That fair boy’s graceful head! Why look you thus?
Abd. (pointing to Carlos.) Christian! e’en yet thou hast a son!
Gon. E’en yet!
Gar. My father! take me from these fearful men!
Wilt thou not save me, father?
Gon. (attempting to unsheath his sword.) Is the strength
From mine arm shiver’d? Garcias, follow me!
Gar. Whither, my chief?
Gon. Why, we can die as well
On yonder plain—ay, a spear’s thrust will do