TECHELLES. Captain, these Moors shall cut the leaden pipes That bring fresh water to thy men and thee, And lie in trench before thy castle-walls, That no supply of victual shall come in, Nor [any] issue forth but they shall die; And, therefore, captain, yield it quietly. [141] CAPTAIN. Were you, that are the friends of Tamburlaine, [142] Brothers of [143] holy Mahomet himself, I would not yield it; therefore do your worst: Raise mounts, batter, intrench, and undermine, Cut off the water, all convoys that can, [144] Yet I am [145] resolute: and so, farewell. [CAPTAIN, OLYMPIA, and SON, retire from the walls.] THERIDAMAS. Pioners, away! and where I stuck the stake, Intrench with those dimensions I prescrib'd; Cast up the earth towards the castle-wall, Which, till it may defend you, labour low, And few or none shall perish by their shot. PIONERS. We will, my lord. [Exeunt PIONERS.] TECHELLES. A hundred horse shall scout about the plains, To spy what force comes to relieve the hold. Both we, Theridamas, will intrench our men, And with the Jacob's staff measure the height And distance of the castle from the trench, That we may know if our artillery Will carry full point-blank unto their walls. THERIDAMAS. Then see the bringing of our ordnance Along the trench into [146] the battery, Where we will have gallions of six foot broad, To save our cannoneers from musket-shot; Betwixt which shall our ordnance thunder forth, And with the breach's fall, smoke, fire, and dust, The crack, the echo, and the soldiers' cry, Make deaf the air and dim the crystal sky. TECHELLES. Trumpets and drums, alarum presently! And, soldiers, play the men; the hold [147] is yours! [Exeunt.] SCENE IV. Alarms within. Enter the CAPTAIN, with OLYMPIA, and his SON. OLYMPIA. Come, good my lord, and let us haste from hence, Along the cave that leads beyond the foe: No hope is left to save this conquer'd hold. CAPTAIN. A deadly bullet, gliding through my side, Lies heavy on my heart; I cannot live: I feel my liver pierc'd, and all my veins, That there begin and nourish every part, Mangled and torn, and all my entrails bath'd In blood that straineth [148] from their orifex. Farewell, sweet wife! sweet son, farewell! I die. [Dies.]