Ill be to him that so much ill bethinks;
And ill betide this foul
abitious 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 thundr 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,
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 balazing Star.
Now fiery stars, and streaming
comets blaze,
That threat the earth and
princes of the same.
Fireworks.
Fire, fire about
the axletree of heaven,
Whirls round, and from the foot of
cassiope,
In fatal hour, consumes these
fatal crowns.
One
falls.
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 Christian
with great noise of cannon_shot
Send angry onsets to the enemy.
Give ear, and hear how war
begins his song
With dreadful clamours, noise
and trumpets’ sound.
Exit.