M.  Mol. They plead too strongly
To be withstood.  My clouds are gathering too,
In kindly mixture with his royal shower. 
Be safe; and owe thy life, not to my gift,
But to the greatness of thy mind, Sebastian. 
Thy subjects too shall live; a due reward
For their untainted faith, in thy concealment.

Muf. Remember, sir, your vow. [A general shout.

M.  Mol. Do thou remember Thy function, mercy, and provoke not blood.

Mul.  Zeyd. One of his generous fits, too strong to last.
                                                 [Aside to BENDUCAR.

Bend. The Mufti reddens; mark that holy cheek. [To him. He frets within, froths treason at his mouth, And churns it thro’ his teeth; leave me to work him.

Seb. A mercy unexpected, undesired,
Surprises more:  you’ve learnt the art to vanquish. 
You could not,—­give me leave to tell you, sir,—­
Have given me life but in my subjects’ safety: 
Kings, who are fathers, live but in their people.

M.  Mol. Still great, and grateful; that’s thy character.—­
Unveil the woman; I would view the face,
That warmed our Mufti’s zeal: 
These pious parrots peck the fairest fruit: 
Such tasters are for kings. [Officers go to ALMEYDA to unveil her.

Alm. Stand off, ye slaves!  I will not be unveiled.

M.  Mol Slave is thy title:—­force her.

Sebast. On your lives, approach her not.

M.  Mol. How’s this!

Sebast. Sir, pardon me, And hear me speak.—­

Aim. Hear me; I will be heard. 
I am no slave; the noblest blood of Afric
Runs in my veins; a purer stream than thine: 
For, though derived from the same source, thy current
Is puddled and defiled with tyranny.

M.  Mol. What female fury have we here!

Aim. I should be one,
Because of kin to thee.  Wouldst thou be touched
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. [Unveils herself.

Bend. Would I had never seen it! [Aside.

Alm. She whom thy Mufti taxed to have no soul;
Let Afric now be judge. 
Perhaps thou think’st I meanly hope to ’scape,
As did Sebastian, when he owned his greatness. 
But to remove that scruple, know, base man,
My murdered father, and my brother’s ghost,
Still haunt this breast, and prompt it to revenge. 
Think not I could forgive, nor dar’st thou pardon.

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