DON SEBASTIAN. 1690.

Benducar. You could not meet him then?
Dorax. No, though I sought

Where ranks fell thickest; 'twas indeed the place
To seek Sebastian: through a track of death
I follow'd him by groans of dying foes;

But still I came too late, for he was flown
Like lightning swift before me to new slaughters.
I mow'd across, and made irregular harvest,
Defac'd the pomp of battle, but in vain,
For he was still supplying death elsewhere:
This mads me, that perhaps ignoble hands
Have overlaid him, for they could not conquer,
Murder'd by multitudes, whom I alone

Had right to slay; I too would have been slain,
That catching hold upon his flitting ghost,
I might have robb'd him of his op'ning heaven,
And dragg'd him down with me.

Dor. As for Sebastian, we must search the field,
And where we see a mountain of the slain,
Send one to climb, and looking down below,

There he shall find him at his manly length,

With his face up to heav'n, in the red monument,
Which his true sword has digg'd.

Muley Moluch to Bend. Mark him who now approaches

to the lottery.

He looks secure of death, superior greatness,

Like Jove when he made Fate, and said, Thou art
The slave of my creation; I admire him.

I

Bend. He looks as man was made, with face erect,
That scorns his brittle corpse, and seems asham'd
He's not all spirit, his eyes with a dumb pride
Accusing fortune that he fell not warm;
Yet now disdains to live.

Sebastian. Then there's no more to manage! if I fall, It shall be like myself; a setting sun

Should leave a track of glory in the skies.
Behold Sebastian king of Portugal.

M. Mol. Sebastian! ha! it must be he; no other
Could represent such suff" ring majesty

I saw him, as he terms himself, a sun
Struggling in dark eclipse, and shooting day
On either side of the black orb that veil'd him.
Seb. Not less ev'n in this despicable now,
Than when my name fill'd Africk with affrights,
And froze your hearts beneath your torrid zone.
Bend. to M. Mol. Extravagantly brave! ev'n to an im-
pudence

Of greatness.

Seb. Here satiate all your fury;

Let fortune empty her whole quiver on me;
I have a soul, that like an ample shield
Can take in all; and verge enough for more.
I would have conquer'd you; and ventur'd only
A narrow neck of land for a third world;
To give my loosen'd subjects room to play.
Fate was not mine,

Nor am I fate's: now I have pleas'd my longing,
And trod the ground which I beheld from far,
I beg no pity for this mould'ring clay!

For if you give it burial, there it takes

Possession of your earth:

If burnt and scatter'd in the air, the winds
That strew my dust, diffuse my royalty,

And spread me o'er your clime: for where one atom
Of mine shall light, know, there Sebastian reigns.
M. Mol. What shall I do to conquer thee?

Seb. Impossible!

Souls know no conquerors.

M. Mol. I'll show thee for a monster through my Africk.

Seb. No, thou canst only show me for a man: Africk is stor❜d with monsters; man's a prodigy Thy subjects have not seen.

M. Mol. Thou talk'st as if

Still at the head of battle.
Seb. Thou mistak'st,

For then I would not talk.

M. Mol. In what a ruin has thy headstrong pride,
And boundless thirst of empire, plung'd thy people!
Seb. What say'st thou? ha! no more of that.
M. Mol. Behold,

What carcases of thine thy crimes have strew'd,

And left our Africk vultures to devour.

Bend. Those souls were those thy God intrusted with thee,

To cherish, not destroy.

Seb. Witness, O Heav'n, how much

This sight concerns me! would I had a soul
For each of these; how gladly would I pay
The ransom down: but since I have but one,
'Tis a king's life, and freely 'tis bestow'd.
Not your false prophet, but eternal justice,
Has destin'd me the lot, to die for these:
'Tis fit a sov'reign so should pay such subjects;
For subjects such as they are seldom seen,
Who not forsook me at my greatest need;
Nor for base lucre sold their loyalty,
But shar'd my dangers to the last event,

And fenc'd them with their own: these thanks I pay you:

[Wipes his eyes.

And know, that when Sebastian weeps, his tears
Come harder than his blood.

Almeyda. Stand off, ye slaves, I will not be unveil❜d. M. Mol. Slave is thy title: force her.

Seb. On your lives

Approach her not.

M. Mol. How's this?

Seb. Sir, pardon me, And hear me speak.

Alm. Hear me; I will be heard:

I am no slave; the noblest blood of Africk
Runs in my veins; a purer stream than thine;
For, though deriv'd from the same source, thy current
Is puddled and defil'd with tyranny.

M. Mol. What female fury have we here?
Alm. I should be one,

Because of kin to thee: wouldst thou be touch'd
By the presuming hands of saucy grooms?

The same respect, nay more, is due to me:

More for my sex: the same for my
descent.
These hands are only fit to draw the curtain.
Now, if thou dar'st, behold Almeyda's face.

M. Mol. Wouldst thou revenge thee, trait'ress, hadst thou power?

Alm. Traitor, I would; the name's more justly thine: Thy father was not more than mine the heir

Of this large empire; but with arms united

They fought their way, and seiz'd the crown by force:
And equal as their danger was their share:

For where was eldership, where none had right
But that which conquest gave? 'twas thy ambition
Pull'd from my peaceful father what his sword

Help'd thine to gain; surpris'd him and his kingdom,
No provocation giv'n, no war declar'd.

M. Mol. I'll hear no more.

Alm. This is the living coal, that burning in me
Would flame to vengeance, could it find a vent:
My brother too, that lies yet scarcely cold
In his deep wat'ry bed: my wand'ring mother,
Who in exile died.

O that I had the fruitful heads of Hydra,

That one might bourgeon where another fell!
Still would I give thee work; still, still, thou tyrant,
And hiss thee with the last.

Emperor. And think'st thou not it was discover'd?
Bend. No:

The thoughts of kings are like religious groves,
The walks of muffled gods: sacred retreat,

Where none but whom they please t' admit, approach. Emp. Did not my conscious eyes 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 loath they should: it breeds contempt

For herds to listen, or presume to pry,

When the hurt lion groans within his den.

Emp. I know my soul as wild as wind,
That sweeps the deserts of our moving plains;
Love might as well be sow'd upon our sands,
As in a breast so barren.

To love an enemy, the only one

Remaining too, whom yester sun beheld

Must'ring her charms, and rolling, as she pass'd
By every squadron, her alluring eyes;