Ped. As much as when physicians shake their heads,
And bid their dying patient think of heaven.
Our walls are thinly manned; our best men slain;
The rest, an heartless number, spent with watching,
And harassed out with duty.
Bert. Good-night all, then.
Ped. Nay, for my part, 'tis but a single life
I have to lose. I'll plant my colours down
In the mid-breach, and by them fix my foot;
Say a short soldier's prayer, to spare the trouble
Of my new friends above; and then expect
The next fair bullet.
Alph. Never was known a night of such distraction;
Noise so confused and dreadful; jostling crowds.
That run, and know not whither; torches gliding,
Like meteors, by each other in the streets.
Ped. I met a reverend, fat, old gouty friar,—
With a paunch swoll'n so high, his double chin
Might rest upon it; a true son of the church;
Fresh-coloured, well thriven on his trade,—
388 Come puffing with his greasy bald-pate choir,
And fumbling o'er his beads in such an agony,
He told them false, for fear. About his neck
There hung a wench, the label of his function,
Whom he shook off, i'faith, methought, unkindly.
It seems the holy stallion durst not score
Another sin, before he left the world.
Enter a Captain.
Capt. To arms, my lord, to arms!
From the Moors' camp the noise grows louder still:
Rattling of armour, trumpets, drums, and ataballes;
And sometimes peals of shouts that rend the heavens,
Like victory: then groans again, and howlings,
Like those of vanquished men; but every echo
Goes fainter off, and dies in distant sounds.
Bert. Some false attack: expect on t'other side.
One to the gunners on St Jago's tower; bid them, for shame,
Level their cannon lower: On my soul
They are all corrupted with the gold of Barbary,
To carry over, and not hurt the Moor.
Enter a second Captain.
2 Capt. My lord, here's fresh intelligence arrived.
Our army, led by valiant Torrismond,
Is now in hot engagement with the Moors;
'Tis said, within their trenches.