_2 Capt._ My lord, here's fresh intelligence arrived. Our army, led by valiant Torrismond, Is now in hot engagement with the Moors; 'Tis said, within their trenches.
_Bert._ I think all fortune is reserved for him!-- He might have sent us word though; And then we could have favoured his attempt With sallies from the town.
_Alph._ It could not be: We were so close blocked up, that none could peep Upon the walls and live. But yet 'tis time.
_Bert._ No, 'tis too late; I will not hazard it: On pain of death, let no man dare to sally.
_Ped._ Oh envy, envy, how it works within him! [_Aside._ How now? what means this show?
_Alph._ 'Tis a procession. The queen is going to the great cathedral, To pray for our success against the Moors.
_Ped._ Very good: she usurps the throne, keeps the old king in prison, and, at the same time, is praying for a blessing. Oh religion and roguery, how they go together! [_A Procession of Priests and Choristers in White, with Tapers, followed by the Queen and Ladies, goes over the Stage: the Choristers singing,_
_Look down, ye blessed above, look down, Behold our weeping matrons' tears, Behold our tender virgins' fears, And with success our armies crown.
Look down, ye blessed above, look down: Oh! save us, save as, and our state restore; For pity, pity, pity, we implore: For pity, pity, pity, we implore._ [_The Procession goes off; and shout within. Then_
_Enter_ LORENZO, _who kneels to_ ALPHONSO.
_Bert._ [_To Alph._] A joyful cry; and see your son Lorenzo. Good news, kind heaven!
_Alph._ [_To Lor._] O welcome, welcome! is the general safe? How near our army? when shall we be succoured? Or, are we succoured? are the Moors removed? Answer these questions first, and then a thousand more; Answer them all together.
_Lor._ Yes, when I have a thousand tongues, I will. The general's well; his army too is safe, As victory can make them. The Moors' king Is safe enough, I warrant him, for one. At dawn of day our general cleft his pate, Spite of his woollen night-cap: a slight wound; Perhaps he may recover.
_Ped._ By my computation now, the victory was gained before the procession was made for it; and yet it will go hard but the priests will make a miracle of it.
_Lor._ Yes, faith; we came like bold intruding guests, And took them unprepared to give us welcome. Their scouts we killed, then found their body sleeping; And as they lay confused, we stumbled o'er them, And took what joint came next, arms, heads, or legs, Somewhat indecently. But when men want light, They make but bungling work.