University of Virginia Library

Scena. II.

Enter Philip and Cardinall.
Phil.
Move forward, with your main battalion,
Or else all is lost.

Card.
I will not move a foot.

P.
S'heart, wil you lose the day.

Card.
You lose your witts,
You're mad, it is no pollicy.

Phil.
You lye.

Card.
Lye?

Phil.
Lye, a pox upon't Cardinall com on,
Second the desperate vanguard which is mine,
And where I'le dye or win, follow my sword
The bloody way I lead it, or by heaven
I'le play the Devill, and mar all, we'l turn our backs
Upon thee Moors, and set on thee; I thee,
Thee Cardinall, s'heart thee.

Cardi.
Your desperate arm
Hath almost thrust quite through the heart of hope;
Our fortunes lye a bleeding by your rash and violent
On set.

Phil.
Oh! oh! s'life, s'foot, will you fight?

Card.
We will not hazard all upon one cast.

Phil.
You will not?

Card.
No.

Phil.
Coward.

Card.
By deeds I'le try,
Whether your venemous tongue says true, farewell.
Courage shines both in this, and policy.

Exit.
Phil.
To save thy skin whole, that's thy policy;
You whorson fat-chopt guts. I'le melt away
That Iarded body by the heat of fight,
Which I'le compel thee to, or else by flying;
To work which I'le give way to the proud foe,
Whilst I stand laughing to behold thee run.
Cardinall I'le do't, I'le do't, a Moor, a Moor,
Philip cries a Moor, holla! ha! whoo!

Enter King of Port.
King of Port.
Prince, Philip, Philip,

Phil.
Here, plague where's the Moor.

K. Port.
The Moor's a Devill, never did horrid feind
Compel'd by som Magicians mighty charm,
Break through the prisons of the solid earth,
With more strange horror, then this Prince of hell,
This damned Negro Lyon-like doth rush,
Through all, and spite of all knit opposition.

Phil.
Puh! puh! where? Where? I'le meet him, where? you mad me.
'Tis not his arm,
That acts such wonders, but our cowardise,
This Cardinall, oh! this Cardinall is a slave.

Enter Captain.
Captain.
Sound a retreat, or else the day is lost;

Phi.
I'le beat that dog to death, that sounds; retreat:

K. Port.
Philip.

Phil.
I'le tear his heart out, that dares name but Sound.

K. Port.
Sound a retreat.

Phil.
Who's that? you tempt my sword Sir.
Continue this alarum, fight pell mell?
Fight, kill, be damn'd? this fat-back Coward Cardinal,
Lies heavie on my shoulders; this, I this
Shall fling him off: Sound a retreat! Zounds, you mad me.
Ambition plumes the Moor, whilst black despair
Offering to tear from him the Diadem
Which he usurps, makes him to cry at all,
And to act deeds beyond astonishment;
But Philip is the nigh: that darks his glories,
This swords yet reeking with his Negro's blood,
Being grasp't by equity, and this strong arm
Shall through and through.

All.
Away then.

Phil.
From before mee;
Stay, stand, stand fast, fight? A Moor, a Moor.