Alan. A Disobedience, Sir, to such a Parent,
Heaven must forgive the Sin, if this be one:
—Yet do not, Sir, in Words abate that Fire,
Which will assist you a more effectual way.
Phil. Death! I could talk of it an Age;
And, like a Woman, fret my Anger high:
Till like my Rage, I have advanc’d my Courage,
Able to fight the World against my Mother.
Alan. Our Wrongs without a Rage, will make us fight, Wrongs that wou’d make a Coward resolute.
Phil. Come, noble Youth,
Let us join both our several Wrongs in one,
And from them make a solemn Resolution,
Never to part our Interest, till this Moor,
This worse than Devil Moor be sent to Hell.
Alon. I do.
Phil. Hark—hark—the Charge is sounded, let’s to Horse, St. Jaques for the Right of Spain and me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. A Grave.
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 damn’d Cardinal, that comes not up With the Castilian Troops? curse on his formal Politicks— Enter Alonzo. —Alonzo, where’s the Moor?