_Pan._ Prince Salemenes doth implore the King To arm himself, although but for a moment, And show himself unto the soldiers: his Sole presence in this instant might do more Than hosts can do in his behalf. _Sar._ What, ho! My armour there. _Myr._ And wilt thou? _Sar._ Will I not? Ho, there!--but seek not for the buckler: 'tis 100 Too heavy:--a light cuirass and my sword. Where are the rebels? _Pan._ Scarce a furlong's length From the outward wall the fiercest conflict rages. _Sar._ Then I may charge on horseback. Sfero, ho! Order my horse out.--There is space enough Even in our courts, and by the outer gate, To marshal half the horsemen of Arabia. [_Exit_ SFERO _for the armour_. _Myr._ How I do love thee! _Sar._ I ne'er doubted it. _Myr._ But now I know thee. _Sar._ (_to his Attendant_). Bring down my spear too-- Where's Salemenes? _Pan._ Where a soldier should be, 110 In the thick of the fight. _Sar._ Then hasten to him----Is The path still open, and communication Left 'twixt the palace and the phalanx? _Pan._ 'Twas When I late left him, and I have no fear; Our troops were steady, and the phalanx formed. _Sar._ Tell him to spare his person for the present, And that I will not spare my own--and say, I come. _Pan._ There's victory in the very word. [_Exit_ PANIA. _Sar._ Altada--Zames--forth, and arm ye! There Is all in readiness in the armoury. 120 See that the women are bestowed in safety In the remote apartments: let a guard Be set before them, with strict charge to quit The post but with their lives--command it, Zames. Altada, arm yourself, and return here; Your post is near our person. [_Exeunt_ ZAMES, ALTADA, _and all save_ MYRRHA. _Enter_ SFERO _and others with the King's Arms, etc._ _Sfe._ King! your armour. _Sar._ (_arming himself_). Give me the cuirass--so: my baldric; now My sword: I had forgot the helm--where is it? That's well--no, 'tis too heavy; you mistake, too-- It was not this I meant, but that which bears 130 A diadem around it. _Sfe._ Sire, I deemed That too conspicuous from the precious stones To risk your sacred brow beneath--and trust me, This is of better metal, though less rich. _Sar._ You deemed! Are you too turned a rebel? Fellow! Your part is to obey: return, and--no-- It is too late--I will go forth without it. _Sfe._ At least, wear this.