Cata. O! joy unthought of! oh! unlook’d-for bliss!
Fla. Say; speak! how fares it with my gentle mother?
Wort. Beseech thee, ask me not of her sad story.
Fla. Sad, say’st thou? Heav’n forefend! she is not dead?
Wort. Calm thyself, dear sister, she lives still.
Fla. O! where, where? tell me; that, with these moist tears,
I may rain comfort on her wounded soul.
Wort. Let us retire.
SCENE IX.
Enter the Saxon and British Armies; they fight, and the Saxons are routed.