Sebast. I’m glad, Sir—
Phil. Art glad of it? art glad we are abandon’d? That I, and thou have lost the hopeful’st Day—
Sebast. Great Sir, I’m glad that you came off alive.
Phil. Thou hast a lean Face—and a carrion Heart—
A plague upon the Moor, and thee—Oh, Alonzo,
To run away—follow’d by all the Army!
Oh, I cou’d tear my Hair, and curse my Soul to Air!
—Cardinal—thou Traitor, Judas, that would’st sell
Thy God again, as thou hast done thy Prince.
—But come—we’re yet a few,
And we will fight till there be left but one—
If I prove him, I’ll die a glorious death.
Ant. Yes, but the Cardinal has took pious Care
It shall be in our Beds.
Sebast. We are as bad as one already, Sir; for all our Fellows are crawl’d home, some with ne’er a Leg, others with ne’er a Arm, some with their Brains beat out, and glad they escaped so.
Phil. But, my dear Countrymen, you’ll stick to me.
1 Sold. Ay, wou’d I were well off— [Aside.
Phil. Speak, stout Sceva, wilt thou not?
1 Sold. Sceva, Sir, who’s that?
Phil. A gallant Roman, that fought by Caesar’s side, Till all his Body cover’d o’er with Arrows, Shew’d like a monstrous Porcupine.