And she, fair saint, to me.-Some two months back,
Worn with fatigue, and leaning on my spade,
In pensive sort, under the cork-tree's boughs
That wave beneath the sullen turret's window,
A female hand, stretched through the lattice-work,
Let fall a letter to me. Thus it ran.

I am at heart a Christian :-from the slaves,
You have I singled out :-bear me from hence,
And fortune and Zorayda are yours.'

Kilne. Och! the crachure!

Viro. Oft to her window have I stole at dusk;
When from the tower a silken cord was dropped,
And thus, in mute exchange, we have conveyed
Our written vows;-for speech were dangerous.
Her father, chief about the Moorish king,
Holds the town's key in charge.
Kilm. The kays!

Viro. Ay, comrade.

Our projects ripen. She has willed me bring
A chosen friend, to back my enterprise ;-

And thou art he whom I select, Kilmallock.

Kilm. Faith, Count Virolet, and you have chosen as handsomely as heart could desire. For the service of a fair lady, or a small matter of fighting, you may search the world over before you find any better prepared than an

Irishman.

Viro. Day wears apace; and the cool evening breeze Blows fresh and sweetly. [Zorayda is heard from window.

Listen!

Kilm. Och, blessings on her pretty little Moorish throat! -she warbles, for all the world, as natural as a Christian. [A hand from the tower waves to Virolet.

Comrade,

Viro. Soft.-See, see, she waves me toward the castle.

Tarry, I prithee, near this spot awhile.

I'll cross the moat, and at the eastern gate
Try for admission.-I had near forgot-
Should Sadi pass along-the dapper Moor,

Who guards the slaves, and parcels out our labour,
Draw him aside. Zorayda's entreaty,

And love the patch doth bear a female slave,
Have won him to us. Should he play the churl,
As he is wont, then be this ring thy token,
And he will soften straight. Comrade, farewell!
Now fortune be my speed? [Exit over the drawbridge
Kilm. What a recreation it is to be in love! it sets the
heart aching so delicately, there's no taking a wink of
sleep for the pleasure of the pain. Cupid, as the poets
feign, is stone blind: troth, and they feign very truly;-
or this lady Moor, no disparagement to the Count, had
never cast her eyes of affection on a Spaniard, and let a
jontleman of Tipperary stand by, without bestowing a
glance on him.-Yonder trots Sadi, head shepherd over
the flock of slaves :-'tis near sunset, and he comes to
pen us all up in the man fold!

Enter SADI, L. U. E, followed by YUSEF and SELIM.

Sadi. Out on't! I'm sun-roasted, like an over-ripe fig, till I am ready to drop. It looks well now, that I drudge, and you stand idle. Are not you two placed under me, you lop-eared knaves, you?

Yus. & Sel. We are, good Sadi.

Sadi. Oh, cry you mercy!-It seemed you had forgot he rule of office in all well-governed states.

Yus. What is it, Sadi?

Sadi. What is it, Sadi? marry, this it is, sirrah! and see you note it. When large pay is given for high employment, 'tis the head man's care to take the money, and the leputy's to do the work. Therefore show vigilance in your humble department of labour;-as I, like my brother great men, give example in my more lofty task of receiving the profits. Remember, 'tis the order of our master, Bulcazin Muley, that ye look narrowly to the slaves.

Sel. I did ne'er relax; I hold the Christians in mortal hate: 'tis meat and drink in me to scourge them.

Sadi. Thou hast indeed, friend, a tolerable twist that way. Thy mind is of the true Mahomet kidney, with the right savage maw of a Mussulman. No one can lay to thy charge the guilt of humanity. Go to-I have noted the diligence of your cruelty; and it will go hard but I will so order it that, ere long, your deserts shall be showered upon you in plentiful thickness.

Sel. I thank thee, Sadi. I shall look for thy remembrance.

Sadi. Content thee, friend. Thou shalt shortly carry the marks on't.-[To Kilmallock.] How now, Christian? Kilm. How now, Moor!

Sadi. You must away with me—the sun is near a-bed. Kilm. Faith, then, master Sadi, I shall e'en walk this garden a small half hour, till he puts out his candle.

Sadi. Were I to choose now, I would deal with a dozen blustering captives, rather than one Irish or English. There is, as it were, a sort of native kind of a steady, cool method of freedom about these islanders, as if it grew to them, that keeps its dignity better than any other nation of Christendom. Come on, sir,-you must forward. [Urging him on.

Kilm. Mark you me, Mr. Sadi, the Moor-but you must serve me-so you are safe. Indeed, when a man's in captivity, and would seek favour of a rogue, who has two more at his back, I don't hold it altogether wise to thump him into a kindness;-so, as I would be private here, here are a couple of doubloons, saved from the old plunderer, your master, to leave me to my meditations.

Sadi. Why, look ye, Christian-it pleased Mahomet and my father, when they made me, to make me a Moor -my mother was an humble vassal here, cooped up for life, like an old hen, in the castle; and they found me one morning, hatched in Bulcazin's house, a new bit of his live property. I was brought up from the shell to the business I am put upon. It may not, haply, hit my humour to crow over the captives; but if ever I take wing and fly from the ground of my duty, trust me, Christian, I sha'n't be tempted to it with the scanty gains thrown in my way by the necessities of the unfortunate. Put up your money, Christian.

Kilm. Faith, and I will.-This is the best bantam of

the whole black brood of Granada! and I would that every jontleman of England discharged his trust with as much honesty and feeling as my friend here of the copper complexion. You will consent then, honest fellow, to my taking a solitary trot here, without remuneration.

Sadi. I dare not. My master is severe-his servants pregnant with jealousy and suspicion. Each is ever a spy upon his fellow. Were I found negligent, upon so slight a ground, too, I could not answer it; 'twere danger of my place, my life, my-[Kilmallock shows the ring.]-ehumph-oh-hum!-stand back, you knaves, or-Zorayda! Whispering. Whispering

Kilm. Count Virolet-on to the castle. Whispering. Sadi. Fellows, this fool's refractory-I'll along with him. to our master at the castle,-follow but to the next turning-then leave me, rogues--I'll manage him from thence, I warrant. Why, how now, sirrah! Face to the moat, you rogue! oh, what, you come about, friend, de you-on, slaves, on!

[Exeunt, Sadi driving Kilmallock across the drawbridge to the Castle.

SCENE II.—An Apartment in the Castle of Bulcazin Mu ley.

Enter BULCAZIN MULEY and Ganem, l.

Bulca. So great the Spaniard's army, say you? why, By Allah! Ganem, 'tis not credible !

It is a Christian fiction: I've no faith in't:

I have no faith in anything that's Christian :—

It cannot be.

Ganem. It is most certain, sir:

Our spy

is new returned who took their number. Last night, with 'vantage of the cooling breeze,

That stilly fanned the parched and sun-cracked earth,
King Ferdinand, before his new-built town,
That braves our walls, in person did review
Full fifty thousand Spanish men in arms,-
Lusty and fresh-their polished coats of mail
Gleamed, in faint pride, beneath the silver moon;
Which hung, in maiden sorrow, o'er their heads,
As looking pale at man, intent on slaughter.

B

Bulc1. Now may the pestilent dew of vaporous night Pierce to their marrow !-sap their hated bones! The flagging air blow hot and moist upon them! May the high prophet, who protects our battles, Pour, from the ponderous and scowling clouds, Deluge on deluge down! till the swollen Darro O'erffood its limits; and the sodden Christians Rot, like starved carrion, in the drownéd field. What, has the king sent for me?

Ganem. Even now.

He waits your coming, sir, at the Alhambra.
Bulca. Say, I attend his bidding. Stay; come back
Evermore to and fro! evermore care!
Council, despatches, court, mosque, garrison!
Threading the city's avenues, to goad
The sluggish guard to duty; then at night,
Eaves-dropping to entrap the mutineer;
Or plodding by the blue and paly lamp
In painful rumination. This it is
To be a governor! -a dogged mule,

That climbs the craggy mountain with his load,

Enjoys a life of ease to't. I do envy

The vilest beast, that sweats beneath his burden;

For mine's upon the brain.-Dull, thoughtless hound!

Why art not gone?

Ganem. It was your will, so please you,

To call me back again.

Bulca. Oh, true, good Ganem!

Go to Zorayda, my daughter;-tell her,
Ere I go forth I fain would speak with her.

[Exit Ganem,

There is another toil !—to guard a daughter!
And watch the youthful shoots of disposition,
In a green growing girl.

She has seemed sad of late; but yesternoon,
As I did question her, in casual talk,

When she had been at mosque, a stealing tear

Dropped from her cheek upon my hand.-At mosque!
The sil y fool is vapourish.-Her mother,

That's dead, was Christian-umph!-oh, Mahomet!
If that I thought 'twere so, my scimetar

Should--pish! it cannot be. Sweet wench, I wrong her.