Volume Ii Part 24 (1/2)

_Discovers_ Philip _chain'd to a Post, and over against him the_ Cardinal _and_ Alonzo _in Chains_.

_Phil_. Oh, all ye cruel Powers! is't not enough I am depriv'd of Empire, and of Honour?

Have my bright Name stol'n from me, with my Crown!

Divested of all Power! all Liberty!

And here am chain'd like the sad Andromede, To wait Destruction from the dreadful Monster!

Is not all this enough, without being d.a.m.n'd, To have thee, Cardinal, in my full view?

If I cou'd reach my Eyes, I'd be reveng'd On the officious and accursed Lights, For guiding so much torment to my Soul.

_Card_. My much wrong'd Prince! you need not wish to kill By ways more certain, than by upbraiding me With my too credulous, shameful past misdeeds.

_Phil_. If that wou'd kill, I'd weary out my Tongue With an eternal repet.i.tion of thy Treachery;-- Nay, and it shou'd forget all other Language, But Traitor! Cardinal! which I wou'd repeat, Till I had made my self as raging mad, As the wild Sea, when all the Winds are up; And in that Storm, I might forget my Grief.

_Card_. Wou'd I cou'd take the killing Object from your Eyes.

_Phil_. Oh _Alonzo_, to add to my Distraction, Must I find thee a sharer in my Fate?

_Alon_. It is my Duty, Sir, to die with you.-- But, Sir, my Princess Has here--a more than equal claim to Grief; And Fear for her dear Safety will deprive me Of this poor Life, that shou'd have been your Sacrifice.

_Enter_ Zarrack _with a Dagger; gazes on_ Philip.

_Phil_. Kind Murderer, welcome! quickly free my Soul, And I will kiss the sooty Hand that wounds me.

_Zar_. Oh, I see you can be humble.

_Phil_. Humble! I'll be as gentle as a Love-sick Youth, When his dear Conqu'ress sighs a Hope into him, If thou wilt kill me!--Pity me and kill me.

_Zar_. I hope to see your own Hand do that Office.

_Phil_. Oh, thou wert brave indeed, If thou wou'dst lend me but the use of one.

_Zar_. You'll want a Dagger then.

_Phil_. By Heaven, no, I'd run it down my Throat, Or strike my pointed Fingers through my Breast.

_Zar_. Ha, ha, ha, what pity 'tis you want a Hand.

_Enter_ Osmin.

_Phil. Osmin_, sure thou wilt be so kind to kill me!

Thou hadst a Soul was humane.

_Osm_. Indeed I will not, Sir, you are my King.

[_Unbinds him_.

_Phil_. What mean'st thou?

_Osm_. To set you free, my Prince.

_Phil_. Thou art some Angel sure, in that dark Cloud.

_Zar_. What mean'st thou, Traitor?