'Tis finished, and the dusk, that yet remains, Is but the native horror of the wood. But I must lose no time; the pass is free; The unroosted fiends have quitted this abode. On yon proud towers, before this day be done, My glittering banners shall be waved against the setting sun. [_Exit_ ARTHUR. _Phil._ Come on, my surly slave; come stalk along, And stamp a madman's pace, and drag thy chain. _Grim._ I'll champ and foam upon it, till the blue venom Work upward to thy hands, and loose their hold. _Phil._ Know'st thou this powerful wand? 'tis lifted up; A second stroke would send thee to the centre, Benumbed and dead, as far as souls can die. _Grim._ I would thou would'st, to rid me of my sense: I shall be whooped through hell, at my return Inglorious from the mischief I designed. _Phil._ And therefore, since thou loath'st etherial light, The morning sun shall beat on thy black brows; The breath thou draw'st shall be of upper air, Hostile to thee, and to thy earthy make; So light, so thin, that thou shalt starve for want Of thy gross food, till gasping thou shalt lie, And blow it back all sooty to the sky. [_Exit_ PHILIDEL, _dragging_ GRIMBALD _after him_. ACT V. SCENE I. _Enter_ OSMOND, _as affrighted_. _Osm._ Grimbald made prisoner, and my grove destroyed! Now what can save me----Hark, the drums and trumpets! [_Drums and Trumpets within._ Arthur is marching onward to the fort. I have but one recourse, and that's to Oswald;-- But will he fight for me, whom I have injured? No, not for me, but for himself he must. I'll urge him with the last necessity; Better give up my mistress than my life. His force is much unequal to his rival;-- True; but I'll help him with my utmost art, And try to unravel fate. [_Exit._ _Enter_ ARTHUR, CONON, AURELIUS, ALBANACT, _and Soldiers_. _Con._ Now there remains but this one labour more; And, if we have the hearts of true-born Britons, The forcing of the castle crowns the day. _Aur._ The works are weak, the garrison but thin, Dispirited with frequent overthrows, Already wavering on their ill-manned walls. _Alb._ They shift their places oft, and sculk from war; Sure signs of pale despair, and easy rout: It shews they place their confidence in magic, And, when their devils fail, their hearts are dead. _Arth._ Then, where you see them clustering most in motion, And staggering in their ranks, there press them home; For that's a coward heap.--How's this, a sally? _Enter_ OSWALD, GUILLAMAR, _and Soldiers on the other side_. Beyond my hopes, to meet them on the square.