MOOR. A horse, a horse, villain, a horse! That I may take the river straight and fly. Boy. Here is a horse, my lord,

As swiftly pac'd as Pegasus;

Mount thee thereon, and save thyself by flight. MOOR. Mount me I will; but may I never pass The river, till I be reveng❜d upon

Thy soul, accursed Abdilmelec,

If not on earth, yet when we meet in hell:
Before grim Minos, Rhadamanth, and Æacus,
The combat will I crave upon thy ghost,
And drag thee thorough the loathsome pools
Of Lethe, Styx, and fiery Phlegethon.

[Exit.

Alarums: enter STUKELEY and two Italians.

HERC. Stand, traitor, stand, ambitious English

man,

Proud Stukeley, stand, and stir not ere thou die.
Thy forwardness to follow wrongful arms,
And leave our famous expedition erst
Intended by his Holiness for Ireland,
Foully hath here betray'd, and tied us all
To ruthless fury of our heathen foe;
For which, as we are sure to die,

Thou shalt pay satisfaction with thy blood.

STUK. Avaunt, base villains! twit ye me with shame

Or infamy of this injurious war?

When he that is the judge of right and wrong

Determines battle as him pleaseth best.

But sith my stars bode me this tragic end,
That I must perish by these barbarous Moors,
Whose weapons have made passage for my soul,
That breaks from out the prison of my breast;
Ye proud malicious dogs of Italy,

Strike on, strike down this body to the earth, Whose mounting mind stoops to no feeble stroke. JONAS. Why suffer we this Englishman to live?

[Stab him. Villain, bleed on, thy blood in channels run, And meet with those whom thou to death hast done. [Exeunt [Herc. and Jonas.]

STUK. Thus Stukeley slain with many a deadly

stab,

Dies in these desert fields of Africa:

Hark, friends! and with the story of my life
Let me beguile the torment of my death.
In England's London, lordings, was I born;

On that brave bridge the bar that thwarts the Thames,
My golden days, my younger careless years,
Were when I touch'd the height of fortune's wheel,
And liv'd in affluence of wealth and ease.

Thus in my country carried long aloft,
A discontented humour drave me thence
To cross the seas to Ireland, then to Spain :·
There had I welcome and right royal pay
Of Philip, whom some call the Catholic king:
There did Tom Stukeley glitter all in gold,
Mounted upon his jennet white as snow,
Shining as Phoebus in king Philip's court.

There like a lord famous Don Stukeley liv'd,
For so they call'd me in the court of Spain,
Till, for a blow I gave a bishop's man,

A strife 'gan rise between his lord and me,
For which we both were banish'd by the king.
From thence to Rome rides Stukeley all aflaunt;
Receiv'd with royal welcomes of the pope,
There was I grac'd by Gregory the great,
That then created me Marquis of Ireland.
Short be my tale, because my life is short.
The coast of Italy and Rome I left :
Then was I made lieutenant general
Of those small forces that for Ireland went,
And with my companies embark'd at Ostia.*
My sails I spread, and with these men of war
In fatal hour at Lisbon we arriv'd.

From thence to this, to this hard exigent,
Was Stukeley driven to fight or else to die,
Dar'd to the field, that never could endure

To hear God Mars his drum, but he must march.
Ah, sweet Sebastian! had'st thou been well advis'd,
Thou might'st have manag'd arms successfully:
But from our cradles we were marked all,

And destinate to die in Afric here.

Stukeley, the story of thy life is told;

Here breathe thy last, and bid thy friends farewell :` And if thy country's kindness be so much,

Then let thy country kindly ring thy knell.

* Ostia] Old copy" Austria."

Now go, and in that bed of honour die,

Where brave Sebastian's breathless corse doth lie.
Here endeth fortune, rule and bitter rage;

Here ends Tom Stukeley's pilgrimage.

[He dieth.

Enter MULY MAHAMET SETH, and his train, with drums and trumpets.

MULY MAH. SETH. Retreat is sounded through our camp, and now

From battle's fury cease our conquering Moors.
Pay thanks to heaven with sacrificing fire,
Alcazar, and ye towns of Barbary.

Now hast thou sit as in a trance, and seen
To thy soul's joy, and honour of thy house,
The trophies and the triumphs of thy men,
Great Abdilmelec, and the god of kings
Hath made thy war successful by thy right,

His friends whom death and fates have* ta'en from thee.

Lo, this was he that was the people's pride,
And cheerful sunshine to his subjects all!
Now have him hence, that royally he may

Be buried and embalmed as is meet.
Zareo, have you through the camp proclaim'd
As erst we gave in charge?

ZAREO. We have, my lord, and rich rewards propos'd

*have] Old copy

"hath." A line seems to have dropped out

here.

For them that find the body of the king;

For by those guard that had him in their charge
We understand that he was done to death,
And for his search two prisoners, Portugals,
Are set at large to find their royal king.

MULY MAH. SETH. But of the traitorous Moor you hear no news

That fled the field and sought to swim the ford? ZAREO. Not yet, my lord, but doubtless God will tell,

And with his finger point out where he haunts. MULY MAH. SETH. So let it rest, and on this earth bestow

This princely corse, till further for his funerals
We provide.

ZAREO. From him to thee as true succeeding prince,

With all allegiance and with honour's types,

In name of all thy people and thy land,

We give this kingly crown and diadem.

MULY MAH. SETH. We thank you all, and as

my lawful right

With God's defence and yours shall I keep.

Enter two PORTUGALS with the body of the king.

PORT. As gave your grace in charge, right royal

prince,

The fields and sandy plains we have survey'd,

And even among the thickest of his lords