Enter HAMET.

Well, Hamet, are our friends, the rabble, raised? 
From Mustapha what message?

Ham. What you wish. 
The streets are thicker in this noon of night,
Than at the mid-day sun; a drowsy horror
Sits on their eyes, like fear, not well awake;
All crowd in heaps, as, at a night alarm,
The bees drive out upon each others backs,
To imboss their hives in clusters; all ask news;
Their busy captain runs the weary round,
To whisper orders; and, commanding silence,
Makes not noise cease, but deafens it to murmurs.

Bend. Night wastes apace; when, when will he appear!

Ham. He only waits your summons.

Bend. Haste their coming. 
Let secrecy and silence be enjoined
In their close march.  What news from the lieutenant?

Ham. I left him at the gate, firm to your interest, To admit the townsmen at their first appearance.

Bend. Thus far ’tis well:  Go, hasten Mustapha. [Exit HAMET.

  Enter ORCHAN, the third Servant.

O, Orchan, did I think thy diligence
Would lag behind the rest!—­What from the Mufti?

Orc. I sought him round his palace; made inquiry
Of all the slaves; in short, I used your name,
And urged the importance home; but had for answer,
That, since the shut of evening, none had seen him.

Bend. O the curst fate of all conspiracies! 
They move on many springs; if one but fail,
The restiff machine stops.  In an ill hour he’s absent;
’Tis the first time, and sure will be the last,
That e’er a Mufti was not in the way,
When tumults and rebellion should be broached. 
Stay by me; thou art resolute and faithful;
I have employment worthy of thy arm. [Walks.

  Enter MULEY-ZEYDAN.

Mul.  Zeyd. You see me come, impatient of my hopes,
And eager as the courser for the race: 
Is all in readiness?

Bend. All but the Mufti.

Mul.  Zeyd. We must go on without him.

Bend. True, we must; For ’tis ill stopping in the full career, Howe’er the leap be dangerous and wide.

Orc. [Looking out.]
I see the blaze of torches from afar,
And hear the trampling of thick-beating feet;
This way they move.

Bend. No doubt, the emperor. 
We must not be surprised in conference. 
Trust to my management the tyrant’s death,
And haste yourself to join with Mustapha. 
The officer, who guards the gate, is yours: 
When you have gained that pass, divide your force;
Yourself in person head one chosen half,
And march to oppress the faction in consult
With dying Dorax.  Fate has driven them all
Into the net; you must be bold and sudden: 
Spare none; and if you find him struggling yet
With pangs of death, trust not his rolling eyes
And heaving gasps; for poison may be false,—­
The home thrust of a friendly sword is sure.