_Medea._ Yes, Calchas, yes, your rest doth now approach; Medea means to trouble thee no more, Whenas thou hast fulfill'd her mind this once. Go, get thee hence to Pluto back again, And there inquire of the Destinies How Amurack shall speed in these his wars: Peruse their books, and mark what is decreed By Jove himself, and all his fellow-gods; And when thou know'st the certainty thereof, By fleshless visions show it presently To Amurack, in pain of penalty. _Calc._ Forc'd by thy charm, though with unwilling mind, I haste to hell, the certainty to find. [_Sinks down where he came up._ _Medea._ Now, peerless princess, I must needs be gone; My hasty business calls me from this place. There resteth naught, but that you bear in mind What Amurack, in this his fit, doth say; For mark, what dreaming, madam, he doth prate, Assure yourself that that shall be his fate. _Fausta._ Though very loth to let thee so depart, Farewell, Medea, easer of my heart. [_Exit_ MEDEA. [_Instruments sound within._ _Amu._ [_speaking in a dream_]. What, Amurack, dost thou begin to nod? Is this the care that thou hast of thy wars? As when thou shouldst be prancing of thy steed. To egg thy soldiers forward in thy wars, Thou sittest moping by the fire-side? See where thy viceroys grovel on the ground; Look where Belinus breatheth forth his ghost; Behold by millions how thy men do fall Before Alphonsus, like to silly sheep; And canst thou stand still lazing in this sort? No, proud Alphonsus, Amurack doth fly To quail thy courage, and that speedily. [_Instruments sound within._ And dost thou think, thou proud injurious god, Mahound I mean, since thy vain prophecies Led Amurack into this doleful case, To have his princely feet in irons clapt, Which erst the proudest kings were forc'd to kiss, That thou shalt 'scape unpunish'd for the same? No, no, as soon as by the help of Jove I 'scape this bondage, down go all thy groves, Thy altars tumble round about the streets, And whereas erst we sacrific'd to thee, Now all the Turks thy mortal foes shall be. [_Instruments sound within._ Behold the gem and jewel of mine age, See where she comes, whose heavenly majesty Doth far surpass the brave and gorgeous pace Which Cytherea, daughter unto Jove, Did put in ure whenas she had obtain'd The golden apple at the shepherd's hands. See, worthy Fausta, where Alphonsus stands, Whose valiant courage could not daunted be With all the men-at-arms of Africa; See now he stands as one that lately saw Medusa's head, or Gorgon's hoary hue. [_Instruments sound within._ And can it be that it may happen so? Can fortune prove so friendly unto me As that Alphonsus loves Iphigena? The match is made, the wedding is decreed: