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Black Sultan, saddled stands, champing the bit, And casting from his mouth the flaky foam. Stand back; they 're coming now.

Be not cast down, my son, but trust in Heaven.

And so I do; that is my stay, good father; And yet, methinks, these fetters might be spared. By Don Henriquez' orders am I thus Like a vile felon chain'd?

'T is by his orders; 't is a stated form. I fear they gall you; are they clench'd too tightly?

Who doth a felon's deeds must e'en submit To bear a felon's manacles.

Yes; man of pens, and records, and old lore. Such is thy narrow and ungen'rous nature. (Turning to .) This rough but noble soldier, bred in camps And midst the broil of battle, is more gentle. Henriquez seem'd inclined to pity me, To think me innocent; then, wherefore thesethese? [sic]