Classic Poem

[SCENE II.]

Enter the Moor in his chariot, attended with [C ALIPOLIS ?]; his Son; P ISANO , his captain, with his Guard and treasure.

The Moor. Pisano, take a cornet of our horse,
As many argolets and armed pikes,
And with our carriage march away before
By Scyras, and those plots of ground
That to Moroccus lead the lower way:
Our enemies keep upon the mountain-tops,
And have encamp'd themselves not far from Fess. —
Madam, gold is the glue, sinews, and strength of war,
And we must see our treasure may go safe. —
Away! [ Exit P ISANO with the treasure and some of the Guard.] Now, boy, what's the news!
The Moor's Son. The news, my lord, is war, war and revenge;
And, if I shall declare the circumstance,
'Tis thus.
Rubin, our uncle's wife, that wrings her hands
For Abdelmunen's death, accompanied
With many dames of Fess in mourning weeds,
Near to Argier encounter'd Abdelmelec,
That bends his force, puff'd up with Amurath's aid,
Against your holds and castles of defence.
The younger brother, Muly Mahamet Seth,
Greets the great Bassa that the King of Turks
Sends to invade your right and royal realm;
And basely beg revenge, arch-rebels all,
To be inflict upon our progeny.
The Moor. Why, boy, is Amurath's Bassa such a bug
That he is mark'd to do this doughty deed?
Then, Bassa, lock the winds in wards of brass,
Thunder from heaven, damn wretched men to death,
Bear all the offices of Saturn's sons,
Be Pluto, then, in hell, and bar the fiends,
Take Neptune's force to thee and calm the seas,
And execute Jove's justice on the world;
Convey Tamburlaine into our Afric here,
To chastise and to menace lawful kings:
Tamburlaine, triumph not, for thou must die,
As Philip did, Caesar, and Caesar's peers.
The Moor's Son. The Bassa grossly flatter'd to his face,
And Amurath's praise advanced above the clouds;
Upon the plains, the soldiers being spread,
And that brave guard of sturdy janizaries
That Amurath to Abdelmelec gave,
And bade him boldly be with them as safe
As if he slept within a walled town;
Who take them to their weapons, threatening revenge,
Bloody revenge, bloody revengeful war.
The Moor . Away, and let me hear no more of this.
Why, boy,
Are we successors to the great Abdallas
Descended from th' Arabian Muly Xarif,
And shall we be afraid of Bassas and of bugs,
Raw-head and Bloody-bone?
Boy, seest here this scimitar by my side?
Sith they begin to bathe [their swords] in blood,
Blood be the theme whereon our time shall tread;
Such slaughter with my weapon shall I make
As through the stream and bloody channels deep
Our Moors shall sail in ships and pinnaces
From Tangier-shore unto the gates of Fess.
The Moor's Son . And of those slaughter'd bodies shall thy son
A hugy tower erect like Nimrod's frame,
To threaten those unjust and partial gods
That to Abdallas' lawful seed deny
A long, a happy, and triumphant reign.

An alarum within, and enter a Messenger.

Mess . Fly, King of Fess, King of Moroccus, fly,
Fly with thy friends, Emperor of Barbary;
O, fly the sword and fury of the foe,
That rageth as the ramping lioness
In rescue of her younglings from the bear!
Thy towns and holds by numbers basely yield,
Thy land to Abdelmelec's rule resigns,
Thy carriage and thy treasure taken is
By Amurath's soldiers, that have sworn thy death:
Fly Amurath's power and Abdelmelec's threats,
Or thou and thine look here to breathe you last.
The Moor . Villain, what dreadful sound of death and flight
Is this wherewith thou dost afflict our ears?
But if there be no safety to abide
The favour, fortune, and success of war,
Away in haste! roll on, my chariot-wheels,
Restless till I be safely set in shade
Of some unhaunted place, some blasted grove
Of deadly yew or dismal cypress-tree,
Far from the light or comfort of the sun,
There to curse heaven and he that heaves me hence;
To sick as Envy at Cecropia's gate,
And pine with thought and terror of mishaps:
Away!