_Enter_ Card. and Queen; _the noise of a Battel continuing afar off all the Scene_. _Qu_. By all thy Love, by all thy Languishments, By all those Sighs and Tears paid to my Cruelty, By all thy Vows, thy passionate Letters sent, I do conjure thee, go not forth to fight: Command your Troops not to engage with _Philip_, Who aims at nothing but the Kingdom’s ruin. --_Fernando’s_ kill’d--the Moor has gain’d the Power, A Power that you nor _Philip_ can withstand; And is’t not better he were lost than _Spain_, Since one must be a Sacrifice? Besides--if I durst tell it, There’s something I cou’d whisper to thy Soul, Wou’d make thee blush at ev’ry single Good Thou’ast done that insolent Boy;--But ‘tis not now A time for Stories of so strange a Nature,-- Which when you know, you will conclude with me, That every Man that arms for _Philip’s_ Cause, Merits the name of Traitor.-- Be wise in time, and leave his shameful Interest, An Interest thou wilt curse thy self for taking; Be wise, and make Alliance with the Moor. _Card_. And, Madam, should I lay aside my Wrongs, Those publick Injuries I have receiv’d, And make a mean and humble Peace with him? --No, let Spain be ruin’d by our Civil Swords, E’er for its safety I forego mine Honour.-- _Enter an Officer_. _Offi_. Advance, Sir, with your Troops, or we are lost. _Card_. Give order-- _Qu_. That they stir not on their Lives; Is this the Duty that you owe your Country? Is this your Sanctity--and Love to me? Is’t thus you treat the Glory I have offer’d To raise you to my Bed? To rule a Kingdom, be a Nation’s Safety, To advance in hostile manner to their Walls; Walls that confine your Countrymen, and Friends, And Queen, to whom you’ve vow’d eternal Peace, Eternal Love? And will you court in Arms? Such rude Addresses wou’d but ill become you. No, from this hour renounce all Claims to me, Or _Philip’s_ Interest; for let me tell you, Cardinal, This Love, and that Revenge, are inconsistent. _Card_. But, Madam-- _Qu_. No more--disband your Rebel Troops, And strait with me to _Abdelazer’s_ Tent, Where all his Claims he shall resign to you, Both in my self, the Kingdom, and the Crown: You being departed, thousands more will leave him, And you’re alone the Prop to his Rebellion. _Enter_ Sebastian. _Sebast_. Advance, advance, my Lord, with all your Force, Or else the Prince and Victory is lost, Which now depends upon his single Valour; Who, like some ancient Hero, or some God, Thunders amongst the thickest of his Enemies, Destroying all before him in such numbers, That Piles of Dead obstruct his passage to the living-- Relieve him strait, my Lord, with our last Cavalry and Hopes. _Card_. I’ll follow instantly.-- [_Ex_. Sebast.