348
CONSTANTINE PALEOLOGUS;
OSMIR.
MAHOMET (alone, after musing for a little while).
Who has for thirty years fought in our wars,
To the death-cord unheard? (Sternly, after pausing a short space.)
I have done well. In my disguised rounds, but two nights since,
List'ning at his tent door, I heard him speak
Words that methought approach'd to slight esteem
Of my endowments and capacity.
Yes, he is guilty. (After walking up and down several times he opens another scroll.)
But I will fear no treason: here is that On which I may rely. In mortal man
I have no trust: they are all hollow slaves,
Who tremble and detest, and would betray.
But on the fates, and the dark secret powers,
So say those sure unerring calculations
Of deep astrology, I may depend. (Sitting down again, and considering the scroll.)
Ay, it must needs be so: this constellation In close conjunction with the warrior's star,
Trac'd back in magic numbers three times three,
And nine times nine, and added three again,
Unto the hour of my nativity,
Makes it infallible. Here have I mark'd it
