ascend the Skies, since Honour
tells me 'tis an impious Zeal.

_Which way soever my Devotions move,
I am too wretched to be heard above._ [Goes in.

[All exeunt.

SCENE II. _Shows a Field of Tents, seen at some distance through the
Trees of a Wood, Drums, Trumpets and the noise of Battel, with
hollowing. The _Indians_ are seen with Battel-Axes to retreat fighting
from the _English_, and all go off; when they re-enter immediately
beating back the _English_, the _Indian King_ at the head of his Men,
with Bows and Arrows; _Daring_ being at the head of the _English_: They
fight off; the Noise continues less loud as more at distance._

Enter _Bacon_ with his Sword drawn, meets _Fearless_ with his
Sword drawn.

_Fear._ Haste, haste, Sir, to the Entrance of the Wood, _Daring's_
engaged past hope of a Retreat, venturing too far, pursuing of the Foe;
the King in Ambush, with his poison'd Archers, fell on, and now we are
dangerously distrest.

_Bac._ _Daring_ is brave, but he's withal too rash, come on and follow
me to his Assistance-- [Go out.

[A hollowing within, the Fight renews; enter the _Indians_ beaten
back by _Bacon_, _Daring_ and _Fearless_; they fight off; the
noise of Fighting continues a while, this still behind the Wood.

Enter _Indians_ flying over the Stage, pursued by the _King_.

_King._ Turn, turn, ye fugitive Slaves, and face the Enemy; Oh Villains,
Cowards, deaf to all Command: by Heaven, I had my Rival in my view, and
aim'd at nothing but my conquering him--now like a Coward I must fly
with Cowards, or like a desperate Madman fall, thus singly, midst the
numbers.
[Follows the _Indians_.

Enter _Bacon_ inraged with his Sword drawn, _Fearless_ and
_Daring_ following him.

_Bac._ --Where is the King, oh ye perfidious Slaves? how, have you hid
him from my just Revenge?--search all the Brakes, the Furzes and the
Trees, and let him not escape on pain of Death.

_Dar._ We cannot do wonders, Sir.

_Bac._ But you can run away.--

_Dar._ Yes, when we see occasion--yet--shou'd any but my General tell me
so--by Heaven, he should find I were no starter.

_Bac._ Forgive me, I'm mad--the King's escaped, hid like a trembling
Slave in some close Ditch, where he will sooner starve than fight it
out.

Re-enter _Indians_ running over the Stage, pursued by the _King_,
who shoots them as they fly; some few follow him.

_King._ All's lost--the Day