Bend. [To M. Mol.]
Extravagantly brave! even to an impudence
Of greatness.
Sebast. Here satiate all your fury:
Let fortune empty her whole quiver on me;
I have a soul, that, like an ample shield,
Can take in all, and verge enough for more.
I would have conquered you; and ventured only
A narrow neck of land for a third world,
To give my loosened subjects room to play.
Fate was not mine,
Nor am I fate's. Now I have pleased my longing,
And trod the ground which I beheld from far,
I beg no pity for this mouldering clay;
For, if you give it burial, there it takes
Possession of your earth;
If burnt and scattered in the air, the winds,
That strow my dust, diffuse my royalty,
And spread me o'er your clime: for where one atom
Of mine shall light, know, there Sebastian reigns.
M. Mol. What shall I do to conquer thee?
Sebast. Impossible!
Souls know no conquerors.
M. Mol. I'll shew thee for a monster through my Afric.
Sebast. No, thou canst only shew me for a man:
Afric is stored with monsters; man's a prodigy,
Thy subjects have not seen.
M. Mol. Thou talk'st as if
Still at the head of battle.
Sebast. Thou mistakest,
For then I would not talk.
Bend. Sure he would sleep.
Sebast. Till doomsday, when the trumpet sounds to rise;
320 For that's a soldier's call.