le side with violence and injustice,
When done for public good.

_Emp._ Preach thou that doctrine.

_Bend._ The unreasonable fool has broached a truth,
That blasts my hopes; but, since 'tis gone so far,
He shall divulge Almeyda is a Christian;
If that produce no tumult, I despair. [_Aside._

_Emp_ Why speaks not Dorax?

_Dor._ Because my soul abhors to mix with him.
Sir, let me bluntly say, you went too far,
To trust the preaching power on state-affairs
To him, or any heavenly demagogue:
'Tis a limb lopt from your prerogative,
And so much of heaven's image blotted from you.

_Muf._ Sure thou hast never heard of holy men,
(So Christians call them) famed in state affairs!
Such as in Spain, Ximenes, Albornoz;
In England, Wolsey; match me these with laymen.

_Dor._ How you triumph in one or two of these,
Born to be statesmen, happening to be churchmen!
Thou call'st them holy; so their function was:
But tell me, Mufti, which of them were saints?--
Next sir, to you: the sum of all is this,--
Since he claims power from heaven, and not from kings,
When 'tis his interest, he can interest heaven
To preach you down; and ages oft depend
On hours, uninterrupted, in the chair.

_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