d 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.

_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