Dor. That thought escaped me.
Bend. Keep your command, and be revenged on both:
Nor sooth yourself; you have no power to affront him;
337 The emperor's love protects him from insults;
And he, who spoke that proud, ill-natured word,
Following the bent of his impetuous temper,
May force your reconcilement to Sebastian;
Nay, bid you kneel, and kiss the offending foot,
That kicked you from his presence.—
But think not to divide their punishment;
You cannot touch a hair of loathed Sebastian,
While Muley-Moluch lives.
Dor. What means this riddle?
Bend. 'Tis out;—there needs no Œdipus to solve it.
Our emperor is a tyrant, feared and hated;
I scarce remember, in his reign, one day
Pass guiltless o'er his execrable head.
He thinks the sun is lost, that sees not blood:
When none is shed, we count it holiday.
We, who are most in favour, cannot call
This hour our own.—You know the younger brother,
Mild Muley-Zeydan?
Dor. Hold, and let me think.
Bend. The soldiers idolize you;
He trusts you with the castle,
The key of all his kingdom.
Dor. Well; and he trusts you too.
Bend. Else I were mad,
To hazard such a daring enterprize.
Dor. He trusts us both; mark that!—Shall we betray him;
A master, who reposes life and empire
On our fidelity:—I grant he is a tyrant,
That hated name my nature most abhors:
More,—as you say,—has loaded me with scorn,
Even with the last contempt, to serve Sebastian;
Yet more, I know he vacates my revenge,
Which, but by this revolt, I cannot compass:
338 But, while he trusts me, 'twere so base a part,
To fawn, and yet betray,—I should be hissed,
And whooped in hell for that ingratitude.
Bend. Consider well what I have done for you.