Where fell Chimaera in her triple shape
Rolleth hot flames from out her monstrous paunch,
Searing the beasts with issue of her gorge;
I'll pass the frozen Zone where icy flakes,
Stopping the passage of the fleeting ships,
Do lie like mountains in the congealed sea:
Where if I find that hateful house of hers,
I'll pull the pickle wheel from out her hands,
And tie her self in everlasting bands.
But all in vain I breath these threatenings;
The day is lost, the Huns are conquerors,
Debon is slain, my men are done to death,
The currents swift swim violently with blood
And last, O that this last night so long last,
My self with wounds past all recovery
Must leave my crown for Humber to possess.

STRUMBO.
Lord have mercy upon us, masters, I think this
is a holy day; every man lies sleeping in the fields,
but, God knows, full sore against their wills.

THRASIMACHUS.
Fly, noble Albanact, and save thy self.
The Scithians follow with great celerity,
And there's no way but flight, or speedy death;
Fly, noble Albanact, and save thy self.

[Exit Thrasimachus. Sound the alarm.]