Phil. Dost thou suspect my Power?
Oh, I am arm’d with more than compleat Steel,
The Justice of my Quarrel; when I look
Upon my Father’s Wrongs, my Brother’s Wounds,
My Mother’s Infamy, Spain’s Misery,
I am all Fire; and yet I am too cold
To let out Blood enough for my Revenge:
—Therefore stir not a Sword on my side.
Abd. Nor on mine.
They fight; both their Parties engage on either side; the Scene draws off, and discovers both the Armies, which all fall on and make the main Battel: Philip prevails, the Moors give ground: Then the Scene closes to the the Grove. Enter some Moors flying in disorder.
SCENE VI. Changes to a Tent.
Enter Abdelazer, Roderigo, Osmin, Zarrack, and some others of his Party.
Rod. Oh, fly, my Lord, fly, for the Day is lost.
Abd. There are three hundred and odd Days i’th Year, And cannot we lose one? dismiss thy Fears, They’ll make a Coward of thee.
Osm. Sir, all the noble Spaniards have forsook you; Your Soldiers faint, are round beset with Enemies, Nor can you shun your Fate, but by your Flight.
Abd. I can—and must—in spite of Fate:
The Wheel of War shall turn about again,
And dash the Current of his Victories.—
This is the Tent I’ve pitched, at distance from the Armies,
To meet the Queen and Cardinal;
Charm’d with the Magick of Dissimulation,
I know by this h’as furl’d his Ensigns up,
And is become a tame and coward Ass.
[A Retreat is sounded.
—Hark—hark, ‘tis done: oh, my inchanting Engine!
—Dost thou not hear Retreat sounded?
Rod. Sure ‘tis impossible.