Only trust in him. He knows well what share
Of the chalice of need I can bear to drain.
He takes fatherly thought for my personal weal;—
[Casts a glance over the sea, and whispers with a sigh:
But economical—no, that he isn’t!
SCENE THIRD.
Night. An encampment of Moroccan troops on the edge of the desert. Watch-fires, with Soldiers resting by them.
A Slave.
[Enters, tearing his hair.]
Gone is the Emperor’s milk-white charger!