Phil. But is it possible our mother-queen
Should countenance his ambition?
Alv. Her advice is as a steersman to direct his course;
Besides, as we by circumstance have learnt,
She means to marry him.
Phil. Then, here upon my knees,
I pluck allegiance from her; all that love,
Which by innative duty I did owe her,
Shall henceforth be converted into hate.
This will confirm the world's opinion
That I am base-born, and the damned Moor
Had interest in my birth; this wrong alone
Gives new fire to the cinders of my rage;
I may be well transform'd from what I am,
When a black devil is husband to my dam.
K. of Port. Prince, let thy rage give way to patience,
And set a velvet brow upon the face
Of wrinkled anger: our keen swords
Must right these wrongs, and not light airy words.
Phil. Yet words may make the edge of rage more sharp,
And whet a blunted courage with revenge.
Alv. Here's none wants whetting, for our keen resolves
Are steel'd unto the back with double wrongs;
Wrongs that would make a handless man take arms:
Wrongs that would make a coward resolute.
Car. Why, then, join all our several wrongs in one,
And from these wrongs assume a firm resolve
To send this devil to damnation.
[Drums afar off.
Phil. I hear the sound of his approaching march.
Stand fair; Saint Jacques for the right of Spain!
Enter the Moor, Roderigo, Christofero, with drums, colours, and soldiers marching bravely.