_Qu_. Oh, my dear Moor! The rude, exclaiming, ill-affected Multitude (Tempestuous as the Sea) run up and down, Some crying, kill the Bastard--some the Moor; These for King _Philip_,--those for _Abdelazer_. _Abd_. Your Fears are idle,--blow ‘em into Air. I rush’d amongst the thickest of their Crouds, And with the awful Splendor of my Eyes, Like the imperious Sun, dispers’d the Clouds. But I must combat now a fiercer Foe, The hot-brain’d _Philip_, and a jealous Cardinal. _Qu_. And must you go, before I make you mine? _Abd_. That’s my Misfortune--when I return with Victory, And lay my Wreaths of Laurel at your Feet, You shall exchange them for your glorious Fetters. _Qu_. How canst thou hope for Victory, when their Numbers So far exceed thy Powers? _Abd_. What’s wanting there, we must supply with Conduct. I know you will not stop at any thing That may advance our Interest, and Enjoyment. _Qu_. Look back on what I have already done; And after that look forward with Assurance. _Abd_. You then (with only Women in your Train) Must to the Camp, and to the Cardinal’s Tent;-- Tell him, your Love to him hath drawn you thither: Then undermine his Soul--you know the way on’t. And sooth him into a Belief, that the best way To gain your Heart, is to leave _Philip’s_ Interest; Urge ‘tis the Kingdom’s safety, and your own; And use your fiercest Threats, to draw him to a Peace with me; Not that you love me, but for the Kingdom’s good: Then in a Tent which I will pitch on purpose, Get him to meet me: He being drawn off, Thousands of Bigots (who think to cheat the World Into an Opinion, that fighting for the Cardinal is A pious Work) will (when he leaves the Camp) Desert it too. _Qu_. I understand you, and more than I have time to be Instructed in, I will perform; and possibly Before you can begin, I’ll end my Conquests. _Abd_. ‘Twill be a Victory worthy of your Beauty. --I must to Horse, farewel, my generous Mistress. _Qu_. Farewel! and may thy Arms as happy prove, As shall my Art, when it dissembles Love. [_Exeunt_. SCENE II. Philip’s _Tent_. _Enter_ Philip, Alonzo, _and Guards_. _Phil_. ‘Tis a sad Story thou hast told, _Alonzo_; Yet ‘twill not make me shed one single Tear: They must be all of Blood that I will offer To my dear Brother’s Ghost-- But, gallant Friend, this Good his Ills have done, To turn thee over to our juster Interest, For thou didst love him once. _Alon_. Whilst I believ’d him honest, and for my Sister’s sake; But since, his Crimes have made a Convert of me. _Phil_. Gods! is it possible the Queen should countenance His horrid Villanies? _Alon_. Nay, worse than so,’.is thought she’ll marry him.