Van. Close the vault’s mouth lest we do slip in drink.
So. To what use, gentle negro, serves this cave,
Whose mouth thus opens so familiarly,
Even in the king’s bedchamber?
Van. O, my queen, 150
This vault with hideous darkness, and much length,
Stretcheth beneath the earth into a grove,
One league from Cirta (I am very sleepy);
Through this, when Cirta hath been strong begirt,
With hostile siege the king hath safely ’scaped
To, to——
So. The wine is strong.
Van. Strong?
So. Zanthia!
Zan. What means my princess?
So. Zanthia, rest firm
And silent. Help us; nay, do not dare refuse.
Zan. The negro’s dead!
So. No, drunk.