Slave. Some rare phœnix! what's her name?
Ant. 'Tis Millicenta, and wondrous aptly,
For she is mistress of a hundred thousand holy heavenly thoughts.
Chastely I love her now, and she must know it:
Such wondrous wealth is virtue, it makes the woman
Wears it about her worthy of a king,
Since kings can be but virtuous: farewell.
A crown is but the care of deceiv'd life;
He's king of men is crown'd with such a wife.
[Exit Antonio, and the Lord after him.
Slave. Are your thoughts levell'd at that white, then?[164]
This shall to th' duke your dad, sir. He can never talk with me,[165]
But he twits me still with, I took thee at that fight
We made before Palermo! I did command
Men as he did there, Turks and valiant men:
And though to wind myself up for his ruin,
That I may fall and crush him, I appear
To renounce Mahomet, and seem a Christian,
'Tis but conveniently to stab this Christian,
Or any way confound him, and 'scape cleanly.
Ere[166] one expects the deed: to hasten it,
This letter came even now, which likewise certifies
He waits me three leagues off, with a horse for flight
Of a Turkish captain, commander of a galley.
He keeps me as his slave, because indeed
I play'd the devil at sea with him; but having
Thus wrought myself into him, I intend
To give him but this day to take his leave
Of the whole world. He will come back by twilight:
I'll wait him with a pistol. O sweet revenge!
Laugh, our great prophet, he shall understand,
When we think death farthest off, he's nearest hand.
Enter Philippo.
Phil. You and I must meet no more, sir: there's your kick again.
[Kicks him.
Slave. Hold, hold! what mean you, sir?
Phil. I have brought your kick back, sir—— [Shoots him.