, to have sav'd 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 t'other: For what should
a poor Man do, that gets his living by hard labor, but pray for
bad times when he may get it easily. O, for some incomparable
Tumult! Then shou'd I naturally wish, that the beaten Party
might prevail, because we have plundered t'other side already,
and there's nothing more to get of 'em.

Both rich and poor for their own interest pray,
'Tis ours to make our Fortunes while we may;
For Kingdoms are not conquer'd every day.
[Exit Mustaph.