Enter an Indian.
Ind. Haste, haste, great Sir, to Arms; Bacon with all his Forces is prepar’d, and both the Armies ready to engage.
King. Haste to my General, bid him charge ’em instantly; I’ll bring up the Supplies of stout Teroomians, those so well skill’d in the envenom’d Arrow. Ex. Indian.
—Semernia—Words but poorly do express the Griefs of parting Lovers—’tis with dying Eyes, and a Heart trembling—thus— Puts her Hand on his Heart.
they take a heavy leave;—one parting Kiss, and one Love pressing sigh, and then farewel:—but not a long farewel; I shall return victorious to thy Arms—commend me to the Gods, and still remember me. Exit.
Queen. Alas! What pity ’tis I saw the General, before my Fate had given me to the King—But now—like those that change their Gods, my faithless Mind betwixt my two Opinions wavers; while to the Gods my Monarch I commend; my wandring Thoughts in pity of the General makes that Zeal cold, declin’d—ineffectual.—If for the General I implore the Deities, methinks my Prayers should not ascend the Skies, since Honour tells me ’tis an impious Zeal.
Which way soever my Devotions move,
I am too wretched to be heard above.
Goes in. All exeunt.