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Yes, sultan; and I find your Mussulmen Their arms preparing for to-morrow's battle, Beneath your royal standard most determin'd To conquer or to die. They under your approving eye will fight, As in the sunshine of propitious heaven.

Yes, I am in their minds full truly grown A thing of gen'ral attributes compos'd— A heaven of sunshine or of lowering storms: But as a man and leader, in whom live The mental and corporeal qualities Of MahometPest seize the stupid slaves!

But who comes here? twice on my rounds already Those men have cross'd me: am I known to them? By the great Prophet they shall bear their secret Where secrets are secure!—Ho! stop slaves there! Crush not a worm, my lord.

A worm indeed! What treason brings ye here,