John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

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,

  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.

  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;

  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,

  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<
br />
  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,

  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,

  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.

  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?

  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.

  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 se
lling 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.

  ACT II.

  SCENE I. — Supposed to be a Terrace Walk, on the side of the Castle of Alcazar.

  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?