A Select Collection of Old English Plays Volume Xiv Part 38

PHIL. Puh! never swear.

Thou know'st 'tis for a kingdom which we fight, And for that who'll not venture to h.e.l.l-gates?

Come, Moor, I'm arm'd with more than complete steel-- The justice of my quarrel: when I look Upon my father's wrongs, my brother's wounds, My mother's infamy, Spain's misery, And lay my finger here; O, 'tis too dull To let out blood enough to quench them all.

But when I see your face, and know what fears Hang on thy troubled soul, like leaden weights, To make it sink, I know this finger's touch Has strength to throw thee down; I know this iron Is sharp and long enough to reach that head.

Fly not, devil; if thou do----

ELE. How? fly? O, base!

PHIL. Come then.

ELE. Stay, Philip; whosoe'er begat thee----

PHIL. Why, slave, a king begat me.

ELE. May be so; But I'll be sworn thy mother was a queen; For her sake will I kill thee n.o.bly.

Fling me thy sword; there's mine. I scorn to strike A man disarm'd.

PHIL. For this dishonouring me, I'll give thee one stab more.

ELE. I'll run away, Unless thou change that weapon, or take mine.

PHIL. Neither.

ELE. Farewell.

PHIL. S'heart! stay; and if you dare, Do as I do, oppose thy naked breast Against this poniard; see! here's this for thine.

ELE. I am for thee, Philip.

PHIL. Come, nay, take more ground, That with a full career thou may'st strike home.

ELE. Thou'lt run away then?

PHIL. Ha!

ELE. Thou'lt run away then?

PHIL. Faith I will; but first on this I'll bear Thy panting heart, thy head upon thy spear.

ELE. Come.

_Enter_ CARDINAL _and_ KING OF PORTUGAL _on the one, and_ MOORS _on the other side_.

CAR. Side, upon the Moors.

1ST MOOR. Side, upon the cardinal.

PHIL. Hold, cardinal; strike not any of our side.

ELE. Hold, Moors; strike not any of our side.

PHIL. We two will close this battle.

ELE. Come, agreed.

Stand, armies, and give aim, whilst we two bleed.

CAR. With poniards! 'tis too desperate, dear Philip.

PHIL. Away! have at the Moor! s'heart! let me come.

KING OF P. Be arm'd with manly weapons: 'tis for slaves To dig their own and such unworthy graves.

ELE. I am for thee any way: thus or, see, thus; Here try the vigour of thy sinewy arm.

The day is ours already; brainless heads And bleeding bodies, like a crown, do stand About the temples of our victory.

Yet, Spaniards, if you dare, we'll fight it out Thus, man to man alone. I'll first begin And conquer, or in blood wade up to the chin.

PHIL. Let not a weapon stir but his and mine.

ELE. Nor on this side; conquest in blood shall shine.

[_Alarum; they fight, the Moor is struck down, which his side seeing, step all in and rescue him; the rest join, and drive in the Moors. Alarum continuing, Spaniards and Moors, with drums and colours, fly over the stage, pursued by_ PHILIP, CARDINAL, KING OF PORTUGAL, _and others_.

_Enter_ ZARACK, CHRISTOFERO, _and_ ELEAZAR, _at several doors_.

CHRIS. Where is my lord?

ZAR. Where is my sovereign?

ELE. What news brings Zarack and Christofero?

ZAR. O, fly, my lords, fly, for the day is lost!

ELE. There are three hundred and odd days in a year, And cannot we lose one of them? come, fight.

CHRIS. The lords have left us, and the soldiers faint; You are round-beset with proud fierce enemies; Death cannot be prevented but by flight.

ELE. He shall, Christofero. I have yet left One stratagem that, in despite of fate, Shall turn the wheel of war about once more.

The mother-queen hath all this while sat sadly Within our tent, expecting to whose bosom White-winged peace and victory will fly: Her have I us'd as a fit property To stop this dangerous current; her have I sent, Arm'd with love's magic, to enchant the cardinal, And bind revenge down with resistless charms; By this time does she hang about his neck, And by the witchcraft of a cunning kiss Has she disarm'd him. Hark! they sound retreat; She has prevail'd; a woman's tongue and eye Are weapons stronger than artillery.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ CARDINAL, QUEEN-MOTHER, SOLDIERS, _drums and colours_.

QUEEN-M. By all those sighs which thou, like pa.s.sionate tunes, Hast often to my dull ears offered, By all thy hopes to enjoy my royal bed, By all those mourning lines which thou hast sent, Weeping in black, to tell thy languishment; By love's best, richest treasure, which I swear I will bestow, and which none else shall wear, As the most prized jewel, but thyself; By that bright fire which, flaming through thine eyes, From thy love-scorched bosom does arise, I do conjure thee, let no churlish sound, With war's lewd horror my desires confound.

Dear, dear Mendoza; thus I do entreat, That still thou wouldst continue this retreat; I'll hang upon thee, till I hear thee say, Woman, prevail; or chiding, cri'st _Away_.

CAR. Is there no trick in this, forg'd by the Moor?