Jul. No, thou shalt study soon another tongue,
And suns more ardent shall mature thy mind.
Either the cross thou bearest, and thy knees
Among the silent caves of Palestine
Wear the sharp flints away with midnight prayer,
Or thou shalt keep the fasts of Barbary—
Shalt wait amid the crowds that throng the well
From sultry noon till the skies fade again,
To draw up water and to bring it home
In the crackt gourd of some vile testy knave,
Who spurns thee back with bastinaded foot
For ignorance or delay of his command.
Rod. Rather the poison or the bow-string.
Jul. Slaves
To other’s passions die such deaths as those,
Slaves to their own should die—
Rod. —What worse?
Jul. Their own.
Rod. Is this thy counsel, renegade?
Jul. Not mine;
I point a better path, nay, force thee on.
I shelter thee from every brave man’s sword
While I am near thee: I bestow on thee
Life: if thou die, ’tis when thou sojournest
Protected by this arm and voice no more;
’Tis slavishly, ’tis ignominiously,
’Tis by a villain’s knife.
Rod. By whose?
Jul. Roderigo’s.