_Qu_. Sir, but you shall not, unless it be to Death-- Shall you preserve the only Man I hate, And hate with so much reason?--let him fall A Victim to an injur’d Mother’s Honour. --Come, I will be obey’d--indeed I must--[_Fawns on him_. _Card_. When you’re thus soft, can I retain my Anger? Oh, look but ever thus--in spite of Injuries-- I shall become as tame and peaceable, As are your charming Eyes, when dress’d in Love, Which melting down my Rage, leave me defenceless. --Ah, Madam, have a generous care of me, For I have now resign’d my Power to you. [_Shouts within_. _Qu_. What Shouts are these? _Enter_ Sebastian. _Sebast_. My Lord, the Enemy is giving ground, And _Philip’s_ Arm alone sustains the day: Advance, Sir, and compleat the Victory. [_Exit_. _Qu_. Give order strait, that a Retreat be sounded; And whilst they do so, by me conducted, We’ll instantly to _Abdelazer’s_ Tent-- Haste--haste, my Lord, whilst I attend you here. [_Ex. severally_. [Cardinal _going out, is met by_ Philip. _Phil_. Oh, damn your lazy Order, where have you been, Sir? --But ‘tis no time for Questions, Move forward with your Reserves. _Card_. I will not, Sir. _Phil_. How, will not! _Card_. Now to advance would be impolitick; Already by your desperate Attempts, You’ve lost the best part of our Hopes. _Phil_. Death! you lye. _Card_. Lye, Sir! _Phil_. Yes, lye, Sir,--therefore come on, Follow the desperate Reer-Guard, which is mine, And where I’ll die, or conquer--follow my Sword The bloody way it leads, or else, by Heaven, I’ll give the Moor the Victory in spite, And turn my Force on thee-- Plague of your Cowardice--Come, follow me. [_Ex_. Card. SCENE V. _The Grove_. _As_ Philip _is going off, he is overtook by_ Alonzo, Antonio, Sebastian, _and other Officers: At the other side some Moors, and other of_ Abdelazer’s _Party, enter and fall on_ Philip _and the rest--the Moors are beaten off--one left dead on the Stage_.-- _Enter_ Abdelazer, _with_ Roderigo _and some others_. _Abd_. Oh, for more Work--more Souls to send to Hell! --Ha, ha, ha, here’s one going thither,--Sirrah--Slave Moor--who kill’d thee?--how he grins--this Breast, Had it been temper’d and made proof like mine, It never wou’d have been a Mark for Fools. Abd. _going out: Enter_ Philip, Alonzo, Sebastian, Antonio, _and Officers, as passing over the Stage_. _Phil_. I’ll wear my Sword to th’ Hilt, but I will find The Subject of my Vengeance.-- Moor, ‘tis for thee I seek, where art thou, Slave?-- _Abd_. Here, _Philip_. [Abd. _turns_. _Phil_. Fate and Revenge, I thank thee.-- _Abd_. Why--thou art brave, whoe’er begot thee. _Phil_. Villain, a King begot me. _Abd_. I know not that, But I’ll be sworn thy Mother was a Queen, And I will kill thee handsomly for her sake. [_Offers to fight, their Parties hinder them_.