 | The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie
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SCENE III.
The ramparts. Women discovered looking down
from one of the lower battlements of the castle;
the din and clashing of arms heard without, as if
close at hand; then
Tortona
and his soldiers
cross the stage, fighting with the soldiers of the
castle.
1st woman.
See, there! see how our noble lady stands,
And bravely cheers them!
2d woman.
If they have any soul or manhood in them,
They'll fight like raging lions for her sake.
Gon.
(without).
Fie, fie! give way before your lady's eyes!
1st woman.
Ay, brave Gonzalos there right nobly strives;
But all in vain,—the enemy advance;
They gain the pass, and our base varlets yield.
(Voice without.)
Bear in the lady there; 'tis desperation!
(2d voice without.)
Resistance now is vain; bear in the lady!
(3d voice without.)
A miracle! a miracle!
1st woman.
What is't? Why call they out a miracle?
2d woman.
Hast thou not eyes to see? Upon our side
The hermit combats, coiling round one arm
His twisted garments, whilst the other wields
A monstrous brand, might grace a giant's grasp.
O brave! look how he fights! he doth not fight
Like mortal man: heav'n sends him to our aid.
1st woman.
And see! there is another miracle!
See Ludovico fighting by his side!
Who could have thought our gentle seneschal
Had pith and soul enough to fight so bravely?
2d woman.
See, see! the vile Tortonians stand aghast:
They turn, they fly!
[Loud shouts heard without, and re-enter
Tortona
and his party, pursued by the soldiers of
the castle, led on by the hermit.
Hermit.
Turn, valiant chieftain! the most gen'rous foe
Of dames, whose lords are absent; turn, for shame!
Do not disgrace thy noble enterprise
With wounds received behind. Whate'er their cause,
Tortona's lords have still been soldiers. Turn,
Or be the scorn of every beardless boy,
Whose heart beats at the sound of warlike coil.
Thou canst not fear a man unhelm'd, unmail'd?
Tor.
No; if a man thou art, I fear thee not!
Hermit.
Well, to it, then, and prove me flesh and blood.
Tor.
Whate'er thou art, I'll bear thy scorn no longer.
[Exeunt, fighting furiously.
| The Dramatic and Poetical Works of Joanna Baillie
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