_Almah._ What dismal planet did my triumphs light! Discord the day, and death does rule the night: The noise my soul does through my senses wound. _Lyndar._ Methinks it is a noble, sprightly sound, The trumpet's clangor, and the clash of arms! This noise may chill your blood, but mine it warms. [_Shouting and clashing of swords within._ We have already passed the Rubicon; The dice are mine; now, fortune, for a throne! [_A shout within, and clashing of swords afar off._ The sound goes farther off, and faintly dies; Curse of this going back, these ebbing cries! Ye winds, waft hither sounds more strong and quick; Beat faster, drums, and mingle deaths more thick. I'll to the turrets of the palace go, And add new fire to those that fight below: Thence, hero-like, with torches by my side, (Far be the omen, though) my love will guide. No; like his better fortune I'll appear, With open arms, loose veil, and flowing hair, Just flying forward from my rolling sphere: My smiles shall make Abdalla more than man; Let him look up, and perish if he can. [_Exit._ _An alarum nearer: Then Enter_ ALMANZOR _and_ SELIN, _at the head of the Zegrys_; OZMYN _Prisoner._ _Almanz._ We have not fought enough; they fly too soon; And I am grieved the noble sport is done. This only man, of all whom chance did bring [_Pointing to_ OZMYN. To meet my arms, was worth the conquering. His brave resistance did my fortune grace; So slow, so threatning forward he gave place. His chains be easy, and his usage fair. _Selin._ I beg you would commit him to my care. _Almanz._ Next, the brave Spaniard free without delay; And with a convoy send him safe away. [_Exit a Guard._ _To them_ HAMET _and others._ _Hamet._ The king by me salutes you; and, to show That to your valour he his crown does owe, Would from your mouth I should the word receive, And that to these you would your orders give. _Almanz._ He much o'er-rates the little I have done. [ALMANZOR _goes to the door, and there seems to give out orders, by sending people several ways._ _Selin_ to _Ozmyn._ Now, to revenge the murder of my son, To morrow for thy certain death prepare; This night I only leave thee to despair. _Ozmyn._ Thy idle menaces I do not fear: My business was to die or conquer here. Sister, for you I grieve I could no more: My present state betrays my want of power; But, when true courage is of force bereft, Patience, the only fortitude, is left. [_Exit with_ SELIN. _Almah._ Ah, Esperanza, what for me remains But death, or, worse than death, inglorious chains!