Theod. I was a captive long 'mongst infidels,

   Whom falsely I deem'd savage, since I find

   Even Tunis and Algiers, those nests of ruffians,

   Might teach civility to polish'd France,

   If life depends but on a tyrant's frown.

[pg 34]

[pg 34]

 Count. Out with thy holy trumpery, priest! delay not,

   Or, if he trusts in Mahomet, and scorns thee,

   Away with him this instant.

 Aust. Hold, I charge you!

 Theod. The turban'd misbeliever makes some show

   Of justice, in his deadly processes;

   Nor drinks the sabre blood thus wantonly,

   Where men are valued less than nobler beasts.—

   Of what am I accused?

 Count. Of insolence;

   Of bold, presumptuous love, that dares aspire

   To mix the vileness of thy sordid lees

   With the rich current of a baron's blood.

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