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.