Bess. Captain, stay. You shall be swayed by me. Spencer. Him I well know; but how should she come hither? Mullisheg. What is’t that troubles you? Bess. Most mighty king, Spare me no longer time but to bestow My captain on a message. Mullisheg. Thou shalt command my silence, and his ear. Bess. [_To_ Goodlack.] Go wind about, and when you see least eyes Are fixed on you, single him out, and see If we mistake not. If he be the man, Give me some private note. Goodlack. This. [_Making a sign_. Bess. Enough.--What said your highness? Mullisheg. Hark what I proffer thee. Continue here, And grant me full fruition of thy love.---- Bess. Good. Mullisheg. Thou shalt have all my peers to honour thee, Next our great prophet. Bess. Well. Mullisheg. And when thou’rt weary of our sun-burnt clime, Thy Negro shall be ballast home with gold. Bess. I am eternized ever! Now, all you sad disasters, dare your worst; I neither care nor fear: my Spencer lives! Mullisheg. You mind me not, sweet virgin. Bess. You talk of love: My lord, I’ll tell you more of that hereafter; But now to your state-business.--Bid him do thus No more, and not to be seen till then. Goodlack. Enough.--Come, sir, you must along with me. [_Exeunt_ Goodlack _and_ Spencer. Bess. Now, stood a thousand deaths before my face, I would not change my cheer, since Spencer’s safe. _Enter_ Clem _with the French and Italian_ Merchants; _and a_ Preacher. Clem. By your leave, my masters; room for generosity.[2.65] 1st Merchant. Pray, sir, remember me. 2nd Merchant. Good sir, my suit. Clem. I am perfect in both your parts, without prompting. Mistress, here are two Christen friends of mine have forfeited ships and men to the black-a-morian king: now, one sweet word from your lips might get their release. I have had a feeling of the business already. Mullisheg. For dealing in commodities forbid, You’re fined a thousand ducats. Bess. Cast off the burden of your heavy doom: A follower of my train petitions for him. Mullisheg. One of thy train, sweet Bess? Clem. And no worse man than myself, sir. Mullisheg. Well, sirrah, for your lady’s sake His ship and goods shall be restored again. 1st Merchant. Long live the King of Fez! Clem. Mayst thou never want sweet water to wash thy black face in, most mighty monarch of Morocco.--Mistress, another friend; ay, and paid beforehand. Mullisheg. Sirrah, your men, for outrage and contempt, Are doomed unto the gallies. Bess. A censure too severe for Christians. Great king, I’ll pay their ransom. Mullisheg. Thou, my Bess! Thy word shall be their ransom: they’re discharged. What grave old man is that? Joffer. A Christian preacher; one that would convert Your Moors, and turn them to a new belief. Mullisheg. Then he shall die, as we are king of Fez.