University of Virginia Library

SCENE. A Field.
Great Shouts and Noise of Fighting: Enter Thomazo, Dorello, Officers with Swords drawn.
Thom.
These Turks are less than Women in our hands;
Where e're we shew our Faces, still they fly;
If but the rest o'th' Forces sally'd out,
This Night would make a perfect end o'th' Siege.

Dor.
Their great Forlorn is routed totally,
And their Main Body staggar'd, five thousand more
Would have perform'd the work.—In all the Fight
I met but one brave Foe that durst make Head;
And when my Sword had made him Prisoner,
He prov'd a Genowees.

Thom.
What did you with him?

Dor.
Clapt my Sword through him Sir.

Thom.
You did do well;
A Renogado Dog is ripe for Hell.

A Shout.
Dor.
See my Lord, they'r marching on agen—
Will you to Horse?

Thom.
The Hedges make them useless;
I'le Charge i'th' Head of yonder Stand of Pikes.

Exeunt.
Shouts.—Enter Turks drove in by Synan, Mustapha, and other Bassa's.
Synan.
What wretched fearful Slaves! dare you not die?
Can you forget the Laws of Destiny?

Musta.
Fight; or the Death you'd shun, you'l sooner find;
Our Swords give Death to all who seek to fly.

Shouts.—Enter Thomazo, Dorello, and Christians: They fight a while, the Turks retire fighting. Thomazo, Dorello, re-enter in haste.
Thom.
To Horse, to Horse, the Genoway Body shrinks. Let's
Presently relieve them.

Exeunt.
Enter Synan.
Synan.
These Christians fight, as if the General Cause
Did wield each Sword.—Curse on our wretched Slaves,—
How fast they Rout!—Lead on the Grand Reserve
To succour the Main Body.—Now by my Fathers Soul,
Morat's strong Troop of our best Spahi Horse,
Fly like loose leafs before the Autumn wind:
We're betray'd by that Damn'd Chancellour:
Their strength's the Flower of all the Christian World,
They could not fight thus else.—Oh mighty Prophet!
Protect our Sultan's Glory.—
Let not a Cheating Gown-man boast he had
Great sums from us for nothing else but shame.
But yet it will be so; our great Reserve
Under the Grand Vizier does stagger too:—
Draw up our Guards, let's save or ruine all;
'Tis better much to die than wear the shame
Of being thus defeated by a handful.

Exeunt.