Dor. I doubt thee still:  Thy reasons were too strong,
And driven too near the head, to be but artifice: 
And, after all, I know thou art a statesman,
Where truth is rarely found.

Bend. Behold the emperor:—­

  Enter Emperor, SEBASTIAN, and ALMEYDA.

Ask him, I beg thee,—­to be justified,—­
If he employed me not to ford thy soul,
And try the footing, whether false or firm.

Dor. Death to my eyes, I see Sebastian with him! 
Must he be served?—­Avoid him:  If we meet,
It must be like the crush of heaven and earth,
To involve us both in ruin. [Exit.

Bend. ’Twas a bare saving game I made with Dorax;
But better so than lost.  He cannot hurt me;
That I precautioned:  I must ruin him.—­
But now this love; ay, there’s the gathering storm! 
The tyrant must not wed Almeyda:  No! 
That ruins all the fabric I am raising. 
Yet, seeming to approve, it gave me time;
And gaining time gains all. [Aside.
                         [BENDUCAR goes and waits behind the Emperor. 
                          The Emperor, SEBASTIAN, and ALMEYDA,
                          advance to the front of the stage:  Guards
                          and Attendants.

Emp. to Seb. I bade them serve you; and, if they obey not, I keep my lions keen within their dens, To stop their maws with disobedient slaves.

Seb. If I had conquered,
They could not have with more observance waited: 
Their eyes, hands, feet,
Are all so quick, they seem to have but one motion,
To catch my flying words.  Only the alcayde
Shuns me; and, with a grim civility,
Bows, and declines my walks.

Emp. A renegade: 
I know not more of him, but that he’s brave,
And hates your Christian sect.  If you can frame
A farther wish, give wing to your desires,
And name the thing you want.

Seb. My liberty; For were even paradise itself my prison, Still I should long to leap the crystal walls.

Emp. Sure our two souls have somewhere been acquainted
In former beings; or, struck out together,
One spark to Afric flew, and one to Portugal. 
Expect a quick deliverance:  Here’s a third, [Turning to ALMEYDA. 
Of kindred sold to both:  pity our stars
Have made us foes!  I should not wish her death.

Alm. I ask no pity; if I thought my soul
Of kin to thine, soon would I rend my heart-strings,
And tear out that alliance; but thou, viper,
Hast cancelled kindred, made a rent in nature,
And through her holy bowels gnawed thy way,
Through thy own blood, to empire.

Emp. This again!  And yet she lives, and only lives to upbraid me!

Seb. What honour is there in a woman’s death! 
Wronged, as she says, but helpless to revenge;
Strong in her passion, impotent of reason,
Too weak to hurt, too fair to be destroyed. 
Mark her majestic fabric; she’s a temple
Sacred by birth, and built by hands divine;
Her souls the deity that lodges there;
Nor is the pile unworthy of the god.