er Bowl._

_Muf._ Since charity becomes my calling, thus
Let me provoke your friendship; and heaven bless it,
As I intend it well. [_Drinks; and, turning aside, pours some
drops out of a little vial into the
Bowl; then presents it to_ DORAX.

_Dor._ Heaven make thee honest;
On that condition we shall soon be friends. [_Drinks._

_Muf._ Yes, at our meeting in another world;
For thou hast drunk thy passport out of this.
Not the Nonacrian font, nor Lethe's lake,
Could sooner numb thy nimble faculties,
Than this, to sleep eternal. [_Aside._

_Emp._ Now farewell, Dorax; this was our first quarrel,
And, I dare prophecy, will prove our last.
[_Exeunt Emp._ BEND. _and the Mufti._

_Dor._ It may be so.--I'm strangely discomposed;
Quick shootings thro' my limbs, and pricking pains,
Qualms at my heart, convulsions in my nerves,
Shiverings of cold, and burnings of my entrails,
Within my little world make medley war,
Lose and regain, beat, and are beaten back,
As momentary victors quit their ground.--
Can it be poison! Poison's of one tenor,
Or hot, or cold; this neither, and yet both.
Some deadly draught, some enemy of life,
Boils in my bowels, and works out my soul.
Ingratitude's the growth of every clime;
Africk, the scene removed, is Portugal.
Of all court service, learn the common lot,--
To-day 'tis done, to-morrow 'tis forgot.
Oh, were that all! my honest corpse must lie
Exposed to scorn, and public infamy;
My shameful death will be divulged alone;
The worth and honour of my soul unknown. [_Exit._

SCENE II.--_A Night-Scene of the Mufti's Garden, where an Arbour is
discovered._

_Enter_ ANTONIO.

_Ant._ She names herself Morayma; the Mufti's only daughter, and a
virgin! This is the time and place that she appointed in her letter,
yet she comes not. Why, thou sweet delicious creature, why torture me
with thy delay! Dar'st thou be false to thy assignation? What, in the
cool and silence of the night, and to a new lover?--Pox on the
hypocrite, thy father, for instructing thee so little in the sweetest
point of his religion.--Hark, I hear the rustling of her silk mantle.
Now she comes, now she comes:--no, hang it, that was but the whistling
of the wind through the orange-trees.--Now, again, I hear the
pit-a-pat of a pretty foot through the