Ram. He leads them; but amidst that acclamation
He turn’d away his head, and called for vengeance.
Osma. In Sisabert, and in the cavalry
He led, were all our hopes.
Opas. Woe, woe is theirs
Who have no other.
Osma. What are thine? obey
The just commands of our offended king,
Conduct him to the tower [58]—off—instantly.
Ramiro, let us haste to reinforce—
Ram. Hark! is the king defeated? hark!
Osma. I hear
Such acclamation as from victory
Arises not, but rather from revolt,
Reiterated, interrupted, lost.
Favour like this his genius will retrieve
By time, or promises, or chastisement,
Which-e’er he choose—the speediest is the best—
His danger and his glory let us share;
’Tis ours to serve him.
Ram. While he rules, ’tis ours.
What chariot-wheels are thundering o’er the bridge?
Osma. Roderigo’s—I well know them.
Ram. Now, the burst
Of acclamation! now! again—again.
Osma. I know the voices; they are for Roderigo.