Bac. But you can run away.—
Dar. Yes, when we see occasion—yet—shou’d any but my General tell me so—by Heaven, he should find I were no starter.
Bac. Forgive me, I’m mad—the King’s escaped, hid like a trembling Slave in some close Ditch, where he will sooner starve than fight it out.
Re-enter Indians running over the Stage, pursued by the King, who shoots them as they fly; some few follow him.
King. All’s lost—the Day is lost—and I’m betray’d;—Oh Slaves, that even Wounds can’t animate. In Rage.
Bac. The King!
King. The General here! by all the Powers, betray’d by my own Men!
Bac. Abandon’d as thou art, I scorn to take thee basely; you shall have Soldiers chance, Sir, for your Life, since Chance so luckily has brought us hither; without more Aids we will dispute the Day: This Spot of Earth bears both our Armies Fates; I’ll give you back the Victory I have won, and thus begin a-new on equal Terms.
King. That’s nobly said!—the Powers have heard my Wish. You, Sir, first taught me how to use a Sword, which heretofore has served me with Success: But now—’tis for Semernia that it draws, a Prize more valued than my Kingdom, Sir—
Bac. Hah, Semernia!