I
may leap into consuming Flames--while all my Tents are burning round
about me.
[Wildly.
Oh thou dear Prize, for which alone I toil'd!
[Weeps, and lies down by her.

Enter _Fearless_ with his Sword drawn.

_Fear._ Hah, on the Earth--how do you, Sir?

_Bac._ What wou'dst thou?

_Fear._ _Wellman_ with all the Forces he can gather, attacks us even in
our very Camp; assist us, Sir, or all is lost.

_Bac._ Why, prithee let him make the World his Prize, I have no business
with the Trifle now; it contains nothing that's worth my care, since my
fair Queen--is dead--and by my hand.

_Queen._ So charming and obliging is thy Moan, that I cou'd wish for
Life to recompense it; but oh, Death falls--all cold upon my Heart, like
Mildews on the Blossoms.

_Fear._ By Heaven, Sir, this Love will ruin all--rise, rise, and save us
yet.

_Bac._ Leave me, what e'er becomes of me--lose not thy share of
Glory--prithee leave me.

_Queen._ Alas, I fear thy Fate is drawing on, and I shall shortly meet
thee in the Clouds; till then--farewel--even Death is pleasing to me,
while thus--I find it in thy Arms--
[Dies.

_Bac._ There ends my Race of Glory and of Life.
[An Alarm at distance--continues a while.

_Bac._ Hah--Why should I idly whine away my Life, since there are nobler
ways to meet with Death? Up, up, and face him then--Hark--there's the
Soldier's Knell--and all the Joys of Life--with thee I bid farewel--
[Goes out. The _Indians_ bear off the Body of the _Queen_.

The Alarm continues: Enter _Downright_, _Wellman_, and others,
Swords drawn.

_Well._ They fight like Men possest--I did not think to have found them
so prepar'd.

_Down._ They've good Intelligence--but where's the Rebel?

_Well._ Sure he's not in the Fight; Oh, that it were my happy chance to
meet him, that while our Men look on, we might dispatch the business of
the War--Come, let's fall in again, now we have taken breath.
[They go out.

Enter _Daring_ and _Fearless_ hastily, with their Swords drawn;
meet _Whim._ _Whiff_, with their Swords drawn, running away.

_Dar._ How now, whither away? [In anger.

_Whim._ Hah, _Daring_ here--we are pursuing of the Enemy, Sir; stop us
not in the pursuit of Glory.
[Offers to go.

_Dar._ Stay!--I have not seen you in my Ranks to day.

_Whiff._ Lord, does your Honour take us for Starters?

_Fear._ Yes, Sirrah, and believe you are now rubbing off--confess, or
I