Volume Ii Part 15 (1/2)

_Drums and Trumpets afar off,--with noise of fighting at a distance: After a little while, enter_ Philip _in a Rage_.

_Phil_. Oh unjust Powers! why d'ye protect this Monster?-- And this d.a.m.n'd Cardinal, that comes not up With the Castilian Troops? curse on his formal Politicks-- _Enter_ Alonzo.

--_Alonzo_, where's the Moor?

_Alon_. The Moor--a Devil--never did Fiend of h.e.l.l, Compell'd by some Magician's Charms, Break thro the Prison of the folded Earth With more swift Horrour, than this Prince of Fate Breaks thro our Troops in spite of Opposition.

_Phil_. Death! 'tis not his single Arm that works the Wonders, But our Cowardice--Oh, this Dog Cardinal!

_Enter_ Antonio.

_Ant_. Sound a Retreat, or else the Day is lost.

_Phil_. I'll beat that Cur to Death that sounds Retreat.

_Enter_ Sebastian.

_Sebast_. Sound a Retreat.

_Phil_. Who is't that tempts my Sword?--continue the Alarm, Fight on Pell-mell--fight--kill--be d.a.m.n'd--do any thing But sound Retreat--Oh, this d.a.m.n'd Coward Cardinal!

[_Exeunt_.

_The noise of fighting near; after a little while enter Philip again_.

_Phil_. Not yet, ye G.o.ds! Oh, this eternal Coward!

_Enter_ Alonzo.

_Alon_. Sir, bring up your Reserves, or all is lost; Ambition plumes the Moor, that makes him act Deeds of such Wonder, that even you wou'd envy them.

_Phil_. 'Tis well--I'll raise my Glories to that dazling height, Shall darken his, or set in endless Night.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE IV. _A Grove_.

_Enter_ Card. and Queen; _the noise of a Battel continuing afar off all the Scene_.

_Qu_. By all thy Love, by all thy Languishments, By all those Sighs and Tears paid to my Cruelty, By all thy Vows, thy pa.s.sionate Letters sent, I do conjure thee, go not forth to fight: Command your Troops not to engage with _Philip_, Who aims at nothing but the Kingdom's ruin.

--_Fernando's_ kill'd--the Moor has gain'd the Power, A Power that you nor _Philip_ can withstand; And is't not better he were lost than _Spain_, Since one must be a Sacrifice?

Besides--if I durst tell it, There's something I cou'd whisper to thy Soul, Wou'd make thee blush at ev'ry single Good Thou'ast done that insolent Boy;--But 'tis not now A time for Stories of so strange a Nature,-- Which when you know, you will conclude with me, That every Man that arms for _Philip's_ Cause, Merits the name of Traitor.-- Be wise in time, and leave his shameful Interest, An Interest thou wilt curse thy self for taking; Be wise, and make Alliance with the Moor.

_Card_. And, Madam, should I lay aside my Wrongs, Those publick Injuries I have receiv'd, And make a mean and humble Peace with him?

--No, let Spain be ruin'd by our Civil Swords, E'er for its safety I forego mine Honour.--

_Enter an Officer_.

_Offi_. Advance, Sir, with your Troops, or we are lost.

_Card_. Give order--

_Qu_. That they stir not on their Lives; Is this the Duty that you owe your Country?

Is this your Sanct.i.ty--and Love to me?