The works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes. Volume 07

Joh. And you see I am come to make them good; but I am neither Morayma, nor the Mufti's daughter.

Ant. Nay, I know not that: but I am sure he is old enough to be your father; and either father, or reverend father, I heard you call him.

Joh. Once again, how came you to name Morayma?

Ant. Another damned mistake of mine: for, asking one of my fellow-slaves, who were the chief ladies about the house, he answered me, Morayma and Johayma; but she, it seems, is his daughter, with a pox to her, and you are his beloved wife.

Joh. Say your beloved mistress, if you please; for that's the title I desire. This moonshine grows offensive to my eyes; come, shall we walk into the arbour? there we may rectify all mistakes.

Ant. That's close and dark.

Joh. And are those faults to lovers?

Ant. But there I cannot please myself with the sight of your beauty.

Joh. Perhaps you may do better.

Ant. But there's not a breath of air stirring.

Joh. The breath of lovers is the sweetest air; but you are fearful.

Ant. I am considering indeed, that, if I am taken with you—

Joh. The best way to avoid it is to retire, where we may not be discovered.

Ant. Where lodges your husband?

Joh. Just against the face of this open walk.

Ant. Then he has seen us already, for aught I know.

Joh. You make so many difficulties, I fear I am displeasing to you.

Joh. You are much fallen off, let me tell you, from the fury of your first embrace.

Ant. I confess I was somewhat too furious at first, but you will forgive the transport of my passion; now I have considered it better, I have a qualm of conscience.

Joh. Of conscience! why, what has conscience to do with two young lovers that have opportunity?

Ant. Why, truly, conscience is something to blame for interposing in our matters: but how can I help it, if I have a scruple to betray my master?

Joh. There must be something more in't; for your conscience was very quiet when you took me for Morayma.

Ant. I grant you, madam, when I took you for his daughter; for then I might have made you an honourable amends by marriage.

Joh. You Christians are such peeking sinners! you tremble at a shadow in the moonshine.

Ant. And you Africans are such termagants, you stop at nothing. I must be plain with you,—you are married, and to a holy man, the head of your religion: go back to your chamber; go back, I say, and consider of it for this night, as I will do on my part: I will be true to you, and invent all the arguments I can to comply with you; and who knows but at our next meeting the sweet devil may have more power over me? I am true flesh and blood, I can tell you that for your comfort.

Ant. What do you mean, madam? for heaven's sake, peace; your husband will hear you; think of your own danger, if you will not think of mine.

Joh. Ungrateful wretch, thou deservest no pity!—Help, help, husband, or I shall be ravished! the villain will be too strong for me! Help, help, for pity of a poor distressed creature!

Ant. Then I have nothing but impudence to assist me: I must drown her clamour, whatever comes on't.
[He takes out his Flute, and plays as loud as he can possibly, and she continues crying out.

Enter the Mufti, in his Night-gown, and two Servants.

Joh. How's that, villain, dar'st thou accuse me?

Ant. Be patient, madam, and speak but truth, and I'll do any thing to serve you: I say again, and swear it too, I'll do any thing to serve you.
[Aside.

Joh. [Aside.] I understand him; but I fear it is now too late to save him:—Pray, hear him speak, husband; perhaps he may say something for himself; I know not.

Muf. Speak thou, has he not violated my bed, and thy honour?

Joh. I forgive him freely, for he has done nothing. What he will do hereafter to make me satisfaction, himself best knows.

Ant. Any thing, any thing, sweet madam: I shall refuse no drudgery.

Muf. But did he mean no mischief? was he endeavouring nothing?

Joh. In my conscience, I begin to doubt he did not.

Muf. It's impossible:—then what meant all those outcries?

Joh. I heard music in the garden, and at an unseasonable time of night; and I stole softly out of my bed, as imagining it might be he.

Muf. How's that, Johayma? imagining it was he, and yet you went?

Muf. I have heard enough.—Away with him!

Joh. Mistaking me, no doubt, for one of his fellow-slaves: with that, affrighted as I was, I discovered myself, and cried aloud; but as soon as ever he knew me, the villain let me go; and I must needs say, he started back as if I were some serpent; and was more afraid of me than I of him.

Muf. O thou corrupter of my family, that's cause enough of death!—once again, away with him.

Joh. What, for an intended trespass? No harm has been done, whatever may be. He cost you five hundred crowns, I take it.

Muf. Thou say'st true, a very considerable sum: he shall not die, though he had committed folly with a slave; it is too much to lose by him.

Ant. My only fault has ever been to love playing in the dark; and the more she cried, the more I played, that it might be seen I intended nothing to her.

Muf. To your kennel, sirrah; mortify your flesh, and consider in whose family you are.

Joh. And one thing more,—remember from henceforth to obey better.

Muf. [Aside.] For all her smoothness, I am not quite cured of my jealousy; but I have thought of a way that will clear my doubts.
[Exit Muf. with Joh. and Servants.

Mor. And if Morayma should appear, as she does appear,—alas! you say, for her and you.

Ant. Art thou there, my sweet temptation! my eyes, my life, my soul, my all!

Mor. A mighty compliment! when all these, by your own confession, are just nothing.

Ant. Nothing, till thou camest to new create me; thou dost not know the power of thy own charms: Let me embrace thee, and thou shalt see how quickly I can turn wicked.

Mor. [Stepping back.] Nay, if you are so dangerous, it is best keeping you at a distance, I have no mind to warm a frozen snake in my bosom; he may chance to recover, and sting me for my pains.

Ant. Consider what I have suffered for thy sake already, and make me some amends; two disappointments in a night: O cruel creature!

Mor. And you may thank yourself for both. I came eagerly to the charge before my time, through the back-walk behind the arbour; and you, like a fresh-water soldier, stood guarding the pass before. If you missed the enemy, you may thank your own dulness.

Ant. Nay, if you will be using stratagems, you shall give me leave to make use of my advantages, now I have you in my power: we are fairly met; I'll try it out, and give no quarter.

Mor. By your favour, sir, we meet upon treaty now, and not upon defiance.

Ant. If that be all, you shall have carte blanche immediately; for I long to be ratifying.

Ant. Not very heroic; but self-preservation is a point above honour and religion too. Antonio was a rogue, I must confess; but you must give me leave to love him.

Mor. To beg your life so basely, and to present your sword to your enemy; Oh, recreant!

Ant. If I had died honourably, my fame indeed would have sounded loud, but I should never have heard the blast:—Come, don't make yourself worse-natured than you are; to save my life, you would be content I should promise any thing.

Mor. Yes, if I were sure you would perform nothing.

Ant. Can you suspect I would leave you for Johayma?

Mor. No; but I can expect you would have both of us. Love is covetous; I must have all of you; heart for heart is an equal trick. In short, I am younger, I think handsomer, and am sure I love you better. She has been my stepmother these fifteen years: You think that is her face you see, but it is only a daubed vizard; she wears an armour of proof upon it; an inch thick of paint, besides the wash. Her face is so fortified, that you can make no approaches to it without a shovel; but, for her constancy, I can tell you for your comfort, she will love till death, I mean till yours; for when she has worn you out, she will certainly dispatch you to another world, for fear of telling tales, as she has already served three slaves, your predecessors, of happy memory, in her favours. She has made my pious father a three-piled cuckold to my knowledge; and now she would be robbing me of my single sheep too.

Mor. No; I'll have a butcher's pennyworth of you; first secure the carcase, and then take the fleece into the bargain.

Ant. Why, sure, you did not put yourself and me to all this trouble for a dry come-off; by this hand—
[Taking it.

Mor. Which you shall never touch, but upon better assurances than you imagine.
[Pulling her hand away.

Ant. I'll marry thee, and make a Christian of thee, thou pretty damned infidel.

Mor. I mean you shall; but no earnest till the bargain be made before witness: there is love enough to be had, and as much as you can turn you to, never doubt; but all upon honourable terms.

Ant. I vow and swear by Love; and he's a deity in all religions.

Mor. But never to be trusted in any: he has another name too, of a worse sound. Shall I trust an oath, when I see your eyes languishing, your cheeks flushing, and can hear your heart throbbing? No, I'll not come near you: he's a foolish physician, who will feel the pulse of a patient, that has the plague-spots upon him.

Ant. Did one ever hear a little moppet argue so perversely against so good a cause! Come, pr'ythee, let me anticipate a little of my revenue.

Mor. You would fain be fingering your rents before-hand; but that makes a man an ill husband ever after. Consider, marriage is a painful vocation, as you shall prove it; manage your incomes as thriftily as you can, you shall find a hard task on't to make even at the year's end, and yet to live decently.

Mor. And so you shall; I offer you his daughter for your second. But since you are so pressing, meet me under my window to-morrow night, body for body, about this hour; I'll slip down out of my lodging, and bring my father in my hand.

Ant. How, thy father!

Mor. I mean, all that's good of him; his pearls and jewels, his whole contents, his heart and soul; as much as ever I can carry! I'll leave him his Alcoran, that's revenue enough for him; every page of it is gold and diamonds. He has the turn of an eye, a demure smile, and a godly cant, that are worth millions to him. I forgot to tell you, that I will have a slave prepared at the postern gate, with two horses ready saddled.—No more, for I fear I may be missed; and think I hear them calling for me.—If you have constancy and courage—

Ant. Never doubt it; and love in abundance, to wander with thee all the world over.

Mor. The value of twelve hundred thousand crowns in a casket!—

Ant. A heavy burden, heaven knows! but we must pray for patience to support it.

Mor. Besides a willing titt, that will venture her corps with you. Come, I know you long to have a parting blow with me; and therefore, to shew I am in charity—
[He kisses her.

Ant. Once more for pity, that I may keep the flavour upon my lips till we meet again.

Mor. No, frequent charities make bold beggars; and, besides, I have learned of a falconer, never to feed up a hawk when I would have him fly. That's enough; but, if you would be nibbling, here's a hand to stay your stomach.
[Kissing her hand.

Mor. Thus Christians are outwitted by the foe;
You had her in your power, and let her go.
If you release my hand, the fault's not mine;
You should have made me seal, as well as sign.
[She runs off, he follows her to the door; then comes back again, and goes out at the other.

ACT IV.
SCENE I.—BENDUCAR'S Palace, in the Castle of Alcazar.

Benducar solus.

Bend. My future fate, the colour of my life,
My all, depends on this important hour:
This hour my lot is weighing in the scales,
And heaven, perhaps, is doubting what to do.
Almeyda and a crown have pushed me forward:
'Tis fixed, the tyrant must not ravish her;
He and Sebastian stand betwixt my hopes;
He most, and therefore first to be dispatched.
These, and a thousand things, are to be done
In the short compass of this rolling night;
And nothing yet performed,
None of my emissaries yet returned.

Enter Haly, first Servant.

Oh Haly, thou hast held me long in pain.
What hast thou learnt of Dorax? is he dead?

Bend. Hence I conclude him either dead, or dying.
His mournful friends, summoned to take their leaves,
Are thronged about his couch, and sit in council.
What those caballing captains may design,
I must prevent, by being first in action.—
To Muley-Zeydan fly with speed, desire him
To take my last instructions; tell the importance,
And haste his presence here.—[Exit Haly.
How has this poison lost its wonted way?
It should have burnt its passage, not have lingered
In the blind labyrinths and crooked turnings
Of human composition; now it moves
Like a slow fire, that works against the wind,
As if his stronger stars had interposed.—

Enter Hamet.

Well, Hamet, are our friends, the rabble, raised?
From Mustapha what message?

Ham. What you wish.
The streets are thicker in this noon of night,
Than at the mid-day sun; a drowsy horror
Sits on their eyes, like fear, not well awake;
All crowd in heaps, as, at a night alarm,
The bees drive out upon each others backs,
To imboss their hives in clusters; all ask news;
Their busy captain runs the weary round,
To whisper orders; and, commanding silence,
Makes not noise cease, but deafens it to murmurs.

Bend. Night wastes apace; when, when will he appear!

Bend. Haste their coming.
Let secrecy and silence be enjoined
In their close march. What news from the lieutenant?

Ham. I left him at the gate, firm to your interest,
To admit the townsmen at their first appearance.

Bend. Thus far 'tis well: Go, hasten Mustapha. [Exit Hamet.

Enter Orchan, the third Servant.

O, Orchan, did I think thy diligence
Would lag behind the rest!—What from the Mufti?

Orc. I sought him round his palace; made inquiry
Of all the slaves; in short, I used your name,
And urged the importance home; but had for answer,
That, since the shut of evening, none had seen him.

Bend. O the curst fate of all conspiracies!
They move on many springs; if one but fail,
The restiff machine stops. In an ill hour he's absent;
'Tis the first time, and sure will be the last,
That e'er a Mufti was not in the way,
When tumults and rebellion should be broached.
Stay by me; thou art resolute and faithful;
I have employment worthy of thy arm.[Walks.

Enter Muley-Zeydan.

Mul. Zeyd. You see me come, impatient of my hopes,
And eager as the courser for the race:
Is all in readiness?

Bend. All but the Mufti.

Mul. Zeyd. We must go on without him.

Bend. True, we must;
For 'tis ill stopping in the full career,
Howe'er the leap be dangerous and wide.

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.

Emp. What news of our affairs, and what of Dorax?
Is he no more? say that, and make me happy.

Emp. The people, are they raised?

Bend. And marshalled too;
Just ready for the march.

Emp. Then I'm at ease.

Bend. The night is yours; the glittering host of heaven
Shines but for you; but most the star of love,
That twinkles you to fair Almeyda's bed.
Oh, there's a joy to melt in her embrace,
Dissolve in pleasure,
And make the gods curse immortality,
That so they could not die.
But haste, and make them yours.

Bend. Yet better.

Emp. Ha! what's that grizly fellow, that attends thee?

Bend. Why ask you, sir?

Emp. For he was in my dream,
And helped to heave me up.

Bend. With prayers and wishes;
For I dare swear him honest.

Emp. That may be;
But yet he looks damnation.

Bend. You forget
The face would please you better. Do you love,
And can you thus forbear?

Emp. I'll head my people,
Then think of dalliance when the danger's o'er.
My warlike spirits work now another way,
And my soul's tuned to trumpets.

Bend. You debase yourself,
To think of mixing with the ignoble herd;
Let such perform the servile work of war,
Such who have no Almeyda to enjoy.
What, shall the people know their god-like prince
Skulked in a nightly skirmish? Stole a conquest,
Headed a rabble, and profaned his person,
Shouldered with filth, borne in a tide of ordure,
And stifled with their rank offensive sweat?

Emp. I am off again; I will not prostitute
The regal dignity so far, to head them.

Bend. There spoke a king.
Dismiss your guards, to be employed elsewhere
In ruder combats; you will want no seconds
In those alarms you seek.

Bend. That Paradise thou never shalt possess.
His death is easy now, his guards are gone,
And I can sin but once to seize the throne;
All after-acts are sanctified by power.

Orc. Command my sword and life.

Bend. I thank thee, Orchan,
And shall reward thy faith. This master-key
Frees every lock, and leads us to his person;
And, should we miss our blow,—as heaven forbid!—
Secures retreat. Leave open all behind us;
And first set wide the Mufti's garden gate,
Which is his private passage to the palace;
For there our mutineers appoint to meet,
And thence we may have aid.—Now sleep, ye stars,
That silently o'erwatch the fate of kings!
Be all propitious influences barred,
And none but murderous planets mount the guard. [Exit with Orchan.

SCENE II.—A Night-Scene of the Mufti's Garden.

Enter the Mufti alone, in a Slave's Habit, like that of Antonio.

Muf. This it is to have a sound head-piece; by this I have got to be chief of my religion; that is, honestly speaking, to teach others what I neither know nor believe myself. For what's Mahomet to me, but that I get by him? Now for my policy of this night: I have mewed up my suspected spouse in her chamber;—no more embassies to that lusty young stallion of a gardener. Next, my habit of a slave; I have made myself as like him as I can, all but his youth and vigour; which when I had, I passed my time as well as any of my holy predecessors. Now, walking under the windows of my seraglio, if Johayma look out, she will certainly take me for Antonio, and call to me; and by that I shall know what concupiscence is working in her. She cannot come down to commit iniquity, there's my safety; but if she peep, if she put her nose abroad, there's demonstration of her pious will; and I'll not make the first precedent for a churchman to forgive injuries.

Enter Morayma, running to him with a Casket in her hand, and embracing him.

Mor. Now I can embrace you with a good conscience; here are the pearls and jewels, here's my father.

Muf. I am indeed thy father; but how the devil didst thou know me in this disguise? and what pearls and jewels dost thou mean?

Mor. [Going back.] What have I done, and what will now become of me!

Muf. Art thou mad, Morayma?

Muf. Why, what have I done to thee? Recollect thyself, and speak sense to me.

Mor. Then give me leave to tell you, you are the worst of fathers.

Muf. Did I think I had begotten such a monster!—Proceed, my dutiful child, proceed, proceed.

Mor. You have been raking together a mass of wealth, by indirect and wicked means: the spoils of orphans are in these jewels, and the tears of widows in these pearls.

Muf. Thou amazest me!

Mor. I would do so. This casket is loaded with your sins; 'tis the cargo of rapines, simony, and extortions; the iniquity of thirty years muftiship converted into diamonds.

Muf. Would some rich railing rogue would say as much to me, that I might squeeze his purse for scandal!

Mor. No, sir, you get more by pious fools than railers, when you insinuate into their families, manage their fortunes while they live, and beggar their heirs, by getting legacies, when they die. And do you think I'll be the receiver of your theft? I discharge my conscience of it: Here, take again your filthy mammon, and restore it, you had best, to the true owners.

Muf. I am finely documented by my own daughter!

Muf. Pr'ythee, child, reproach me no more of human failings; they are but a little of the pitch and spots of the world, that are still sticking on me; but I hope to scour them out in time. I am better at bottom than thou thinkest; I am not the man thou takest me for.

Mor. No, to my sorrow, sir, you are not.

Muf. It was a very odd beginning though, methought, to see thee come running in upon me with such a warm embrace; pr'ythee, what was the meaning of that violent hot hug?

Mor. I am sure I meant nothing by it, but the zeal and affection which I bear to the man of the world, whom I may love lawfully.

Muf. But thou wilt not teach me, at this age, the nature of a close embrace?

Mor. No, indeed; for my mother-in-law complains, that you are past teaching: But if you mistook my innocent embrace for sin, I wish heartily it had been given where it would have been more acceptable.

Muf. Why this is as it should be now; take the treasure again, it can never be put into better hands.

Mor. Yes, to my knowledge, but it might. I have confessed my soul to you, if you can understand me rightly. I never disobeyed you till this night; and now, since, through the violence of my passion, I have been so unfortunate, I humbly beg your pardon, your blessing, and your leave, that, upon the first opportunity, I may go for ever from your sight; for heaven knows, I never desire to see you more.

Mor. Indeed, dear daddy, but we will.

Muf. Why, if I have been a little pilfering, or so, I take it bitterly of thee to tell me of it, since it was to make thee rich; and I hope a man may make bold with his own soul, without offence to his own child. Here, take the jewels again; take them, I charge thee, upon thy obedience.

Mor. Well then, in virtue of obedience, I will take them; but, on my soul, I had rather they were in a better hand.

Muf. Meaning mine, I know it.

Mor. Meaning his, whom I love better than my life.

Muf. That's me again.

Mor. I would have you think so.

Muf. How thy good nature works upon me! Well, I can do no less than venture damning for thee; and I may put fair for it, if the rabble be ordered to rise to-night.

Enter Antonio, in a rich African habit.

Ant. What do you mean, my dear, to stand talking in this suspicious place, just underneath Johayma's window?—[To the Mufti.] You are well met, comrade; I know you are the friend of our flight: are the horses ready at the postern gate?

Muf. Antonio, and in disguise! now I begin to smell a rat.

Ant. And I another, that out-stinks it. False Morayma, hast thou thus betrayed me to thy father!

Mor. Alas! I was betrayed myself. He came disguised like you, and I, poor innocent, ran into his hands.

Ant. [Taking him by the throat.] No; I have a trick left to put thee past thy squeaking. I have given thee the quinsy; that ungracious tongue shall preach no more false doctrine.

Mor. What do you mean? you will not throttle him? consider he's my father.

Ant. Pr'ythee, let us provide first for our own safety; if I do not consider him, he will consider us, with a vengeance, afterwards.

Mor. You may threaten him for crying out; but, for my sake, give him back a little cranny of his windpipe, and some part of speech.

Ant. Not so much as one single interjection.—Come away, father-in-law, this is no place for dialogues; when you are in the mosque, you talk by hours, and there no man must interrupt you. This is but like for like, good father-in-law; now I am in the pulpit, it is your turn to hold your tongue. [He struggles.] Nay, if you will be hanging back, I shall take care you shall hang forward.
[Pulls him along the Stage, with his Sword at his Reins.

Mor. The other way to the arbour with him; and make haste, before we are discovered.

Ant. If I only bind and gag him there, he may commend me hereafter for civil usage; he deserves not so much favour by any action of his life.

Mor. Yes, pray bate him one,—for begetting your mistress.

Joh. [At the Balcony.] A bird in a cage may peep, at least, though she must not fly.—What bustle's there beneath my window? Antonio, by all my hopes! I know him by his habit. But what makes that woman with him, and a friend, a sword drawn, and hasting hence? This is no time for silence:—Who's within? call there, where are the servants? why, Omar, Abedin, Hassan, and the rest, make haste, and run into the garden; there are thieves and villains; arm all the family, and stop them.

Ant. [Turning back.] O that screech owl at the window! we shall be pursued immediately; which way shall we take?

Mor. [Giving him the Casket.] 'Tis impossible to escape them; for the way to our horses lies back again by the house, and then we shall meet them full in the teeth. Here, take these jewels; thou mayst leap the walls, and get away.

Ant. And what will become of thee, then, poor kind soul?

Mor. I must take my fortune. When you are got safe into your own country, I hope you will bestow a sigh on the memory of her who loved you.

Ant. It makes me mad to think, how many a good night will be lost betwixt us! Take back thy jewels; 'tis an empty casket without thee: besides, I should never leap well with the weight of all thy father's sins about me; thou and they had been a bargain.

Mor. Pr'ythee take them, 'twill help me to be revenged on him.

Ant. No, they'll serve to make thy peace with him.

Ant. And I but the empty shadow of myself without thee!—Farewell, father-in-law, that should have been, if I had not been curst in my mother's belly.—Now, which way, Fortune?
[Runs amazedly backwards and forwards. Servants within, "Follow, follow; yonder are the villains."


O, here's a gate open; but it leads into the castle; yet I must venture it.
[A shout behind the Scenes, where Antonio is going out.

There's the rabble in a mutiny; what, is the devil up at midnight! However, 'tis good herding in a crowd.
[Runs out. Mufti runs to Morayma, and lays hold on her, then snatches away the Casket.

Muf. Now, to do things in order, first I seize upon the bag, and then upon the baggage; for thou art but my flesh and blood, but these are my life and soul.

Mor. Then let me follow my flesh and blood, and keep to yourself your life and soul.

Muf. Both, or none; come away to durance.

Mor. Well, if it must be so, agreed; for I have another trick to play you, and thank yourself for what shall follow.

Enter Servants.

Joh. [From above.] One of them took through the private way into the castle; follow him, be sure, for these are yours already.

Muf. Now, if I cry out, they will know my voice, and then I am disgraced for ever. O thou art a venomous cockatrice!

Mor. Of your own begetting.[The Servants seize him.

1 Serv. What a glorious deliverance have you had, madam, from this bloody-minded Christian!

Mor. Give me back my jewels, and carry this notorious malefactor to be punished by my father.—I'll hunt the other dry-foot.
[Takes the jewels, and runs out after Antonio at the same passage.

1 Serv. I long to be hanselling his hide, before we bring him to my master.

2 Serv. Hang him, for an old covetous hypocrite; he deserves a worse punishment himself, for keeping us so hardly.

1 Serv. Ay, would he were in this villain's place! thus I would lay him on, and thus.[Beats him.

2 Serv. And thus would I revenge myself of my last beating.[He beats him too, and then the rest.

Muf. Oh, ho, ho!

1 Serv. Now, supposing you were the Mufti, sir.— [Beats him again.

Muf. The devil's in that supposing rascal!—I can bear no more; and I am the Mufti. Now suppose yourselves my servants, and hold your hands: an anointed halter take you all!

1 Serv. My master!—You will pardon the excess of our zeal for you, sir: Indeed we all took you for a villain, and so we used you.

1 Serv. Sir, the castle is in a most terrible combustion; you may hear them hither.

Muf. 'Tis a laudable commotion; the voice of the mobile is the voice of heaven.—I must retire a little, to strip me of the slave, and to assume the Mufti, and then I will return; for the piety of the people must be encouraged, that they may help me to recover my jewels, and my daughter.
[Exeunt Mufti and Servants.

SCENE III.—Changes to the Castle Yard,

And discovers Antonio, Mustapha, and the Rabble shouting. They come forward.

Ant. And so at length, as I informed you, I escaped out of his covetous clutches; and now fly to your illustrious feet for my protection.

Must. Thou shalt have it, and now defy the Mufti. 'Tis the first petition that has been made to me since my exaltation to tumult, in this second night of the month Abib, and in the year of the Hegira,—the Lord knows what year; but 'tis no matter; for when I am settled, the learned are bound to find it out for me; for I am resolved to date my authority over the rabble, like other monarchs.

Must. I shall make bold with his treasure, for the support of my new government.—[The people gather about him.]—What do these vile raggamuffins so near our person? your savour is offensive to us; bear back there, and make room for honest men to approach us: These fools and knaves are always impudently crowding next to princes, and keeping off the more deserving: Bear back, I say.—[They make a wider circle.]—That's dutifully done! Now shout, to shew your loyalty. [A great shout.]—Hear'st thou that, slave Antonio? These obstreperous villains shout, and know not for what they make a noise. You shall see me manage them, that you may judge what ignorant beasts they are.—For whom do you shout now? Who's to live and reign; tell me that, the wisest of you?

1 Rabble. Even who you please, captain.

Must. La, you there! I told you so.

2 Rabble. We are not bound to know, who is to live and reign; our business is only to rise upon command, and plunder.

3 Rabble. Ay, the richest of both parties; for they are our enemies.

Must. This last fellow is a little more sensible than the rest; he has entered somewhat into the merits of the cause.

1 Rabble. If a poor man may speak his mind. I think, captain, that yourself are the fittest to live and reign; I mean not over, but next, and immediately under, the people; and thereupon I say, A Mustapha, a Muatapha!

Omnes. A Mustapha, a Mustapha!

Omnes. A Muley-Zeydan, a Muley-Zeydan!

Must. You see, slave Antonio, what I might have been?

Ant. I observe your modesty.

Must. But for a foolish promise, I made once to my lord Benducar, to set up any one he pleased.—

Re-enter the Mufti, with his Servants.

Ant. Here's the old hypocrite again.—Now stand your ground and bate him not an inch. Remember the jewels, the rich and glorious jewels; they are designed to be yours, by virtue of prerogative.

Must. Let me alone to pick a quarrel; I have an old grudge to him upon thy account.

Muf. [Making up to the Mobile.] Good people, here you are met together.

1 Rabble. Ay, we know that without your telling: But why are we met together, doctor? for that's it which no body here can tell.

2 Rabble. Why, to see one another in the dark; and to make holiday at midnight.

Muf. You are met, as becomes good Mussulmen, to settle the nation; for I must tell you, that, though your tyrant is a lawful emperor, yet your lawful emperor is but a tyrant.

Ant. What stuff he talks!

Must. 'Tis excellent fine matter, indeed, slave Antonio! He has a rare tongue! Oh, he would move a rock, or elephant!

Ant. What a block have I to work upon! [Aside.]—But still, remember the jewels, sir; the jewels.

Muf. That your emperor is a tyrant, is most manifest; for you were born to be Turks, but he has played the Turk with you, and is taking your religion away.

2 Rabble. We find that in our decay of trade. I have seen, for these hundred years, that religion and trade always go together.

Muf. He is now upon the point of marrying himself, without your sovereign consent: And what are the effects of marriage?

3 Rabble. A scolding domineering wife, if she prove honest; and, if a whore, a fine gaudy minx, that robs our counters every night, and then goes out, and spends it upon our cuckold-makers.

Muf. No; the natural effects of marriage are children: Now, on whom would he beget these children? Even upon a Christian! O, horrible! how can you believe me, though I am ready to swear it upon the Alcoran! Yes, true believers, you may believe, that he is going to beget a race of misbelievers.

Must. That's fine, in earnest; I cannot forbear hearkening to his enchanting tongue.

Ant. But yet remember—

Must. Ay, ay, the jewels! Now again I hate him; but yet my conscience makes me listen to him.

Omnes. A Mufti, a Mufti![Following him off the stage.

Ant. Now you see what comes of your foolish qualms of conscience; the jewels are lost, and they are all leaving you.

Must. What, am I forsaken of my subjects? Would the rogue purloin my liege people from me!—I charge you, in my own name, come back, ye deserters, and hear me speak.

1 Rabble. What, will he come with his balderdash, after the Mufti's eloquent oration?

2 Rabble. He's our captain, lawfully picked up, and elected upon a stall; we will hear him.

Omnes. Speak, captain, for we will hear you.

Must. Do you remember the glorious rapines and robberies you have committed? Your breaking open and gutting of houses, your rummaging of cellars, your demolishing of Christian temples, and bearing off, in triumph, the superstitious plate and pictures, the ornaments of their wicked altars, when all rich moveables were sentenced for idolatrous, and all that was idolatrous was seized? Answer first, for your remembrance of all these sweetnesses of mutiny; for upon those grounds I shall proceed.

Omnes. Yes, we do remember, we do remember.

Must. Then make much of your retentive faculties.—And who led you to those honey-combs? Your Mufti? No, believers; he only preached you up to it, but durst not lead you: He was but your counsellor, but I was your captain; he only looed you, but, 'twas I that led you.

Omnes. That's true, that's true.

Must. I think I was, slave Antonio. Alas, I was ignorant of my own talent!—Say then, believers, will you have a captain for your Mufti, or a Mufti for your captain? And, further, to instruct you how to cry, will you have A mufti, or No mufti?

Omnes. No Mufti, no Mufti!

Must. That I laid in for them, slave Antonio—Do I then spit upon your faces? Do I discourage rebellion, mutiny, rapine, and plundering? You may think I do, believers; but, heaven forbid! No, I encourage you to all these laudable undertakings; you shall plunder, you shall pull down the government; but you shall do this upon my authority, and not by his wicked instigation.

3 Rabble. Nay, when his turn is served, he may preach up loyalty again, and restitution, that he might have another snack among us.

1 Rabble. He may indeed; for it is but his saying it is sin, and then we must restore; and therefore I would have a new religion, where half the commandments should be taken away, the rest mollified, and there should be little or no sin remaining.

Omnes. Another religion, a new religion, another religion!

Must. And that may easily be done, with the help of a little inspiration; for I must tell you, I have a pigeon at home, of Mahomet's own breed; and when I have learnt her to pick pease out of my ear, rest satisfied till then, and you shall have another. But, now I think on't, I am inspired already, that 'tis no sin to depose the Mufti.

Ant. And good reason; for when kings and queens are to be discarded, what should knaves do any longer in the pack?

Omnes. He is deposed, he is deposed, he is deposed!

Ant. [Seizing the Mufti.] Come, my quondam master, you and I must change qualities.

Muf. I hope you will not be so barbarous to torture me: we may preach suffering to others, but, alas! holy flesh is too well pampered to endure martyrdom.

Must. Now, late Mufti, not forgetting my first quarrel to you, we will enter ourselves with the plunder of your palace: 'tis good to sanctify a work, and begin a God's name.

1 Rabble. Our prophet let the devil alone with the last mob.

Mob. But he takes care of this himself.

As they are going out, enter Benducar, leading Almeyda: he with a sword in one hand; Benducar's Slave follows, with Muley-Moluch's head upon a spear.

Must. Not so much haste, masters; comeback again; you are so bent upon mischief, that you take a man upon the first word of plunder. Here is a sight for you; the emperor is come upon his head to visit you. [Bowing.] Most noble emperor, now I hope you will not hit us in the teeth, that we have pulled you down; for we can tell you to your face, that we have exalted you.
[They all shout.

Alm. [To him.] I have resolved,
And these shall know my thoughts.

Bend. [To her.] On that I build.— [He comes up to the Rabble.
Joy to the people for the tyrant's death!
Oppression, rapine, banishment, and blood,
Are now no more; but speechless as that tongue,
That lies for ever still.
How is my grief divided with my joy,
When I must own I killed him! Bid me speak;
For not to bid me, is to disallow
What for your sakes is done.

Must. In the name of the people, we command you speak: but that pretty lady shall speak first; for we have taken somewhat of a liking to her person.—Be not afraid, lady, to speak to these rude raggamuffians; there is nothing shall offend you, unless it be their stink, an't please you.
[Making a leg.

Alm. Why should I fear to speak, who am your queen?
My peaceful father swayed the sceptre long,
And you enjoyed the blessings of his reign,
While you deserved the name of Africans.
Then, not commanded, but commanding you,
Fearless I speak: know me for what I am.

Bend. How she assumes! I like not this beginning. [Aside.

Alm. I was not born so base to flatter crowds,
And move your pity by a whining tale.
Your tyrant would have forced me to his bed;
But in the attempt of that foul brutal act,
These loyal slaves secured me by his death. [Pointing to Benducar.

Must. She might have passed over all your petty businesses, and no great matter; but the raising of my rabble is an exploit of consequence, and not to be mumbled up in silence, for all her pertness.

Alm. When force invades the gift of nature, life,
The eldest law of nature bids defend;
And if in that defence a tyrant fall,
His death's his crime, not ours,
Suffice it, that he's dead; all wrongs die with him;
When he can wrong no more, I pardon him:
Thus I absolve myself, and him excuse,
Who saved my life and honour, but praise neither.

Bend. 'Tis cheap to pardon, whom you would not pay.
But what speak I of payment and reward!
Ungrateful woman, you are yet no queen,
Nor more than a proud haughty christian slave:
As such I seize my right.[Going to lay hold of her.