_K._ So now, prince Ferdinand, the chance of war In making thee my captive gives me power To dictate terms which shall content us all. 570 Thou shalt go free—that is my gift to thee:— But in return for that,—my profit this,— I will have Ceuta; ’tis an ancient town, By name and people African, and held By followers of the prophet from the day When truth unconquerable like a flood Of sunlight dawned on the benighted west. Thy father robbed it from us, and I ask That thou restore it. ’Tis thy ransom, prince. The king, thy brother, will not grudge to yield 580 To me, a king, part of mine own, which he Wrongfully came by; if so, he may buy thee, His natural own, his flesh and blood, whom I Conquered in self-defence. I’ll keep thee here, Till I may know his will: and to learn that I’ll send thy brother home, the prince Enrique, To bear him, with what speed he may, the tidings Of thy defeat, captivity, and the terms Of thy release. Look not so sorrowful. _Fer._ I thank your majesty for just rebuke 590 Of my discourtesy. By selfish gloom I mar my entertainment, and belie My gratitude for kindness to me shewn Since I was prisoner. _K._ No thanks for that: Nor seek I to impose a countenance Upon thy proper feeling. Yet if now Thou’rt sad, I spake in vain. _Fer._ ’Tis for my fault And ill-success I am sad—to have lost my troop, Or led them to the fate of those whose rescue They thought to be—not for my private case, 600 Wherein your terms of ransom but make hope Impossible: the cession of a town Under the king’s protection, and therewith The peril of so many Christian souls, The desecration of our hallowed churches, The abandonment of loyal loving subjects Unto the heavy yoke which Islam lays On true believers. No king would give ear To such a compact: and your claim falls short; For what you have urged doth not lay bare the root. Ceuta is African, but not for that 611 Mahommedan: this thirsty continent Had drunk the truth for full four hundred years Before your prophet’s birth; and now we fight To win back from Mahommet what he took By force from Christ. _K._ What matters it to me What happened in the days of ignorance? ’Tis written in our book, that the whole world Shall feel our sword. _Fer._ ’Tis writ in ours, that they Who take the sword, shall perish by the sword. _K._ Surely ’twas truly spoken of yourselves. 621 Yet will I make no change, but my demand Shall urge upon the king your brother; he Will thank me for it. _Sa._ Now, my gracious master, Let me befriend our foe. ’Tis four days since I was his prisoner, and he set me free. This claim the prince most generously puts by; Let us not pass it over: let him too Go find another army: we meanwhile Have ample force to march against the town. 630