Tarudante.

Stay, I understand Something, and know that now he is in the grounds With the princess alone. Go if thou wilt. Assure thyself: I need to see no more.

Sa. Await me here then while I go. I pray thee Judge not so hastily.

Tar. I judge not hastily.

Sa. Then wait me here.

Tar. I wait for no man, Sala; Save out of courtesy; in which I hope I have not lacked hitherto.

Sa. You have rather set us In everlasting debt.

Tar. Speak not of that.

Sa. Then mock not our repayment.

Tar. Look you, Sala; I understand to seize a prize by force, Or kindly take a gift, but not to sue.

Sa. Yet women must be wooed.

Tar. Ay, that’s a game: But if ’tis more than play, I’ve no mind for it. Patch up the matter as you can. For me, I cry To horse.

Sa. Wait but a moment longer; I will fetch Ferdinand. (Aside.) To have two rivals, Tho’both be princes, may be better yet Than to have only one. [Exit.

Tar. By heaven, they trifle with me, and by waiting I allow it; cherishing an idle softness That fools me to take slights, yet cannot soothe My pride to competition. Nay, nor would I Rob grey-haired Sala of it, if he has dreamed His heirs shall reign in Fez.... But the infidel— How should the general countenance him,—altho’ There be some tie of chivalry between them? A riddle it is; a riddle I leave it. Now To save engagèd honour I must feign Some exigency. I will go warn my men That they break camp at sunrise. In three days All is forgotten. [Exit.

Re-enter Sala with Ferdinand.

Fer. He is not here.

Sa. ’Tis well.

Fer. What wouldst thou, Sala?

Sa. For thy safety, prince, And for my honour both, accept the terms, And go hence while thou mayst.

Fer. Now spare thy words; For I am firm.

Sa. Then if thou close the door, Thou must o’erleap the wall.

Fer. What mean’st thou?

Sa. Fly. Feign sickness. I will let thee forth to-night. Thou shalt be safe beyond pursuit to-morrow, While yet ’tis thought thou keep’st thy chamber.

Fer. Nay.

Sa. As men will risk their lives to save their lives, Risk thou thine honour now to save thine honour,— Ay, and thy life. ’Tis looked for of no man To make his tongue his executioner; Nor any hath this right, to bind his brother To die when it shall please him.

Fer. O honest Sala, We wrong thee much in Spain: there art thou deemed A heartless soldier; not a bloody tale That would pass current, but usurps thy name: Men curse by thee.

Sa. I pray you now return, And disabuse your friends.

Fer. Ay, that and more When I return.

Sa. Thou never wilt return, Unless thou fly at once.

Fer. Tell me the worst.

Sa. What think you, should I slay you with these hands?

Fer. Thou, Sala! why?

Sa. I spake not empty words.

Fer. Their darkness is to me as emptiness.

Sa. By heaven, I would not now unseal my lips, But I know him I speak to, and my speech Shall win thee. Hark, I have been for twenty years Familiar with the king, one of his house; I have known the princess Almeh from her cradle: Her father’s only child, she hath been to me My single joy no less: from the first words She lisped upon my knee, unto this day, Her sayings and doings have been still the events Which measured time to me: her childish ways, Her growth, well-being, happiness, were mine, Part of my life. Whene’er I have been away On distant service, the same couriers That carried my despatches to the king, Returned to me with tidings of the child, Writ for my use, the careful chronicle Of prattle, with whatever pretty message She had devised to send me: as she grew I watched her, taught her, was her friend; and while I trod in blood, and heard the mortal gasp Of foes my scimitar struck down to hell, I suffered nothing to approach my soul But what might too be hers. Sala is stern, Men say, and register my actions bluntly To common qualities,—I serve my age In such a tedious practice,—but in truth Sala is gentle as the tend’rest plant That noonday withers, or the night frosts pinch. I tell thee what I would not dare tell any, Lest he should smile at me, and I should slay him: I tell it thee, knowing thou wilt not smile. Now late it happed that I returned to Fez After some longer absence than was wont; And looking still to meet the child I left, I found her not. She had made a dizzy flight From prettiest to fairest. Slow-working time Had leapt in a miracle: ere one could say, From being a child suddenly she was a woman, Changed beyond hope, to me past hope unchanged. Maybe thou hast never tasted, prince, this sorrow, When fortune smiling upon those we love Removes them from our reach—when we awake To our small reckoning in the circumstance We are grown to lean on.—Cursèd be the day Whereon we met: or would thou hadst slain me there— My wrongs are worse than death.

Fer. How! can it be? Tell me but truth. Art thou my rival, Sala? Thou art: thou art. Yet ’twas thyself deceived me. Thou’st ever spoken of her as of a daughter. Forgive me, Sala; thy familiarity And thy years blinded me. If, ere I came Her heart was thine, and I by pity’s softness Have stolen the passion that was thine before, Now by mine honour I will do thy bidding: If ’tis the only way, I’ll fly to-night. Thy word, and I will fly. Were ye betrothed?

Sa. Nay, prince ...

Fer. Nay?... Yet if not betrothed, maybe Almeh hath loved thee, shewn thee preference, Some promise ...

Sa. Nay.

Fer. Then, Sala, in plain words, How have I wronged thee? what can be the cause Why thou didst threat to kill me?

Sa. I said not that.

Fer. Esteem’st thou then a prince of Portugal So much less than Morocco? ...

Sa. Dream’st thou the king Would wed his daughter to ...

Fer. An infidel, Thou’dst say.

Sa. Is’t not impossible?

Fer. ’Twould seem No miracle to me shouldst thou thyself Turn Christian.

Sa. By Allah! Hush! here is the king. Begone, Lest my goodwill to thee be more suspected Than it deserve.

Fer. I’ll speak with thee again. [Exit.

Sa. (solus). I have shot my best bolt forth, and missed my aim.

Enter King.