No More Learning

I would die for thee, but I cannot plead;
My haughty heart disdains it, even for thee. --
Still silent! Will the king of Portugal
Go to his death like a dumb sacrifice?
Beg him to save my life in saving thine.

_Seb. _ Farewell; my life's not worth another word.

_Emp. _ [_To the Guards. _] Perform your orders.

_Alm. _ Stay, take my farewell too!
Farewell the greatness of Almeyda's soul! --
Look, tyrant, what excess of love can do;
It pulls me down thus low as to thy feet; [_Kneels to him. _
Nay, to embrace thy knees with loathing hands,
Which blister when they touch thee: Yet even thus,
Thus far I can, to save Sebastian's life.

_Emp. _ A secret pleasure trickles through my veins:
It works about the inlets of my soul,
To feel thy touch, and pity tempts the pass:
But the tough metal of my heart resists;
'Tis warmed with the soft fire, not melted down.

_Alm. _ A flood of scalding tears will make it run.
Spare him, Oh spare! Can you pretend to love,
And have no pity? Love and that are twins.
Here will I grow;
Thus compass you with these supplanting cords,
And pull so long till the proud fabrick falls.

_Emp. _ Still kneel, and still embrace: 'Tis double pleasure,
So to be hugged, and see Sebastian die.

_Alm. _ Look, tyrant, when thou nam'st Sebastian's death,
Thy very executioners turn pale.
Rough as they are, and hardened in their trade
Of death, they start at an anointed head,
And tremble to approach. --He hears me not,
Nor minds the impression of a god on kings;
Because no stamp of heaven was on his soul,
But the resisting mass drove back the seal. --
Say, though thy heart be rock of adamant,
Yet rocks are not impregnable to bribes:
Instruct me how to bribe thee; name thy price;
Lo, I resign my title to the crown;
Send me to exile with the man I love,
And banishment is empire.

_Emp. _ Here's my claim, [_Clapping his Hand to his Sword. _
And this extinguished thine; thou giv'st me nothing.

_Alm. _ My father's, mother's, brother's death, I pardon;
That's somewhat sure; a mighty sum of murder,
Of innocent and kindred blood struck off.
My prayers and penance shall discount for these,
And beg of heaven to charge the bill on me:
Behold what price I offer, and how dear,
To buy Sebastian's life!

_Emp. _ Let after-reckonings trouble fearful fools;
I'll stand the trial of those trivial crimes:
But, since thou begg'st me to prescribe my terms,
The only I can offer are thy love,
And this one day of respite to resolve.
Grant, or deny; for thy next word is fate,
And fate is deaf to prayer.

_Alm. _ May heaven be so, [_Rising up. _
At thy last breath, to thine! I curse thee not;
For, who can better curse the plague, or devil,
Than to be what they are? That curse be thine. --
Now, do not speak, Sebastian, for you need not;
But die, for I resign your life. --Look, heaven,
Almeyda dooms her dear Sebastian's death!
But is there heaven? for I begin to doubt;
The skies are hushed, no grumbling thunders roll. --
Now take your swing, ye impious; sin unpunished;
Eternal Providence seems overwatched,
And with a slumbering nod assents to murder.

_Enter_ DORAX, _attended by three Soldiers. _

_Emp. _ Thou mov'st a tortoise-pace to my relief.
Take hence that once a king; that sullen pride,
That swells to dumbness: lay him in the dungeon,
And sink him deep with irons, that, when he would,
He shall not groan to hearing; when I send,
The next commands are death.

_Alm. _ Then prayers are vain as curses.

_Emp. _ Much at one
In a slave's mouth, against a monarch's power.
This day thou hast to think;
At night, if thou wilt curse, thou shalt curse kindly;
Then I'll provoke thy lips, lay siege so close,
That all thy sallying breath shall turn to blessings. --
Make haste, seize, force her, bear her hence.

_Alm. _ Farewell, my last Sebastian!
I do not beg, I challenge justice now. --
O Powers, if kings be your peculiar care,
Why plays this wretch with your prerogative?
Now flash him dead, now crumble him to ashes,
Or henceforth live confined in your own palace;
And look not idly out upon a world,
That is no longer yours. [_She is carried off struggling; Emperor and_
BENDUCAR _follow. _ SEBASTIAN _struggles in
his Guards' arms, and shakes off one of
them; but two others come in, and hold him;
he speaks not all the while. _

_Dor. _ I find I'm but a half-strained villain yet;
But mongrel-mischievous; for my blood boiled,
To view this brutal act; and my stern soul
Tugged at my arm, to draw in her defence. [_Aside. _
Down, thou rebelling Christian in my heart!
Redeem thy fame on this Sebastian first; [_Walks a turn. _
Then think on other wrongs, when thine are righted.
But how to right them? on a slave disarmed,
Defenceless, and submitted to my rage?
A base revenge is vengeance on myself:-- [_Walks again. _
I have it, and I thank thee, honest head,
Thus present to me at my great necessity. -- [_Comes up to_ SEBASTIAN.
You know me not?

_Seb. _ I hear men call thee Dorax.

_Dor. _ 'Tis well; you know enough for once:--you speak too;
You were struck mute before.

_Seb. _ Silence became me then.

_Dor. _ Yet we may talk hereafter.

_Seb. _ Hereafter is not mine:
Dispatch thy work, good executioner.

_Dor. _ None of my blood were hangmen; add that falsehood
To a long bill, that yet remains unreckoned.

_Seb. _ A king and thou can never have a reckoning.

_Dor. _ A greater sum, perhaps, than you can pay.
Meantime, I shall make bold to increase your debt;
[_Gives him his Sword. _
Take this, and use it at your greatest need.

_Seb. _ This hand and this have been acquainted well: [_Looks on it. _
It should have come before into my grasp,
To kill the ravisher.

_Dor. _ Thou heard'st the tyrant's orders; guard thy life
When 'tis attacked, and guard it like a man.

_Seb. _ I'm still without thy meaning, but I thank thee.

_Dor. _ Thank me when I ask thanks; thank me with that.

_Seb. _ Such surly kindness did I never see.

_Dor. _ [_To the Captain of his Guards. _]
Musa, draw out a file; pick man by man.
Such who dare die, and dear will sell their death.
Guard him to the utmost; now conduct him hence,
And treat him as my person.

_Seb. _ Something like
That voice, methinks, I should have somewhere heard;
But floods of woes have hurried it far off,
Beyond my ken of soul. [_Exit_ SEBASTIAN, _with the Soldiers. _

_Dor. _ But I shall bring him back, ungrateful man!
I shall, and set him full before thy sight,
When I shall front thee, like some staring ghost,
With all my wrongs about me. --What, so soon
Returned? this haste is boding.

_Enter to him Emperor,_ BENDUCAR, _and_ MUFTI.

_Emp. _ She's still inexorable, still imperious,
And loud, as if, like Bacchus, born in thunder.
Be quick, ye false physicians of my mind;
Bring speedy death, or cure.

_Bend. _ What can be counselled, while Sebastian lives?
The vine will cling, while the tall poplar stands;
But, that cut down, creeps to the next support,
And twines as closely there.

_Emp. _ That's done with ease; I speak him dead:--proceed.

_Muf. _ Proclaim your marriage with Almeyda next,
That civil wars may cease; this gains the crowd:
Then you may safely force her to your will;
For people side with violence and injustice,
When done for public good.

_Emp. _ Preach thou that doctrine.

_Bend. _ The unreasonable fool has broached a truth,
That blasts my hopes; but, since 'tis gone so far,
He shall divulge Almeyda is a Christian;
If that produce no tumult, I despair. [_Aside. _

_Emp_ Why speaks not Dorax?

_Dor. _ Because my soul abhors to mix with him.
Sir, let me bluntly say, you went too far,
To trust the preaching power on state-affairs
To him, or any heavenly demagogue:
'Tis a limb lopt from your prerogative,
And so much of heaven's image blotted from you.

_Muf. _ Sure thou hast never heard of holy men,
(So Christians call them) famed in state affairs!
Such as in Spain, Ximenes, Albornoz;
In England, Wolsey; match me these with laymen.

_Dor. _ How you triumph in one or two of these,
Born to be statesmen, happening to be churchmen!
Thou call'st them holy; so their function was:
But tell me, Mufti, which of them were saints? --
Next sir, to you: the sum of all is this,--
Since he claims power from heaven, and not from kings,
When 'tis his interest, he can interest heaven
To preach you down; and ages oft depend
On hours, uninterrupted, in the chair.

_Emp. _ I'll trust his preaching, while I rule his pay;
And I dare trust my Africans to hear
Whatever he dare preach.

_Dor. _ You know them not.
The genius of your Moors is mutiny;
They scarcely want a guide to move their madness;
Prompt to rebel on every weak pretence;
Blustering when courted, crouching when opprest;
Wise to themselves, and fools to all the world;
Restless in change, and perjured to a proverb.
They love religion sweetened to the sense;
A good, luxurious, palatable faith.
Thus vice and godliness,--preposterous pair! --
Ride cheek by jowl, but churchmen hold the reins:
And whene'er kings would lower clergy-greatness,
They learn too late what power the preachers have,
And whose the subjects are; the Mufti knows it,
Nor dares deny what passed betwixt us two.

_Emp. _ No more; whate'er he said was my command.

_Dor. _ Why, then, no more, since you will hear no more;
Some kings are resolute to their own ruin.

_Emp. _ Without your meddling where you are not asked,
Obey your orders, and dispatch Sebastian.

_Dor. _ Trust my revenge; be sure I wish him dead.

_Emp. _ What mean'st thou? What's thy wishing to my will?
Dispatch him; rid me of the man I loath.

_Dor_ I hear you, sir; I'll take my time, and do't.

_Emp. _ Thy time! What's all thy time? What's thy whole life
To my one hour of ease? No more replies,
But see thou dost it; or--

_Dor. _ Choke in that threat; I can say _or_ as loud.

_Emp. _ 'Tis well; I see my words have no effect,
But I may send a message to dispose you. [_Is going off. _

_Dor. _ Expect an answer worthy of that message.

_Muf. _ The prophet owed him this;
And, thanked be heaven, he has it. [_Aside. _

_Bend. _ By holy Alla, I conjure you stay,
And judge not rashly of so brave a man.
[_Draws the Emperor aside, and whispers him. _
I'll give you reasons why he cannot execute
Your orders now, and why he will hereafter.

_Muf. _ Benducar is a fool, to bring him off;
I'll work my own revenge, and speedily. [_Aside. _

_Bend. _ The fort is his, the soldiers' hearts are his;
A thousand Christian slaves are in the castle,
Which he can free to reinforce his power;
Your troops far off, beleaguering Larache,
Yet in the Christians' hands.

_Emp. _ I grant all this;
But grant me he must die.

_Bend. _ He shall, by poison;
'Tis here, the deadly drug, prepared in powder,
Hot as hell fire: Then, to prevent his soldiers
From rising to revenge their general's death,
While he is struggling with his mortal pangs,
The rabble on the sudden may be raised
To seize the castle.

_Emp. _ Do't;--'tis left to thee.

_Bend. _ Yet more;--but clear your brow, for he observes.
[_They whisper again. _

_Dor.
_ What, will the favourite prop my falling fortunes?
O prodigy of court! [_Aside_
[_Emp. and_ BEND. _return to_ DOR.

_Emp. _ Your friend has fully cleared your innocence;
I was too hasty to condemn unheard,
And you, perhaps, too prompt in your replies.
As far as fits the majesty of kings,
I ask excuse.

_Dor. _ I'm sure I meant it well.

_Emp. _ I know you did:--This to our love renewed. -- [_Emp. drinks. _
Benducar, fill to Dorax. [BEND. _turns, and mixes a Powder in it. _

_Dor. _ Let it go round, for all of us have need
To quench our heats: 'Tis the king's health, Benducar, [_He drinks. _
And I would pledge it, though I knew 'twere poison.

_Bend. _ Another bowl; for what the king has touched,
And you have pledged, is sacred to your loves.
[_Drinks out of another Bowl. _

_Muf. _ Since charity becomes my calling, thus
Let me provoke your friendship; and heaven bless it,
As I intend it well. [_Drinks; and, turning aside, pours some
drops out of a little vial into the
Bowl; then presents it to_ DORAX.

_Dor. _ Heaven make thee honest;
On that condition we shall soon be friends. [_Drinks. _

_Muf. _ Yes, at our meeting in another world;
For thou hast drunk thy passport out of this.
Not the Nonacrian font, nor Lethe's lake,
Could sooner numb thy nimble faculties,
Than this, to sleep eternal. [_Aside. _

_Emp. _ Now farewell, Dorax; this was our first quarrel,
And, I dare prophecy, will prove our last.
[_Exeunt Emp. _ BEND. _and the Mufti. _

_Dor. _ It may be so. --I'm strangely discomposed;
Quick shootings thro' my limbs, and pricking pains,
Qualms at my heart, convulsions in my nerves,
Shiverings of cold, and burnings of my entrails,
Within my little world make medley war,
Lose and regain, beat, and are beaten back,
As momentary victors quit their ground. --
Can it be poison! Poison's of one tenor,
Or hot, or cold; this neither, and yet both.
Some deadly draught, some enemy of life,
Boils in my bowels, and works out my soul.
Ingratitude's the growth of every clime;
Africk, the scene removed, is Portugal.
Of all court service, learn the common lot,--
To-day 'tis done, to-morrow 'tis forgot.
Oh, were that all! my honest corpse must lie
Exposed to scorn, and public infamy;
My shameful death will be divulged alone;
The worth and honour of my soul unknown. [_Exit. _


SCENE II. --_A Night-Scene of the Mufti's Garden, where an Arbour is
discovered. _

_Enter_ ANTONIO.

_Ant. _ She names herself Morayma; the Mufti's only daughter, and a
virgin! This is the time and place that she appointed in her letter,
yet she comes not. Why, thou sweet delicious creature, why torture me
with thy delay! Dar'st thou be false to thy assignation? What, in the
cool and silence of the night, and to a new lover? --Pox on the
hypocrite, thy father, for instructing thee so little in the sweetest
point of his religion. --Hark, I hear the rustling of her silk mantle.
Now she comes, now she comes:--no, hang it, that was but the whistling
of the wind through the orange-trees. --Now, again, I hear the
pit-a-pat of a pretty foot through the dark alley:--No, 'tis the son
of a mare, that's broken loose, and munching upon the melons. --Oh, the
misery of an expecting lover! Well, I'll e'en despair, go into my
arbour, and try to sleep; in a dream I shall enjoy her, in despite of
her. [_Goes into the Arbour, and lies down. _

_Enter_ JOHAYMA, _wrapt up in a Moorish mantle. _

_Joh. _ Thus far my love has carried me, almost without my knowledge
whither I was going. Shall I go on? shall I discover myself? --What an
injury am I doing to my old husband! Yet what injury, since he's old,
and has three wives, and six concubines, besides me! 'tis but stealing
my own tithe from him. [_She comes a little nearer the Arbour. _

_Ant. _ [_Raising himself a little, and looking. _] At last 'tis she;
this is no illusion, I am sure; 'tis a true she-devil of flesh and
blood, and she could never have taken a fitter time to tempt me.

_Joh. _ He's young and handsome--

_Ant. _ Yes, well enough, I thank nature. [_Aside. _

_Joh. _ And I am yet neither old nor ugly: Sure he will not refuse me.

_Ant. _ No; thou may'st pawn thy maidenhead upon't, he wont. [_Aside. _

_Joh. _ The Mufti would feast himself upon other women, and keep me
fasting.

_Ant. _ O, the holy curmudgeon! [_Aside. _

_Joh. _ Would preach abstinence, and practise luxury! but, I thank my
stars, I have edified more by his example than his precept.

_Ant. _ [_Aside. _] Most divinely argued; she's the best casuist in all
Africk. [_He rushes out, and embraces her. _] I can hold no longer from
embracing thee, my dear Morayma; the old unconscionable whoreson, thy
father, could he expect cold chastity from a child of his begetting?

_Joh. _ What nonsense do you talk? do you take me for the Mufti's
daughter?

_Ant. _ Why, are you not, madam? [_Throwing off her barnus. _

_Joh. _ I find you had an appointment with Morayma.

_Ant. _ By all that's good, the nauseous wife! [_Aside. _

_Joh. _ What! you are confounded, and stand mute?

_Ant. _ Somewhat nonplust, I confess, to hear you deny your name so
positively. Why, are not you Morayma, the Mufti's daughter? Did not I
see you with him: did not he present me to you? were you not so
charitable as to give me money? ay, and to tread upon my foot, and
squeeze my hand too, if I may be so bold to remember you of past
favours?

_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.

_Ant. _ [_Aside. _] If Morayma comes, and takes me in the arbour with
her, I have made a fine exchange of that diamond for this pebble.

_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.

_Joh. _ Flesh without blood, I think thou art; or, if any, it is as
cold as that of fishes. But I'll teach thee, to thy cost, what
vengeance is in store for refusing a lady who has offered thee her
love. --Help, help, there! will nobody come to my assistance?

_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. _

_Muf. _ O thou villain, what horrible impiety art thou committing!
what, ravishing the wife of my bosom! --Take him away; ganch him[5],
impale him, rid the world of such a monster! [_Servants seize him. _

_Ant. _ Mercy, dear master, mercy!