Tu ne cede mails, sed contrà audentior ito.
Footnotes:
There was a Portuguese prophecy to this purpose, which they applied to the expected return of Sebastian:
Vendra et Incubierto,
Vendra cierto;
Entrera en el huerto,
Per el puerto,
Questa mas a ca del muro;
Y'lo que paresce escuro,
Se vra claro e abierto.
Two false Sebastians, both hermits, laid claim to the throne of Portugal. One was hanged, and the other died in the galleys. Vide Le Quien's Histoire Generale de Portugal.—There are two tracts which appear to regard the last of these impostors, and which may have furnished our author with some slight hints; namely, "The true History of the late and lamentable Adventures of Don Sebastian, King of Portugal, after his imprisonment at Naples until this present day, being now in Spain, at San Lucar de Barrameda.—1602;" and, "A continuation of the lamentable and admirable Adventures of Don Sebastian, King of Portugal, with a Declaration of all his time employed since the Battle in Africk against the Infidels, 1578, until this present year 1603. London, 1603." Both pieces are reprinted in the Harleian Miscellany, Vols IV. and V.
The uncertainty of his fate is alluded to by Fletcher:
Wittypate. In what service have ye been, sir?
Ruinous. The first that fleshed me a soldier, sir,
Was that great battle at Alcazar, in Barbary,
Where the noble English Stukely fell, and where
The royal Portugal Sebastian ended
His untimely days.
Wittypate. Are you sure Sebastian died there?
Ruinous. Faith, sir, there was some other rumour hoped
Amongst us, that he, wounded, escaped, and touched
On his native shore again, where finding his country at home
More distressed by the invasion of the Spaniard
Than his loss abroad, forsook it, still supporting
A miserable and unfortunate life,
Which where he ended is yet uncertain.
Wit at several Weapons.
I have printed this quotation as I find it in the edition of 1778; though I am unable to discover what pretensions it claims to be arranged as blank verse.
Toxica zelotypo dedit uxor mæcha marito,
Nec satis ad mortem credidit esse datum.
Micuit argenti letalia pondera vivi;
Cogeret ut celerem vis geminata necem.
Dividat hæc si quis, faciunt discreta venenum:
Antidotum sumet, qui sociata bibet.
Ergo inter sese dum noxia pocula certant,
Cessit letalis noxa salutiferæ.
Protinus et vacuos alvi petiere recessus
Lubrica dejectis quà via nota cibis.
Quàm pia cura déum! prodest crudelior uxor,
Et quum fata volunt, bina venena juvant.
Bright beauties, who in awful circle sit,
And you, grave synod of the dreadful pit,
And you the upper-tire of pop-gun wit,
Pray ease me of my wonder, if you may;
Is all this crowd barely to see the play;
Or is't the poet's execution-day?
His breath is in your hands I will presume,
But I advise you to defer his doom,
Till you have got a better in his room;
And don't maliciously combine together,
As if in spite and spleen you were come hither;
For he has kept the pen, tho' lost the feather[2].
And, on my honour, ladies, I avow,
This play was writ in charity to you;
For such a dearth of wit who ever knew?
303 Sure 'tis a judgment on this sinful nation,
For the abuse of so great dispensation;
And, therefore, I resolve to change vocation.
For want of petticoat, I've put on buff,
To try what may be got by lying rough:
How think you, sirs? is it not well enough?
Of bully-critics I a troop would lead;
But, one replied,—Thank you, there's no such need,
I at Groom-Porter's, sir, can safer bleed.
Another, who the name of danger loaths,
Vow'd he would go, and swore me forty oaths,
But that his horses were in body-clothes.
A third cried,—Damn my blood, I'll be content
To push my fortune, if the parliament
Would but recal claret from banishment.
A fourth (and I have done) made this excuse—
I'd draw my sword in Ireland, sir, to chuse;
Had not their women gouty legs, and wore no shoes.
Well, I may march, thought I, and fight, and trudge,
But, of these blades, the devil a man will budge;
They there would fight, e'en just as here they judge.
Here they will pay for leave to find a fault;
But, when their honour calls, they can't be bought;
Honour in danger, blood, and wounds is sought.
Lost virtue, whither fled? or where's thy dwelling
Who can reveal? at least, 'tis past my telling,
Unless thou art embarked for Inniskilling.
On carrion-tits those sparks denounce their rage,
In boot of wisp and Leinster frise engage;
What would you do in such an equipage[3]?
304 The siege of Derry does you gallants threaten;
Not out of errant shame of being beaten,
As fear of wanting meat, or being eaten.
Were wit like honour, to be won by fighting,
How few just judges would there be of writing!
Then you would leave this villainous back-biting.
Your talents lie how to express your spite;
But, where is he who knows to praise aright?
You praise like cowards, but like critics fight.
Ladies, be wise, and wean these yearling calves,
Who, in your service too, are meer faux braves;
They judge, and write, and fight, and love—by halves.
Footnotes:
The humour of this intended prologue turns upon the unwillingness displayed to attend King William into Ireland by many of the nobility and gentry, who had taken arms at the Revolution. The truth is, that, though invited to go as volunteers, they could not but consider themselves as hostages, of whom William did not chuse to lose sight, lest, while he was conquering Ireland, he might, perchance, lose England, by means of the very men by whom he had won it. The disbanding of the royal regiment had furnished a subject for the satirical wit of Buckingham, at least, such a piece is printed in his Miscellanies; and for that of Shadwell, in his epilogue to Bury-fair. But Shadwell was now poet-laureat, and his satire was privileged, like the wit of the ancient royal jester. Our author was suspected of disaffection, and liable to misconstruction: For which reason, probably, he declined this sarcastic prologue, and substituted that which follows, the tone of which is submissive, and conciliatory towards the government. Contrary to custom, it was spoken by a woman.
In allusion to his being deprived of the office of poet laureat.
The Inniskilling horse, who behaved with great courage against King James, joined Schomberg and King William's forces at Dundalk, in 1689, rather resembled a foreign frey-corps, than regular troops. "They were followed by multitudes of their women; they were uncouth in their appearance; they rode on small horses, called Garrons; their pistols were not fixed in holsters, but dangled about their persons, being slung to their sword-belts; they offered, with spirit, to make always the forlorn of the army; but, upon the first order they received, they cried out, 'They could thrive no longer, since they were now put under orders.'—Memoirs, Vol. II. p. 133. The allusion in the next verse is to the dreadful siege of Londonderry, when the besieged suffered the last extremities of famine. The account of this memorable leaguer, by the author just quoted, is a most spirited piece of historical painting.
The judge removed, though he's no more my lord, May plead at bar, or at the council-board: So may cast poets write; there's no pretension To argue loss of wit, from loss of pension. Your looks are chearful; and in all this place I see not one that wears a damning face. The British nation is too brave, to show Ignoble vengeance on a vanquished foe. At last be civil to the wretch imploring; And lay your paws upon him, without roaring. Suppose our poet was your foe before, Yet now, the business of the field is o'er; 'Tis time to let your civil wars alone, When troops are into winter-quarters gone. Jove was alike to Latian and to Phrygian; And you well know, a play's of no religion. Take good advice, and please yourselves this day; No matter from what hands you have the play. 305 Among good fellows every health will pass, That serves to carry round another glass: When with full bowls of Burgundy you dine, Though at the mighty monarch you repine, You grant him still Most Christian in his wine. Thus far the poet; but his brains grow addle, And all the rest is purely from this noddle. You have seen young ladies at the senate-door, Prefer petitions, and your grace implore; However grave the legislators were, Their cause went ne'er the worse for being fair. Reasons as weak as theirs, perhaps, I bring; But I could bribe you with as good a thing. I heard him make advances of good nature; That he, for once, would sheath his cutting satire. Sign but his peace, he vows he'll ne'er again The sacred names of fops and beaus profane. Strike up the bargain quickly; for I swear, As times go now, he offers very fair. Be not too hard on him with statutes neither; Be kind; and do not set your teeth together, To stretch the laws, as coblers do their leather Horses by Papists are not to be ridden, But sure the muses' horse was ne'er forbidden; For in no rate-book it was ever found That Pegasus was valued at five pound[1]: Fine him to daily drudging and inditing: And let him pay his taxes out in writing. |
} } } } } } |
Footnote:
Alluding to the act for disarming the Catholics, by which, inter alia, it is enacted, "that no Papist, or reputed Papist, so refusing, or making default, as aforesaid, at any time after the 15th of May, 1689, shall, or may have, and keep in his own possession, or in the possession of any other person for his use, or at his disposition, any horse or horses, which shall be above the value of L.5."—1st William and Mary, c. 15.
Muley-Moluch, Emperor of Barbary.
Dorax, a noble Portuguese, now a renegade; formerly Don Alonzo de Sylvera, Alcade, or Governor of Alcazar.
Benducar, chief Minister, and favourite to the Emperor.
The Mufti Abdalla.
Muley-Zeydan, brother to the Emperor.
Don Antonio, a young, noble, amorous Portuguese; now a slave.
Don Alvarez, an old counsellor to Don Sebastian; now a slave also.
Mustapha, Captain of the Rabble.
Two Merchants.
Rabble.
A Servant to Benducar.
A Servant to the Mufti.
Almeyda, a captive Queen of Barbary.
Morayma, daughter to the Mufti.
Johayma, chief wife to the Mufti.
SCENE,—In the Castle of Alcazar.
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.
308
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,
309
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,—
310
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;
311
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;
312
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:
313
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.
314 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.
315
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,
316
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,
317
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,
318
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.
319
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;
320
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,
321
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,
322
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,
323
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 324 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?
325 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.
326
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 327 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
328
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.
Enter Emperor and Benducar.
Emp. And thinkst thou not, it was discovered?
Bend. No:
The thoughts of kings are like religious groves,
The walks of muffled gods: Sacred retreat,
Where none, but whom they please to admit, approach.
Emp. Did not my conscious eye flash out a flame,
To lighten those brown horrors, and disclose
The secret path I trod?
Bend. I could not find it, till you lent a clue
To that close labyrinth; how then should they?
Emp. I would be loth they should: it breeds contempt
For herds to listen, or presume to pry,
329
When the hurt lion groans within his den:
But is't not strange?
Bend. To love? not more than 'tis to live; a tax
Imposed on all by nature, paid in kind,
Familiar as our being.
Emp. Still 'tis strange
To me: I know my soul as wild as winds,
That sweep the desarts of our moving plains;
Love might as well be sowed upon our sands,
As in a breast so barren.
To love an enemy, the only one
Remaining too, whom yester sun beheld
Mustering her charms, and rolling, as she past
By every squadron, her alluring eyes,
To edge her champions' swords, and urge my ruin.
The shouts of soldiers, and the burst of cannon,
Maintain even still a deaf and murmuring noise;
Nor is heaven yet recovered of the sound,
Her battle roused: Yet, spite of me, I love.
Bend. What then controuls you?
Her person is as prostrate as her party.
Emp. A thousand things controul this conqueror:
My native pride to own the unworthy passion,
Hazard of interest, and my people's love.
To what a storm of fate am I exposed!—
What if I had her murdered!—'tis but what
My subjects all expect, and she deserves,—
Would not the impossibility
Of ever, ever seeing, or possessing,
Calm all this rage, this hurricane of soul?
Bend. That ever, ever,—
I marked the double,—shows extreme reluctance
To part with her for ever.
Emp. Right, thou hast me.
I would, but cannot kill: I must enjoy her:
I must, and what I must, be sure I will.
What's royalty, but power to please myself?
330
And if I dare not, then am I the slave,
And my own slaves the sovereigns:—'tis resolved.
Weak princes flatter, when they want the power
To curb their people; tender plants must bend:
But when a government is grown to strength,
Like some old oak, rough with its armed bark,
It yields not to the tug, but only nods,
And turns to sullen state.
Bend. Then you resolve
To implore her pity, and to beg relief?
Emp. Death! must I beg the pity of my slave?
Must a king beg?—Yes; love's a greater king;
A tyrant, nay, a devil, that possesses me:
He tunes the organs of my voice, and speaks,
Unknown to me, within me; pushes me,
And drives me on by force.—
Say I should wed her, would not my wise subjects
Take check, and think it strange? perhaps revolt?
Bend. I hope they would not.
Emp. Then thou doubtst they would?
Bend. To whom?
Emp. To her
Perhaps,—or to my brother,—or to thee.
Bend. [in disorder.]
To me! me, did you mention? how I tremble!
The name of treason shakes my honest soul.
If I am doubted, sir,
Secure yourself this moment, take my life.
Emp. No more: If I suspected thee—I would.
Bend. I thank your kindness.—Guilt had almost lost me. [Aside.
Emp. But clear my doubts:—thinkst thou they may rebel?
Bend. This goes as I would wish.—[Aside.
'Tis possible:
A secret party still remains, that lurks
Like embers raked in ashes,—wanting but
331
A breath to blow aside the involving dust,
And then they blaze abroad.
Emp. They must be trampled out.
Bend. But first be known.
Emp. Torture shall force it from them.
Bend. You would not put a nation to the rack?
Emp. Yes, the whole world; so I be safe, I care not.
Bend. Our limbs and lives
Are yours; but mixing friends with foes is hard.
Emp. All may be foes; or how to be distinguished,
If some be friends?
Bend. They may with ease be winnowed.
Suppose some one, who has deserved your trust,
Some one, who knows mankind, should be employed
To mix among them, seem a malcontent,
And dive into their breasts, to try how far
They dare oppose your love?
Emp. I like this well; 'tis wholesome wickedness.
Bend. Whomever he suspects, he fastens there,
And leaves no cranny of his soul unsearched;
Then like a bee bag'd with his honeyed venom,
He brings it to your hive;—if such a man,
So able and so honest, may be found;
If not, my project dies.
Emp. By all my hopes, thou hast described thyself:
Thou, thou alone, art fit to play that engine,
Thou only couldst contrive.
Bend. Sure I could serve you:
I think I could:—but here's the difficulty;
I am so entirely yours,
That I should scurvily dissemble hate;
The cheat would be too gross.
Emp. Art thou a statesman,
And canst not be a hypocrite? Impossible!
332
Do not distrust thy virtues.
Bend. If I must personate this seeming villain,
Remember 'tis to serve you.
Emp. No more words:
Love goads me to Almeyda, all affairs
Are troublesome but that; and yet that most.[Going.
Bid Dorax treat Sebastian like a king;
I had forgot him;—but this love mars all,
And takes up my whole breast.[Exit Emperor.
Bend. [To the Emp.] Be sure I'll tell him—
With all the aggravating circumstances[Alone.
I can, to make him swell at that command.
The tyrant first suspected me;
Then with a sudden gust he whirled about,
And trusted me too far:—Madness of power!
Now, by his own consent, I ruin him.
For, should some feeble soul, for fear or gain.
Bolt out to accuse me, even the king is cozened,
And thinks he's in the secret.
How sweet is treason, when the traitor's safe!
Sees the Mufti and Dorax entering, and seeming to confer.
The Mufti, and with him my sullen Dorax.
That first is mine already:
'Twas easy work to gain a covetous mind,
Whom rage to lose his prisoners had prepared:
Now caught himself,
He would seduce another. I must help him:
For churchmen, though they itch to govern all,
Are silly, woeful, aukward politicians:
They make lame mischief, though they mean it well:
Their interest is not finely drawn, and hid,
But seams are coarsely bungled up, and seen.
Muf. He'll tell you more.
Dor. I have heard enough already,
333
To make me loath thy morals.
Bend. [To Dor.] You seem warm;
The good man's zeal perhaps has gone too far.
Dor. Not very far; not farther than zeal goes;
Of course a small day's journey short of treason.
Muf. By all that's holy, treason was not named:
I spared the emperor's broken vows, to save
The slaves from death, though it was cheating heaven;
But I forgave him that.
Dor. And slighted o'er
The wrongs himself sustained in property;
When his bought slaves were seized by force, no loss
Of his considered, and no cost repaid.[Scornfully.
Muf. Not wholly slighted o'er, not absolutely.—
Some modest hints of private wrongs I urged.
Dor. Two-thirds of all he said: there he began
To shew the fulness of his heart; there ended.
Some short excursions of a broken vow
He made indeed, but flat insipid stuff;
But, when he made his loss the theme, he flourished,
Relieved his fainting rhetoric with new figures,
And thundered at oppressing tyranny.
Muf. Why not, when sacrilegious power would seize
My property? 'tis an affront to heaven,
Whose person, though unworthy, I sustain.
Dor. You've made such strong alliances above,
That 'twere profaneness in us laity
To offer earthly aid.
I tell thee, Mufti, if the world were wise,
They would not wag one finger in your quarrels.
Your heaven you promise, but our earth you covet;
The Phætons of mankind, who fire that world,
Which you were sent by preaching but to warm.
Bend. This goes beyond the mark.
Muf. No, let him rail;
334
His prophet works within him;
He's a rare convert.
Dor. Now his zeal yearns
To see me burned; he damns me from his church,
Because I would restrain him to his duty.—
Is not the care of souls a load sufficient?
Are not your holy stipends paid for this?
Were you not bred apart from worldly noise,
To study souls, their cures and their diseases?
If this be so, we ask you but our own:
Give us your whole employment, all your care.
The province of the soul is large enough
To fill up every cranny of your time,
And leave you much to answer, if one wretch
Be damned by your neglect.
Bend. [To the Mufti.] He speaks but reason.
Dor. Why, then, these foreign thoughts of state-employments,
Abhorrent to your function and your breedings?
Poor droning truants of unpractised cells,
Bred in the fellowship of bearded boys,
What wonder is it if you know not men?
Yet there you live demure, with down-cast eyes,
And humble as your discipline requires;
But, when let loose from thence to live at large,
Your little tincture of devotion dies:
Then luxury succeeds, and, set agog
With a new scene of yet untasted joys,
You fall with greedy hunger to the feast.
Of all your college virtues, nothing now
But your original ignorance remains;
Bloated with pride, ambition, avarice,
You swell to counsel kings, and govern kingdoms.
Muf. He prates as if kings had not consciences,
And none required directors but the crowd.
Dor. As private men they want you, not as kings;
Nor would you care to inspect their public conscience,
335
But that it draws dependencies of power
And earthly interest, which you long to sway;
Content you with monopolizing heaven,
And let this little hanging ball alone:
For, give you but a foot of conscience there,
And you, like Archimedes, toss the globe.
We know your thoughts of us that laymen are,
Lag souls, and rubbish of remaining clay,
Which heaven, grown weary of more perfect work,
Set upright with a little puff of breath,
And bid us pass for men.
Muf. I will not answer,
Base foul-mouthed renegade; but I'll pray for thee,
To shew my charity.[Exit Mufti.
Dor. Do; but forget not him who needs it most:
Allow thyself some share.—He's gone too soon;
I had to tell him of his holy jugglings;
Things that would startle faith, and make us deem
Not this, or that, but all religions false.
Bend. Our holy orator has lost the cause.[Aside.
But I shall yet redeem it.—[To Dorax.] Let him go;
For I have secret orders from the emperor,
Which none but you must hear: I must confess,
I could have wished some other hand had brought them.
When did you see your prisoner, great Sebastian?
Dor. You might as well have asked me, when I saw
A crested dragon, or a basilisk;
Both are less poison to my eyes and nature,
He knows not I am I; nor shall he see me,
Till time has perfected a labouring thought,
That rolls within my breast.
Bend. 'Twas my mistake.
I guessed indeed that time, and his misfortunes,
And your returning duty, had effaced
The memory of past wrongs; they would in me,
336
And I judged you as tame, and as forgiving.
Dor. Forgive him! no: I left my foolish faith,
Because it would oblige me to forgiveness.