The Battle of Alcazar
Enter the Presenter.
Honor, the spur that pricks the princely mind
To follow rule and climb the stately chair,
With great desire inflames the Portingal,
An honorable and courageous king,
To undertake a dangerous dreadful war,
And aid with Christian arms the barbarous Moor,
The negro Muly Hamet, that withholds
The kingdom from his uncle Abdelmelec,
Whom proud Abdallas wronged,
And in his throne installs his cruel son,
That now usurps upon this prince,
This brave Barbarian lord, Muly Mollocco.
The passage to the crown by murder made,
Abdallas dies, and leaves this tyrant king;
Of whom we treat, sprung from th’ Arabian Moor,
Black in his look, and bloody in his deeds;
And In his shirt, stained with a cloud of gore,
Presents himself, with naked sword in hand,
Accompanied, as now you may behold,
With devils coated in the shapes of men.
The First Dumb-show.
Enter Muly Mahamet and his Son, and his two young Brethren. The Moor showeth them the bed, and then takes his leave of them, and they betake them to their rest. And then the Presenter speaketh:
Like those that were by kind of
Sit down and see what heinous stratagems
These damned wits contrive; and, lo, alas,
How like poor lambs prepared for sacrifice,
This traitor-king hales to their longest home
These tender lords, his younger brethren both.
The Second Dumb-show.
Enter the Moor and two Murderers, bringing in his uncle Abdelmunen: then they draw the curtains, and smother the young Princes in the bed; which done in sight of the uncle, they strangle him in his chair, and then go forth. Then the Presenter saieth:
His brethren thus in fatal bed behearsed
His father’s brother, of too light belief,
This Negro puts to death by proud command.
Say not these things are feigned, for true they are;
And understand how, eager to enjoy
His father’s crown, this unbelieving Moor,
Murdering his uncle and his brethren,
Triumphs in his ambitious tyranny;
Till Nemesis, high mistress of revenge,
That with her scourge keeps all the world in awe,
With thundering drums awakes the God of War,
And calls the Furies from Avernus’ crags,
To range and rage, and vengeance to inflict,
Vengeance on this accursed Moor for sin.
And now behold how Abdelmelec comes,
Uncle to this unhappy traitor-king,
Armed with great aid that Amurath had sent,
Great Amurath, [great] Emperor of the East,
For service done to Sultan Solimon,
Under whose colors he had served in field,
Flying the fury of this Negro’s father,
That wronged his brethren to install his son.
Sit you, and see this true and tragic war,
A modern matter full of blood and ruth,
Where three bold kings, confounded in their height,
Fell to the earth, contending for a crown;
And call this war The Battle of Alcazar.
Sound drums and trumpets, and enter Abdelmelec, Calsepius Bassa and his Guard, and Zareo, a Moor, with Soldiers.
All hail, Argerd Zareo; and, ye Moors,
Salute the frontiers of your native home:
Cease, rattling drums; and, Abdelmelec, here
Throw up thy trembling hands to heaven’s throne,
Pay to thy God due thanks, and thanks to him
That strengthens thee with mighty gracious arms
Against the proud usurper of thy right,
The royal seat and crown of Barbary,
Great Amurath, great Emperor of the world:
The world bear witness how I do adore
The sacred name of Amurath the Great.
Calsepius Bassa, Bassa Calsepius,
To thee, and to thy trusty band of men
That carefully attend us in our camp,
Picked soldiers, comparable to the guard
Of Myrmidons that kept Achilles’ tent,
Such thanks we give to thee and to them all,
As may concern a poor distressed king,
In honor and in princely courtesy.
Courteous and honourable Abdelmelec,
We are not come, at Amurath’s command,
As mercenary men, to serve for pay,
But as sure friends, by our great master sent
To gratify and to remunerate
Thy love, thy loyalty, and forwardness,
Thy service in his father’s dangerous war;
And to perform, in view of all the world,
The true office of right and royalty;
To see thee in thy kingly chair enthroned,
To settle and to seat thee in the same,
To make thee Emperor of this Barbary,
Are come the viceroys and sturdy janizaries
Of Amurath, son to Sultan Solimon.
Enter Muly Mahamet Seth, Rubin Archis, Abdel Rayes, with others.
Long live my lord, the sovereign of my heart,
Lord Abdelmelec, whom the god of kings,
The mighty Amurath hath happy made!
And long live Amurath for this good deed!
Muly Mahamet Seth
Our Moors have seen the silver moons to wave
In banners bravely spreading o’er the plain,
And in this semicircles have descried,
All in a golden field, a star to rise,
A glorious comet that begins to blaze,
Promising happy sorting to us all.
Brave man-at-arms, whom Amurath hath sent
To sow the lawful true-succeeding seed
In Barbary, that bows and groans withal
Under a proud usurping tyrant’s mace,
Right thou the wrongs this rightful king hath borne.
Distressed ladies, and ye dames of Fess,
Sprung from the true Arabian Muly Xarif,
The loadstar and the honor of our line,
Now clear your watery eyes, wipe tears away,
And cheerfully give welcome to these arms:
Amurath hath sent scourges by his men,
To whip that tyrant traitor-king from hence,
That hath usurped from us, and maimed you all,
Soldiers, sith rightful quarrels [by heaven’s] aid
Successful are, and men that manage them
Fight not in fear as traitors and their pheres;
That you may understand what arms we bear,
What lawful arms against our brother’s son,
In sight of heaven, even of mine honor’s worth,
Truly I will deliver and discourse
The sum of all. Descended from the line
Of Mahomet, our grandsire Muly Xarif
With store of gold and treasure leaves Arabia,
And strongly plants himself in Barbary;
And of the Moors that now with us do wend
Our grandsire Muly Xarif was the first.
From him well wot ye Muly Mahamet Xeque,
Who in his lifetime made a perfect law,
Confirmed with general voice of all his peers,
That in his kingdom should successively
His sons succeed. Abdallas was the first,
Eldest of four, Abdelmunen the second,
And we the rest, my brother and myself.
Abdallas reigned his time: but see the change!
He labors to invest his son in all,
To disannul the law our father made,
And disinherit us his brethren;
And in his lifetime wrongfully proclaims
His son for king that now contends with us.
Therefore I crave to re-obtain my right,
That Muly Mahamet the traitor holds,
Traitor and bloody tyrant both at once,
That murdered his younger brethren both:
But on this damned wretch, this traitor-king,
The gods shall pour down showers of sharp revenge.
And thus a matter not to you unknown
I have delivered; yet for no distrust
Of loyalty, my well-beloved friends,
But that th’ occasions fresh in memory
Of these encumbers so may move your minds,
As for the lawful true-succeeding prince
Ye neither think your lives nor honors dear,
Spent in a quarrel just and honorable.
Such and no other we repute the cause
That forwardly for thee we undertake,
Thrice-puissant and renowmed Abdelmelec,
And for thine honor, safety, and crown;
Our lives and honors frankly to expose
To all the dangers that on war attends,
As freely and as resolutely all
As any Moor whom thou commandest most.
Muly Mahamet Seth
And why is Abdelmelec, then, so slow
To chastise him with fury of the sword
Whose pride doth swell to sway beyond his reach?
Follow this pride with fury of revenge.
Of death, of blood, of wreak, and deep revenge,
Shall Rubin Archis frame her tragic songs:
In blood, in death, in murder, and misdeed,
This heaven’s malice did begin and end.
Rubin, these rites to Abdelmunen’s ghost
Have pierced by this to Pluto’s cave below;
The bells of Pluto ring revenge amain,
The Furies and the fiends conspire with thee;
War bids me draw my weapons for revenge
Of my deep wrongs and my dear brother’s death.
Muly Mahamet Seth
Sheath not your swords, you soldiers of Amurath,
Sheath not your swords, you Moors of Barbary,
That fight in right of your anointed king,
But follow to the gates of death and hell,
Pale death and hell, to entertain his soul;
Follow, I say, to burning Phlegethon,
This traitor-tyrant and his companies.
Heave up your swords against these stony holds,
Wherein these barbarous rebels are enclosed:
Called for is Abdelmelec by the gods
To sit upon the throne of Barbary.
Bassa, great thanks, the honor of the Turks.
Forward, brave lords, unto this rightful war!
How can this battle but successful be,
Where courage meeteth with a rightful cause?
Go in good time, my best-beloved lord,
Successful in thy work thou undertakes!
Enter the Moor in his chariot, attended with [Calipolis?]; his Son; Pisano, his captain, with his Guard and treasure.
Pisano, take a cornet of our horse,
As many argolets and armed pikes,
And with our carriage march away before
By Scyras, and those plots of ground
That to Moroccus lead the lower way:
Our enemies keep upon the mountain-tops,
And have encamped themselves not far from Fess.
Madam, gold is the glue, sinews, and strength of war,
And we must see our treasure may go safe.
[Exit Pisano with the treasure and some of the Guard.]
Now, boy, what's the news!
The news, my lord, is war, war and revenge;
And, if I shall declare the circumstance,
Rubin, our uncle’s wife, that wrings her hands
For Abdelmunen’s death, accompanied
With many dames of Fess in mourning weeds,
Near to Argier encountered Abdelmelec,
That bends his force, puffed up with Amurath’s aid,
Against your holds and castles of defence.
The younger brother, Muly Mahamet Seth,
Greets the great Bassa that the King of Turks
Sends to invade your right and royal realm;
And basely beg revenge, arch-rebels all,
To be inflict upon our progeny.
Why, boy, is Amura1a’s Bassa such a bug,
That he is marked to do this doughty deed?
Then, Bassa, lock the winds in wards of brass,
Thunder from heaven, damn wretched men to death.
Bear all the offices of Saturn’s sons,
Be Pluto, then, in hell, and bar the fiends,
Take Neptune’s force to thee and calm the seas,
And execute Jove’s justice on the world;
Convey Tamburlaine into our Afric here,
To chastise and to menace lawful kings:
Tamburlaine, triumph not, for thou must die,
As Philip did, Caesar, and Caesar’s peers.
The Bassa grossly flattered to his face,
And Amurath’s praise advanced above the clouds
Upon the plains, the soldiers being spread,
And that brave guard of sturdy janizaries
That Amurath to Abdelmelec gave,
And bade him boldly be with them as safe
As if he slept within a walled town;
Who take them to their weapons, threatening revenge,
Bloody revenge, bloody revengeful war.
Away, and let me hear no more of this.
Why, boy, are we successors to the great Abdallas
Descended from th’ Arabian Muly Xarif,
And shall we be afraid of Bassas and of bugs,
Raw-head and Bloody-bone?
Boy, seest here this scimitar by my side?
Sith they begin to bathe [their swords] in blood,
Blood be the theme whereon our time shall tread;
Such slaughter with my weapon shall I make
As through the stream and bloody channels deep
Our Moors shall sail in ships and pinnaces
From Tangier shore unto the gates of Fess.
And of those slaughtered bodies shall thy son
A huge tower erect like Nimrod’s frame,
To threaten those unjust and partial gods
That to Abdallas’ lawful seed deny
A long, a happy, and triumphant reign.
Sound an alarum within, and enter a Messenger.
Fly, King of Fess, King of Moroccus, fly,
Fly with thy friends, Emperor of Barbary;
O, fly the sword and fury of the foe,
That rageth as the ramping lioness
In rescue of her younglings from the bear!
Thy towns and holds by numbers basely yield,
Thy land to Abdelmelec’s rule resigns,
Thy carriage and thy treasure taken is
By Amurath’s soldiers, that have sworn thy death:
Fly Amurath’s power and Abdelmelec’s threats,
Or thou and thine look here to breathe your last.
Villain, what dreadful sound of death and flight
Is this wherewith thou dost afflict our ears?
But if there be no safety to abide
The favor, fortune, and success of war,
Away in haste! roll on, my chariot-wheels,
Restless till I be safely set in shade
Of some unhaunted place, some blasted grove
Of deadly yew or dismal cypress tree,
Far from the light or comfort of the sun,
There to curse heaven and he that heaves me hence;
To seek, Envy at Cecropia’s gate,
And pine the thought and terror of mishaps:
Alarum. And then the Presenter speaketh.
Now war begins his rage and ruthless reign,
And Nemesis, with bloody whip in hand,
Thunders for vengeance on this Negro Moor;
Nor may the silence of the speechless night,
Divine architects of murders and misdeeds,
Of tragedies and tragic tyrannies,
Hide or contain this barbarous cruelty
Of this usurper to his progeny.
Three Ghosts crying “Vindicta!”
Hark, lords, as in a hollow place afar,
The dreadful shrieks and clamors that resound,
And sound revenge upon this traitor’s soul,
Traitor to kin and kind, to gods and men!
Now Nemesis upon her doubling drum,
Moved with this ghastly moan, this sad complaint,
Larums aloud into Alecto’s ears,
And with her thundering wakes, whereas they lie
In cave as dark as hell and beds of steel,
The Furies, just imps of dire revenge.
“Revenge!” cries Abdelmunen’s grieved ghost,
And rouseth with the terror of this noise
These nymphs of Erebus; “Wreak and revenge!”
Ring out the souls of his unhappy brethren.
And now start up these torments of the world,
Waked with the thunder of Rhamnusia’s drum
And fearful echoes of these grieved ghosts,—
Alecto with her brand and bloody torch,
Megaera with her whip and snaky hair,
Tisiphone with her fatal murdering iron:
These three conspire, these three complain and moan.
Thus, Muly Mahamet, is a council held
To wreak the wrongs and murders thou hast done.
By this imagine was this barbarous Moor
Chased from his dignity and his diadem,
And lives forlorn among the mountain shrubs,
And makes his food the flesh of savage beasts.
Amurath’s soldiers have by this installed
Good Abdelmelec in his royal seat.
The dames of Fesse and ladies of the land,
In honor of the son of Soliman,
Erect a statue made of beaten gold,
And sing to Amurath songs of lasting praise.
Muly Mahamet’s fury over-ruled,
His cruelty controlled, and pride rebuked,
Now at last when sober thoughts renewed
Care of his kingdom and desired crown,
The aid that once was offered and refused
By messengers he furiously implores,
Sebastian’s aid, brave King of Portugal.
He, forward in all arms and chivalry,
Hearkens to his ambassadors, and grants
What they in letters and by words entreat.
Now listen, lordings, now begins the game,
Sebastian’s tragedy in this tragic war.
Alarum within, and then enter
Mahamet Seth, Calsepius Bassa, with Moors
and Janizaries, and the Ladies.
Now hath the sun displayed his golden beams,
And, dusky clouds dispersed, the welkin clears,
Wherein the twenty-colored rainbow shows.
After this fight happy and fortunate,
Wherein our Moors have lost the day,
And Victory, adorned with Fortune’s plumes,
Alights on Abdelmelec’s glorious crest,
Here find we time to breathe, and now begin
To pay thy due and duties thou dost owe
To heaven and earth, to gods and Amurath.
And now draw near, and heaven and earth give ear,
Give ear and record, heaven and earth, with me;
Ye lords of Barbary, hearken and attend,
Hark to the words I speak, and vow I make
To plant the true succession of the crown:
Lo, lords, in our seat royal to succeed
Our only brother here we do install,
And by the name of Muly Mahamet Seth
Intitle him true heir unto the crown.
Ye gods of heaven gratulate this deed,
That men on earth may therewith stand content!
Lo, thus my due and duty is done, I pay
To heaven and earth, to gods and Amurath!
Muly Mahamet Seth
Renowmed Bassa, to remunerate
Thy worthiness and magnanimity,
Behold, the noblest ladies of the land
Bring present tokens of their gratitude.
[Enter Rubin Archis, her Son, a Queen, and Ladies.]
Rubin, that breathes but for revenge,
Bassa, by this commends herself to thee,
Resign[s] the token of her thankfulness:
To Amurath the god of earthly kings
Doth Rubin give and sacrifice her son:
Not with sweet smoke of fire or sweet perfume,
But with his father’s sword, his mother’s thanks,
Doth Rubin give her son to Amurath.
As Rubin gives her son, so we ourselves
To Amurath give, and fall before his face.
Bassa, wear thou the gold of Barbary,
And glister like the palace of the Sun,
In honor of the deed that thou hast done.
Well worthy of the aid of Amurath
Is Abdelmelec, and these noble dames.
Rubin, thy son I shall ere long bestow,
Where thou dost him bequeath in honour’s fee,
On Amurath mighty Emperor of the East,
That shall receive the imp of royal race
With cheerful looks and gleams of princely grace.
This chosen guard of Amurath’s janizaries
I leave to honor and attend on thee,
King of Morocco, conqueror of thy foes,
True King of Fess, Emperor of Barbary;
Muly Molocco, live and keep thy seat,
In spite of fortune’s spite or enemies’ threats.
Ride, Bassa, now, bold Bassa, homeward ride,
As glorious as great Pompey in his pride.
Enter Diego Lopez,
Governor of Lisbon, the Irish Bishop,
Stukeley, Jonas, and Hercules.
Welcome to Lisbon, valiant Catholics,
Welcome, brave Englishmen, to Portugal:
Most reverent primate of the Irish church,
And, noble Stukeley, famous by thy name,
Welcome, thrice-welcome to Sebastian’s town:
And welcome, English captains, to you all:
It joyeth us to see his Holiness’ fleet
Cast anchor happily upon our coast.
These welcomes, worthy governor of Lisbon,
Argue an honorable mind in thee,
But treat of our misfortune therewithal.
To Ireland by Pope Gregory’s command
Were we all bound, and therefore thus embarked,
To land our forces there at unawares,
Conquering the island for his Holiness,
And so restore it to the Roman faith:
This was the cause of our expedition,
And Ireland long ere this had been subdued,
Had not foul weather brought us to this bay.
Under correction, are ye not all Englishmen,
And ‘longs not Ireland to that kingdom, lords?
Then, may I speak my conscience in the cause
Sans scandal to the holy see of Rome,
Unhonorable is this expedition.
And misbeseeming you to meddle in.
Lord governor of Lisbon, understand,
As we are Englishmen, so are we men,
And I am Stukeley so resolved in all
To follow rule, honor, and empery,
Not to be bent so strictly to the place
Wherein at first I blew the fire of life,
But that I may at liberty make choice
Of all the continents that bounds the world;
For why I make it not so great desert
To be begot or born in any place,
Sith that’s a thing of pleasure and of ease
That might have been performed elsewhere as well.
Follow what your good pleasure will,
Good Captain Stukeley: be it far from me
To take exceptions beyond my privilege.
Yet, captain, give me leave to speak;
We must affect our country as our parents,
And if at any time we alienate
Our love or industry from doing it honor,
It must respect effects and touch the soul,
Matter of conscience and religion,
And not desire of rule or benefit.
Well said, bishop! spoken like yourself,
The reverent, lordly Bishop of Saint Asses.
The bishop talks according to his coat,
And takes not measure of it by his mind:
You see he hath it made thus large and wide,
Because he may convert it, as he list,
To any form may fit the fashion best.
Captain, you do me wrong to descant thus
Upon my coat or double conscience,
And cannot answer it in another place.
‘Tis but in jest, lord bishop; put it up:
And all as friends deign to be entertained
As my ability here can make provision.
Shortly shall I conduct you to the king,
Whose welcomes evermore to strangers are
Princely and honorable, as his state becomes.
Thanks, worthy governor. Come, bishop, come,
Will you show fruits of quarrel and of wrath?
Come, let’s in with my Lord of Lisbon here,
And put all conscience into one carouse,
Letting it out again as we may live.
[Exeunt all except Stukeley.]
There shall no action pass my hand or sword,
That cannot make a step to gain a crown;
No word shall pass the office of my tongue,
That sounds not of affection to a crown;
No thought have being in my lordly breast,
That works not every way to win a crown:
Deeds, words, and thoughts, shall all be as a king’s;
My chiefest company shall be with kings;
And my deserts shall counterpoise a king’s:
Why should not I, then, look to be a king?
I am the Marquis now of Ireland made,
And will be shortly King of Ireland:
King of a mole-hill had I rather be,
Than the richest subject of a monarchy.
Huff it, brave mind, and never cease t’aspire,
Before thou reign sole king of thy desire.
Enter the Moor,
with Calipolis his wife, Muly
Mahamet his Son, and two others.
Where art thou, boy? Where is Calipolis?
O deadly wound that passeth by mine eye,
The fatal prison of my swelling heart!
O fortune constant in unconstancy!
Fight earthquakes in the entrails of the earth,
And eastern whirlwinds in the hellish shades!
Some foul contagion of the infected heaven
Blast all the trees, and in their cursed tops
The dismal night-raven and tragic owl
Breed, and become foretellers of my fall,
The fatal ruin of my name and me!
Adders and serpents hiss at my disgrace,
And wound the earth with anguish of their stings.
Now, Abdelmelec, now triumph in Fess;
Fortune hath made thee King of Barbary.
Alas, my lord, what boot these huge exclaims
To advantage us in this distressed estate?
O, pity our perplexed estate, my lord,
And turn all curses to submiss complaints,
And those complaints to actions of relief.
I faint, my lord; and naught may cursing plaints
Refresh the fading substance of my life.
Faint all the world, consume and be accursed,
Since my state faints, [consumes,] and is accursed.
Yet patience, lord, to conquer sorrows so.
What patience is for him that lacks his crown?
There is no patience where the loss is such:
The shame of my disgrace hath put on wings,
And swiftly flies about this earthly ball.
Carest thou to live, then, fond Calipolis,
When he that should give essence to thy soul,
He on whose glory all thy joy should stay,
Is soulless, gloryless, and desperate,
Crying for battle, famine, sword, and fire,
Rather than calling for relief or life?
But be content, thy hunger shall have end;
Famine shall pine to death, and thou shalt live:
I will go hunt these cursed solitaries,
And make the sword and target here my hound
To pull down lions and untamed beasts.
Tush, mother, cherish your unhearty soul,
And feed with hope of happiness and ease;
For if by valor or by policy
My kingly father can be fortunate,
We shall be Jove’s commanders once again,
And flourish in a threefold happiness.
His majesty hath sent Sebastian,
The good and harmless King of Portugal,
A promise to resign the royalty
And kingdom of Morocco to his hands;
And when this haughty offer takes effect,
And works affiance in Sebastian,
My gracious lord, warned wisely to advise,
I doubt not but will watch occasion,
And take her fore-top by the slenderest hair,
To rid us of this miserable life.
Good madam, cheer yourself: my father’s wise;
He can submit himself and live below,
Make show of friendship, promise, vow, and swear,
Till, by the virtue of his fair pretence,
Sebastian trusting his integrity,
He makes himself possessor of such fruits
As grow upon such great advantages.
But more dishonor hangs on such misdeeds
Than all the profit their return can bear:
Such secret judgments have the heavens imposed
Upon the drooping state of Barbary,
As public merits in such lewd attempts
Hath drawn with violence upon our heads.
Enter Muly Mahamet [the Moor] with flesh upon his sword.
Hold thee, Calipolis, feed, and faint no more;
This flesh I forced from a lioness,
Meat of a princess, for a princess meet:
Learn by her noble stomach to esteem
Penury plenty in extremest dearth;
Who, when she saw her foragement bereft,
Pined not in melancholy or childish fear,
But as brave minds are strongest in extremes,
So she, redoubling her former force,
Ranged through the woods, and rent the breeding vaults
Of proudest savages to save herself.
Feed, then, and faint not, fair Calipolis;
For rather than fierce famine shall prevail
To gnaw thy entrails with her thorny teeth,
The conquering lioness shall attend on thee,
And lay huge heaps of slaughtered carcasses,
As bulwarks in her way, to keep her back.
I will provide thee of a princely osprey,
That as she flieth over fish in pools,
The fish shall turn their glistering bellies up,
And thou shalt take thy liberal choice of all:
Jove’s stately bird with wide-commanding wings
Shall hover still about thy princely head,
And beat down fowl by shoals into thy lap:
Feed, then, and faint not, fair Calipolis.
Thanks, good my lord, and though my stomach be
Too queasy to disgest such bloody meat,
Yet, strength I it with virtue of my mind,
I doubt no whit but I shall live, my lord.
Into the shades, then, fair Calipolis,
And make thy son and Negroes here good cheer:
Feed and be fat, that we may meet the foe
With strength and terror, to revenge our wrong.
King of Portugal, the Duke of Avero,
the Duke of Barceles, Lewes de Silva, Christo-
phero De Tavera, [and Attendants].
Call forth those Moors, those men of Barbary,
That came with letters from the King of Fess.
[The Moorish Ambassadors are brought in by an Attendant.]
Ye warlike lords and men of chivalry,
Honorable ambassadors of this high regent,
Hark to Sebastian King of Portugal.
These letters sent from your distressed lord
Torn from his throne by Abdelmelec’s hand,
Strengthened and raised by furious Amurath,
Import a kingly favor at our hands,
For aid to re-obtain his royal seat,
And place his fortunes in their former height.
For ‘quital of which honorable arms,
By these his letters he doth firmly vow
Wholly to yield and to surrender up
The kingdom of Moroccus to our hands,
And to become to us contributary;
And to content himself with the realm of Fess.
These lines, my lords, writ in extremity,
Contain their force but during fortune’s date;
How shall Sebastian, then, believe the same?
and most Christian king of Portugal,
To satisfy thy doubtful mind herein,
Command forthwith a blazing brand of fire
Be brought in presence of thy majesty;
Then shalt thou see, by our religious vows
And ceremonies most inviolate,
How firm our sovereign’s protestations are.
[A brand is brought in by an Attendant.]
Behold, my lord, this binds our faith to thee,
In token that great Muly Mahamet’s hand
Hath writ no more than his stout heart allows,
And will perform to thee and to thine heirs,
We offer here our hands into this flame;
And as this flame doth fasten on this flesh,
So from our souls we wish it may consume
The heart of our great lord and sovereign,
Muly Mahamet King of Barbary,
If his intent agree not with his words!
These ceremonies and protestations
Sufficeth us, ye lords of Barbary,
Therefore return this answer to your king:
Assure him by the honor of my crown,
And by Sebastian’s true unfeigned faith,
He shall have aid and succor to recover,
And seat him in, his former empery.
Let him rely upon our princely word:
Tell him by August we will come to him
With such a power of brave impatient minds,
As Abdelmelec and great Amurath
Shall tremble at the strength of Portugal.
Thanks to the renowmed King of Portugal,
On whose stout promises our state depend.
Barbarians, go; glad your distressed king,
And say Sebastian lives to right his wrong.
Duke of Avero, call in those Englishmen,
Don Stukeley, and those captains of the fleet,
That lately landed in our bay of Lisbon.
Now breathe, Sebastian, and in breathing blow
Some gentle gale of thy new-formed joys.
Duke of Avero, it shall be your charge
To take the muster of the Portugals,
And bravest bloods of all our country.
[Exit Duke of Avero.]
Lewes de Silva, you shall be dispatched
With letters unto Philip King of Spain:
Tell him we crave his aid in this behalf;
I know our brother Philip nill deny
His furtherance in this holy Christian war.
Duke of Barceles, as thy ancestors
Have always loyal been to Portugal,
So now, in honor of thy toward youth,
Thy charge shall be to Antwerp speedily,
To hire us mercenary men-at-arms:
Promise them princely pay; and be thou sure
Thy word is ours,—Sebastian speaks the word.
Christophoro de Tavera
I beseech your majesty, employ me in this war.
Christopher de Tavera, next unto myself,
My good Hephaestion, and my bedfellow,
Thy cares and mine shall be alike in this,
And thou and I will live and die together.
Re-enter the Duke of
Avero, with the Irish Bishop,
Stukeley, Jonas, Hercules, and others.
And now, brave Englishmen, to you [I turn]
Whom angry storms have put into our bay;
Hold not your fortune e’er the worse in this:
We hold our stranger’s honors in our hand,
And for distressed frank and free relief.
Tell me, then, Stukeley, for that’s thy name I trow,
Wilt thou, in honor of thy country’s fame,
Hazard thy person in this brave exploit,
And follow us to fruitful Barbary,
With these six thousand soldiers thou hast brought,
And choicely picked through wanton Italy?
Thou art a man of gallant personage,
Proud in thy looks, and famous every way:
Frankly tell me, wilt thou go with me?
Courageous king, the wonder of my thoughts!
And yet, my lord, with pardon understand,
Myself and these whom weather hath enforced
To lie at road upon thy gracious coast,
Did bend our course and made amain for Ireland.
For Ireland, Stukeley, thou mistak’st me wondrous much!
With seven ships, two pinnaces, and six thousand men?
I tell thee, Stukeley, they are far too weak
To violate the Queen of Ireland’s right;
For Ireland’s Queen commandeth England’s force;
Were every ship ten thousand on the seas,
Manned with the strength of all the eastern kings,
Conveying all the monarchs of the world,
To invade the island where her highness reigns,
Twere all in vain, for heavens and destinies
Attend and wait upon her majesty.
Sacred, imperial, and holy is her seat,
Shining with wisdom, love, and mightiness:
Nature that everything imperfect made,
Fortune that never yet was constant found,
Time that defaceth every golden show,
Dare not decay, remove, or her impair;
Both nature, time, and fortune, all agree,
To bless and serve her royal majesty.
The wallowing ocean hems her round about;
Whose raging floods do swallow up her foes,
And on the rocks their ships in pieces split,
And even in Spain, where all the traitors dance
And play themselves upon a sunny day,
Securely guard the west part of her isle;
The south the narrow Britain sea begirts,
Where Neptune sits in triumph to direct
Their course to hell that aim at her disgrace;
The German seas alongst the east do run,
Where Venus banquets all her water-nymphs,
That with her beauty glancing on the waves
Distains the cheek of fair Proserpina.
Advise thee, then, proud Stukeley, ere thou pass
To wrong the wonder of the highest God;
Sith danger, death, and hell do follow thee,
Thee, and them all, that seek to danger her.
If honor be the mark whereat thou aim’st,
Then follow me in holy Christian wars,
And leave to seek thy country’s overthrow.
Rather, my lord, let me admire these words,
Than answer to your firm objections.
His Holiness Pope Gregory the Seventh
Hath made us four the leaders of the rest:
Amongst the rest, my lord, I am but one;
If they agree, Stukeley will be the first
To die with honor for Sebastian.
Tell me, lord bishop, captains, tell me all,
Are you content to leave this enterprise
Against your country and your countrymen,
To aid Mahamet King of Barbary?
To aid Mahamet King of Barbary!
Tis ‘gainst our vows, great King of Portugal.
Then, captains, what say you?
I say, my lord, as the bishop said,
We may not turn from conquering Ireland.
Our country and our countrymen will condemn
Us worthy of death, if we neglect our vows.
Consider, lords, you are now in Portugal,
And I may now dispose of you and yours.
Hath not the wind and weather given you up,
And made you captives at our royal will?
It hath, my lord, and willingly we yield
To be commanded by your majesty
But if you make us voluntary men,
Our course is then direct for Ireland.
That course will we direct for Barbary.
Follow me, lords: Sebastian leads the way
To plant the Christian faith in Africa.
Saint George for England! and Ireland now adieu,
For here Tom Stukeley shapes his course anew.
Enter the Presenter and speaks.
Lo, thus into a lake of blood and gore
The brave courageous King of Portugal
Hath drenched himself, and now prepares amain
With sails and oars to cross the swelling seas,
With men and ships, courage and cannon-shot,
To plant this cursed Moor in fatal hour;
And in this Catholic case the King of Spain
Is called upon by sweet Sebastian,
Who surfeiting in prime time of his youth
Upon ambition’s poison, dies thereon.
By this time is the Moor to Tangier come,
A city ‘longing to the Portugal;
And now doth Spain promise with holy face,
As favoring the honor of the cause,
His aid of arms, and levies men apace:
But nothing less than King Sebastian’s good
He means; yet at Sucor de Tupea
He met, some say, in person with the Portugal,
And treateth of a marriage with the king:
But ‘ware ambitious wiles and poisoned eyes!
There was nor aid of arms nor marriage,
For on his way without those Spaniards King Sebastian went.
the king of Portugal and his Lords, Lewes
de Silva, and the Ambassadors [and Legate] of
Honorable lords, ambassadors of Spain,
The many favors by our meetings done
From our beloved and renowmed brother,
Philip the Catholic King of Spain,
Say therefore, good my lord ambassador,
Say how your mighty master minded is
To propagate the fame of Portugal.
To propagate the fame of Portugal,
And plant religious truth in Africa,
Philip the great and puissant king of Spain,
For love and honor of Sebastian’s name,
Promiseth aid of arms, and swears by us
To do your majesty all the good he can,
With men, munition, and supply of war,
Of Spaniards proud, in king Sebastian’s aid,
To spend their bloods in honor of their Christ.
And farther, to manifest unto your majesty
How much the Catholic king of Spain affects
This war with Moors and men of little faith,
The honor of your everlasting praise,
Behold, to honor and enlarge thy name,
He maketh offer of his daughter Isabel
To link in marriage with the brave Sebastian;
And to enrich Sebastian’s noble wife,
His majesty doth promise to resign
The titles of the Islands of Moloccus,
That by his royalty in India he commands
These favors with unfeigned love and zeal
Voweth King Philip to King Sebastian.
And God so deal with King Sebastian’s soul
As justly he intends to fight for Christ!
Nobles of Spain, sith our renowmed brother,
Philip the king of honor and of zeal,
By you the chosen orators of Spain
The offer of the holds he makes
Are not so precious in our account,
As is the peerless dame whom we adore,
His daughter, in whose loyalty consists
The life and honor of Sebastian.
As for the aid of arms he promiseth,
We will expect and thankfully receive,
At Cardis, as we sail alongst the coast.
Sebastian, clap thy hands for joy,
Honored by this meeting and this match.
Go, lords, and follow to the famous war
Your king; and be his fortune such in all
As he intends to manage arms in right.
Mane[n]t Stukeley and another.
Sit fast, Sebastian, and in this work
God and good men labor for Portugal.
For Spain, disguising with a double face,
Flatters thy youth and forwardness, good king.
Philip, whom some call the Catholic king,
I fear me much thy faith will not be firm,
But disagree with thy profession.
What, then, shall of these men of war become,
Those numbers that do multiply in Spain?
Spain hath a vent for them and their supplies:
The Spaniard ready to embark himself,
Here gathers to a head; but all too sure
Flanders, I fear, shall feel the force of Spain.
Let Portugal fare as he may or can,
Spain means to spend no powder on the Moors.
If kings do dally so with holy oaths,
The heavens will right the wrongs that they sustain.
Philip, if these forgeries be in thee,
Assure thee, king, ‘twill light on thee at last;
And when proud Spain hopes soundly to prevail,
The time may come that thou and thine shall fail.
Muly Mahamet Seth,
and their train.
The Portugal, led with deceiving hope,
Hath raised his power, and received our foe
With honorable welcomes and regard,
And left his country bounds, and hither bends
In hope to help Mahamet to a crown,
And chase us hence, and plant this Negro Moor,
That clads himself in coat of hammered steel
To heave us from the honor we possess.
But, for I have myself a soldier been,
I have, in pity to the Portugal,
Sent secret messengers to counsel him.
As for the aid of Spain, whereof they hoped,
We have despatched our letters to their prince,
To crave that in a quarrel so unjust,
He that entitled is the Catholic king,
Would not assist a careless Christian prince.
And, as by letters we are let to know,
Our offer of the seven holds we made
He thankfully receives with all conditions,
Differing in mind [as] far from all his words
And promises to King Sebastian,
As we would wish, or you, my lords, desire.
What resteth, then, but Abdelmelec may
Beat back this proud invading Portugal,
And chastise this ambitious Negro Moor
With thousand deaths for thousand damned deeds?
Forward, Zareo, and ye manly Moors !
Sebastian, see in time unto thyself.
If thou and thine misled do thrive amiss,
Guiltless is Abdelmelec of thy blood.
Enter Don de Menysis,
Governor of Tangier, speaking
to the Captain[s].
Don de Menysis
Captain, we have received letters from the king,
That with such signs and arguments of love
We entertain the King of Barbary,
That marcheth toward Tangier with his men,
The poor remainders of those that fled from Fess,
When Abdelmelec got the glorious day,
And stalled himself in his imperial throne.
Lord governor, we are in readiness
To welcome and receive this hapless king,
Chased from his land by angry Amurath
And if the right rest in this lusty Moor,
Bearing a princely heart unvanquishable,
A noble resolution then it is
In brave Sebastian our Christian king,
To aid this Moor with his victorious arms,
Thereby to propagate religious truth,
And plant his springing praise in Africa.
But when arrives this brave Sebastian,
To knit his forces with this manly Moor,
That both in one, and one in both, may join
In this attempt of noble consequence?
Our men of Tangier long to see their king,
Whose princely face, that like the summer’s sun,
Glads all these hither parts of Barbary.
Don de Menysis
Captains, he cometh hitherward amain,
Top and top-gallant, all in brave array:
The six-and-twentieth day of June he left
The bay of Lisbon, and with all his fleet
At Cardis happily he arrived in Spain
The eighth of July, tarrying for the aid
That Philip King of Spain had promised.
And fifteen days he there remained aboard,
Expecting when this Spanish force would come,
Nor stepped ashore, as he were going still.
But Spain, that meant and minded nothing less,
Pretends a sudden fear and care to keep
His own from Amurath’s fierce invasion,
And to excuse his promise to our king,
For which he storms as great Achilles erst
Lying for want of wind in Aulis’ gulf,
And hoiseth up his sails and anchors weighs,
And hitherward he comes, and looks to meet
This manly Moor whose case he undertakes.
Therefore go we to welcome and rescue
With cannon-shot and shouts of young and old,
This fleet of Portugals and troop of Moors.
The trumpets sound, the chambers are discharged. Then
enter [Sebastian], the king of Portugal and the Moor, with
all their train.
Muly Mahamet, King of Barbary,
Well met, and welcome to our town of Tangier,
After this sudden shock and hapless war.
Welcome, brave Queen of Moors: repose thee here,
Thou and thy noble son. And, soldiers all,
Repose you here in King Sebastian’s town.
Thus far in honor of thy name and aid,
Lord Mahamet, we have adventured,
To win for thee a kingdom, for ourselves
Fame, and performance of those promises
That in thy faith and royalty thou hast
Sworn to Sebastian King of Portugal;
And thrive it so with thee as thou dost mean,
And mean thou so as thou dost wish to thrive!
And if our Christ, for whom in chief we fight,
Hereby t’ enlarge the bounds of Christendom,
Favor this war, and, as I do not doubt,
Send victory to light upon my crest,
Brave Moor, I will advance thy kingly son,
And with a diadem of pearl and gold
Adorn thy temples and enrich thy head.
O brave Sebastian, noble Portugal.
Renowmed and honored ever mayst thou be,
Triumpher over those that menace thee.
The hellish prince, grim Pluto, with his mace
Ding down my soul to hell, and with this soul
This son of mine, the honor of my house,
But I perform religiously to thee
That I have holily erst underta’en.
And that thy lords and captains may perceive
My mind in this single and pure to be—
As pure as is the water of the brook—
My dearest son to thee I do engage.
Receive him, lord, in hostage of my vow;
For even my mind presageth to myself,
That in some slavish sort I shall behold
Him dragged along this running river shore,
A spectacle to daunt the pride of those
That climb aloft by force, and not by right.
Nor can it otherwise befall the man
That keeps his seat and scepter all in fear;
That wears his crown in eye of all the world,
Reputed theft and not inheritance.
What title, then, hath Abdelmelec here
To bar our father or his progeny?
Right royal prince, hereof you make no doubt,
Agreeing with your wholesome Christian laws:
Help, then, courageous lord, with hand and sword,
To clear his way, whose lets are lawless men;
And for this deed ye all shall be renowmed,
Renowmed and chronicled in books of fame,
In books of fame, and characters of brass,
Of brass, nay, beaten gold: fight, then, for fame,
And find the Arabian Muly Hamet here
Adventurous, bold, and full of rich reward.
Brave boy, how plain this princely mind in thee
Argues the height and honor of thy birth.
And well have I observed thy forwardness,
Which being tendered by your majesty,
No doubt the quarrel, opened by the mouth
Of this young prince unpartially to us,
May animate and hearten all the host
To fight against the devil for Lord Mahamet.
True, Stukeley; and so freshly to my mind
Hath this young prince reduced his father’s wrong,
That in good time I hope this honor’s fire,
Kindled already with regard of right,
Bursts into open flames, and calls for wars,
Wars, wars, to plant the true-succeeding prince.
Lord Mahamet, I take thy noble son
A pledge of honor, and shall use him so.
Lord Lodowick, and my good Lord of Avero,
See this young prince conveyed safe to Messegon,
And there accompanied as him fitteth best:
And to this war prepare ye more and less,
This rightful war, that Christians’ God will bless.
Enter the Presenter.
Now hardened is this hapless heathen prince,
And strengthened by the arms of Portugal,
This Moor, this murderer of his progeny;
And war and weapons now, and blood and death,
Wait on the counsels of this cursed king;
And to a bloody banket he invites
The brave Sebastian and his noble peers.
Enter to the bloody banket.
In fatal hour arrived this peerless prince,
To lose his life, his life, and many lives
Of lusty men, courageous Portugals,
Drawen by [proud] ambition’s golden hooks.
Let fame of him no wrongful censure sound;
Honor was object of his thoughts, ambition was his ground.
Enter Abdelmelec and his train.
Now tell me, Celybin, what doth the enemy?
The enemy, dread lord, hath left the town
Of Arzil with a thousand soldiers armed,
To guard his fleet of thirteen hundred sail;
And mustering of his men before the walls,
He found he had two thousand armed horse,
And fourteen thousand men that serve on foot,
Three thousand pioners, and a thousand coachmen,
Besides a number almost numberless
Of drudges, Negroes, slaves, and muleters,
Horse-boys, laundresses, and courtezans,
And fifteen hundred wagons full of stuff
For noblemen brought up in delicate.
Alas, good king, thy foresight hath been small,
To come with women into Barbary,
With Iaundresse[s], with baggage, and with trash,
Numbers unfit to multiply thy host.
Their payment in the camp is passing slow,
And victuals scarce, that many faint and die.
But whither marcheth he in all this haste?
Some thinks, [my lord,]
he marcheth hitherward,
And means to take this city of Alcazar.
Unto Alcazar? O unconstant chance!
The brave and valiant King of Portugal
Quarters his power in four battalions,
Afront the which, to welcome us withal,
Are six and thirty roaring-pieces placed:
The first, consisting of light-armed horse
And of the garrisons from Tangier brought,
Is led by Alvaro Peres de Tavero;
The left or middle battle, of Italians
And German horsemen, Stukeley doth command,
A warlike Englishman sent by the Pope,
That vainly calls himself Marquis of Ireland;
Aloriso Aquilaz conducts the third—
That wing of German soldiers most consists;
The fourth legion is none but Portugals,
Of whom Lodevico Caesar hath the chiefest charge.
Besides there stand six thousand horse
Bravely attired, pressed where need requires.
Thus have I told your royal majesty
How he is placed to brave us in the fight.
But where’s our nephew, Muly Mahamet?
He marcheth in the middle, guarded about
With full five hundred harquebuze on foot,
And twice three thousand needless armed pikes.
Great sovereign, vouchsafe to hear me speak,
And let Zareo’s counsel now prevail:
Whilst time doth serve, and that these Christians dare
Approach the field with warlike ensigns spread,
Let us in haste with all our forces meet,
And hem them in, that not a man escape;
So will they be advised another time
How they do touch the shore of Barbary.
Zareo, hear our resolution:
And thus our forces we will first dispose.
Hamet, my brother, with a thousand shot
On horseback, and choice harquebuziers all,
Having ten thousand foot with spear and shield,
Shall make the right wing of the battle up;
Zareo, you shall have in charge the left,
Two thousand argolets and ten thousand horse;
The main battle of harquebuze on foot,
And twenty thousand horsemen in their troops;
Myself, environ’d with my trusty guard
Of janizaries, fortunate in war;
And toward Arzil will we take our way.
If, then, our enemy will balk our force,
In God’s name let him, it will be his best;
But if he level at Alcazar walls,
Then beat him back with bullets as thick as hail,
And make him know and rue his oversight,
That rashly seeks the ruin of this land.
King of Portugal, the Duke of Avero,
Stukeley, [Hercules], and others.
Why, tell me, lords, why left ye Portugal,
And crossed the seas with us to Barbary?
Was it to see the country and no more,
Or else to fly before ye were assailed?
I am ashamed to think that such as you,
Whose deeds have been renowmed heretofore,
Should slack in such an act of consequence:
We come to fight, and fighting vow to die,
Or else to win the thing for which we came.
Because Abedlmelec, as pitying us,
Sends messages to counsel quietness,
You stand amazed, and think it sound advice,
As if our enemy would wish us any good:
No, let him know we scorn his courtesy,
And will resist his forces whatsoe’er.
Cast fear aside: myself will lead the way,
And make a passage with my conquering sword,
Knee-deep in blood of these accursed Moors;
And they that love my honor, follow me.
Were you as resolute as is your king
Alcazar walls should fall before your face,
And all the force of this Barbarian lord
Should be confounded, were it ten times more.
So well become these words a kingly mouth,
That are of force to make a coward fight;
But when advice and prudent foresight
Is joined with such magnanimity,
Trophies of victory and kingly spoils
Adorn his crown, his kingdom, and his fame.
We have descried upon the mountain tops
A hugy company of invading Moors;
And they, my lord, as thick as winter’s hail,
Will fall upon our heads at unawares:
Best, then, betimes t’ avoid this gloomy storm;
It is in vain to strive with such a stream.
Enter Muly Mahamet, [the Moor].
Behold, thrice-noble lord, uncall’d I come
To counsel where necessity commands;
And honor of undoubted victory
Makes me exclaim upon this dastard flight.
Why, King Sebastian, wilt thou now foreslow,
And let so great a glory slip thy hands?
Say you do march unto Tarissa now,
The forces of the foe are come so nigh,
That he will let the passage of the river;
So unawares you will be forced to fight.
But know, O king, and you, thrice-valiant lords,
Few blows will serve. I ask but only this,
That with your power you march into the field;
For now is all the army resolute
To leave the traitor helpless in the fight,
And fly to me as to their rightful prince.
Some horsemen have already led the way,
And vow the like for their companions:
The host is full of tumult and of fear.
Then as you come to plant me in my seat,
And to enlarge your fame in Africa,
Now, now or never, bravely execute
Your resolution sound and honorable,
And end this war together with his life
That doth usurp the crown with tyranny.
Captains, you hear the reasons of the king,
Which so effectually have pierced mine ears,
That I am fully resolute to fight;
And who refuseth now to follow me,
Let him be ever counted cowardly.
Shame be his share that flies when kings do fight!
Avero lays his life before your feet.
For my part, lords, I cannot sell my blood
Dearer than in the company of kings.
Manet Muly Mahamet, [the Moor].
Now have I set these Portugals a-work
To hew a way for me unto the crown,
Or with their weapons here to dig their graves.
You dastards of the Night and Erebus,
Fiends, fairies, hags that fight in beds of steel,
Range through this army with your iron whips,
Drive forward to this deed this Christian crew,
And let me triumph in the tragedy,
Though it be sealed and honored with the blood
Both of the Portugal and barbarous Moor.
Ride, Nemesis, ride in thy fiery cart,
And sprinkle gore amongst these men of war,
That either party, eager of revenge,
May honor thee with sacrifice of death;
And having bathed thy chariot-wheels in blood,
Descend and take to thy tormenting hell
The mangled body of that traitor king,
That scorns the power and force of Portugal.
Then let the earth discover to his ghost
Such tortures as usurpers feel below;
Racked let him be in proud Ixion’s wheel,
Pined let him be with Tantalus’ endless thirst,
Prey let him be to Tityus’ greedy bird,
Wearied with Sisyphus’ immortal toil:
And lastly for revenge, for deep revenge,
Whereof thou goddess and deviser art,
Damned let him be, damned, and condemned to bear
All torments, tortures, plagues, and pains of hell.
Enter the Presenter before the last Dumb-show, and speaketh.
Ill be to him that so much ill bethinks;
And ill betide this foul ambitious Moor,
Whose wily trains with smoothest course of speech
Have tied and tangled in a dangerous war
The fierce and manly King of Portugal.
Lightning and thunder.
Now throw the heavens forth their lightning-flames,
And thunder over Afric’s fatal fields:
Blood will have blood, foul murder scape no scourge.
Enter Fame, like an angel, and hangs the crowns upon a tree.
At last descendeth Fame, as Iris [did]
To finish fainting Dido’s dying life;
Fame from her stately bower doth descend,
And on the tree, as fruit new-ripe to fall,
Placeth the crowns of these unhappy kings,
That erst she kept in eye of all the world.
Here the blazing star.
Now fiery stars, and streaming comets blaze,
That threat the earth and princes of the same.
Fire, fire about the axletree of heaven
Whirls round, and from the foot of Cassiope,
In fatal hour, consumes these fatal crowns.
Down falls the diadem of Portugal.
The other falls.
The crowns of Barbary and kingdoms fall;
Ay me, that kingdoms may not stable stand!
And now approaching near the dismal day,
The bloody day wherein the battles join,
Monday the fourth of August, seventy-eight,
The sun shines wholly on the parched earth,
The brightest planet in the highest heaven.
The heathens, eager bent against their foe,
Give onset with great ordnance to the war;
The Christians with great noise of cannon-shot
Send angry onsets to the enemy.
Give ear, and hear how war begins his song
With dreadful clamors, noise, and trumpets’ sound.
Alarums within; let the chambers be discharged: then
enter to the battle ; and the Moors fly.
Skirmish still: then enter Abdelmelec in his chair,
Zareo, and their train.
Say on, Zareo, tell me all the news,
Tell me what fury rangeth in our camp,
That hath enforced our Moors to turn their backs.
Zareo, say what chance did bode this ill,
What ill enforced this dastard cowardice?
My lord, such chance as willful war affords;
Such chances and misfortunes as attend
On him, the god of battle and of arms.
My lord, when with our ordnance fierce we sent
Our Moors with smaller shot, as thick as hail
Follows apace, to charge the Portugal;
The valiant duke, the devil of Avero,
The bane of Barbary, fraughted full of ire,
Breaks through the ranks, and with five hundred horse.
All men-at-arms, forward and full of might,
Assaults the middle wing, and puts to flight
Eight thousand harquebuze that served on foot,
And twenty thousand Moors with spear and shield,
And therewithal the honor of the day.
Ah, Abdelmelec, dost thou live to hear
This bitter process of this first attempt?
Labor, my lords, to renew our force
Of fainting Moors, and fight it to the last.
My horse, Zareo!—O, the goal is lost,
The goal is lost!—Thou King of Portugal.
Thrice-happy chance it is for thee and thine
That heavens abates my strength and calls me hence.
My sight doth fail; my soul, my feeble soul
Shall be released from prison on this earth:
Farewell, vain world! for I have played my part.
A long skirmish; and then enter his brother
Muly Mahamat Seth
Brave Abdelmelec, thou thrice-noble lord!
Not such a wound was given to Barbary,
Had twenty hosts of men been put to sword,
As death, pale death, with fatal shaft hath given.
Lo, dead is he, my brother and my king,
Whom I might have revived with news I bring!
His honors and his types he hath resigned
Unto the world, and of a manly man,
Lo, in a twinkling, a senseless stock we see—
Muly Mahamat Seth
You trusty soldiers of this warlike king,
Be counseled now by us in this advice;
Let not his death be bruited in the camp,
Lest with the sudden sorrow of the news
The army wholly be discomfited.
My Lord Zareo, thus I comfort you;
Our Moors have bravely borne themselves in fight,
Likely to get the honor of the day,
If aught may gotten be where loss is such.
Therefore, in this apparel as he died,
My noble brother will we here advance,
And set him in his chair with cunning props,
That our Barbarians may behold their king,
And think he doth repose him in his tent.
Right politic and good is your advice.
Muly Mahamat Seth
Go, then, to see it speedily performed.
Brave lord, if Barbary recover this,
Thy soul with joy will sit and see the fight.
Alarums: enter to the battle; and the Christians fly: the
Duke of Avero slain. Enter Sebastian and
Seest thou not, Stukeley, O Stukeley, seest thou not
The great dishonor done to Christendom!
Our dfieerful onset crossed in springing hope;
The brave and mighty prince, Duke of Avero,
Slain in my sight: now joy betide his ghost,
For like a lion did he bear himself!
Our battles are all now disordered,
And by our horses’ strange retiring back
Our middle wing of footmen overrode.
Stukeley, alas, I see my oversight!
False-hearted Mahamet, now, to my cost,
I see thy treachery, warned to beware
A face so full of fraud and villany.
Alarums within, and they run out, and two set upon
Stukeley, and he driveth them in. Then enter the
Moor and his Boy, flying.
Villain, a horse!
O, my lord, if you return, you die!
Villain, I say, give me a horse to fly,
To swim the river, villain, and to fly.
Where shall I find some unfrequented place,
Some uncouth walk, where I may curse my fill,
My stars, my dam, my planets, and my nurse,
The fire, the air, the water, and the earth,
All causes that have thus conspired in one,
To nourish and preserve me to this shame?
Thou that wert at my birth predominate,
Thou fatal star, what planet e’er thou be,
Spit out thy poison bad, and all the ill
That fortune, fate, or heaven, may bode a man.
Thou nurse infortunate, guilty of all,
Thou mother of my life, that brought’st me forth,
Cursed mayst thou be for such a cursed son!
Cursed be thy son with every curse thou hast!
Ye elements of whom consists this clay,
This mass of flesh, this cursed crazed corpse,
Destroy, dissolve, disturb, and dissipate,
What water, earth, and air congealed!
Alarums, and enter the Boy.
O, my lord, these ruthless Moors pursue you at the heels,
And come amain to put you to the sword!
A horse, a horse, villain, a horse!
That I may take the river straight and fly.
Here is a horse, my lord,
As swiftly paced as Pegasus;
Mount thee thereon, and save thyself by flight.
Mount me I will:
But may I never pass the river, till I be
Revenged upon thy soul, accursed Abdelmelec!
If not on earth, yet when we meet in hell,
Before grim Minos, Rhadamanth, and Aeacus,
The combat will I crave upon thy ghost,
And drag thee thorough the loathsome pools
Of Lethes, Styx, and fiery Phlegethon.
Alarums. Enter STUKELEY with two Italians,
HERCULES and JONAS.
Stand, traitor, stand, ambitious Englishman,
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 betrayed and tied us all
To ruthless fury of our heathen foe;
For which, as we are [here] sure to die,
Thou shalt pay satisfaction with thy blood.
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.
Why suffer we this Englishman to live?
Villain, bleed on; thy blood in channels run,
And meet with those whom thou to death hast done.
[Exeunt Hercules and Jonas.
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 touched the height of Fortune’s wheel,
And lived in affluence of wealth and ease.
Thus in my country carried long aloft,
A discontented humor 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 lived,
For so they called 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 banished by the king.
From thence to Rome rides Stukeley all aflaunt,
Received with royal welcomes of the Pope,
There was I graced 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 embarked at Ostia.
My sails I spread, and with these men of war
In fatal hour at Lisbon we arrived.
From thence to this, to this hard exigent,
Was Stukeley driven to fight or else to die,
Dared to the field, that never could endure
To hear God Mars his drum but he must march.
Ah, sweet Sebastian, hadst thou been well advised,
Thou mightst have managed 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.
Now go and in that bed of honor die,
Where brave Sebastian’s breathless corse doth lie.
Here endeth Fortune[’s] rule and bitter rage;
Here ends Tom Stukeley’s [earthly] pilgrimage.
Enter Muly Mahamet
Seth and his train, with
drums and trumpets.
Muly Mahamat 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 honor of thy house,
The trophies and the triumphs of thy men,
Great Abdelmelec; and the god of kings
Hath made thy war successful by thy right,
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 proclaimed
As erst we gave in charge?
We have, my lord, and rich rewards proposed
For them that find the body of the king;
For by those guard[s] 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 Mahamat Seth
But of the traitorous Moor you hear no news
That fled the field and sought to swim the ford?
Not yet, my lord; but doubtless God will tell
And with his finger point out where he haunts.
Muly Mahamat Seth
So let it rest, and on this earth bestow
This princely corse, till further for his funerals
From him to thee as true-succeeding prince,
With all allegiance and with honor’s types,
In name of all thy people and thy land,
We give this kingly crown and diadem.
Muly Mahamat Seth
We thank you all, and as my lawful right,
With God’s defence and yours, shall I [it] keep.
Enter two Portugals with the body of the King.
As gave your grace in charge, right royal prince,
The fields and sandy plains we have surveyed,
And even among the thickest of his lords
The noble King of Portugal we found,
Wrapped in his colors coldly on the earth,
And done to death with many a mortal wound.
Muly Mahamat Seth
Lo, here, my lords, this is the earth and clay
Of him that erst was mighty King of Portugal!
There let him lie, and you for this be free
To make return from hence to Christendom.
Enter two Peasants
bringing in [the body of]
Long live the mighty king of Barbary!
Muly Mahamat Seth
Welcome, my friend: what body hast thou there?
The body of the ambitious enemy
That squandered all this blood in Africa,
Whose malice sent so many souls to hell,
The traitor Muly Mahamet do I bring,
And for thy slave I throw him at thy feet.
Muly Mahamat Seth
Zareo, give this man a rich reward;
And thanked be the god of just revenge,
That he hath given our foe into our hands,
Beastly, unarmed, slavish, full of shame—
But say, how came this traitor to his end?
Seeking to save his life by shameful flight,
He mounteth on a hot Barbarian horse,
And so in purpose to have passed the stream,
His headstrong steed throws him from out his seat;
Where, diving oft for lack of skill to swim,
It was my chance alone to see him drowned,
Whom by the heels I dragged from out the pool,
And hither have him brought thus filed with mud.
Muly Mahamat Seth
A death too good for such a damned wretch.
But sith our rage and rigor of revenge
By violence of his end prevented is,
That all the world may learn by him to avoid
To hale on princes to injurious war,
His skin we will be parted from his flesh,
And being stiffened out and stuffed with straw,
So to deter and fear the lookers-on
From any such foul fact or bad attempt,
Away with him!
[Exeunt Attendants with the body of the Moor.]
And now, my lords, for this Christian king:
My Lord Zareo, let it be your charge
To see the soldiers tread a solemn march,
Trailing their pikes and ensigns on the ground,
So to perform the prince’s funerals.
Here endeth the tragical battle of Alcazar.
 leaves] Dyce; deisnes Q.
 four] Dyce; Q faire.
 friends] Dyce; Q friend.
 on] Dyce; Q our.
 pride] Bullen; Q pride then.
 cave] Bullen; Q grave.
 Bear] Sidney Walker; Q Barre.
 clouds] Bullen; Q sound.
 with] Dyce; Q to.
 Abdallas] P. A. Daniel; Q Abdilmelec.
 scimitar] P. A. Daniel; Q semitarie.
 yew] Dyce; Q hue.
 Abdelmunen’s] Dyce; Q Abdilmelecs.
 Rhamnusia’s] Dyce; Q Ramuisans.
 implores] Dyce; Q imployes.
 s.d.] Q Exit.
 island] Dyce; Q land.
 wise] Walker; Q wife.
 flesh] lyons flesh in Q.
 through] Dyce; Q thorough.
 their force] Bullen; Q therefore.
 Thrice royal] Bullen; Q Viceroys.
 s.d.] Dyce; Q Enter Stukley and the rest.
 or her impair] Dyce; Q or be impure.
 Distains the cheek] Dyce; Q Disdaines the checke.
 ambition’s] Q ambitious
 doth] Q with.
 India] Dyce; Q Iudah.
 six-and-twentieth] Q has 26 and renders these four lines as three, divided as follows: Lisbon / he / aid.
 Exeunt] Q Exit.
 ambition’s] ambitious Q.
 hooks] Dyce; Q looks.
 my lord] not in Q; Dyce’s suggestion.
 to brave us in the fight] Dyce; Q to braue his fight.
 foot] Dyce; not in Q.
 fly] Dyce; Q slay.
 Trophies] Dyce; Q Troupes.
 their] Dyce; Q your.
 their] Dyce; Q your.
 dastards] Q
 fairies] Q; Dyce suggests Furies.
 the] Dyce; Q my.
 Dyce; Q Tisons
 Q prints these lines as part of Zareo’s speech; Dyce made the obvious correction.
 Ostia] Dyce; Q Austria.
 earthly] Dyce’s suggestion.
 Q adds “His friends, whom death and fates hath ta’en from thee”; this line does not fit here and may have intruded from some other location. Or it may be a fragment from a canceled speech.
 Added by Dyce; not in Q.