is lost--and I'm betray'd;--Oh Slaves, that
even Wounds can't animate.
[In Rage.

_Bac._ The King!

_King._ The General here! by all the Powers, betray'd by my own Men!

_Bac._ Abandon'd as thou art, I scorn to take thee basely; you shall
have Soldiers chance, Sir, for your Life, since Chance so luckily has
brought us hither; without more Aids we will dispute the Day: This Spot
of Earth bears both our Armies Fates; I'll give you back the Victory I
have won, and thus begin a-new on equal Terms.

_King._ That's nobly said!--the Powers have heard my Wish. You, Sir,
first taught me how to use a Sword, which heretofore has served me with
Success: But now--'tis for _Semernia_ that it draws, a Prize more valued
than my Kingdom, Sir--

_Bac._ Hah, _Semernia_!

_King._ Your Blushes do betray your Passion for her.

_Dar._ 'Sdeath, have we fought for this, to expose the Victor to the
conquer'd Foe?

_Fear._ What, fight a single Man--our Prize already.

_King._ Not so, young Man, while I command a Dart.

_Bac._ Fight him! by Heaven, no reason shall dissuade me, and he that
interrupts me is a Coward; whatever be my Fate, I do command ye to let
the King pass freely to his Tents.

_Dar._ The Devil's in the General.

_Fear._ 'Sdeath, his Romantick Humour will undo us.
[They fight and pause.

_King._ You fight as if you meant to outdo me this way, as you have done
in Generosity.

_Bac._ You're not behind-hand with me, Sir, in courtesy: Come, here's to
set us even--
[Fight again.

_King._ You bleed apace.

_Bac._ You've only breath'd a Vein, and given me new Health and Vigour
by it.
[They fight again, Wounds on both sides, the _King_ staggers;
_Bacon_ takes him in his Arms; the _King_ drops his Sword.
How do you, Sir?

_King._ Like one--that's hovering between Heaven and Earth;
I'm--mounting--somewhere--upwards--but giddy with my flight,--I know not
where.

_Bac._ Command my Surgeons,--instantly--make haste;
Honour returns, and Love all bleeding's fled. [Ex. _Fearless_.

_King._ Oh, _Semernia_, how much more Truth had thy Divinity than the
Predictions of the flattering Oracles! Commend me to her--I know
you'll--visit--your fair Captive, Sir, and tell her--oh--but Death
prevents the rest.
[Dies.

Enter _Fearless_.

_Bac._ He's gone--and now, like _Caesar_, I could weep over the Hero I my
self destroyed.

_Fear._ I'm glad for your repose I see him there--'twas a mad
h