Pale cowled monarchs and red-sworded saints,
Voluptuaries foul, and hard-eyed followers
Of sordid gain—yea all detested things.
She hath a common lake or sludge-pool been,
In which each passing tide has left behind
Some noisome sediment. She is choak'd up
With mud and garbage to the very brim.
Her citizens within her would full quietly
A pagan's slaves become, would he but promise them
The sure continuance of their slothful ease.
Some few restraints upon their wonted habits
And Mah'met's gold, no doubt, have rous'd the fools
To this unwonted stir.
CONSTANTINE.
Meantime, my friends, go ye, and as ye can,
Snatch a short soldier's meal.(They hesitate.)
Nay, go I pray you!
I must not to my friends say "I command."
(They all go immediately, and without any order, standing round the table, begin to eat.)
(To the Citizen, remaining still on the front of the stage.)
Enter another Citizen in great haste.
SECOND CITIZEN.
