Bend. Truth is, considering with what earnestness
Sebastian pleaded for Almeyda’s life,
Enhanced her beauty, dwelt upon her praise—­

Emp. O stupid, and unthinking as I was!  I might have marked it too; ’twas gross and palpable.

Bend. Methought I traced a lover ill disguised,
And sent my spy, a sharp observing slave,
To inform me better, if I guessed aright. 
He told me, that he saw Sebastian’s page
Run cross the marble square, who soon returned,
And after him there lagged a puffing friar;
Close wrapt he bore some secret instrument
Of Christian superstition in his hand: 
My servant followed fast, and through a chink
Perceived the royal captives hand in hand;
And heard the hooded father mumbling charms,
That make those misbelievers man and wife;
Which done, the spouses kissed with such a fervour,
And gave such furious earnest of their flames,
That their eyes sparkled, and their mantling blood
Flew flushing o’er their faces.

Emp. Hell confound them!

Bend. The reverend father, with a holy leer,
Saw he might well be spared, and soon withdrew: 
This forced my servant to a quick retreat,
For fear to be discovered.—­Guess the rest.

Emp. I do:  My fancy is too exquisite,
And tortures me with their imagined bliss. 
Some earthquake should have risen and rent the ground,
Have swallowed him, and left the longing bride
In agony of unaccomplished love. [Walks disorderly.

  Enter the Mufti.

Bend. In an unlucky hour That fool intrudes, raw in this great affair, And uninstructed how to stem the tide.—­ [Aside. [Coming up the Mufti,—­aside.] The emperor must not marry, nor enjoy:—­ Keep to that point:  Stand firm, for all’s at stake.

Emp. [Seeing him.]
You druggerman[4] of heaven, must I attend
Your droning prayers?  Why came ye not before? 
Dost thou not know the captive king has dared
To wed Almeyda?  Cancel me that marriage,
And make her mine:  About the business, quick!—­
Expound thy Mahomet; make him speak my sense,
Or he’s no prophet here, and thou no Mufti;
Unless thou know’st the trick of thy vocation,
To wrest and rend the law, to please thy prince.

Muf. Why, verily, the law is monstrous plain:  There’s not one doubtful text in all the alcoran, Which can be wrenched in favour to your project.

Emp. Forge one, and foist it into some bye-place Of some old rotten roll:  Do’t, I command thee!  Must I teach thee thy trade?