[Again within.
Gil. My creed's another way;
I have no faith but to the city.
Alarum. Enter a Soldier bloody.
Leo. Here's one:
Now we shall know. Ha! he appears
Like one compos'd of horror.
Ray. What speaks thy troubled front?
Leo. Speak, crimson meteor.
Ray. Speak, prodigy, or on my sword thou fall'st.
Sol. The bold Spaniards, setting aside all cold acknowledgment of any odds, or notice of the number our army is made proud with, sends from their walls more lightning than great Jove affrights the trembling world with, when the air is turn'd to mutiny.
Ray. Villain, thou liest; 'twere madness to believe thee. Foolish Spain may, like those giants that heap hill on hill, mountain on mountain, to pluck Jove from heaven, who with a hand of vengeance flung 'em down beneath the centre, and those cloud-contemning mounts heav'd by the strength of their ambitious arms, became their monuments; so Spain's rash folly from this arm of mine shall find their graves amongst the rubbish of their ruin'd cities.
Enter a second Soldier.