SCENE I.—A Battle-field near Naples.

Alarum: Amurack flies, followed by Alphonsus, who takes him prisoner and carries him in. Alarum: as Crocon and Faustus are flying, enter Fausta and Iphigena, with their army, meeting them.

Fausta. You Turkish kings, what sudden flight is this? What mean the men, which for their valiant prowess Were dreaded erst clean through the triple world, Thus cowardly to turn their backs and fly? What froward fortune happen'd on your side? I hope your king in safety doth abide? Cro. Ay, noble madam, Amurack doth live, And long I hope he shall enjoy his life; But yet I fear, unless more succour come, We shall both lose our king and sovereign. Fausta. How so, King Crocon? dost thou speak in jest, To prove if Fausta would lament his death? Or else hath anything hapt him amiss? Speak quickly, Crocon, what the cause might be, That thou dost utter forth these words to me. Cro. Then, worthy Fausta, know that Amurack Our mighty king, and your approvèd spouse, Prick'd with desire of everlasting fame, As he was pressing in the thickest ranks Of Arragonians, was, with much ado, At length took prisoner by Alphonsus' hands. So that, unless you succour soon do bring, You lose your spouse, and we shall want our king. Iphi. O hapless hap, O dire and cruel fate! What injury hath Amurack, my sire, Done to the gods, which now I know are wroth, Although unjustly and without a cause? For well I wot, not any other king, Which now doth live, or since the world begun Did sway a sceptre, had a greater care To please the gods than mighty Amurack: And for to quite our father's great good-will, Seek they thus basely all his fame to spill? Fausta. Iphigena, leave off these woful tunes: It is not words can cure and case this wound, But warlike swords; not tears, but sturdy spears. High Amurack is prisoner to our foes: What then? Think you that our Amazones, Join'd with the forces of the Turkish troop, Are not sufficient for to set him free? Yes, daughter, yes, I mean not for to sleep Until he is free, or we him company keep.— March on, my mates. [Exeunt.