Phil. Oh unjust Powers! why d’ye protect this Monster?— And this damn’d Cardinal, that comes not up With the Castilian Troops? curse on his formal Politicks— Enter Alonzo. —Alonzo, where’s the Moor?

Alon. The Moor—a Devil—never did Fiend of Hell, Compell’d by some Magician’s Charms, Break thro the Prison of the folded Earth With more swift Horrour, than this Prince of Fate Breaks thro our Troops in spite of Opposition.

Phil. Death! ‘tis not his single Arm that works the Wonders, But our Cowardice—Oh, this Dog Cardinal!

Enter Antonio.

Ant. Sound a Retreat, or else the Day is lost.

Phil. I’ll beat that Cur to Death that sounds Retreat.

Enter Sebastian.

Sebast. Sound a Retreat.

Phil. Who is’t that tempts my Sword?—continue the Alarm, Fight on Pell-mell—fight—kill—be damn’d—do any thing But sound Retreat—Oh, this damn’d Coward Cardinal! [Exeunt.

The noise of fighting near; after a little while enter Philip again.

Phil. Not yet, ye Gods! Oh, this eternal Coward!

Enter Alonzo.

Alon. Sir, bring up your Reserves, or all is lost; Ambition plumes the Moor, that makes him act Deeds of such Wonder, that even you wou’d envy them.

Phil. ‘Tis well—I’ll raise my Glories to that dazling height, Shall darken his, or set in endless Night.

[Exeunt.