_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._ SCENE II.--_Another Part of the Field._ _Alarum: enter_ ALPHONSUS _in flight, followed by_ IPHIGENA. _Iphi._ How now, Alphonsus! you which never yet Could meet your equal in the feats of arms, How haps it now that in such sudden sort You fly the presence of a silly maid? What, have you found mine arm of such a force As that you think your body over-weak For to withstand the fury of my blows? Or do you else disdain to fight with me, For staining of your high nobility? _Alphon._ No, dainty dame, I would not have thee think That ever thou or any other wight Shall live to see Alphonsus fly the field From any king or keisar whosome'er: First will I die in thickest of my foe, Before I will disbase mine honour so. Nor do I scorn, thou goddess, for to stain My prowess with thee, although it be a shame For knights to combat with the female sect:[50] But love, sweet mouse, hath so benumbed my wit, That, though I would, I must refrain from it. _Iphi._ I thought as much when first I came to wars; Your noble acts were fitter to be writ Within the tables of Dame Venus' son, Than in God Mars his warlike registers: Whenas your lords are hacking helms abroad, And make their spears to shiver in the air, Your mind is busied in fond Cupid's toys. Come on, i' faith, I'll teach you for to know We came to fight, and not to love, I trow. _Alphon._ Nay, virgin, stay. An if thou wilt vouchsafe To entertain Alphonsus' simple suit, Thou shalt ere long be monarch of the world: All christen'd kings, with all your pagan dogs, Shall bend their knees unto Iphigena; The Indian soil shall be thine at command, Where every step thou settest on the ground Shall be receivèd on the golden mines; Rich Pactolus,[51] that river of account, Which doth descend from top of Tmolus Mount, Shall be thine own, and all the world beside, If you will grant to be Alphonsus' bride. _Iphi._ Alphonsus' bride! nay, villain, do not think That fame or riches can so rule my thoughts As for to make me love and fancy him Whom I do hate, and in such sort despise, As, if my death could bring to pass his bane, I would not long from Pluto's port remain.