No More Learning

_Dor. _ And yet enjoined my service and attendance!

_Bend. _ And yet enjoined them both: would that were all!
He screwed his face into a hardened smile,
And said, Sebastian knew to govern slaves.

_Dor. _ Slaves are the growth of Africk, not of Europe. --
By heaven! I will not lay down my commission;
Not at his foot, I will not stoop so low:
But if there be a part in all his face
More sacred than the rest, I'll throw it there.

_Bend. _ You may; but then you lose all future means
Of vengeance on Sebastian, when no more
Alcayde of this fort.

_Dor. _ That thought escaped me.

_Bend. _ Keep your command, and be revenged on both:
Nor sooth yourself; you have no power to affront him;
The emperor's love protects him from insults;
And he, who spoke that proud, ill-natured word,
Following the bent of his impetuous temper,
May force your reconcilement to Sebastian;
Nay, bid you kneel, and kiss the offending foot,
That kicked you from his presence. --
But think not to divide their punishment;
You cannot touch a hair of loathed Sebastian,
While Muley-Moluch lives.

_Dor. _ What means this riddle?

_Bend. _ 'Tis out;--there needs no OEdipus to solve it.
Our emperor is a tyrant, feared and hated;
I scarce remember, in his reign, one day
Pass guiltless o'er his execrable head.
He thinks the sun is lost, that sees not blood:
When none is shed, we count it holiday.
We, who are most in favour, cannot call
This hour our own. --You know the younger brother,
Mild Muley-Zeydan?

_Dor. _ Hold, and let me think.

_Bend. _ The soldiers idolize you;
He trusts you with the castle,
The key of all his kingdom.

_Dor. _ Well; and he trusts you too.

_Bend. _ Else I were mad,
To hazard such a daring enterprize.

_Dor. _ He trusts us both; mark that! --Shall we betray him;
A master, who reposes life and empire
On our fidelity:--I grant he is a tyrant,
That hated name my nature most abhors:
More,--as you say,--has loaded me with scorn,
Even with the last contempt, to serve Sebastian;
Yet more, I know he vacates my revenge,
Which, but by this revolt, I cannot compass:
But, while he trusts me, 'twere so base a part,
To fawn, and yet betray,--I should be hissed,
And whooped in hell for that ingratitude.

_Bend. _ Consider well what I have done for you.

_Dor. _ Consider thou, what thou wouldst have me do.

_Bend. _ You've too much honour for a renegade.

_Dor. _ And thou too little faith to be a favourite.
Is not the bread thou eat'st, the robe thou wear'st,
Thy wealth, and honours, all the pure indulgence
Of him thou would'st destroy?
And would his creature, nay, his friend, betray him?
Why then no bond is left on human kind!
Distrusts, debates, immortal strifes ensue;
Children may murder parents, wives their husbands;
All must be rapine, wars, and desolation,
When trust and gratitude no longer bind.

_Bend. _ Well have you argued in your own defence;
You, who have burst asunder all those bonds,
And turned a rebel to your native prince.

_Dor. _ True, I rebelled: But when did I betray? --
Indignities, which man could not support,
Provoked my vengeance to this noble crime;
But he had stripped me first of my command,
Dismissed my service, and absolved my faith;
And, with disdainful language, dared my worst:
I but accepted war, which he denounced.
Else had you seen, not Dorax, but Alonzo,
With his couched lance, against your foremost Moors;
Perhaps, too, turned the fortune of the day,
Made Africk mourn and Portugal triumph.

_Bend. _ Let me embrace thee!

_Dor. _ Stand off, sycophant,
And keep infection distant.

_Bend. _ Brave and honest!

_Dor. _ In spite of thy temptations.

_Bend. _ Call them, trials;
They were no more. Thy faith was held in balance,
And nicely weighed by jealousy of power.
Vast was the trust of such a royal charge:
And our wise emperor might justly fear,
Sebastian might be freed and reconciled,
By new obligements, to thy former love.

_Dor. _ I doubt thee still: Thy reasons were too strong,
And driven too near the head, to be but artifice:
And, after all, I know thou art a statesman,
Where truth is rarely found.

_Bend. _ Behold the emperor:--

_Enter Emperor,_ SEBASTIAN, _and_ ALMEYDA.

Ask him, I beg thee,--to be justified,--
If he employed me not to ford thy soul,
And try the footing, whether false or firm.

_Dor. _ Death to my eyes, I see Sebastian with him!
Must he be served? --Avoid him: If we meet,
It must be like the crush of heaven and earth,
To involve us both in ruin. [_Exit. _

_Bend. _ 'Twas a bare saving game I made with Dorax;
But better so than lost. He cannot hurt me;
That I precautioned: I must ruin him. --
But now this love; ay, there's the gathering storm!
The tyrant must not wed Almeyda: No!
That ruins all the fabric I am raising.
Yet, seeming to approve, it gave me time;
And gaining time gains all. [_Aside. _
[BENDUCAR _goes and waits behind the Emperor.
The Emperor,_ SEBASTIAN, _and_ ALMEYDA,
_advance to the front of the stage: Guards
and Attendants. _

_Emp. _ to _Seb. _ I bade them serve you; and, if they obey not,
I keep my lions keen within their dens,
To stop their maws with disobedient slaves.

_Seb. _ If I had conquered,
They could not have with more observance waited:
Their eyes, hands, feet,
Are all so quick, they seem to have but one motion,
To catch my flying words. Only the alcayde
Shuns me; and, with a grim civility,
Bows, and declines my walks.

_Emp. _ A renegade:
I know not more of him, but that he's brave,
And hates your Christian sect. If you can frame
A farther wish, give wing to your desires,
And name the thing you want.

_Seb. _ My liberty;
For were even paradise itself my prison,
Still I should long to leap the crystal walls.

_Emp. _ Sure our two souls have somewhere been acquainted
In former beings; or, struck out together,
One spark to Afric flew, and one to Portugal.
Expect a quick deliverance: Here's a third, [_Turning to_ ALMEYDA.
Of kindred sold to both: pity our stars
Have made us foes! I should not wish her death.

_Alm. _ I ask no pity; if I thought my soul
Of kin to thine, soon would I rend my heart-strings,
And tear out that alliance; but thou, viper,
Hast cancelled kindred, made a rent in nature,
And through her holy bowels gnawed thy way,
Through thy own blood, to empire.

_Emp. _ This again!
And yet she lives, and only lives to upbraid me!

_Seb. _ What honour is there in a woman's death!
Wronged, as she says, but helpless to revenge;
Strong in her passion, impotent of reason,
Too weak to hurt, too fair to be destroyed.
Mark her majestic fabric; she's a temple
Sacred by birth, and built by hands divine;
Her souls the deity that lodges there;
Nor is the pile unworthy of the god.

_Emp. _ She's all that thou canst say, or I can think;
But the perverseness of her clamourous tongue
Strikes pity deaf.

_Seb. _ Then only hear her eyes!
Though they are mute, they plead; nay, more, command;
For beauteous eyes have arbitrary power.
All females have prerogative of sex;
The she's even of the savage herd are safe;
And when they snarl or bite, have no return
But courtship from the male.

_Emp. _ Were she not she, and I not Muley-Moluch,
She's mistress of inevitable charms,
For all but me; nor am I so exempt,
But that--I know not what I was to say--
But I am too obnoxious to my friends,
And swayed by your advice.

_Seb. _ Sir, I advised not;
By heaven, I never counselled love, but pity.

_Emp. _ By heaven thou didst; deny it not, thou didst:
For what was all that prodigality
Of praise, but to inflame me?

_Seb. _ Sir--

_Emp. _ No more;
Thou hast convinced me that she's worth my love.

_Seb. _ Was ever man so ruined by himself? [_Aside. _

_Alm. _ Thy love! That odious mouth was never framed
To speak a word so soft:
Name death again, for that thou canst pronounce
With horrid grace, becoming of a tyrant.
Love is for human hearts, and not for thine,
Where the brute beast extinguishes the man.

_Emp. _ Such if I were, yet rugged lions love,
And grapple, and compel their savage dames. --
Mark my Sebastian, how that sullen frown, [_She frowns. _
Like flashing lightning, opens angry heaven,
And, while it kills, delights! --But yet, insult not
Too soon, proud beauty! I confess no love.

_Seb. _ No, sir; I said so, and I witness for you,
Not love, but noble pity, moved your mind:
Interest might urge you too to save her life;
For those, who wish her party lost, might murmur
At shedding royal blood.

_Emp. _ Right, thou instruct'st me;
Interest of state requires not death, but marriage,
To unite the jarring titles of our line.

_Seb. _ Let me be dumb for ever; all I plead, [_Aside. _
Like wildfire thrown against the winds, returns
With double force to burn me.

_Emp. _ Could I but bend, to make my beauteous foe
The partner of my throne, and of my bed--

_Alm. _ Still thou dissemblest; but, I read thy heart,
And know the power of my own charms; thou lov'st,
And I am pleased, for my revenge, thou dost.

_Emp. _ And thou hast cause.

_Alm. _ I have, for I have power to make thee wretched.
Be sure I will, and yet despair of freedom.

_Emp. _ Well then, I love;
And 'tis below my greatness to disown it;
Love thee implacably, yet hate thee too;
Would hunt thee barefoot, in the mid-day sun,
Through the parched desarts and the scorching sands,
To enjoy thy love, and, once enjoyed, to kill thee.

_Alm. _ 'Tis a false courage, when thou threaten'st me;
Thou canst not stir a hand to touch my life:
Do not I see thee tremble, while thou speak'st?
Lay by the lion's hide, vain conqueror,
And take the distaff; for thy soul's my slave.

_Emp. _ Confusion! How thou view'st my very heart!
I could as soon
Stop a spring-tide, blown in, with my bare hand,
As this impetuous love:--Yes, I will wed thee;
In spite of thee, and of myself, I will.

_Alm. _ For what? to people Africa with monsters,
Which that unnatural mixture must produce?
No, were we joined, even though it were in death,
Our bodies burning in one funeral pile,
The prodigy of Thebes would be renewed,
And my divided flame should break from thine.

_Emp. _ Serpent, I will engender poison with thee;
Join hate with hate, add venom to the birth:
Our offspring, like the seed of dragons' teeth,
Shall issue armed, and fight themselves to death.

_Alm. _ I'm calm again; thou canst not marry me.

_Emp. _ As gleams of sunshine soften storms to showers,
So, if you smile, the loudness of my rage
In gentle whispers shall return but this--
That nothing can divert my love but death.

_Alm. _ See how thou art deceived; I am a Christian:
'Tis true, unpractised in my new belief,
Wrongs I resent, nor pardon yet with ease;
Those fruits come late, and are of slow increase
In haughty hearts, like mine: Now, tell thyself
If this one word destroy not thy designs:
Thy law permits thee not to marry me.

_Emp. _ 'Tis but a specious tale, to blast my hopes,
And baffle my pretensions. --Speak, Sebastian,
And, as a king, speak true.

_Seb. _ Then, thus adjured,
On a king's word 'tis truth, but truth ill-timed;
For her dear life is now exposed anew,
Unless you wholly can put on divinity,
And graciously forgive.

_Alm. _ Now learn, by this,
The little value I have left for life,
And trouble me no more.

_Emp. _ I thank thee, woman;
Thou hast restored me to my native rage,
And I will seize my happiness by force.

_Seb. _ Know, Muley Moluch, when thou darest attempt--

_Emp. _ Beware! I would not be provoked to use
A conqueror's right, and therefore charge thy silence.
If thou wouldst merit to be thought my friend,
I leave thee to persuade her to compliance:
If not, there's a new gust in ravishment,
Which I have never tried.

_Bend. _ They must be watched; [_Aside. _
For something I observed creates a doubt. [_Exeunt Emp. and_ BEND.

_Seb. _ I've been too tame, have basely borne my wrongs,
And not exerted all the king within me:
I heard him, O sweet heavens! he threatened rape;
Nay, insolently urged me to persuade thee,
Even thee, thou idol of my soul and eyes,
For whom I suffer life, and drag this being.

_Alm. _ You turn my prison to a paradise;
But I have turned your empire to a prison:
In all your wars good fortune flew before you;
Sublime you sat in triumph on her wheel,
Till in my fatal cause your sword was drawn;
The weight of my misfortunes dragged you down.

_Seb. _ And is't not strange, that heaven should bless my arms
In common causes, and desert the best?
Now in your greatest, last extremity,
When I would aid you most, and most desire it,
I bring but sighs, the succours of a slave.

_Alm. _ Leave then the luggage of your fate behind;
To make your flight more easy leave Almeyda:
Nor think me left a base, ignoble prey,
Exposed to this inhuman tyrant's lust;
My virtue is a guard beyond my strength,
And death, my last defence, within my call.

_Seb. _ Death may be called in vain, and cannot come;
Tyrants can tie him up from your relief;
Nor has a Christian privilege to die.
Alas, thou art too young in thy new faith:
Brutus and Cato might discharge their souls,
And give them furloughs for another world;
But we, like sentries, are obliged to stand
In starless nights, and wait the appointed hour[2].

_Alm. _ If shunning ill be good
To those, who cannot shun it but by death,
Divines but peep on undiscovered worlds,
And draw the distant landscape as they please;
But who has e'er returned from those bright regions,
To tell their manners, and relate their laws?
I'll venture landing on that happy shore
With an unsullied body and white mind;
If I have erred, some kind inhabitant
Will pity a strayed soul, and take me home.

_Seb. _ Beware of death! thou canst not die unperjured,
And leave an unaccomplished love behind.
Thy vows are mine; nor will I quit my claim:
The ties of minds are but imperfect bonds,
Unless the bodies join to seal the contract.

_Alm. _ What joys can you possess, or can I give,
Where groans of death succeed the sighs of love?
Our Hymen has not on his saffron robe;
But, muffled up in mourning, downward holds
His drooping torch, extinguished with his tears.

_Seb. _ The God of Love stands ready to revive it,
With his etherial breath.

_Alm. _ 'Tis late to join, when we must part so soon.

_Seb. _ Nay, rather let us haste it, ere we part;
Our souls, for want of that acquaintance here,
May wander in the starry walks above,
And, forced on worse companions, miss ourselves.

_Alm. _ The tyrant will not long be absent hence;
And soon I shall be ravished from your arms.

_Seb. _ Wilt thou thyself become the greater tyrant,
And give not love, while thou hast love to give?
In dangerous days, when riches are a crime,
The wise betimes make over their estates:
Make o'er thy honour, by a deed of trust,
And give me seizure of the mighty wealth.

_Alm. _ What shall I do? O teach me to refuse!
I would,--and yet I tremble at the grant;
For dire presages fright my soul by day,
And boding visions haunt my nightly dreams;
Sometimes, methinks, I hear the groans of ghosts,
Thin, hollow sounds, and lamentable screams;
Then, like a dying echo, from afar,
My mother's voice, that cries,--Wed not, Almeyda!
Forewarned, Almeyda, marriage is thy crime.

_Seb. _ Some envious demon to delude our joys;
Love is not sin, but where 'tis sinful love.

_Alm. _ Mine is a flame so holy and so clear,
That the white taper leaves no soot behind;
No smoke of lust; but chaste as sisters' love,
When coldly they return a brother's kiss,
Without the zeal that meets at lovers' mouths[3].

_Seb. _ Laugh then at fond presages. I had some;--
Famed Nostradamus, when he took my horoscope,
Foretold my father, I should wed with incest.
Ere this unhappy war my mother died,
And sisters I had none;--vain augury!
A long religious life, a holy age,
My stars assigned me too;--impossible!
For how can incest suit with holiness,
Or priestly orders with a princely state?

_Alm. _ Old venerable Alvarez-- [_Sighing. _

_Seb. _ But why that sigh in naming that good man?

_Alm. _ Your father's counsellor and confident--

_Seb. _ He was; and, if he lives, my second father.

_Alm. _ Marked our farewell, when, going to the fight,
You gave Almeyda for the word of battle.
'Twas in that fatal moment, he discovered
The love, that long we laboured to conceal.
I know it; though my eyes stood full of tears,
Yet through the mist I saw him stedfast gaze;
Then knocked his aged breast, and inward groaned,
Like some sad prophet, that foresaw the doom
Of those whom best he loved, and could not save.

_Seb. _ It startles me! and brings to my remembrance,
That, when the shock of battle was begun,
He would have much complained (but had not time)
Of our hid passion: then, with lifted hands,
He begged me, by my father's sacred soul,
Not to espouse you, if he died in fight;
For, if he lived, and we were conquerors,
He had such things to urge against our marriage,
As, now declared, would blunt my sword in battle,
And dastardize my courage.

_Alm. _ My blood curdles,
And cakes about my heart.

_Seb. _ I'll breathe a sigh so warm into thy bosom,
Shall make it flow again. My love, he knows not
Thou art a Christian: that produced his fear,
Lest thou shouldst sooth my soul with charms so strong,
That heaven might prove too weak.

_Alm. _ There must be more:
This could not blunt your sword.

_Seb. _ Yes, if I drew it, with a curst intent,
To take a misbeliever to my bed:
It must be so.

_Alm. _ Yet--

_Seb. _ No, thou shalt not plead,
With that fair mouth, against the cause of love.
Within this castle is a captive priest,
My holy confessor, whose free access
Not even the barbarous victors have refused;
This hour his hands shall make us one.

_Alm. _ I go, with love and fortune, two blind guides,
To lead my way, half loth, and half consenting.
If, as my soul forebodes, some dire event
Pursue this union, or some crime unknown,
Forgive me, heaven! and, all ye blest above,
Excuse the frailty of unbounded love! [_Exeunt. _


SCENE II. --_Supposed a Garden, with lodging rooms behind it, or on the
sides. _

_Enter_ MUFTI, ANTONIO _as a slave, and_ JOHAYMA _the_ MUFTI'S
_wife. _

_Muf. _ And how do you like him? look upon him well; he is a personable
fellow of a Christian dog. Now, I think you are fitted for a gardener.
Ha, what sayest thou, Johayma?

_Joh. _ He may make a shift to sow lettuce, raise melons, and water a
garden-plat; but otherwise, a very filthy fellow: how odiously he
smells of his country garlick! fugh, how he stinks of Spain.

_Muf. _ Why honey bird, I bought him on purpose for thee: didst thou
not say, thou longedst for a Christian slave?

_Joh. _ Ay, but the sight of that loathsome creature has almost cured
me; and how can I tell that he is a christian? an he were well
searched, he may prove a Jew, for aught I know. And, besides, I have
always longed for an eunuch; for they say that's a civil creature, and
almost as harmless as yourself, husband. --Speak, fellow, are not you
such a kind of peaceable thing?

_Ant. _ I was never taken for one in my own country; and not very
peaceable neither, when I am well provoked.

_Muf. _ To your occupation, dog; bind up the jessamines in yonder
arbour, and handle your pruning-knife with dexterity: tightly I say,
go tightly to your business; you have cost me much, and must earn it
in your work. Here's plentiful provision for you, rascal; salading in
the garden, and water in the tank, and on holidays the licking of a
platter of rice, when you deserve it.

_Joh. _ What have you been bred up to, sirrah? and what can you
perform, to recommend you to my service?

_Ant. _ [_Making Legs. _] Why, madam, I can perform as much as any man,
in a fair lady's service. I can play upon the flute, and sing; I can
carry your umbrella, and fan your ladyship, and cool you when you are
too hot; in fine, no service, either by day or by night, shall come
amiss to me; and, besides I am of so quick an apprehension, that you
need but wink upon me at any time to make me understand my duty. [_She
winks at him. _]--Very fine, she has tipt the wink already. [_Aside. _

_Joh. _ The whelp may come to something in time, when I have entered
him into his business.

_Muf. _ A very malapert cur, I can tell him that; I do not like his
fawning--You must be taught your distance, sirrah. [_Strikes him. _

_Joh. _ Hold, hold. He has deserved it, I confess; but, for once, let
his ignorance plead his pardon; we must not discourage a beginner.
Your reverence has taught us charity, even to birds and beasts:--here,
you filthy brute, you, take this little alms to buy you plasters.
[_Gives him a piece of money. _

_Ant. _ Money, and a love-pinch in the inside of my palm into the
bargain. [_Aside. _

_Enter a Servant. _

_Serv. _ Sir, my lord Benducar is coming to wait on you, and is already
at the palace gate.

_Muf. _ Come in, Johayma; regulate the rest of
my wives and concubines, and leave the fellow to
his work.

_Joh. _ How stupidly he stares about him, like a calf new come into the
world! I shall teach you, sirrah, to know your business a little
better. This way, you awkward rascal; here lies the arbour; must I be
shewing you eternally? [_Turning him about. _

_Muf. _ Come away, minion; you shall shew him nothing.

_Joh. _ I'll but bring him into the arbour, where a rose-tree and a
myrtle-tree are just falling for want of a prop; if they were bound
together, they would help to keep up one another. He's a raw gardener,
and 'tis but charity to teach him.

_Muf. _ No more deeds of charity to-day; come in, or I shall think you
a little better disposed than I could wish you.

_Joh. _ Well, go before, I will follow my pastor.

_Muf. _ So you may cast a sheep's eye behind you? in before me;--and
you, sauciness, mind your pruning-knife, or I may chance to use it for
you. [_Exeunt Mufti and_ JOHAYMA.

_Ant. _ [_Alone. _] Thank you for that, but I am in no such haste to be
made a mussulman. For his wedlock, for all her haughtiness, I find her
coming. How far a Christian should resist, I partly know; but how far
a lewd young Christian can resist, is another question. She's
tolerable, and I am a poor stranger, far from better friends, and in a
bodily necessity. Now have I a strange temptation to try what other
females are belonging to this family: I am not far from the women's
apartment, I am sure; and if these birds are within distance, here's
that will chuckle them together. [_Pulls out his Flute. _] If there be
variety of Moors' flesh in this holy market, 'twere madness to lay out
all my money upon the first bargain. [_He plays. A Grate opens, and_
MORAYMA, _the Mufti's Daughter, appears at it. _]--Ay, there's an
apparition! This is a morsel worthy of a Mufti; this is the relishing
bit in secret; this is the mystery of his Alcoran, that must be
reserved from the knowledge of the prophane vulgar; this is his
holiday devotion. --See, she beckons too. [_She beckons to him. _

_Mor. _ Come a little nearer, and speak softly.

_Ant. _ I come. I come, I warrant thee; the least twinkle had brought
me to thee; such another kind syllable or two would turn me to a
meteor, and draw me up to thee.

_Mor. _ I dare not speak, for fear of being overheard; but if you think
my person worth your hazard, and can deserve my love, the rest this
note shall tell you. [_Throws down a Handkerchief. _] No more, my heart
goes with you. [_Exit from the Grate. _

_Ant. _ O thou pretty little heart, art thou flown hither? I'll keep it
warm, I warrant it, and brood upon it in the new nest. --But now for my
treasure trove, that's wrapt up in the handkerchief; no peeping here,
though I long to be spelling her Arabic scrawls and pot-hooks. But I
must carry off my prize as robbers do, and not think of sharing the
booty before I am free from danger, and out of eye-shot from the other
windows. If her wit be as poignant as her eyes, I am a double slave.
Our northern beauties are mere dough to these; insipid white earth,
mere tobacco pipe clay, with no more soul and motion in them than a
fly in winter.
Here the warm planet ripens and sublimes
The well-baked beauties of the southern climes.
Our Cupid's but a bungler in his trade;
His keenest arrows are in Africk made. [_Exit. _


ACT III.

SCENE I. --_A Terrace Walk; or some other public place in the castle of
Alcazar. _

_Enter Emperor_ MULEY-MOLUCH, _and_ BENDUCAR.

_Emp. _ Married! I'll not believe it; 'tis imposture;
Improbable they should presume to attempt,
Impossible they should effect their wish.

_Bend. _ Have patience, till I clear it.

_Emp. _ I have none:
Go bid our moving plains of sand lie still,
And stir not, when the stormy south blows high:
From top to bottom thou hast tossed my soul,
And now 'tis in the madness of the whirl,
Requir'st a sudden stop? unsay thy lie;
That may in time do somewhat.

_Bend. _ I have done:
For, since it pleases you it should be forged,
'Tis fit it should: far be it from your slave
To raise disturbance in your sacred breast.

_Emp. _ Sebastian is my slave as well as thou;
Nor durst offend my love by that presumption.

_Bend. _ Most sure he ought not.

_Emp. _ Then all means were wanting:
No priest, no ceremonies of their sect;
Or, grant we these defects could be supplied,
How could our prophet do an act so base,
So to resume his gifts, and curse my conquests,
By making me unhappy? No, the slave,
That told thee so absurd a story, lied.

_Bend. _ Yet till this moment I have found him faithful:
He said he saw it too.