Nor from a monarch would endure it, offer'd:

   Uninjur'd, lamb like; but a lion, rous'd.

   Know, too injurious lord, here stands before thee,

[pg 35]

[pg 35]

  The equal of thy birth.

 Count. Away, base clod.—

  Obey me, slaves.—What, all amaz'd with lies?

 Aust. Yet, hear him, Narbonne: that ingenuous face

  Looks not a lie. Thou saidst thou wert a captive—

  Turn not away; we are not all like him.

 Theod. My story's brief. My mother, and myself,

  (I then an infant) in my father's absence,

  Were on our frontiers seiz'd by Saracens.

 Count. A likely tale! a well-devis'd imposture!

  Who will believe thee?

 Aust. Go on, say all.

 Theod. To the fierce bashaw, Hamet,

  That scourge and terror of the Christian coasts,

  Were we made slaves at Tunis.

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