‘You are a boy; you may yet live to learn that the sweetest lot of life consists in tranquil duties and well-earned repose.’
‘If my lot be repose, I’ll find it in a lair.’
‘Ah! David, David, there is a wildness in your temper, boy, that makes me often tremble. You are already too much alone, child. And for this, as well as weightier reasons, I am desirous that you should at length assume the office you inherit. What my poor experience can afford to aid you, as your counsellor, I shall ever proffer; and, for the rest, our God will not desert you, an orphan child, and born of royal blood.’
‘Pr’ythee, no more, kind uncle. I have but little heart to mount a throne, which only ranks me as the first of slaves.’
‘Pooh, pooh, you are young. Live we like slaves? Is this hall a servile chamber? These costly carpets, and these rich divans, in what proud harem shall we find their match? I feel not like a slave. My coffers are full of dirhems. Is that slavish? The wealthiest company of the caravan is ever Bostenay’s. Is that to be a slave? Walk the bazaar of Bagdad, and you will find my name more potent than the Caliph’s. Is that a badge of slavery?’
‘Uncle, you toil for others.’
‘So do we all, so does the bee, yet he is free and happy.’
‘At least he has a sting.’
‘Which he can use but once, and when he stings——’
‘He dies, and like a hero. Such a death is sweeter than his honey.’