ours; but mixing friends with foes is hard.

_Emp._ All may be foes; or how to be distinguished,
If some be friends?

_Bend._ They may with ease be winnowed.
Suppose some one, who has deserved your trust,
Some one, who knows mankind, should be employed
To mix among them, seem a malcontent,
And dive into their breasts, to try how far
They dare oppose your love?

_Emp._ I like this well; 'tis wholesome wickedness.

_Bend._ Whomever he suspects, he fastens there,
And leaves no cranny of his soul unsearched;
Then like a bee bag'd with his honeyed venom,
He brings it to your hive;--if such a man,
So able and so honest, may be found;
If not, my project dies.

_Emp._ By all my hopes, thou hast described thyself:
Thou, thou alone, art fit to play that engine,
Thou only couldst contrive.

_Bend._ Sure I could serve you:
I think I could:--but here's the difficulty;
I am so entirely yours,
That I should scurvily dissemble hate;
The cheat would be too gross.

_Emp._ Art thou a statesman,
And canst not be a hypocrite? Impossible!
Do not distrust thy virtues.

_Bend._ If I must personate this seeming villain,
Remember 'tis to serve you.

_Emp._ No more words:
Love goads me to Almeyda, all affairs
Are troublesome but that; and yet that most. [_Going._
Bid Dorax treat Sebastian like a king;
I had forgot him;--but this love mars all,
And takes up my whole breast. [_Exit_ EMPEROR.

_Bend._ [_To the_ EMP.] Be sure I'll tell him--
With all the aggravating circumstances [_Alone._
I can, to make him swell at that command.
The tyrant first suspected me;
Then with a sudden gust he whirled about,
And trusted me too far:--Madness of power!
Now, by his own consent, I ruin him.
For, should some feeble soul, for fear or gain.
Bolt out to accuse me, even the king is cozened,
And thinks he's in the secret.
How sweet is treason, when the traitor's safe!

_Sees the_ MUFTI _and_ DORAX _entering, and seeming to confer._

The Mufti, and with him my sullen Dorax.
That first is mine already:
'Twas easy work to gain a covetous mind,
Whom rage to lose his prisoners had prepared:
Now caught himself,
He would seduce another. I must help him:
For churchmen, though they itch to govern all,
Are silly, woeful, aukward politicians:
They make lame mischief, though they mean it well:
Their interest is not finely drawn, and hid,
But seams are coarsely bungled up, and seen.