Ant. [Alone.] Thank you for that, but I am in no such haste to be made a mussulman. For his wedlock, for all her haughtiness, I find her coming. How far a Christian should resist, I partly know; but how far a lewd young Christian can resist, is another question. She's tolerable, and I am a poor stranger, far from better friends, and in a bodily necessity. Now have I a strange temptation to try what other females are belonging to this family: I am not far from the women's apartment, I am sure; and if these birds are within distance, here's that will chuckle them together. [Pulls out his Flute.] If there be variety of Moors' flesh in this holy market, 'twere madness to lay out all my money upon the first bargain. [He plays. A Grate opens, and Morayma, the Mufti's Daughter, appears at it.]—Ay, there's an apparition! This is a morsel worthy of a Mufti; this is the relishing bit in secret; this is 352 the mystery of his Alcoran, that must be reserved from the knowledge of the prophane vulgar; this is his holiday devotion.—See, she beckons too.
[She beckons to him.
Mor. Come a little nearer, and speak softly.
Ant. I come. I come, I warrant thee; the least twinkle had brought me to thee; such another kind syllable or two would turn me to a meteor, and draw me up to thee.
Mor. I dare not speak, for fear of being overheard; but if you think my person worth your hazard, and can deserve my love, the rest this note shall tell you. [Throws down a Handkerchief.] No more, my heart goes with you.
[Exit from the Grate.
Ant. O thou pretty little heart, art thou flown hither? I'll keep it warm, I warrant it, and brood upon it in the new nest.—But now for my treasure trove, that's wrapt up in the handkerchief; no peeping here, though I long to be spelling her Arabic scrawls and pot-hooks. But I must carry off my prize as robbers do, and not think of sharing the booty before I am free from danger, and out of eye-shot from the other windows. If her wit be as poignant as her eyes, I am a double slave. Our northern beauties are mere dough to these; insipid white earth, mere tobacco pipe clay, with no more soul and motion in them than a fly in winter.
Here the warm planet ripens and sublimes
The well-baked beauties of the southern climes.
Our Cupid's but a bungler in his trade;
His keenest arrows are in Africk made.[Exit.
ACT III.
SCENE I.—A Terrace Walk; or some other public place in the castle of Alcazar.
Enter Emperor Muley-Moluch, and Benducar.
Emp. Married! I'll not believe it; 'tis imposture;
Improbable they should presume to attempt,
Impossible they should effect their wish.
Bend. Have patience, till I clear it.