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,
Whiche’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.
Ram. Stay, I entreat thee—one hath now prevailed.
So far is certain.
Osma. Ay, the right prevails.
Ram. Transient and vain their joyance, who rejoice
Precipitately and intemperately,
And bitter thoughts grow up where’er it fell.
Osma. Nor vain and transient theirs, who idly float
Down popularity’s unfertile stream,
And fancy all their own that rises round?