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 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?

_Bend._ I could not find it, till you lent a clue
To that close labyrinth; how then should they?

_Emp._ I would be loth they should: it breeds contempt
For herds to listen, or presume to pry,
When the hurt lion groans within his den:
But is't not strange?

_Bend._ To love? not more than 'tis to live; a tax
Imposed on all by nature, paid in kind,
Familiar as our being.

_Emp._ Still 'tis strange
To me: I know my soul as wild as winds,
That sweep the desarts of our moving plains;
Love might as well be sowed upon our sands,
As in a breast so barren.
To love an enemy, the only one
Remaining too, whom yester sun beheld
Mustering her charms, and rolling, as she past
By every squadron, her alluring eyes,
To edge her champions' swords, and urge my ruin.
The shouts of soldiers, and the burst of cannon,
Maintain even still a deaf and murmuring noise;
Nor is heaven yet recovered of the sound,
Her battle roused: Yet, spite of me, I love.

_Bend._ What then controuls yo